Aral asked, "Do you think he's dead? That maybe he found something and it was too much for him to handle?"
Not a good conspirator at all. He let his concern for his friend distract him completely.
"I wouldn't know, Aral. Lord Ch'ien, don't interfere with Trebilcock. The King and Varthlokkur are much too fond of him."
Kao E rose, nodded. "As you will. I'd best return. I do have my duties. And I have to relay the news to our friends."
"By all means," Mist said, concealing her delight at his going.
Kao E strode toward one comer of the room. He vanished as he was about to collide with the bookshelves. A column of air coruscated momentarily.
"That's one spooky critter," Aral said. "I don't like him at all."
"Don't let him put you off," Mist replied. "He's stuck with me a long time. He's one of the few Tervola I trust."
"You know your own people." And, "What he is to you and what he is to me aren't necessarily the same thing. He probably thinks of me as a useful trained dog."
Mist turned quickly, hoping he missed her surprise. That was exactly the way Lord Ch'ien would view a western collaborator. "Master Mundwiller. You haven't said a word since you got here."
Mundwiller looked down at the silver bowl. The scene therein continued, mouse-sized players arguing in silence. He harrumphed. "I'll say good-bye, then. I'm not needed here." His eyes twinkled.
Aral started to say something, thought better of it. Mist, too, found herself short on words.
Mundwiller paused at the library door. "I'll leave you with a thought. My friends and I will be more comfortable knowing you're working with the King."
"What did he mean by that?" Aral asked once the door closed.
Mist smiled. She ran her tonguetip along the edges of her perfect teeth. "I don't know. I'm not sure I care." But she did, of course. Those old moths tumbled and giggled in her stomach. She had dodged fate's hammer today. Obviously, Mundwiller had allowed himself to be drawn in only so he could apprise the King of the course of her plot. She shivered and concentrated on Aral.
He took a backward step, then retreated round the table. Sudden sweat moistened his face. He looked like a man running from a dream.
He did not escape.
Mist smiled wickedly. From this dream he would never recover. Nor would he want to. She would see to that.
Varthlokkur glanced up as the King stepped into the small room where he held his most private conferences. Bragi seemed smugly pleased. He said, "Mist will be here in a few minutes."
The woman arrived ten minutes later, ushered in by Dahl Haas. Aral Dantice ran at her heel like a faithful pup. The wizard observed through hooded eyes. Something had changed. There was a new shyness between them. He looked over at the King, who had been acting that way himself. Over a bit of fluff young enough to be his daughter. Must be something going around, he thought.
"Sit down," the King suggested. "Let's get to it. I've been cooped up in the castle all day, so I don't feel like arguing. We made a decision. You already know what it was. Now we implement it, Mist. But first, I want to know who the Tervola was and what he was doing in Kavelin without my permission."
Even Varthlokkur was startled. And a little disgusted. This young man had started with such promise. Now he had spies everywhere, like the worst tyrant.
If he was startled, Dantice was stricken. He made a sound, half belch and half mouse squeak. His eyes widened. And Mist, for one of the few times Varthlokkur could recall, was taken completely off guard.
That amused him. He enjoyed watching a colleague caught short.
"I have my resources too," the King said. "The Tervola is important to me. Call it a gesture of good faith."
Mist recovered. She spoke honestly and, Varthlokkur noted, said a few things which surprised Dantice.
The King glanced at the wizard, soliciting an opinion. Varthlokkur had detected no outright falsehood. He nodded. Bragi said, "It sounds good. Assuming Kuo isn't in on the planning from the other end. What's your timetable?"
"It's still iffy. We move when Lord Ch'ien thinks the Matayangan attack has peaked. We seize the key points of the empire. We don't bother Southern Army till the Matayangan attack ebbs. Only then do we replace Lord Kuo."
"Right. If he lets you. What if he negotiates his way out of trouble with Matayanga? If he doesn't attack?"
"The plan isn't perfect. I'd lose."
"You wouldn't try to force that war, would you?"
"No! No more than Lord Kuo is. Shinsan can't stand much more warfare."
The King glanced at Varthlokkur once more. Again he could only indicate that he believed she was telling the truth.
The King nodded. "All right, Mist. What can I contribute?"
"You're doing it. Giving us a safe springboard. The only other thing might be the loan of a few shock troops for the strike itself."
Varthlokkur studied Dantice, and in his little twitches read what his part in the plot was to have been—before the King had become involved. He was to have gathered the financing for mercenary forces meant to do the job now in the hands of royal soldiery. The lad is a fool, the wizard thought. But this is a woman who can make fools of men far wiser.
The King said, "Sir Gjerdrum, put together the forces she needs. And keep it quiet."
Varthlokkur turned to the young knight. Poor Gjerdrum. He was bitterly opposed to this venture. None of the King's arguments had swayed him the least. Yet he was going along, because it was the King's will.
He's probably right, Varthlokkur reflected. When you come right down to it, we're all going along because that's easier than arguing. And chances are Bragi is being a damned fool. He can't separate his private feelings from what is politic. If he doesn't learn soon, Kavelin is in for hard times.
Nepanthe stalked the bounds of her apartment like a thing caged. She was tormented by a diffuse, inconquerable certainty that her world had shifted around her, that suddenly she was a foreigner in her own time. Nothing seemed quite real anymore.
She knew why. All her lost anchors, all the missing friends and loves. She had no more family, and few friends—just no anchor left. Except her husband, and hers was a marriage of convenience, from her viewpoint. She needed a protector. She had accepted the protection of a man who wanted her. Any romance existed only in Varthlokkur's imagination.
These days she just drifted above and away from everything. Her lack of touching points ached. Sometimes she wondered if she were quite sane.
Her life was one long necklace pearled with dissatisfaction and unhappy moments. There had been good times, but those she had to struggle to remember. She had no trouble recalling the misery. Indeed, she dwelt upon it.
She paused to stare out her window. The sky was a heavy grey. More bad weather? It seemed the sun had vanished with their arrival. Did gloom follow her like a doleful hound?
"Maybe it's just being pregnant," she murmured. "I can't be this way all the time. Right now even I can't stand me." A weak, mocking smile toyed with her lips. "I have had friends."
The baby kicked. She rested her hands upon her stomach, tried to guess if she were feeling an arm or a leg. "Guess you're going to be a boy. They say boys are more active."
The baby kicked again. She gasped. It was strong. "Varth?" But he wasn't there. Out with the King again, probably. What were they up to, anyway? She still didn't know why Bragi wanted Varth here. Not really. He had his tale to tell, but he was tricky. You never knew. Even Varth might not know.