off.
The Unborn repeated the cycle again and again, enjoying itself. It wore down quickly, though. That was not good. They had to get back to Fangdred once the damage was done.
Old Meddler would attack soon. The trap had to be armed and set. This was just to make sure the vil ain would remain hamstrung after that dust settled.
Radeachar had dealt with the soundest statues. Varthlokkur had hoped to achieve more. Had hoped to come across better opportunities to do mischief. Loss of the iron statues would have to do.
Stil … He probed gently, cautiously, everywhere, but learned very little. This was al beyond him and more mechanical than his mind was equipped to handle. His inclination was to loose a storm of general y destructive sorcery to rip the place up, on a scale not seen since the Fal . Total y liberal vandalism would ruin the Star Rider.
The graveyard feel restrained him. The uneasy sense that he should not. Destruction could break things open.
There might be more here than appearances suggested. It now felt like not al those graves might be empty. Like some contained tenants who were wakening.
Could the Place be a prison for the restless dead as wel as Old Meddler’s home base?
Could be. It might contain some of the world’s oldest horrors. Or enemies Old Meddler had conquered in ages past.
There might be places here reserved for Varthlokkur and the Empress.
That such an alien notion entered his head left him more wary. It did not feel like original inspiration. Something wanted him worried and scared.
It was an old, old world haunted by countless secrets.
Sorcerers built themselves by using evils claimed from col eagues who had gone before them, who had grown fearsome in their own time by taking from the dead who had preceded them.
This was the fate of any sorcerer of attainment. One accepted it as the price of power today—or shied away from, whining, by those who would deny the inevitable.
A thousand Magden Noraths, and worse, had come, then gone. Ten thousand more would fol ow, every one cannibalizing his predecessors.
The Great One demonstrated that a horror clever enough and stubborn enough could persist beyond death by establishing itself in the very skin of reality.
That was another idea that he would not have entertained in the normal course, but it felt completely true. Could it have leaked out of that membrane, across Radeachar’s consciousness, its path opened by his own sense that these graves might not al be empty symbols?
For a moment he thought he felt the amusement of a distant something that had been tasting his thoughts. He shuddered—then blanched as he sensed another something, screaming mad and starving to get at the world, this one a terror at least as powerful as the Great One had been.
He headed for the gate immediately, summoning Radeachar as he went. They dared not tarry. He might be one of the most powerful men alive but he was too weak to resist what wanted to control him here. He beckoned the Unborn again, impatiently. “Let’s go! Now! We’ve done al that we can do here.” Which was not nearly as much destruction as he had hoped, but might already be more than could possibly be good for the world.
Pressure that he had not ful y recognized stopped once he passed through the gate.
The boundary definitely kept in as wel as kept out.
With Radeachar’s help he resealed the gates, then rested with hands on knees, panting. He had not been worn down like this for ages. “That was harsh.” A few breaths. “The man might not be entirely wicked after al .” Assuming Old Meddler did restrain things like whatever it was that had reached out…
Radeachar did not comment. It was not feeling chatty. Not that it ever did.
“We’ve done what we can. Back to Fangdred. The hour is coming.”
...
Ragnarson asked, “When the hel wil al this go down? I’ve been here a week. I’ve got stuff to do back home.” Mist gave him a look of exasperation. She had grown impatient herself, especial y with those who could not understand how important her mission was. Old Meddler’s attack was overdue. The vil ain must have something up his sleeve.
It seemed an age since Lord Yuan had reported one of his booby traps tripped. He did not think the Star Rider had been hurt but did believe that the event had led to the delay.
“We can’t make the man hurry, Bragi. We’re the ones sitting on a static defense.”
Though Mist looked at him she was talking to herself. She surveyed the gathering. Her sister-in-law looked particularly haggard. Bragi just looked bored, like everyone else. There was no sense of urgency here.
So. Nepanthe had taken everything on her shoulders. Bragi had done nothing. The effort to col ect him and Michael had been a waste.
Speaking of… The pudgy sorcerer and his child-whore-spouse. What had become of them?
She asked.
Eka responded, “Probably out on the wal . They spend a lot of time there, looking at the mountains and holding hands.
And talking lover stuff, Scalza says.”
Did she sound wistful? She did glance Ethrian’s way.
The boy was much recovered, though stil not what he had been before his stint as Deliverer. He had become less dependent than his cousin liked.
“Careful what you wish for, eh?”
“Mother?”
“Nothing. Find them, please. I want to send them home.” Eka loosed the long sigh of the teen who was expected to do everything around here. She did as she was told, though.
Mist headed for Scalza, to find out what he was watching.
The Winterstorm caught her eye. There was something odd about it. Something not quite right. She turned away from her son, toward the shogi table, pushing Matayangan kibitzers aside. “Lord Kuo…”
“You spotted it quickly.” He did not look up. His opponent was destroying him. There could be no doubt that the Old Man’s mind was back, though his ability to remember stil left much to be desired.
“Something is wrong with Varthlokkur’s artifact.”
“Ekaterina was tinkering with it. She tripped a security routine she didn’t anticipate. It was there to protect the baby. She did the damage trying to undo and cover up.
Don’t get too upset. Kids do that kind of stuff. And he can put it right.”
“ I will get upset but maybe not the way you expect. What does it tel us that she had the daring and confidence to mess with that thing? And to think she could get away with it, in front of al these people?”
In as portentous a tone as Mist ever heard from him, Wenchin replied, “To me it says we’d better hope that her Aunt Nepanthe did a good job shaping her values.” What could she say to that? Whatever Wen-chin was thinking, that was a bold statement. Letting ego drive a response would be of no value whatsoever.
“You’re right.”
“Is it frightening? I have no children myself.” Many Tervola did not, on the right side of the blanket.
Family created complications. They became hostages to fortune, Mist knew too wel .
“She didn’t do any permanent damage. She stepped away as soon as she saw that she could only make things worse.”
“Good to hear that.”
“She’s sensible and responsible, given her age and situation.”
Mist suppressed a surge of irritation.
Wen-chin said, “I expect he’l be understanding.”
“Varthlokkur? Let’s hope.” He was unpredictable, emotional y. Where was he, anyway? “Shouldn’t he be back by now?”
Wen-chin shrugged. “Check with Scalza. He’s trying to keep track.” The Tervola added softly, “Be pleased that it wasn’t the boy.”
