"Trouble, son?" the Imperial officer asked.
Gathrid glanced up, looked around. Imperial soldiers surrounded him, facing outward. Protecting him? Or? ... "Only for these two." He was becoming accustomed to his role. "Rogues from Torun, disguised as soldiers."
"What happened?"
Gathrid sketched the story.
"So. It's begun. They're after the blade already. Rather sudden, eh?"
"They were here on retainer," Gathrid said, retrieving snatches of their memories. "They expected to be used in an assassination attempt, but not this one. As to what they expected to accomplish with me ... I don't know." They had not known that themselves. Their leader may have, but he was one of those who had gotten away. "Could it be they were sent to get Rogala out of the way so somebody could talk to me alone?" He locked gazes with the old soldier, could not tell if he had hit the mark. The man had a face of stone.
He did not believe his suggestion. His had been a random bolt loosed to see what might flush from the brush.
"I know whom you represent," Gathrid said. "But your identity has escaped me so far."
"Yedon Hildreth. Count Cuneo. Commander of the Guards Oldani and Chief of the Imperial General Staff."
"Ah. I should have guessed, shouldn't I? The former mercenary. Battle of Avenevoli, and so forth.
You're a Count now? You've done well for yourself. Yes, I should have guessed." Yedon Hildreth was the most widely known Imperial soldier, and a man with a hard reputation. Gathrid was astonished by his own temerity. The Sword was making him bold. "Yes. Who else would the Emperor have sent?"
"The Imperium rewards those who serve it with trust." Hildreth showed the same humor as during Mulenex's discomfiture. Gathrid had an unpleasant suspicion the man was divining his thoughts.
Hildreth's reputation made him appear capable of the maneuver Gathrid had suggested. But he would not fling assassins into the breeze, the way Gerdes Mulenex might. He would be careful and cunning. He would do nothing that could be laid at the Emperor's door. He was said to be Elgar's, heart and soul, and a devout advocate of Imperial resurrection. He was believed by many to be Elgar's chosen successor.
The Imperial crown did not pass down patrilineally. Since time immemorial Emperors had chosen their successors from among their most able subjects, usually with the consensus of the people of Sartain. When the latter did not accept the choice, the Imperial capital would rock with civil strife till some strongman elected himself and squelched the rioting.
"Now we know who I am," Hildreth said. He chuckled as if at a weak joke. "So tell me, who are you?
What are you?"
"Sir?"
"Look at the situation from another viewpoint, son. You came out of a land under Ventimiglian dominion. You bear a blade that should have stayed buried. We don't have the slightest guarantee that you're not an agent of Ahlert. That little show at the border could have been staged."
"But... ." On second reflection, Gathrid saw Hildreth's point. They did have nothing but his word. His and Rogala's, and for ages Rogala's had been worth nothing.
Hildreth continued, "I accept you at face value, proof or no. But does that make any difference?
Not really. Your show in council only betrayed your essential ignorance of what's really going on west of Gudermuth. Obviously, you see politics only at its most primitive level. You dared chastize Kings and mock princes of the Brotherhood without knowing what you were talking about.
That worries me."
"Sir?"
"It makes me wonder how wise you are, son. About whether or not you're in the dwarf's thrall. Are you another Grellner? Another Tureck Aarant?"
"I'm what you see, Count. Becoming Swordbearer wasn't my idea. Rogala didn't like it much either.
In fact, he was more disappointed by the Sword's choice than I was. Yes, I'm naive. I wasn't trained for this. I didn't plan to take up the Great Sword."
"Neither did Tureck Aarant."
"I repudiate the paths of Grellner and Aarant, Count. Yes, I know the old tales. My path will remain honorable." A small weakness, a touch of his fear, leaked through as he added, "If Suchara wills it."
"That's the catch, isn't it?"
"It looks like it from here."
"You're a likable sort, it seems. I'll give you that. A word, then. To you. To Rogala. To Suchara herself if she can be bothered. The Imperium won't let itself be ruined again."
Gathrid smiled. He forebore observing that Anderle had no power to threaten. He said only, "Let's not become enemies over possibilities, Count. We all have too many realities to face right now.
Don't worry about Dau-bendiek.''
"But I have to, son. The thing has a cruel history."
Gathrid hoped he concealed his feelings as he remarked, "So it does. I hope it's less so this time."
"And the Empire?"
"A dream that slumbers. I don't believe it'll waken in my lifetime. I don't really care either way. Gudermuth is my main concern." The youth congratulated himself for having fashioned a sound noncommittal answer.
"Good enough. For now." Hildreth stared piercingly, then led his retainers back toward the center of camp.
Rogala appeared a moment after the Count departed. "Well done, lad. You're learning fast."
"I thought ..."
"I turned back.''
"Why didn't you? ..."
"Wanted to watch you handle yourself. You did fine. Get some sleep. We'll have to be on our toes tonight. They'll try again. Once isn't enough to convince that sort. Here. Let me take care of this mess. That's what an esquire is for."
The sun had not drifted far westward when Gathrid was wakened by an argument. One voice was Rogala's. The other was unfamiliar, and spoke too softly to be understood. When the dwarf slipped inside their resurrected tent, the youth asked, "What was all that?"
"Messenger from Gerdes Mulenex. Old fatty summoned us to the presence. Ordered us to attend him.
Whatever you say about him, he's not short on nerve."
"What did you say?"
"Told him he knows where to find us if he wants to talk."
"Sounded like you said more than that."
Rogala laughed. "A little. The man's attitude irritated me. The others were at least polite."
"Others?"
"Sure. Heard from almost everybody in camp. Some of them had some interesting propositions. But they all had nothing but their own gain in mind. You'd think they never heard of Ventimiglia."
"Depressing, isn't it?"
"There are times when I think the gods ought to scrub the whole human race and start over. Go lie down. Night will get here all too soon."
Chapter Seven
Gudermuth A gentle hand wakened Gathrid. Another covered his mouth. "It's time," Rogala whispered.
It was dark. He had been more tired than he had thought. His haunt had not bothered him.
How did Rogala manage?
They crept from the battered tent, concealed themselves in a firewood dump nearby. The camp was still. The fires had burned low. Crickets and nightbirds called against the darkness. Scurrying clouds masked the moon.
Gathrid reflected on himself while he waited. He had changed. He had grown, had gained selfconfidence.
He had begun looking for ways to seize the helm of his own destiny.
For instance, he had decided to do something about Anyeck. And he still owed Nieroda. There would be an accounting with Ahlert's Dark Champion.
Anyeck puzzled him. He thought he knew his sister. He believed himself free of illusions about her character. He had been her confidant. How could she have possessed the Power and have kept it hidden?
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe he had jumped to a conclusion only because he thought he knew her. She could not have kept the Power hidden. She was too greedy and compulsive not to have used it.
Wasn't she?
Who else could the witch be, then?
His thoughts drifted back to childhood years, to silly, blind years of games and little pleasures, when the most difficult moral dilemmas had been the decision whether or not to tell the truth when a question about Anyeck's conduct arose... . There had been a noncom in the garrison who had informed their father of one of her misdeeds. Gathrid had forgotten the exact circumstances. He did recall that the soldier had, immediately afterward, been stricken dumb. No one had been able to explain. Then there had been the time ...