Mist shoved the broken woodwork aside, duck-walked a step, rose to find herself face to face with a chubby man in black. He smel ed like swamp water. He squeaked and ran. She fol owed, hoping to keep him from reporting her presence. That hope died when she stepped outside.
The Unborn came down from the night as though it had been waiting just for her.
Reason suggested that it must have been tracking the man now in such enthusiastic flight.
The Unborn settled at eye level, a dozen feet away. It was unafraid.
Mist wondered if it was capable of fear.
It shot upward, then whipped away toward Vorgreberg.
Mist’s lifeguard stepped out in time to watch it dwindle. “Is there a problem, Il ustrious?”
“I don’t think so. Though there was a man here when I left the portal. He ran away. We should have time to poke around.”
Wait! Here that man came, a pale witch light burning over his left shoulder.
“Il ustrious?”
“He doesn’t seem bel igerent.”
The pudgy fel ow approached til he was three yards away.
His light grew stronger. Mist’s bodyguard stepped out to her left, watching the man’s right hand.
Mist asked, “What are you doing?”
“Waiting.”
“For what?”
He faced Vorgreberg. “It won’t be long.” The Unborn reappeared. “Not long at al .” He turned back. “I am Babeltausque, a wizard. Mouse size, relatively speaking.” The Unborn closed fast. It was not alone. Varthlokkur dangled beneath it.
“Il ustrious! Get behind me.”
“There is no point. Either we are in no danger or it is too late to protect ourselves. You. Sorcerer. What is he doing here?”
“Helping find an ugly and elusive child-kil er.”
“Tel me.”
He was stil talking when the Unborn deposited the Empire Destroyer beside him. Mist felt tension rise in her companion.
Varthlokkur smiled. “You were the ghost in the graveyard, too.”
So. The squatters had talked. And so had the Unborn. “I’m told you’re hunting an especial y horrible vil ain.”
“A clever or lucky one. My skil s at divining the past have been inadequate, though he made no deliberate effort to hide from my sort.”
An outsider might have suspected that there was more than verbal communication going on. Both were deceitful in appearance. Both were ages older than they looked, though not necessarily wiser.
“I’m wil ing to contribute,” Mist said. “This young man told me a great deal. He lied a lot, too, but I’l forgive him. He was protecting his principal.”
“Oh?”
“I have a daughter.”
Mist wondered what she was doing.
Both wizards were calculating, too.
She had to buy time. Varthlokkur had identified her only other entrance into Kavelin. She needed to get more set up quickly. Just in case.
She repeated herself. “I have children, too. I might be able to help.” That knocked Varthlokkur off balance.
Her lifeguard had sense enough to keep his mouth shut.
The chubby man was horrified, though.
Varthlokkur said, “My col eague believes that you must be the darkness distil ed. His attitude wil improve if you give us a means to prove that the child-kil er isn’t him.” Mist eyed the pudgy man. He had a creepy quality. Most western sorcerers did. They were al twisted somehow.
A chil touched her. She had lost friends who were weird western wizards. Another chil . No one she knew ever died a natural death.
Varthlokkur asked, “Are you al right?”
“I think too much. Comes of having too much time on my hands. Tel me about your kil er.”
The wizard did so, adding, “I came up empty when I tried to divine the dump. The kil er kept his features hidden. And he was lucky.”
“How so?”
“Ley lines intersect near the site. Their resonances interfere with the scrying.”
“You can get around that.”
Her bodyguard made a sound that was not a word.
“Of course. I have an empire to manage. I have the Old Man to reclaim. There’s no time for hobbies.”
“Your suggestion?”
“Track the girl, not the kil er. You know who she was. You know where she lived. Go back to when she was safe.
Fol ow her forward.”
Varthlokkur offered a nod of respect. “That’s sure to travel some ugly road.”
“No doubt. You westerners tolerate…” She stopped. She did not know that her own people were less wicked. “I should go.”
“Any luck with the Old Man?”
“No. How about you with the Deliverer?”
“Ethrian. His mother’s optimism seems justified but the process wil take longer than she hopes.”
“Let me know what works.”
“Does Old Meddler know?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I think not. Not yet. Wil you free Ragnarson?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“Kavelin has begun to recover. Him being here might do more harm than good.”
“I must go.” She dared not say that they had made a huge mistake.
Inger would know that Bragi lived before sunrise. Al Kavelin would know within days. It might no longer matter if she sent him home. The possibility would alter the political climate anyway.
The chubby man looked bland and indifferent and smal . He understood what he had overheard.
Almost idly, he told Varthlokkur, “Two men tried to kil me on my way out here. I didn’t recognize them. They were Wessons. They didn’t have unusual accents and they didn’t say anything that explained why. I marked them with tracer spel s.”
Varthlokkur said, “You’re good at that, aren’t you.”
“Everybody has to be good at something.” Mist retreated into the house. That was the last she heard.
...
“The Vorgreberg portals have to be considered compromised,” Mist told her technicians. “I expect them to be destroyed. Get replacements into place before that happens.”
She dismissed her bodyguard. He needed rest and family time, unlike his Empress. She relaxed a few hours herself, then chose another lifeguard to accompany her to the Karkha Tower. She was not surprised to find Lord Ssuma visiting. He had a lot of free time. He spent much of it with Kuo. She invited herself to join him, Wen-chin, and the Old Man.
They were surprised to see her so early in the day.
She said, “They don’t see it themselves but things are coming to a head in Kavelin. And Varthlokkur is in the middle of it.” She explained.
