“Two days might be enough, just barely, to drag in an arbitratordirector to manage the crisis. I’m thinking Bragi even though he doesn’t like either one of us much right now and is probably convinced that he has weaseled out of his turn in the barrel.”
She watched him swel with resistance.
“Exactly. And you can expect plenty of attitude from him if either of us comes out ahead because of this.” The wizard took nearly a minute. “I am repel ed to the point where I suspect that you have identified a workable design.”
“It needs only persist for as long as it takes to succeed or be flayed.”
She expected the latter to be the more likely outcome.
Once reason placed her eyebal to eyebal with that she just got more obstinate. There would be a grand showdown.
Potential hurdles rol ed off the duck’s back of her determination.
What had become of that Poles of Power project meant to identify them and locate them? She had handed that off to Kuo Wen-chin, had she not? Then she had not fol owed up.
Wait. No. She had not given that to Wen-chin. She had not given it to anybody. She had gone and forgotten the whole damned thing herself. It was too late to work that angle. The crisis was just around the corner, beyond her ability to delay.
Old Meddler would operate from inside a miasma of ignorance but would know that survival was table stakes.
Weak, he would shun cat and mouse diversions. He would attack with ferocity and vigor.
She peered hard at the Old Man, then Ethrian. Could they real y provide the tools she needed?
Doubt declared otherwise.
Doom was on its way.
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
Al Rhemish remained chaotic. Whenever the confusion began to settle, some fresh dol op of rumor brought the turmoil back to life. The King real y was dead. His remains had been found. The
site was grisly but there was evidence enough to identify the dead. One man, with the pack animals and mounts, was missing. Anyone who knew Boneman had a good idea what had happened.
Then came news that Haroun bin Yousif and the Empire Destroyer had carried off El Murid and his daughter.
How anyone could actual y know that never got explained.
Varthlokkur’s participation was based on circumstantial evidence, Haroun’s on less. That there had been kidnappings at al remained uncertain. The Disciple’s medical team was missing, too. There were no actual witnesses.
Those left behind were determined to believe what they wanted to be true.
The chaos at Sebil el Selib beggared that at Al Rhemish.
The Faithful were not accustomed to life without established leadership—though that might be as corrupt as any on the Royalist side.
Elwas al-Souki and his intimates did what they could, though they suffered continual sabotage by Adim al- Dimishqi’s clique. The latter saw a God-granted chance to push the Believers onto a more traditional path.
The situation was juice-dripping ripe for exploitation by Old Meddler.
...
Old Meddler was preoccupied. He had wind of a huge threat, possibly the worst in fifty generations. He had pushed too hard. The push-back had devoured his resources. He was weak. He had no friends. Without, he was close to blind.
Too much happened beyond his ken. There were a thousand places he could not look without spending hours and vast reserves of energy. There were some into which he could not look at al , however hard he tried. A thousand glittering spears were headed his way but he could make out the shimmering razor edges of only a few.
He could not recal when he had felt this uneasy. And malaise rested entirely on intuition, not on facts already determined.
He could not sit tight and let events unfold, improvising responses. He had to act. His character demanded preemption.
His only real choice was what direction to strike.
Once he started he would, ironical y, operate through improvisation anyway.
It might turn grim. He lacked al ies. His arsenal had been depleted. The Poles of Power were beyond his control.
One had vanished completely, as though Fate itself had chosen to tamper.
Al effort would be wasted, anyway, whatever the world looked like on the other side. Success would win neither reprieve nor parole. Death itself might be no escape.
Even so, it was time. Definitely time to go shove his hands into the pie. After al these ages he could do nothing less.
...
Ragnarson delayed his appearance before the Thing for as long as he dared. Days and days, til Michael warned him that Haida said the delegates were out of patience.
The rumor accusing the castle of stal ing out of greed had gained considerable momentum.
Haida Heltkler made friends easily. She moved amongst people comfortably, taking the popular pulse. She could be flirty when she wanted, which was no handicap amongst the unwashed.
That did not become a problem amongst the more frequently washed of the castle once Carrie Depar and Michael Trebilcock each took a moment to counsel Babeltausque. That gleam in his eye had best disappear.
No tel ing which Babeltausque heard more clearly but he did take the message to heart. Haida was too ripe, anyway.
And he was damned happy with Carrie. That was going far better than he had any right to expect.
Ragnarson’s main reason for stal ing had been a hope that Babeltausque would discover a working transfer portal.
A live one would provide the impact he wanted.
The sorcerer had one hel of a time finding one, though, despite knowing that it had to be out there somewhere. He found one at last, in Fiana’s tomb, fourth time he looked, when Ragnarson insisted that he try it yet again.
The Thing met in ful , with numerous native and foreign observers crowding into every otherwise unclaimed space.
That whole end of the world, kings and commons, wanted to watch history in the making. And history would be made.
History happened where King Bragi went.
First order of business, declaration of a requirement for order, manners, and good behavior inside the Thing hal .
Misbehavior would not be tolerated. Fol owing his minute of stolen glory each transgressor, whatever his station, should expect harsh penalties, from the stocks to public whippings.
Colonel Gales would enforce good manners at his own discretion.
Ragnarson expected to make examples. People did not believe you til you hit them hard enough.
Silence gathered quickly once Ragnarson moved past his grim prospects cautionary speech.
He leaned on the rostrum, surveyed the assembly. Inger and Kristen were with him, a step back and one to
