Shih-ka'i destroyed them by the tens of thousands, and still they came. And the transfers kept sending casualties to Liaontung. Sections of fortress fell. The courts and cellars and barracks filled with dismembered corpses awaiting destruction. The stench was as wearing as the interminable attack.
"Lord Lun-yu, what kind of monster is this Deliverer? What mad creature depopulates half a million square miles to take one fortress? Is he some demon who's slipped his master's leash?"
"He's just a boy, Lord. Seventeen or eighteen. Normal in most respects. With a big grudge against the empire."
"A grudge!"
"Live prisoners say he's vowed to destroy us."
"You think he will?"
"No, Lord."
"He's made an impressive start, hasn't he? How long can we hold out?"
"Two days, surely. He's short of draftees."
"I'll leave it with you. Keep buying time. We bought enough for Northern Army. Now I'm afraid we're buying it for Lioantung."
Tasi-feng sighed and stared at the floor. "As you command, Lord. Lord... maybe you can contact Lord Kuo now."
"Lord Kuo? I thought he was being retired."
Tasi-feng shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he has been. We haven't been in touch."
Shih-ka'i made a last inspection of the fortress. It was in abominable shape. The witch still lobbed in the occasional blue egg. He suspected Tasi-feng was too optimistic, claiming they could hold two more days.
He and Pan ku went down to the deep cellar where the portals were massed. As always, casualties were passing through. "At least they'll get out," he observed. "This is the last place the Deliverer will reach. The men won't have to make a pointless last stand."
Pan ku replied, "I hope not, Lord. I'd feel bad if we lost them. The Seventeenth is a good legion."
10 Year 1016 afe
Fire in the East
NEPANTHE SAT AT her window, staring without seeing. The extreme end of pregnancy had worsened all her tendencies toward alienation, introversion, and brooding. She cried a lot. She snapped at people for no good reason. She considered the gross swollenness of her belly and loathed herself for being ugly, hated herself for bringing another child into a pitiless world. There were irrational moments when she hated the little parasite growing inside her. She spent much of her time feeling sorry for herself, or, gradually, adding to her obsession with her lost son.
She had little spirit or volition now. She did what her husband told her, what her maids asked. Her great initiatives consisted of starting the occasional conversation.
She had been listless, most of the time, since her first husband's death, not long after they had lost their son. She'd always been susceptible to mood swings, into this grey state and out. Since Mocker's death the downs had grown longer every year. She had tried to fake the highs and had failed. She now just stayed out of the way ana tried not to complicate her second husband's life.
Varthlokkur had pursued a hundred wild goose trails in his efforts to quicken her soul. She was aware of his attempts, and only wished he wouldn't bother. She didn't think she was worth the trouble.
The most potent draughts and magicks worked only for a short time. Varthlokkur had concluded that only that supreme medicine, time, would cure her. He now left her to haunt her inner landscapes as she would.
She sensed that he had come to stand behind her. She turned. "You look tired, dear."
"I was up all night. Michael Trebilcock was away on a mission and ran into trouble. I had to send Radeachar to get him out. He's safely home now."
"Michael? Isn't he the one who took Valther's place?" Thus far had she slipped. Sometimes she couldn't remember.
"Yes."
She resumed staring out the window, no longer interested. She had lost six brothers as well as her husband and son. Well, five. Luxos was alive, living in the Kratchnodian Mountains like some crazy old hermit. Crazy like me, she thought. We both might as well be dead.
The world had taken everything. Everything but Varthlokkur and this child as yet unborn.
She could not care about them. She didn't dare. Fate would punish her if she did. They would be taken too.
"Varth?"
"Yes, dear?"
"I really do feel Ethrian sometimes. I still don't know what it means. Can't you find out for sure?"
Varthlokkur sighed. "I've tried, dear. There's just nothing there. I'm sorry. I truly wish there were. It's just your heart trying to turn back the sands of time."
He's probably right, she thought. He's so seldom wrong. But... there was some doubt. No one had ever actually seen Ethrian dead... "It's not imagination, Varth. It can't be. He's there. I know it."
"Then why can't I find him? Why can't I find one shred of evidence that he survived? Why do I find so much that says he's not? Stop tormenting yourself. Please. It's not healthy."
True concern edged his words. She sensed it and shied away. "It's not false hope!" Emotion began to flavor her voice. It grew stronger as she shouted, "He's alive and I know it! Why are you lying to me?"
"I'm not." He spoke gently, as if to an injured, retarded child. "You're lying to yourself. Please don't. It's not healthy."
"Not healthy! Not healthy! Stop it!" She surged out of her chair. "It's because he's Mocker's son, isn't it? That's why you want me to forget him." Her reasoning was insane and she knew it, but the words just would not stop. She wanted to hurt someone, to give some of the pain away.
Agony tightened his features. He calmed himself before responding, "That isn't so. And you know it. He was my grandson. My only. I loved him too. I would have done anything for him. But he's gone now, Nepanthe. It's time to accept that. Please. This is starting to tear us apart." He took her into his arms.
She pounded fists against his chest, the irrational words exploding forth. "You're lying! He's alive. I know he's alive. He's in trouble, and you won't help him."
"Dear, this isn't good for the baby."
She kept hitting, weeping. Finally, she sagged against him. "I'm sorry. I don't know... Oh!"
"What? What happened?"
"I think my water broke. That shouldn't happen yet... Oh! Yes. It did. I can feel it." Her mind became very clear. Not here! Not now! Please... Everything else fled. "Get a doctor. Wachtel if he's still Royal Physician. Help me to the bed."
Her voice had changed dramatically, had become all business.
Varthlokkur guided her across the room, turned her so he could help her lie down.
"No. Undress me first. This was an expensive dress. Mustn't ruin it. Then find Mary and Margo. Tell them to get everything ready."
"Shouldn't I get the doctor first?"
"I don't need him right this minute. Ethrian was twelve hours coming. Elana said he was easy. We've got time. Just warn him that it's coming."
"It's too early."
"Maybe. Maybe I figured it wrong. Nothing we can do about it now." She was half undressed. She saw how nervous he was. "Let me finish this. You get the maids, tell Wachtel, then come back and get some sleep."
"Sleep? How could I sleep?"
"You'd better. You won't be any help at all if you don't. You're too tired to think straight now." She was amazed at herself. She seemed to have changed personalities like changing shoes. The whiner had vanished the instant she found herself faced by a situation wherein she had some control.
"Okay. Sure you'll be okay if I leave?"
She touched his cheek tenderly. "Of course. Silly man. Old as the world, you are. A destroyer of empires. Creator of a monster like Radeachar. And you're as nervous as an eighteen-year-old awaiting the birth of his firstborn. And I love you for it. I love you for caring."