should have kil ed him—my father deluded himself about a lot of things. So Habibul ah tel s me. He witnessed most of my father’s descent. I did not. I was elsewhere. So talk to Habibul ah. He may be able to put you on to the real story.” Al-Dimishqi’s shoulders slumped further. “I apologize for wasting your time. I wil go, now.”
“No waste, Adim. Never. You give cause to reflect on secret history. And… Perhaps you did come across something important that you didn’t recognize because you jumped to this conclusion. Do keep after it. And do keep me posted.”
“As you wil , so shal it be.”
Yasmid watched him go, hoping that al this would keep him from thinking about her health long enough for her and Habibul ah to find a strategy that would get her through this intact.
It would take a miracle. If one occurred it would be the old man’s doing. She was capable of nothing but panic anymore.
...
Yasmid was back in her private audience, Habibul ah attending, now with women watching from beyond hearing.
She said, “I have to go get father’s opinion now that I opened my big mouth.” She was badly distracted after her discussion with al-Dimishqi. Had Haroun gotten hold of something of great potency? Had finding that been his true purpose for coming to Sebil el Selib?
Her stomach taunted her anew.
“You wil , yes. But that is a necessary gesture, the more so because we have declared the Disciple almost recovered.” Habibul ah watched closely. “Sharper questions would be asked if you did not consult him.” He knew al-Dimishqi had rattled her somehow.
“I know. But his advice is useless. He doesn’t realize that years have passed. If we bring him out to show off he’l ruin everything by refusing to recognize that the world has changed.”
“True. But you have to go through the motions. He had to go through motions himself even when he was his most popular. Those who place their lives and honor at your disposal have expectations and have the right to have them. If you fail to meet those expectations you could face what seems to have caught up with Megelin.” Yasmid grunted, not because she agreed but because her breakfast was making a bid to return.
She control ed it yet again.
So softly she barely heard him, her lifelong friend-companion-guardworshipper asked, “Is there something you need to tel me?”
He knew.
How long before everyone did? How long til the bad end came?
With marvelous caution Habibul ah observed, “Al is not lost. You are a married woman.”
Who had a husband only she loved, whom her people al wanted to stay dead.
She shuddered, afraid.
“We wil cope,” Habibul ah promised.
She could not believe him. Her hours were numbered.
...
“I’m just not comfortable,” Mist said. “But there is no undoing what’s already done.” She tried to fol ow three things at once: Scalza manipulating his scrying bowl so he could spy on people at Sebil el Selib; Ekaterina and Ethrian, just staying close enough to warm one another with their presence; and Haroun bin Yousif, who was straining to fol ow developments in Al Rhemish. Skil ed as he had become, Scalza had difficulties due to distance, and had no sound. When they did anything other than vegetate Ethrian and Eka usual y only observed the shogi wars. Bin Yousif spent a lot of time muttering and being confused. He was not pleased about the troubles in Al Rhemish but could not form a solid opinion because he did not understand them, either. Nor was he even a little relaxed in the company of so many strangers, some of whom had held him prisoner not so long ago.
Mist was uncomfortable with his presence. Varthlokkur had not been forthcoming on how bin Yousif fit his own form of the Plan.
There were several of those, puffing along in paral el. The upside was, if Old Meddler knocked one down others would keep on rol ing. The downside was, she and Varthlokkur kept tripping over one another’s feet.
...
Haroun concluded that Varthlokkur was right. Most of these people were supposed to be dead. He had been shocked to learn that some were stil alive, Ragnarson in particular—though he had gone off to create excitement in Kavelin.
Despite explanations from Varthlokkur and the eastern empress, Haroun remained unsure where he stood. Mainly, he did not understand why they were so determined. Why try to thwart the storm?
The Star Rider was weather. Historical and social weather. You planned ahead and did what you could to endure. Prepared, you could ride it out. You did not tempt fate by trying to control the storm.
Old Meddler was no deity but he was the closest thing Haroun ever saw. The God of his childhood was a god of storms.
He could never be comfortable around so many people, in such a tight space. He did especial y poorly with children.
They recal ed times he would rather forget.
The insanity in Al Rhemish was most worrisome. Angry people kept destroying things, venting frustration caused by years of incompetence. Men of standing kept their heads down and their mouths shut. Beloul barricaded his door once Lal a eliminated outside evidence that the place was occupied by a hero of the old days. He had chosen to weather the storm, then live with whatever coalesced under subsequent rainbows.
Haroun did not miss the paral els between Beloul’s attitude and his own.
...
There were no hours of the day when either Mist, Lord Ssu-ma, Lord Kuo, or Lord Yuan were not engaged in advancing some fraction of the eastern plan. Lord Yuan worked harder than any of the others. Their scheme was more complex than Varthlokkur’s, which risked little more than self and family, huge enough in his mind but trivial by rational comparison.
Another transfer portal arrived, again by means of the Unborn. It would connect to the transfer stream but none of its parts would be tainted by having passed through that poorly understood realm. So Lord Yuan had decreed.
Grinding her teeth against secret panic, Mist instructed Lord Yuan to key that portal to the life harmonics of Lord Kuo and the Old Man so they could escape but no one and nothing wicked could fol ow.
A third portal arrived. Mist had it keyed to Nepanthe and Ethrian. Ethrian and the Old Man were her most valuable assets. Scalza and Ekaterina were precious but did not have the power to save an empire. Their mother had to consider countless mil ions of lives.
She did not suppress maternal emotion indefinitely.
When Radeachar delivered the next escape portal she had it keyed to her children. The elderly Tervola executed his instructions sul enly, making it clear that he thought her mind was clouded by personal concerns.
She had the escape portals provided with secondary keys that would al ow selected others to use them if their primaries were not. Those designated as secondary did not see much hope for themselves if Old Meddler did launch a sudden thunder and lightning assault.
The mind specialists worked hours as long as anyone.
They concluded that forming a useful information inventory necessitated rooting secrets out of minds other than those of Ethrian and the Old Man. There were three surviving witnesses to Old Meddler’s raid on the Wind Tower. The Old Man was the least reliable. The others were both available.
Varthlokkur came close to physical confrontation with Mist when those two proposed the research. He wanted no return to that night’s emotional storms. The Empress demurred.
Once again Varthlokkur was prepared to round on his al ies and chuck everything down a wel in order to protect his wife. As he defined protection. In truth, he was striving to appease his own insecurities.
His memories of that night were not pleasant. He thought that Nepanthe had suppressed hers. He did not want them resurrected.
But she snapped, “Varth, stop that right now! Am I an infant? You wouldn’t treat Eka or Scalza with the kind of condescension you show me.”
