Glen Cook - An Ill Fate Marshalling

He hoped.

Silently, he thought, Varthlokkur, where the hell are you? I'm up to my ass in Tervola. I need a little help here. It's time to quit fooling around.

Year 1016 AFE

Nepanthe looked over her husband's shoulder, into a mirror where ghost-shapes on a southern hill dug ditches and erected earthen barriers. Other men moved into posi­ tions surrounding the hill, creating barriers of their own.

„You are going to help him now, aren't you?" Nepanthe asked.

Her son Ethrian stood behind her, a specter of a youth, his eyes dull. He made a strange whimpering sound whenev­ er his gaze crossed the mirror. The baby fussed whenever she heard that sound. Nepanthe crooned to her.

Varthlokkur did not answer her.

Mist's children trooped into the room, leaned on the back of the wizard's chair. „What's that, Uncle Varth?" one asked.

„A battle. In the south."

„Can we watch?"

„You should be in bed. Besides, nothing will happen till tomorrow."

Ragnarson's men launched nuisance strikes all around their perimeter. Their enemies did nothing but drive them off. Nepanthe observed, „It looks like Hsung doesn't really want to fight."

Varthlokkur replied, „He'll unleash his Tervola in the morning. Why fight when the Power can deliver an inexpen­ sive victory?"

„And you won't be there. Will you? You're going to let those men die just because your pride was hurt. You're a fool. Sometimes you disgust me."

„Put the children to bed."

Nepanthe left in a huff, herding the children before her.

Varthlokkur stared into the mirror for an hour. His face reflected a bitter inner struggle. Finally, he swore, „Damn it!" and rose.

He took a small case off a nearby shelf and sat at a table. Within the case lay a bow eighteen inches long and four black arrows half that length. The arrows had silver heads and beaten gold fletching. Their shafts were inlaid with red and white traceries so fine they were barely discernable. The wizard strung the bow with a string of virgin's hair, stared at it for a long time.

He swore again, took up a pen and thin piece of paper. He scribbled something, sanded the message, wrapped it round the shaft of an arrow, touched it lightly with spittle and said a few words. The paper clung tightly.

He rose, bow and arrow in hand, and descended the long stair spiralling down the inside of the tower atop which his workshop perched. He went outside the castle keep, crossed a courtyard, mounted a wall overlooking a two thousand foot drop. His home, Fangdred, crowned the highest moun­ tain in that savage range called the Dragon's Teeth.

He considered the naked stars. They seemed to mock him. Fool, they called him, just as his woman had done. Stubborn fool.

He stared across the ivory-tipped peaks, spoke a few words in the tongue of his youth. He visualized Mist. In moments her face seemed to be floating before him. He laid arrow across bow, let fly at the snickering stars. The shaft vanished into the night, pursued by a deep-voiced moan.

Radeachar drifted down out of the darkness, hovered above the wizard, sensing his inner conflict, sensing that Varthlokkur needed something, not knowing what to do. The wizard touched the Unborn's protective globe. „My one true, unquestioning friend. Let's go inside. My bones are old. I'll take my death of chill out here."

„P'u Hsiu says they've finished encircling his legion, Mistress," an Aspirator reported.

Mist slid back from the table and map she'd been studying, gestured. The Aspirator placed another map be­ fore her, smoothed it out. He used a marking crayon to draw a kidney-shaped enclosure, then some fragmentary lines indicating the approximate positions of neighboring le­ gions.

Mist nodded. „What do we have in reserve down there?"

„One cohort without Tervola or Aspirators, commanded by Leading Centurion Ki Mo-Jo. They were taken out yesterday for rest. Little more than half normal strength."

„Have Mo-Jo attack to the left and plug that gap."

„The right is a narrower break, Mistress."

„That's where they'll expect the counter. Tell Mo-Jo he can have shaft support if he needs it, but not to waste them. Budget him a dozen."

„As you command, Mistress." The Aspirator removed the map and went about his business.

Mist stared at the smaller scale map revealed once more. It portrayed a sad situation. The counteroffensive had bogged down in the sheer mass of the Matayangan foe. She was consuming her reserves in a struggle to maintain the integrity of her front. Still, fracture lines appeared faster than they could be patched. She leaned back, sighed in exhaustion and disappointment.

Never before had the empire been faced with the possibil­ ity of having to negotiate from a position of weakness. If the Matayangans didn't crack soon, her own armies would. Their resources were almost exhausted. Soon she would have to start stripping Western Army and the training legions.

Something touched her lightly, like a spiderweb encoun­ tered on a lonely woodland path. It enfolded her, seemed to pull at her.

She sat bolt upright. Somewhere some master of the Power was concentrating on her. She'd better ready her defenses.

A window burst inward. A low moan filled the room. There was a whump as something smashed into her table. Maps flew. Dust motes danced in the candlelight. A small arrow stood quivering in the tabletop. A piece of paper encircled its shaft.

She studied the arrow, sensed only the spells that had propelled it. She licked a finger, touched it to the paper. It let go of the arrow. She picked it up gingerly, read it. „Humph! Lord Lun-yu. Do we have a portal connecting us with Commander Western Army?"

„We did this morning, Mistress. I'll check."

She read the note again. So. Varthlokkur knew what was happening in the Throyen theater. Knew more than she, evidently. Lord Shih-ka'i had Bragi surrounded.

What damnfool notion had brought Bragi out of the mountains? Why hadn't he stayed there? The idiot!

Lord Lun-yu reappeared. „We do have an open portal, Mistress."

„Good. You know Lord Shih-ka'i. Go tell him to com­ plete his present operation without resorting to the Power."

„Mistress?"

„He's encircled Ragnarson."

Lord Lun-yu very nearly danced. Mist nodded gently. „Yes. But I've just had a message from Varthlokkur. If Lord Shih-ka'i uses the Power, he'll intercede. With all the might at his beck."

„So?"

„I'm aware of the emotion involved in this, Lord Lun-yu. I'm also aware that it would be easier to take Ragnarson using the Power. But risking the wrath of Varthlokkur and the Unborn is far more dangerous than risking meeting Ragnarson in normal combat. Do you see?"

Reluctantly, Lord Lun-yu admitted, „I did see the Un­ born in action during the wars, Mistress. I suppose we'd better give the wizard his way."

„Tell Lord Shih-ka'i to free up as many men as he can, too. Our reserve situation is desperate."

„Yes, Mistress. Mistress, can we trust the wizard to stay out of it now?"

„I think so. His word is usually good. Get going. The night is nearly gone. Lord Shih-ka'i will need time to adjust his plans."

„As you command, Mistress."

Mist gathered her maps. She began studying one which showed the debacle growing around the Argonese incursion along the Matayangan seacoast. „It was a good idea, Lord Kuo," she whispered to the ghost of her predecessor, „but you grossly overestimated the Argonese army."

„Officers and noncoms will take the last watch," Bragi said. „Let the men rest." He looked down at the encircling enemy camp. It was past midnight. His positions were as strong as they could be made.

Baron Hardle suggested, „You'd better get some sleep yourself. You look a bit hollow-eyed."