Varthlokkur stepped out of the Winterstorm. “Lord Kuo. Can you tel us anything?”
“Nothing useful. I was there for months but only saw part of one fortress on one island. I know that Magden Norath had labs there at one time.”
Ethrian said, “Nawami,” as the Old Man repeated,
“Ehelebe.”
Varthlokkur looked from one to the other, forehead creasing. Both, with Sahmaman and the Great One, belonged to what they had to say about the deep past, so old that the names, which they never explained, were lost.
Mist stepped up close. “Lord Yuan. Lord Kuo. Can you set traps that he might trip once he gets there?” Tin Yuan replied first. “That could be arranged, Il ustrious.
But please understand that the efficacy of any hasty booby trap wil be problematic—and he might think that he was expected.”
Wen-chin did not ful y agree. “Only if the snare is clearly targeted. A generic trap, set to take anyone…”
“That’s what I want. Obvious one place, subtle another, with a hope for nailing him if he’s too sure of himself or just doesn’t pay attention. Magden Norath proved that anybody can stumble.”
“Worth the investment,” Varthlokkur opined. He stepped back inside the Winterstorm, hoping to find out how fast the devil was moving so he would know how long they had to build traps.
Old Meddler had passed beyond the Winterstorm’s range.
Paranoia embraced him. There was no way, now, to know what that devil was real y doing.
He tried being amused by the fact that the Star Rider did this to everyone. He was fear incarnate, pure and simple.
Mil ennia had gone into establishing that perception in the foundation assumptions of the world.
There was a hint of panic in the air.
Lord Yuan said, “We cannot manage what you want from here, Il ustrious. The resources aren’t available.” Lord Kuo nodded.
Varthlokkur thought Mist was surprised that the elderly Tervola had not deferred to Wen-chin. Would Lord Yuan become directly involved?
...
The winged horse settled to a battlement walkway on the mainlandfacing side of the island fortress. Its muzzle drooped. It released an unambitious, exhausted whicker. Its rider lapsed into a moment of drowsiness that could have become sleep if nothing had happened.
Equal y exhausted demons settled nearby but stayed only long enough to shed their burdens. Then they made a concerted attempt to escape, despite a staggering weariness.
The Star Rider dismounted as they soared. “We wil rest here.” He did not want to waste time on rest but his companions were almost used up. He was on his last reserves himself. He swung the Windmjirnerhorn round, began tapping its valves.
A demon screamed in angry despair. The Horn’s power dragged it back down. The other demons found new energy and flapped harder.
The captive demon lacked any sense of sacrifice. It gave up right away rather than mount an agonized rearguard struggle that would give its fel ows a chance to get away.
Old Meddler was too tired to work fast. He was able to recapture only one more demon.
The others were not beyond recal , however, whether they wanted to respond or not. But he would need several days’
rest before he tried, then would need an additional two more days to complete the recal .
He refused to invest the time.
His enemies would not be resting. They never slept.
One instant of relaxed incaution had cost so much already.
Less haste, more rest, before commencing the journey east, and he would not be in this predicament.
He eyed the horse, bitterly inclined to blame it. Somehow.
Would it flee, too? Its behavior had been strange lately. Its desertion would be a disaster of the first water.
No. It would not forsake him after al their ages together.
That just could not happen. Its recent behavior had to be just time catching up.
The animal was getting old despite being immortal.
He stared across the strait. There lay a long trek back to civilization along a harsh route. That boy, the Deliverer, had managed it but the devastation he had left behind guaranteed that no one would again until the complexion of the earth changed and a new climate embraced this part.
Star Rider’s scheme was springing leaks. Only two demons remained. Success could require al four iron statues. Two might not be enough to dilute Varthlokkur’s strange sorcery. And the wizard would not be alone.
Improvisation had become imperative.
He was not good at making it up on the fly, despite so much experience. He was a master of the long, slow, complex machination, shogi with a thousand pieces.
He no longer knew real fear. Nothing had threatened him mortal y in so long that he had lost the emotions surrounding the event. Last time of maximum risk had been during the Nawami Crusades. He was uneasy, though.
Definitely uneasy.
Little had gone wel this past year, up to and including the last five minutes. There was no reason to expect his luck to turn around.
The new year was close, though, and the changing of the years always brought new hope. That was what new years were for. Not so?
He made sure he had the remaining demons under absolute control, then herded his companions down a long stair to a weathered court. A stiff-stepping iron statue missed its footing and tumbled, grinding and clanking, taking the fal alone. A human in the same straits would have grabbed at anyone and anything to save itself. It rose from the flagging wearing only a few new scratches. It waited on Old Meddler and the rest, then fol owed, creaking worse than before.
Old Meddler surveyed his surroundings. Curious. These fortifications had existed when first he had come to Ehelebe. Time had inflicted few changes. The dust was thicker. The sandy decomposition surfacing the building stone was just a little crustier.
Nowhere had so much as one plant taken root. Other abandoned places suffered the assault of vegetation beginning the moment its caretakers went away. In a few generations a mighty city could subside into jungle entirely, vanishing before its legends could fade.
Plants did not strive to reclaim this place, nor did any animal. Birds refused to nest, yet swarmed the cliffs across the strait. Every species of mammal but Man shunned the place. Bugs and spiders were rare. The few were warped compared to their mainland cousins. Only scorpions and some things with a thousand legs appeared to prosper.
Once inside, Old Meddler caught a scent that did not belong, body odor from someone who ate mostly rice and smoked fish. An ascetic, perhaps, who had visited recently.
His nose had saved him before. He trusted it completely.
The odor was unremarkable. He associated it with older Tervola. It had been there last visit, not as fresh, dissimilar enough to have been left by a different individual.
Tervola must be frequent visitors. But which? And why?
Was the place being scouted as a possible secret base? It had served that purpose before. Some middle-level Tervola conspirator? The only access was by transfer portal. Only the Dread Empire owned those.
Yes. The woman ruling there would be a red flag to half the Tervola. Where better to plot an end to that abomination?
Too bad he was locked into this, which demanded swift resolution. Otherwise, he could sit here like a trapdoor spider, snapping up conspirators, adding them to his inventory of fools. Tools.
He heard a humming that could only be a live portal.
He headed for the kitchen area. It was there that he had seen workable portals last time. Could someone be
