However, all was not quiet beyond the borders of Ergoth. From the east came odd rumors of invasion and migration. Tribes of nomadic humans and centaurs moved west, displaced by other tribes, who in turn had been driven from their homes by distant, vaguely described invaders. Muddled tales of “foreigners” arriving on the northeast coast reached Daltigoth. Those in power weren’t worried. Such migrations did happen. Opinion in the capital was that dark-skinned seafarers had come down from the northern ocean, driven there by storms or migratory pressures of their own. Ridiculous stories of the invaders being “monsters” were not believed. Beaten people often claimed to have been overwhelmed by supernatural forces.
Miya formally wed Elicarno that fall, with Tol’s blessing and Kiya’s sulking acceptance. Their household, on the floor above Elicarno’s workshop, was the talk of the city’s working folk. Miya took over the business side of her husband’s work, procuring timber and metal with the same ruthless bargaining tactics she had so long used to keep Tol and her sister fed. Patrons who came to seek the engineer’s expertise now found they had to deal with the formidable Dom-shu woman, half a head taller than her husband and fiercely protective of him. Far from diminishing Elicarno’s trade, Miya’s blunt and honest manner won him many new clients. Machines bearing Elicarno’s stamp were soon in use all over Daltigoth. New buildings designed by him rose in every quarter save the Inner City.
Miya was soon with child. If Elicarno’s suppliers thought this would slow the forester woman, they were soon sorely disappointed. Elicarno built her a sedan chair, and Miya rode forth on the arms of six sturdy yeomen, ready to do battle with skinflint quarrymen, forgemasters, and lumber factors.
Ackal IV’s health took a surprising turn for the better, and he slowly recovered from the catarrh that had gripped him for so long. His cough eased, and he no longer awakened each morning with blood on his pillow. Some of the scheming glint returned to his eye, and he sat up straighter and stronger at the lengthy council sessions. Valaran, having more intimate access to the emperor than any warlord or courtier, told Tol her husband was sleeping through the night again for the first time in more than a year, though he did mutter and groan most of the time. It seemed he was emerging from the slow, strangling spell that had been sapping his life.
Tol thought the emperor’s revived health might be linked to the fact that his scheming brother, Prince Nazramin, left the city not long after Enkian Tumult’s army returned to the Seascapes. The prince went without fanfare, taking two hundred of his personal retainers, Nazramin’s Wolves, with him. Retiring to a large estate eleven leagues from Daltigoth, the emperor’s brother received a steady stream of visitors from the capital and outlying provinces. At first Nazramin’s departure looked like the start of some new plot, but as the days stretched into months and nothing untoward happened, most of the imperial court relaxed.
Tol did not believe that Nazramin had given up his machinations. He was waiting for something, biding his time. Ackal IV had spies planted within the household and kept close watch on his brother’s doings. Because of her discretion (and skill at reading), he chose Valaran to read the spies’ lengthy reports to him.
Other strange things were afoot. Fierce storms scoured the western coastal provinces, destroying seaside towns and wrecking ships. A strong squadron of imperial warships, chasing the fleeing flotilla of pirate chief Morojin, entered the Sancrist Channel one evening and never emerged from the north end. Twenty-three warships and their crews vanished without a trace. The shoreline from Cape Zol to Dice Bay was scoured for traces. None were found. Word was sent to the gnomes of Sancrist Isle to search their beaches for jetsam from the missing fleet. The gnomes invented several new machines for the task but found nothing.
The litany of ominous disasters grew longer. A murrain broke out among the enormous cattle herds of central Ergoth. Frightened ranchers broke up their herds, dispersing them to halt the spread of the disease, but it didn’t help. Fifty thousand head of cattle died that fall. The price of beef tripled in Daltigoth, and the leather market collapsed as thousands of fresh hides flooded in from tanners.
Forest fires ravaged the Ropunt district, destroying much valuable timber. Juramona was infested with a plague of bats. Thousands of the small, leathery creatures descended on the town, stopping up chimneys and fouling wells. Sickness followed.
A drought gripped the Eastern Hundred. Landslides blocked the southern pass through the Thel Mountains, cutting off trade between Hylo and the sparsely settled lands east of the kender kingdom.
Rumors of unnatural invaders persisted. They weren’t human… they were on the borders of Thoradin… the dwarves were arming themselves to resist…
Like a drumbeat, the pulse of disaster grew steadily louder in the halls of power in Daltigoth, until one day Tol was summoned from bed to the imperial council chambers.
It was cold that morning. He threw back the fur blankets and drew on a thick, quilted robe. Eyes bleary with sleep, he went to the basin by the door, where the lackey who’d summoned him waited. When he dipped his hands in the bowl, they bounced back. The basin had a crust of ice on it.
“Make haste, my lord!” said the servant. “The emperor expects you!”
Wordlessly, Tol broke the ice with an elbow and splashed the water on his face. The frigid water instantly cut through the soft, heavy layers of sleep still clinging to him.
“What’s it about?” he asked, blotting his face.
“I know not, my lord.”
Tol eyed the fellow skeptically. Palace servants were renowned for their eagle eyes, bloodhound noses, and cat-like hearing.
Under Lord Tolandruth’s iron gaze, the man shifted uncomfortably. “Visitors arrived early this morning,” he finally admitted. “From the north. With ill tidings.”
“Visitors?”
“Kender, my lord, with an escort of Riders from the Marshal of the Eastern Hundred.”
Something serious must be afoot if Egrin deemed it important enough to pass the kender along to Daltigoth. Tol hastily combed his hair and beard and propelled the servant out the door before him.
As they passed through an open breezeway between wings of the palace, Tol saw it was a brilliant morning. The sky was as bright and clear as only an early winter morning could make it. Bold blue stood out against the shaded white walls of the Inner City. In another month the gray season of snow would settle over the city, but for now the sky was as clear as the eyes of the gods.
A smaller than usual collection of councilors was waiting when Tol arrived. Lord Rymont and his aides, Valdid the chamberlain, Oropash (looking sleep-tousled), and his sleek counterpart Helbin were present. Four road-stained Riders flanked a single, carroty-haired kender, who was busily munching on a round loaf of brown bread. The council table was strewn with maps, some rolled, some anchored open with brass cups of mulled cider.
“My apologies,” Tol said, tugging the sash of his robe tighter. “Am I the last to arrive?”
“We’re awaiting the emperor,” Rymont said. He was impeccably attired and must have been awakened first.
The doors to the emperor’s private quarters opened, and Ackal IV appeared, looking pale and thin in a burgundy velvet robe made for his robust father. He was trailed by his personal healer, a priest of Mishas named Klaraf, and Empress Thura.
Valdid announced his entrance, and everyone knelt, except the kender, who blithely continued eating. Ackal eased himself into his great chair at the head of the table. A golden chalice of steaming cider was put in his hand.
“Well?” he said.
Lord Rymont stepped forward, and all eyes went to him. He paused, briefly enjoying the attention then said, “Your Majesty, this fellow arrived a short time ago.” He gestured at the kender. “He was sent to us by Marshal Egrin with a guard of ten Riders.”