Glen Cook - Reap The East Wind

Inger croaked something. Bragi groaned. "I believe her. Look at her. She's scared silly. Now we know why Varthlokkur was so damned cranky whenever Ethrian's name came up. He knew."

Mist admitted her fear. "You're right. I'm so frightened I can't think. I just want to run... I keep wishing I'd left it in Lord Kuo's lap. I didn't bargain for this. You know what history will do to me if I can't stop Ethrian? If there is any history?"

Bragi mused, "I really do understand Varthlokkur now."

"What?"

"He knew. He's known for a long time. He's mentioned Ethrian several times since he's been here. Hinting that he might still be alive. Acting like a man wrestling his conscience. Now I know what he meant when he said he couldn't tell Nepanthe because it would destroy her." He levered himself out of his chair. "He even threatened me when I suggested she ought to know there was a chance Ethrian was alive."

Mist looked up at him. He was pale as death. As frightened as she. He believed. Somehow, that took a huge load off her shoulders. Shared fear is softened fear, she thought, recalling one of the lessons taught young soldiers.

"Let's go talk to him," Bragi suggested.

"I will need his help too," she admitted. "And almost certainly Nepanthe's."

The King winced. "Don't expect him to cooperate. He's determined to keep it from her."

"I'll sell him. I have to."

"Be careful what you say. I've never seen him so touchy. He said he'd pull out on me if I even dropped a hint to Nepanthe."

Inger glanced up sharply, startled. A strange look entered her eyes. What the devil? Mist wondered. "Uhm," she grunted. At another time she would have incorporated that bit of intelligence into her plans. Not now, though. All she wanted now was a way out of her dilemma.

The Queen's servant brought the meal Mist had requested. She snatched the main platter and ate with her fingers as the King led her out into the castle's drafty halls. A few queries about Varthlokkur led them to the small castle library.

The wizard glanced up as they entered. He half stood, dismayed, when he saw her face. He made a sign against the evil eye.

She launched into her tale before he could speak. His dismay became despair. She could imagine the emotional storm inside him. Usually he was a man of stone.

His face hardened. "Enough, woman. The answer is no. I won't touch it. Find another way."

"But... "

"I'm not going to let Nepanthe see what he's become. She's too delicately balanced. She thinks he's dead. Leave him in his grave."

"What are you going to tell her when his dead men get to these parts?" the King demanded.

"Mist is exaggerating. His armies will fall apart."

" You are sticking your head in the sand," Mist snapped. "They've held up against the finest we could put in their way. He made mistakes in the early going. He's still a child. But he's learned. He's bottomed out. From now on he'll only get stronger. Unless the three or four people who mean most to him emotionally shatter the chains of hatred binding him."

Anger reddened the wizard's cheeks. "You speak with conviction and passion, but you don't know what you're asking. The answer has to be no."

Bragi suggested, "Then don't go yourself. Send the Unborn. Make the lie truth."

"Lie? Truth?"

"Have Radeachar kill him."

"No. Listen. You don't understand. I can't help. It's your problem, Mist. You deal with it. Bragi, I told you before, if you tell Nepanthe about this... "

"Yeah. Yeah. I know. I won't. Even though I think you're wrong. Totally, insanely wrong. I won't."

"You're behaving irrationally, Varthlokkur," Mist said.

"Try to understand. I want to protect my wife."

"You don't give her enough credit," Mist said. "She looks neurotic, but she's a lot tougher than she pretends. She's had to be."

And the King, "I don't think you're protecting her at all. I think you're protecting yourself. From your own insecurities. You're just scared of change. Change might alter your relationship... "

"Be still!" the wizard snapped. And, "Just remember what the Thing did to you the other day, with the succession. Recall how the vote went? You understand what it means?" He smiled evilly. "You can't afford to lose me now."

"Wizard, I get nasty when people try to twist my arm."

"Better get used to it."

"We've been on opposite sides before. I can live without you."

"You've been warned. Stay away from my wife." Varthlokkur shifted his gaze to Mist. She rocked under the impact of his glare. "The Deliverer is your problem, woman. Ethrian is dead."

She sagged, defeated. The King took her arm. "We're wasting our time here. He's gone goofy. Maybe the Brotherhood will help. You have friends there."

"It's not sorcery I need," Mist replied. "We have that aplenty in Shinsan. I need people who can reach Ethrian emotionally."

"We'll think of something." Over his shoulder, Bragi said, "I'll remember this, wizard."

Varthlokkur was startled by the man's intensity, but only for an instant. He slammed a book to the floor. Mist jumped. Her nerves were raw. Outside, she asked, "What now?"

She didn't like this feeling of helplessness, this having to come west to petition aid. It made her feel impotent and incompetent...

"You and me, I guess. Maybe an aunt and a godfather can do the job. Come on. I have to tell Gjerdrum and Derel where I'm going. Old Crankwort back there was right about one thing. I've got trouble, judging by the tricks the Thing pulled while we were setting you up. I have to make sure my ass is covered while I'm gone. Otherwise I'm liable to come home and find myself out of a job."

"There's not much point to just you and me going. We represent everything Ethrian hates. I don't think anyone but his mother could reach him now."

"We'll have to try, won't we? If he's as dangerous as you say?"

"I suppose."

"How long can you wait? Maybe Varthlokkur will come around."

"Not long. Lord Ssu-ma is a stubborn man, but he can't hold out forever."

"If you have a favorite god, send up a prayer. Maybe if Varthlokkur calms down, he'll take a closer look. If things are as bad as you say. He's basically a decent sort. He has a conscience."

"Maybe. And maybe he's just a blind old fool."

Varthlokkur eased into his apartment an hour after his confrontation with Mist and the King. His hands still shook. He was scared. It had been centuries since he had flown into so towering a rage. He'd had to use old fear-fighting tricks from apprenticeship days to calm himself this much.

There was something wrong with him. Some madness smoked through his mind, twisting and knotting. It wasn't like him to lose control. Was Bragi right? Was his real problem a childish insecurity?

Could Nepanthe handle this? Was she more resilient than he believed?

Had he sold himself a false hope when he'd decided Ethrian would be defeated by sheer entropy?

He lighted a candle, sat, tried to read an old, handprinted text which claimed to be a true history of the origins of Man upon his world. The calligraphy kept sliding out of focus.

Damn! His world was falling apart. It had taken him ages to put a decent life together, and now, suddenly, the whole thing hung by a thread. Hell yes, he was insecure. And when you had fought as long as he had, you damned well deserved something good out of the rest of your life...

A shadow fell across his lap. He jumped, startled. "Nepanthe! What're you doing out of bed? You had your exercise. You should be resting... " His heart sank as he saw the look on her face. Fear hit like a hammer's blow.

She was dressed for heavy weather. She had the baby bundled and wrapped. "I need my son, Varth."

"Oh, no," he said softly. "Oh, no. Why?"

"Ethrian is alive, isn't he? You've known it all along. You've been lying to me."