A few miles beyond the border, at Pletka, they encountered a Gudermuther company which had attached itself to Yedon Hildreth's Guards Oldani. Their reception was cool, though Captain Sir Baris Kraljevac became warmer in private.
"Your return might help clarify the situation," he told them over a supper attended only by themselves and a Blue Brother who insisted on anonymity. "The political scene has gone strange lately.''
"How so?" Gathrid asked. He listened with only half an ear. He was more interested in devouring his meal.
"At Sartain," the Blue replied. "Since Misplaer was murdered ..."
"What?" This was the first Gathrid or Rogala had heard of events farther west.
"We thought you knew," Kraljevac said. "I would've mentioned it earlier if ..."
"Then Mulenex ..."
"He's trying to grab the Raftery. Naturally. Count Cuneo and the Emperor are using their moral force to resist his election. They think he had Misplaer and El-dracher killed. They think he was behind Katich's betrayal, too."
The Brother continued, "Mulenex denies everything. Naturally. And nobody can prove anything.
There's an understandable scarcity of witnesses."
"Seems suspicion would suffice where Mulenex is concerned. I've never heard anybody say a good word about him."
"He has his friends," the captain said. "He'd be impotent if he didn't."
"These are troubled times," the Blue Brother observed. "Opportunists are crawling out of the weeds with an eye to the main chance. Mulenex isn't unique. The Orders are filled with his ilk. We seem to attract as many villains as idealists."
Gathrid told Rogala, "I should've killed him when I had the chance."
"You wouldn't have seen the logic then. Wouldn't have mattered anyway. Like the man says, there're always more Mulenexes waiting."
Gathrid rewarded the dwarf with a sour look. That perpetual kibbitzer, Gacioch, laughed and made snide remarks.
"How would my return change anything?" Gathrid asked the Blue.
"It'll scare people into jumping one way or the other. The Orders feud a lot, but we like to present a united front to the world. Hell, you coming back might even wake up the mundanes. Let's hope so. Right now Ahlert could walk to Sartain unmolested.''
Kraljevac added, "The Empire is starting to amount to something again. The Emperor and Count Cuneo are doing a good job of getting people to see them as symbols of stability. The Alliance is a dead letter. Its members are all squabbling and trying to pass the blame. I'll make you a bet. Before the summer is over, somebody will sell out to the Mindak."
"Why?"
"There's a rumor going round, says there's a vice-regalty over the old Imperial Home Provinces going to the King or prince who joins Ahlert. That would tempt most of them. They're used to ruling less."
"It's really that bad?"
"Or worse."
"And at the moment when Ahlert is at his weakest," Gathrid muttered. When a western victory could be finalized with ease. If westerners would stand together. Curious how fate wriggled and turned.
"Sounds to me like Mulenex is dragging everything down the road to Hell."
The captain said, "Some would agree, I think." He grinned.
The Blue Brother snapped, "His dreams aren't that much different from Elgar's. He wants a restoration of the Empire and a union between Imperium and Raftery. It's a dream popular on both Faron and Galen. It's just that some of us don't think Mulenex is the man to run things."
"Sounds like he's halfway there," Rogala growled.
The Brother nodded. "Misplaer and Eldracher are out of his way. If he's elected Fray Magister, Elgarand Count Cuneo won't have much of a life expectancy."
Gathrid prompted, "Yedon Hildreth is no fool."
"He can't fight Ventimiglia, root out treason amongst the Alliance Kings, and shield the Empire from Mulenex all at the same time. He'll have to compromise somewhere. He'll have to surrender something. He'll do it with his usual savage cunning, of course. He'll salvage what he can."
"Politics," Gathrid grumbled. "Always politics."
The Blue Brother offered a sad little smile. "Happens whenever you get three people within shouting distance. It's what separates us from the beasts."
"I find it repulsive."
"I expect you would. Life is simpler when you have the Power to impose your will."
Captain Kraljevac gave them passes which permitted their passage through the cold-eyed guardians of the Beklavac narrows. They rode on to Torun.
"Put your eyes back in," Rogala whispered.
Despite having seen Senturia, Gathrid gawked endlessly. Torun was less populous than Ventimiglia's capital, but its massive public works were more impressive. He saw buildings bigger than all of Kacalief.
Torun's people seemed to know them. Crowds came out. Each street showed its unique temper, ranging from friendly to hostile. Gathrid could detect no pattern of response.
A King's messenger intercepted them. He bore an offer of royal hospitality. Gathrid glanced at Rogala. The dwarf shook his head. Gathrid refused graciously.
"Don't ever put yourself in the hands of princes," Rogala told him. "That's a good way to get your throat cut. There's a likely looking inn."
The inn refused their custom. They asked in the streets, and were directed to another. The dwarf found it acceptable. Its landlord was willing to take them.
Gathrid walked back outside and looked up. The structure was four storeys tall. A private building. He was amazed.
He went back inside. Something seemed to bore in between his shoulderblades. It became an almost physical ache. He whirled, saw nothing.
"What's the matter?" Rogala demanded.
"I don't know. Just had a funny feeling."
Rogala scrutinized the common room narrowly. "I don't feel anything."
That spot on the youth's back still itched. He glanced round again. "False intuition, I guess.
Your senses are better than mine."
"Not necessarily." Rogala kept a hand on his dagger.
That same pain wakened Gathrid in the middle of the night. He did not move immediately. Aarant made warning sounds inside him. Across the room, near the single candle, Rogala was dozing in his chair. Gacioch's box lay on the table, beside the candle. He and the dwarf had been talking when Gathrid had gone to bed. Now the demon was snoring.
There was something badly wrong.
"Sorcery," Aarant told him.
No doubt. Rogala did not sleep. He always took the night watches. Should Gathrid waken, he would be mumbling to himself or, lately, with Gacioch.
Moving slowly, he reached for the Sword.
"Use the other one," Aarant suggested. "They'll be listening for Daubendiek."
Quietly, Gathrid made his bed look occupied. Finished, he scanned the room. Nothing seemed to be happening. He went and crouched in a shadowed corner, leaving Rogala to his slumber.
Whence would they come? The door was locked and barred. The window was sealed against the winter's chill.
A section of wainscotting crept away from the wall.
Ah, he thought. This was why the landlord had insisted they have "the best room in the house."
He had intuited the best lurking place. The swinging wainscotting masked him.
A head popped out, glanced around. The whole man stole forth, reached back, helped another. The first then stalked Rogala with a garrote while the other went toward the bed. He carried a knife which burned a bright blue.
Gathrid took the strangler first.
The new sword was slower than Daubendiek, but devoured a soul as greedily.
The man's name was Fiebig Koziatek. He was a Torun assassin, a freelance. He had no idea who had paid him. His equally ignorant associate, Zais Baukla, died a moment later.