"The Ventimiglians refer to her as the Witch of Ka-calief."
Witch of Kacalief? He reeled. That said so much... . Anyeck. Had to be. ... Who else could it be? The Mindak had taken several prisoners there, but only his sister would fit the charges. He caressed the Sword, eager for its comfort. His sister. ... It would be Anyeck's style. She had the black streak. She could turn her back on her past.
Her problem was wanting. Wanting too much. And being unable to see any reason not to do whatever she wanted getting. Rules were mere vexations, perhaps applicable to lesser souls, but to be ignored by her. A desertion to the enemy would be a logical escalation of past selfishnesses. He wondered that he had not expected this from the beginning.
Yet how could she, so quickly, forget what had been done to her family?
He did not doubt that she could. She had little concept of yesterday, and not much more of tomorrow. She existed entirely in the now, incapable of discerning a connection between current events and future consequences.
The youth concealed his shock. He did not want these people to know who he was, whence he sprang.
It was grim work. He succeeded only because the Sword's touch calmed him, because Rogala captured attention by demanding that the Brotherhood smash this witch instantly. The dwarf was quick to make the connection, based on what Gathrid had told him of his home life.
He spoke with a great passion. Gathrid assumed he was covering for him. Had he been less selfinvolved at the moment, he might have wondered at Rogala's fervor.
"The great Eldracher is on the scene," Mulenex countered. "Let him handle her."
This once the assembly went with the Red Magister. Rogala shrugged at the decision.
The die was cast. Gathrid had what he wanted. The Alliance would enter Gudermuth. And what had his effort profited him? He had nudged a host in the direction of his only living relative. He wore a sad smile. Plauen would have been amused by the irony. Poor dead Plauen, whose candle had been extinguished by the Mindak's whirlwind.
Rogala said, "Time to talk terms, Gentlemen. Suchara has her needs. She won't let Daubendiek serve for free."
There was no debate. The council backed Kimach Faulstich unanimously. He responded, "We're not stumbling into that trap, Rogala. You won't do us the way you did Anderle."
"So be it," the dwarf said. He stalked out of the assembly. After a moment of indecision, Gathrid followed.
What was the dwarf doing, walking out now? There were things to be said, questions to be asked, decisions to be made... .
"It's not our problem," Rogala said. "We needed a war. War there'll be. That's sufficient."
The youth had a thousand questions banging around inside his head, but Rogala clammed up when he tried to ask them.
"Be patient. They'll get back to us. They'll want to make sure Daubendiek doesn't go over to the other side."
Gathrid shook his head. Theis did not understand. He and the dwarf seemed to exist in two different realities, so contradictory were their ways of thinking.
An hour earlier Gathrid would have scoffed at the suggestion he might serve the enemy. Now he was not sure. He shared Anyeck's fallible blood. He might become as feckless as Aarant had been.
"We'll stay here till the army moves out," Rogala told him. "We need the rest. And the free meals.
Don't wander off. Don't trust anybody, no matter what they say. Don't ever think you're safe.
Gerdes Mulenex wasn't the only viper in that snakepit."
Once they reached their tent, Rogala produced pen and ink. "Let's review. We've walked into a complicated setup. Let's see who's who here." He scribbled quickly, producing a list with four columns. "The four major factions I detected," he explained. "One revolves around Kimach Faulstich, our gracious host." His voice dripped sarcasm. He did not think much of the hospitality extended them.
"Yeah," Gathrid agreed. "This is his council, really. Half the assembly were his relatives. Bathon of Bochan-tin. Forsten of Tornatore. Doslak of Fiefenbruch. Danzer of Arana. All cadets of the House of Faulstich. Forsten and Danzer have Scanga wives, though, and they say Danzer is ruled by his."
"Scanga heads my second faction. Him and the guy who shot off his mouth about the witch."
"Tetrault. Arnd Tetrault. He has a reputation as a hothead and troublemaker. Kargus has only been King for a couple of years. He's been trying to break the old cycle of constant skirmishing over rich cities and counties. Tetrault has been more harm than help."
Rogala silenced him. "I don't need to know all that. Two more. The Empire and the Brotherhood. The Blue faction of the Brotherhood sides with the Emperor. Part sides with Mulenex. Part looked like it didn't want anything to do with anybody."
"The spokesman for the Blues was Bogdan Elle-bracht. He's related to Emperor Elgar, and he's tight with Misplaer and Eldracher. I can't tell you much about the Yellow, Green or White Orders, except that they claim to be what the Brotherhood was really all about when it was founded."
"Son, you're proving a favorite point of mine."
"What's that?"
"That everybody knows more about everything than they think they know. I have a pretty good picture of the lineups now. Motives... . They're still a little shadowy. The trouble with trying to map them is, most people don't really know what they want themselves."
"What do you mean?"
"Think about it. Even when you think you know why you're doing something, is that always the real reason? Is that the reason you admit? No. Not very often. Here. What about the old man? The Imperial soldier. I have a feeling the Empire is going to become very important before we're done."
"I didn't hear anybody say who he is. He's not the Emperor, though. Elgar is supposed to be so fat he can't get out of the palace."
"Make a guess."
Gathrid drew a blank. He could not recall Plauen having talked much about the modern Empire, except to label it a weakling, lost in fantasies of its past, battling for life in a hostile age, constantly stalked by hostile intrigues.
"The ones to watch are him and Mulenex," the dwarf mused. "Mulenex is ambitious, but only in a small-minded, predictable way. Dangerous only if you don't keep one eye on your back. The other, though ... I couldn't read him at all."
Rogala's head jerked up. "What's that?" His ears almost wriggled. He whispered, "Get the Sword."
"What is it?"
Rogala tapped his ear.
Then Gathrid heard the stealthy feet, too. The tent was surrounded. Men were closing in.
Someone cut a rope. The tent began to topple. Gathrid swept Daubendiek round in wild strokes that ripped fabric away, negating the trap. He attacked out of the ruin. Two lives fed the Great Sword.
Other attackers fled.
"Short and sweet," Rogala said. "That's the way I like it. You're learning, boy. Got any idea who sent them?"
"In broad daylight." The sun stood directly overhead. "No. They didn't know. What should I do?
Where are you?" Rogala had disappeared. The youth saw flickers of hairiness between tents as the dwarf dogged the fleeing assassins.
Ignoring bystanders, Gathrid dragged the bodies together, then attacked the apparently vain task of restoring the tent. He kept a wary eye out for would-be plunderers. He wanted to examine those corpses before anyone else touched them.
I'm starting to think like Theis, he thought. Always suspicious.
The jangle of panoplies approached. He turned toward the sound. And smiled puzzledly. The Emperor's man had come visiting.
He would have expected Mulenex first.
The crowd evaporated. Gathrid turned to the bodies. He doubted they would tell him anything, but a search had to be made.
His doubts were well-founded. Each man carried gold minted in Bilgoraj, but that told him only that they had been paid exceedingly well, not who their paymaster was. Only a fool would have paid them in self-damning coin.