mostly products of his own sorcery. Mist had met some in those dark old days. They had been gentle, timid creatures who loved their creator too wel . They were al gone now. The world was poorer for it.
From her vantage over the bones Mist could see three more skeletons, al human.
Her bodyguard said, “We are not alone. Return to the portal.”
She felt it, too. Somehow. She neither saw, heard, nor smel ed anything, but something was watching. This was a moment when she was not the paramount wil of Shinsan.
She moved.
The lifeguard’s sword sang as it cleared its scabbard.
From the darkness came a long, sad sigh that turned into a desperate moan.
Mist stepped across to safety. Her bodyguard fol owed.
She asked, “What was it?”
He snapped, “Seal it! Shut it down!” at the operators.
Something as pale as a grub began to emerge from the portal.
The operators ended the session.
Three quarters of a man fel to the floor. He left behind parts of his right leg and right arm. He did not bleed. He did not speak. His eyes blazed with a desperate, hungry madness.
He was a wild, nasty mass of filth, unkempt hair, and rags.
Mist said, “He’s wearing Imperial… He’s been trapped there since…”
Despite his injuries, the man crawled forward, toward humanity.
The enormity of what he must have suffered hit Mist like a fist in the gut. She threw up.
“I’m al right. Get me something to rinse my mouth with. Let me get cleaned up. Tang Shan. Send a task group to find out if more of our people are trapped in there.”
“Any who are wil be quite insane.”
“Even so. They’re ours.”
“As you wil , so shal it be.”
“Good. Where to next?”
Her bodyguards and the portal specialists alike looked at her askance. “I’m fine. Just bring me some water. Let’s get on with it.”
Tang Shan said, “I would recommend the mausoleum of the Kaveliner queen. Lord Yuan is not yet entirely confident of the connection with the other portal. Nor am I.” Mist frowned. Tang Shan remained cautiously neutral always but she suspected him of traditional convictions.
The Imperial throne should not be occupied by a girl.
She said, “I’m ready.”
A lifeguard said, “This time I go first.”
“Of course.” Though what danger was likely to be lurking in a mausoleum?
Ghouls? Hungry ghosts?
Al right. Danger might be sleeping with the dead.
She got squatters.
They were a Siluro family of six who had not emigrated.
They belonged to the smal est and least loved ethnic group in Kavelin.
Mist did not ask for their sad story.
Any couple with four sprats under six, driven to take refuge with the revered dead, would tel a sad tale indeed.
Her charity went only so far as to flush them out rather than compel them to join the occupant of the mausoleum.
The lifeguard did not approve. They might carry tales.
“Ghost stories, perhaps.”
She paused to consider the dead queen. “The wizard did wonders with this one.”
Fiana looked like a girl asleep, awaiting the wakening kiss of her prince. She remained as colorful and fresh as she had in life.
Her glass-topped casket was fil ed with a gentle light that remained active after al these years. It made her look younger and more beautiful than she had at her passing.
The long agony of birthing Radeachar had been massaged out of face and body.
Bragi’s last gift to his love, begged from Varthlokkur.
“Extreme caution is necessary,” the lifeguard said. “This place hasn’t been plundered or vandalized.”
“The homeless lived here unharmed.”
The beauty in the box had been the best loved of Kavelin’s recent monarchs. That was why no evil had taken place.
“Let’s go outside.” It had been a long time since she had looked into Kavelin’s skies. She had fond memories of a less harried life here. Her children had been conceived and born here. The only man she ever loved was buried here.
It was nighttime. No clouds masked the shoals of stars.
There was no moon. Only a few tiny lights marked the location of Vorgreberg.
The bodyguards said, “To the north. The woods.”
“I see it. Let’s go.”
A pinkish dot had risen. It quested briefly, then headed their way, fast.
Back in the staging room, Mist said, “The Unborn sensed us.”
Tang Shan suggested, “Or it sensed the portal’s use.”
“Whatever, I won’t test the other one yet. It’s only a few miles from that one.”
Tang Shan seemed relieved.
Mist asked, “Is that a good thing?”
“I said, Lord Yuan isn’t comfortable with the…”
“You told me al three were sound.”
“And so they are, Lady. In the sense that we trust them enough to send me through them. But the escape portal in your old house has a bitter flavor. We are less wil ing to risk you going through.”
Should she be flattered or frustrated? “I want it usable by this time tomorrow.” Flattered, because Tang Shan disdained female leaders.
“As you wil .”
...
The door to the world creaked behind Ragnarson. He looked over his shoulder, saw Mist and her right hand, Lord Ssu-ma. But who else would it be? It was not mealtime Mist looked puzzled. “What are you doing?” It was unusual to find him reading or writing, though he could manage both without much skil .
“Derel Prataxis once suggested that I would find it useful to make tal y sheets if I was contemplating actions that might impact a lot of lives. I didn’t listen then.”
“And this is what you got.” Her gesture included his surroundings.
“This is what I got.”
“So what are you planning?”
“Nothing. I’m working the sums for what I lost because I didn’t think before I acted and then was too stubborn to change once it was obvious that I’d done something stupid.”
Ragnarson considered the Tervola. Lord Ssu-ma seldom said much. His opinion, though, carried considerable weight with Mist.
She asked, “How are you managing emotional y?”
“I’m operating under the conviction that losing Sherilee shocked me sane. That could be a delusion, though.” Lord Ssu-ma said, “You have failed to take advantage of the new liberties you have been granted.” Ragnarson was free to go to the tower top. He had done so only once. It had taken immense wil to abandon the safety of his prison, though he knew he should be chal enging the stairs regularly, building himself back up. He shrugged, reported the truth. “I don’t feel comfortable up there.” Mist asked, “Have you lost your taste for freedom?”
“No. What are you up to?”
Lord Ssu-ma wore his mask. This visit was not informal.
