"Will it work?" she asked Lord Ch'ien, pointing.
"Depends on how much Lord Kuo has to work with," he replied. "It's a bold stroke, certainly. Deserving of honor even if it fails. The impression we get from the reports is that the reserve was stronger than Southern Army itself was."
"Any problems in that for us?"
"We won't know till we jump in. His security has been superb."
Mist chewed a thumbnail and studied the map. Her eyes kept drifting to the mystery war in the east. Her nephew Ethrian was there? Part of that? How? Why?... She forced her attention back to the main show.
The moment of decision came. Go or abort. Attack and risk shattering the hope of saving the empire from these southern barbarians? Stand fast and surrender all hope of ever recovering her throne? It would be never if she didn't grab it now. If Lord Kuo pulled this out, he would become untouchable...
She decided, looked up. "The King," she said. "Where is the King?"
Someone said, "He just left, ma'am."
"Get him. I need him here. Now."
Bragi clomped back into the room a few minutes later. Mist guided him to the map, indicated the pincers nipping the Matayangan arm. "We're going to go. When the heads of these prongs are ten miles apart. Lord Kuo will be completely preoccupied. Lord Ch'ien estimates that will be four hours from now. We're alerting my people. I'll need three of your assault teams. My people will take over everywhere else while yours are hitting Lord Kuo's headquarters and arresting him." She indicated her people. "Most of my Tervola will go with you. They'll sort out the confusion for you."
The King's eyes narrowed. A subtle something entered his face. She didn't identify it until he replied. "You ain't number one yet, Mist. You're Chatelaine of Maisak till the dust settles." He glanced at Varthlokkur. The wizard remained seated, watching blandly.
She stamped a foot irritably. These damned touchy barbarians. Had to remind you where the power lay... She forced an apologetic smile, softened her features. Just a few hours more. Then she would be dependent upon no one.
"I'll start assembling them now." The King turned away, gathered his captains.
Mist returned to Lord Ch'ien's side. She glanced back once, found the wizard Varthlokkur gazing her way. His face was expressionless, yet she had the feeling he was amused. She shivered.
She hadn't been paying him enough attention. He was the real threat here in the west. Without him Bragi could not have survived the Great Eastern Wars. Without him the Dual Principiate would never have fallen, and none of this would have come to pass... He seemed so inefficacious in person you forgot just how deadly he could be... Now, more than ever, she'd best remember. He hated the Dread Empire. This might be his moment to enter a silent dagger and accelerate the destabilization begun with the deaths of her father and uncle... It hardly seemed possible that less than two decades had passed since the fall of the Princes Thaumaturge. The empire had had more masters and mistresses since than during all the centuries that had gone before.
Is the empire dying? she wondered. Is it an empire embarking on an era of decadence?
"Three and a half hours," Lord Ch'ien said. "The indications remain positive."
"Thank you. What're the reports from our people in Western Army? I have a feeling Hsung is going to be trouble."
Nepanthe lay with the baby at her breast. Outside, fell witchlight tumbled around the mountaintops like a playful litter of kittens. "Maggie," she called softly. "Maggie?"
"Yes, My Lady?" The servant girl rose from where she had been dozing over her knitting.
"Where is Varthlokkur? Has he sent a message?"
"I'm sorry, Mistress. There's been no word at all. Even the Queen is upset, they say. She hasn't heard from the King in days."
Slowly, Nepanthe turned her head till she could see the witchfire again. A deep sorrow possessed her. "What is that? Does anyone know?"
"They do say it's the Dread Empire at war, Mistress. But not with us. No. Not this time. This time darkness stalks one of those faraway kingdoms you only hear about in stories."
Nepanthe did not reply. She was no longer listening.
She was alone and scared. The presence of the serving girl did nothing to comfort her. Maggie wasn't someone she knew, someone she could open her heart to, someone who wouldn't laugh at her fears... Varth had promised that the baby wouldn't be born here... Be reasonable, she told herself. The child wasn't due for weeks.
She looked down at the hairless, wrinkled, red, tiny head. As if sensing her scrutiny, the baby wriggled, began nursing again. Nepanthe watched the little cheeks move and smiled.
Then she realized that the maid was still talking. Her question was getting far more answer than she cared to hear. "Maggie? Would you see if Queen Inger can come in?" She needed someone, and didn't know anyone... She would have called for Mist, but her brother's wife would be in the thick of whatever the men were doing. That woman only pretended to her sex. Inside that gorgeous body she was just another man.
Queen Inger came in a few minutes later. "Thank you for coming," Nepanthe gasped. "I didn't really expect you to. You have your own things to do."
"I'm probably as desperate to talk as you are, honey." The Queen was cool and blonde, tall and elegant. Truly regal, Nepanthe thought. Always in command of herself and her surroundings. "I haven't seen Bragi for days."
"Varth has been gone since the baby was born. I know he has things to do, but he could at least stop and say hello."
"What're they up to? Do you have any idea?"
"I don't even know where Varth is, let alone what he's doing."
"They're at the Chatelaine Mist's house. Them and their cohorts. I know that much. What they're doing is anybody's guess. They won't talk to anyone. Won't even answer my messages."
"You can bet it has something to do with that." Nepanthe levered herself out of bed, went and leaned on her windowsill. The Queen watched over her shoulder. "It never ends, Inger. I wish... No offense to you, understand. I wish Bragi had never come to Kavelin. We had nice homes in Itaskia. We weren't important and we weren't wealthy, and life was hard, but our families were all together and we were mostly happy. That damned Haroun bin Yousif... I hope he's burning in Hell. If he hadn't gotten Bragi and Mocker involved... "
"You can't change anything. I think it was fated. If it hadn't been Haroun, something else would have driven you out."
Nepanthe turned, her eyes suddenly narrow. "That's right. Duke Greyfells was your uncle or something, wasn't he?" The Duke of Greyfells had been a mortal enemy of her first husband and the King when Bragi was just a mercenary.
"Another branch of the family entirely, dear. Our side never got involved in politics. I wish Bragi wasn't now."
"You don't like being Queen?"
"I love being Queen. I just hate all the trouble and pain and conspiring and responsibility that goes along with it." Nepanthe turned and stared into the distance once more. The sorcery-storm had developed a bilious, lime-colored tint. Sorcery. That too had dogged her all her days. It had claimed Ethrian. It devoured the innocent.
"Does Bragi ever talk about what happened? With Mocker?"
"No. He doesn't want to remember. And he can't forget. He's haunted by it. Sometimes he wakes up in the night crying. Or shouting. He can't convince himself that he had no choice. And he didn't, you know."
"I know. I don't hold it against him. I'm saving my hatred for the people who made Mocker try to murder his best friend. I wish they weren't all dead. If they were alive, I could dream about torturing and killing them."
"He'd do anything to make it up to you, Nepanthe. He still feels that badly."