Mist had come prepared, no doubt about that. Bragi would be going where she wanted him to go. And he had al too terrifying a notion where that might be, though not why.
What could he possibly contribute? His whole experience with the Star Rider was a single glimpse, years ago. What could he actual y do but get himself dead along with the rest of them?
However much they believed, and were committed, it would not be enough. He was not prepared to die for their fantasy.
Haroun was right. Old Meddler was weather. You lived with it, and you hoped you survived it. You hoped that it did not single you out.
How his attitude had shifted after just a brief romance with freedom!
“It’s nice to be needed. But I can’t imagine how I can help you die any less ugly than you’re going to if you keep this up.”
Babeltausque had not been overcome by the spel dul ing the delegates. He turned loose of his donkey, straightened up, headed for the portal.
Had he decided it was time to die?
Ragnarson began to turn away, but not before Babeltausque’s baby fluff, equal y unaffected, latched onto him, whispering urgently, trying to get him to stop.
For the ten thousandth time in his life Ragnarson was amazed by the surprises the human animal could spring.
The child real y did care. And the little pervert cared right back. He was trying to explain. But he did not stop moving.
Mist and Varthlokkur both reached up as though to beckon Bragi down to the Thing hal floor.
Michael Trebilcock appeared, approaching. Michael, who could be intimidated by so little, was unaffected by the calming and clearly meant to intercede. “Perfect,” Mist said, clearly enough to be heard by everyone.
Babeltausque and his friend, of a single mind now, kept on toward the transfer portal. Trebilcock shifted his course, heading there, too. Break that damned thing and this vil ainy would die unborn.
There might be a lot of flash and burn afterward, though.
The invaders did not seem especial y concerned.
Ragnarson could not imagine what Babeltausque hoped to accomplish. No way he would get past Mist’s lifeguards.
The girl darted left, then forward. The sorcerer shot a spel through the space vacated by the bodyguard who moved to intercept her.
Clever, but a second lifeguard deflected the spel with his body. It knocked him down but he grabbed at the fat man as he col apsed. His effort shoved Babeltausque right into the portal.
Carrie Depar dove after him.
Mist cursed. Varthlokkur laughed.
Ragnarson figured those two would be dealt with in the Karkha Tower, or wherever they emerged. They had just plain jumped into deep shit.
He stepped down. His mind had begun to fog, too, though as yet less completely than most—though some remained unaffected. He forced his head round enough to fol ow Michael in his muffed attack. Trebilcock ended up getting tossed into the portal at a gesture from Mist.
She spoke to the men helping the lifeguard who had gone down. One boomed back, his tone not at al pleasant.
Another grabbed Ragnarson and dragged. He went, heels skidding.
...
Nepanthe dropped to her knees beside Bragi. He had the pale, sick look of a man with a ferocious hangover. He made sounds that probably were not efforts to communicate. He made no sense. Elsewhere, others treated other arrivals. Eka and Ethrian were fascinated by a girl only slightly older than Eka. Nepanthe needed a moment to recognize her. She did not look the same in person. She had come through better, physical y and mental y, than any of the adults. She was unnatural y calm for someone suddenly snatched into an improbable situation.
Nepanthe got the creepy sensation she often felt while watching Ekaterina. This Carrie could grow up to be something dark and special.
The affection she showed her pudgy companion seemed bizarrely inappropriate.
After a quick look round, to see if they were in danger, the girl concentrated entirely on him.
Curious Eka was indifferent to any other arrival. Ethrian stood close by, shaking til Eka slipped her left hand into his right. He came alert immediately. The change was remarkable. His mind had turned on. He began assessing the situation.
Nepanthe suppressed an urge to charge over and start mothering. Ekaterina’s warn-off look was unnecessary.
It made her ache but the evidence was in. Ethrian improved when she refrained from fussing. She did not understand but would take the pain if that meant her baby might come back.
Speaking of babies.
Smyrena charged through the crowd, fearless, hands shoulder high as she toddled at best speed toward the Winterstorm for the hundred and eleventeenth time since she figured out how to get up on her hind legs. Thank heaven Varthlokkur had adjusted the magical construct to be indifferent to her intrusions.
Nepanthe pursued her anyway. As she passed Ekaterina, she asked, “What is it?”
“Nothing. I never met a girl my own age before.”
“Oh.” But it was not like Eka knew nothing about Depar.
She showed a limited interest in what was going on elsewhere but she had seen enough. You could be surprised how much Eka knew if you made her hold stil and quizzed her. She probably knew exactly what went on between Depar and her keeper, though understanding it might elude her.
One more thing to worry about.
Worry was Nepanthe’s ground state.
Smyrena wiggled and babbled, then twisted and extended her arms toward her brother, whom she had begun to manipulate already.
Ethrian noticed, focused, grinned, said something in his own dialect of baby, and reached back. Nepanthe surrendered her daughter. Smyrena was good for Ethrian.
He would stay connected and focused for as long as Smyrena remained interested. He might have trouble concentrating on much else if she was in a demanding mood, though.
His mind-wrangler was there in a moment, ready to take advantage. Nepanthe was amazed by the gentle, tolerant skil the man showed. Right now he wanted to reinforce Ethrian’s connection to this world.
He knew patience and put that ahead of any desire to root out useful information, even after Scalza squeaked, “He’s back! I’ve got him again! He’s on the move again!” Too many people crowded the boy immediately. The nervous surge his way even got Ethrian leaning. Ekaterina took his arm, held him in place. She melted some when he smiled down at her.
Scalza’s announcement struck deep into the Old Man, too.
He joined Ethrian, positioning himself at the youth’s right hand, across from Eka, with both mental specialists behind, making calming remarks despite not being calm themselves.
Varthlokkur chivvied the crowd back. “Come on, people. Al you can do is make this harder for those of us who have to...” He stopped talking, not because his remarks were not fair but because he had caught something over Scalza’s shoulder. “Al right. He’s back out where we can see him.
But where the hel is he going?”
Scalza said, “The horse is headed east. You should try your own resources on this, Uncle, just to see if this isn’t a diversion.”
“Clever boy. Yes. Get back farther, people. I need room to swing my elbows.” He climbed inside the Winterstorm and started manipulating symbols. Old Meddler was near the limit of its reach already.
It took only two minutes. “Gor! It’s him for sure and he’s headed east. And he isn’t alone. He has four black winged demons with him.” He did not add that each demon carried a metal statue.
“Why is he headed east? Because he knows I’m watching and wants to be out of range before he lines up his attack?” The Old Man had a one-word explanation. “Ehelebe.” Ethrian nodded. “Stil secrets there.”
