Glen Cook - A Path to Coldness of Heart

“There is news, good and bad, but not of the sort you meant. From my point of view, our partisans have enjoyed considerable success against the Itaskians, who have gone to ground in Damhorst. They have to stick together in groups of a dozen or more. Also, the Nordmen who al ied themselves with the Itaskians are starting to reconsider.

Greyfel s seems unlikely to receive outside reinforcements.”

“That means we’ve won!”

“No, Kristen. It means we may be able to rid Kavelin of the Itaskians, in time. But Inger has distanced herself from her cousin already. She retains the loyalty of the strongest regiments. We have an unofficial truce with them, for now.

They don’t want to fight us. We don’t want to fight them. We stood shoulder to shoulder on the same battlefields too many times.” He stopped. His left hand shook badly.

Kristen said, “I hear a big ‘But!’ Is that the bad news?”

“After a fashion.”

Kristen strove hard to remain respectful y patient.

“Kristen, I am the glue that holds your support together. I am, in fact, guilty of pul ing you into my politics so I could put an acceptable figurehead out in front of my ambitions for my people.”

Kristen nodded, surprised by his bald honesty.

“I may have done you a severe disservice.”

“How so?”

Abaca was quiet for a time. His daughter brought tea that must have cost the tribesmen dear. Abaca Enigara was young and unattractive even by the standards of her own people. She seemed downright grim.

Abaca final y said, “The monster Radeachar was seen again three nights ago. Scouts report the Hastin Defile blocked by snow.”

“That’s weird. That’s the third time this winter.”

“It does happen. Once in a winter, one year out of ten. We haven’t gotten unusual amounts of snow.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’ve been slow catching on. But I get it, now.

Varthlokkur doesn’t want us raiding in the vicinity of Vorgreberg.”

“He’s taking Inger’s side?”

“No. He’s keeping me from doing something desperate.”

“Why would you?”

“Because I’m dying. Because I want so badly to see things settled before I go. Because I am the glue.” Kristen did not argue. Neither did she spout upbeat nonsense. This was grim news. “I see.”

“Again, I apologize for dragging you in when I couldn’t keep my promises. I wouldn’t have done it had I known then what I know now.”

“I do have to ask if you’re sure.”

“I am. This is in the blood. I deceived myself in thinking that it wouldn’t get me, I suppose. Putting a shine on it, I can say that I’ve gotten four years more than my father did.”

“Oh.”

“So what shal we do, girl? You don’t have to tel me now but you’l need to decide within ten days. I’l beat back the darkness as long as I can but that won’t be long. And once I go, everything else comes apart.”

Because he was the glue. And there was no one to replace him. “Credence, there may be a positive possibility yet.”

“I could use one. Please explain.”

“The interest shown by the sorcerer.”

“You think he knows about my problem?”

Had he not said so himself? “Nothing escapes him.”

“Perhaps.”

“As you say, you are the glue. Attract his attention. Show him that you know he’s interfering. He might make contact.

Then you can get his views on what you should be doing.” Abaca’s face darkened.

“I don’t mean ask him to give orders. Find out what’s going on in the rest of the world. He knows more than you do.

There might be a powerful strategic reason for avoiding hostilities. Maybe Inger’s regiments have begun to have a change of heart.”

Abaca grunted. “I’l think about that. You think about what’s best for you and yours. We can stil get you out of the country and back into hiding.”

Kristen and Dahl made the slow walk to their own cabin.

Dahl asked no questions while they were in the open.

...

The fugitive spent four days looking for a way to cross the Roë River without being noticed. There were no bridges this far south.

Something dramatic had happened upstream. The water was high, filthier than usual, clotted with debris and the occasional rotting carcass with feeding birds aboard.

The current was not swift but it was there. The flood was too wide to swim and dangerous in more than the obvious ways. There was a shark in the Sea of Kotsüm that did not mind the absence of salt in the river.

A boat was his only option. That was a problem. There was little westbound traffic. That was al military. He did not feel daring enough to ferry over with Shinsan’s couriers.

Hiring a rowboat might work. But with the river in flood no boatman would hazard a night crossing. He would be sighted by day. Someone would ask questions.

He could kil the oarsman on the other side but that would cause excitement, too.

He went back to the swimming option. Suppose he made a float, then crossed on a clear night, steering by the stars?

No. Sharks or no sharks, that was begging for disaster.

Almost despairing, he decided to take the long way. That might take weeks but he was not pressed for time. No one was waiting. He had been dead for a long time.

He headed north.

Eventual y there would be a city. It would boast a bridge.

There would be traffic and confusion. A foreigner would not be unusual. He could hire on with a caravan. And he could enjoy some real food for a change.

His fourth day headed north, working back eastward in search of a ford across a smal tributary, he stumbled onto a coracle hidden in the undergrowth. There was no one around. The coracle was neither booby-trapped nor cursed.

It was just a tool belonging to someone with a penchant for going unnoticed. A gift from God.

...

Nepanthe stepped back from behind Varthlokkur’s right shoulder. “That was cleverly done.”

“I thought so myself.”

“I’m going to go bake sweet cakes for the kids.” The wizard grunted. “You do that.” He wondered how indifferent a mother Mist could be. She had not yet, insofar as he could tel , made the least effort to find her children or to determine their welfare.

It was possible, of course, that she knew they were with their aunt and were, therefore, already as safe as they could be in this dark world.

The Empress and two bodyguards left portals in the transfer staging chamber of a tower once owned by the Karkha family of Throyes. The duty section had received a warning only minutes

earlier. Men were stil scurrying around, trying to make the place more presentable. Officer in Charge, Candidate Lein She, was stil fumbling with his laces. He had had no time to don his mask.

Mist’s bodyguards made their disapproval obvious.

Mist had no such sentiments. It was unreasonable to expect the tower and garrison to be dril ground perfect at short notice.

She conversed briefly with a portal attendant while the Candidate pul ed himself together. “No visitors? Not even a random attempt to come through, or to make contact?” She examined the transfer log. Only Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i had visited since the tower became the place where special prisoners were held.

The Karkha no longer existed. Their tower, which rose without outer defenses, could be accessed only by a ladder that had to be lowered from a doorway two stories above the street. It was invulnerable to the normal city threats: riots, jealous rivals, and local politics. It was not designed to withstand military operations.

Lein She had himself together. The Empress said, “Good evening,Candidate. Your logs appear to be in order.”