58

 

Gwin Tharn lay awake in the first glimmer of dawn, Bulion snoring sonorously at her side. The only way to stop the Karpana was to set up a coalition, and she was convinced that that was why her destiny had given her the powers of the Academy, the secret organization built up by Labranza Lamith and her predecessors. The tree across the road was Hexzion Garab. The other kings would not trust him and he held a hammerlock on the loyalty of the man they needed, Frenzkion Zorg. Something must be done about the king of Wesnar. Yet the thought was nauseating. Once she had taken that terrible step, there would be no other too contemptible to contemplate.

“Voice? Who are you?”

I am you. Your destiny, I suppose. It sounded amused. Gwin Tharn as a historical necessity.

“Do I really make Bulion an emperor?”

This time there was a notable pause. You are a Poulscath, not a Shoolscath. I can’t prophesy.

“What can you do?”

Warn, guide, encourage.

The guidance would not dwell much on ethics, obviously. How long would she have to put up with this?

The rest of your life. You heard what Wraxal Raddaith said.

At that price, was victory even worth it?

Of course it is! The alternative is to die without a struggle. This way the women and children may survive. Men will fight for hope.

“Hope? Where do they get hope?”

From you, of course.

“Why me? Go and predestine somebody else!”

She did not expect a reply, but she got one.

I have too much invested in you already. I gave you Ordur when you needed him. Remember Sojim? I gave you Mandasil to practice your mastery on; I turned Vaslar Nomith into a man to show you. I gave you Bulion Tharn.

“Why? Just to get me here to Raragash? Is that all he is, a coachman to deliver me to my destiny?”

Not at all. You are only human. The Voice sounded regretful about that. People need someone to love. One alone is much less than half of two. There is no point in suffering in order to find happiness for oneself. Only the happiness of loved ones will justify sacrifice. Your love for Bulion ties you to humanity. I chose him well, a man you can trust, the man you needed.

“Needed? You think I don’t need him even more now?”

He serves still. They all serve. Everyone moves to your bidding, for you are a Poulscath. You will use them all. All of them will be of value. What more can they want?

“Tibal?” she thought. “What use is he? He knows, but he cannot act.”

Tibal Frainith has a purpose too. He knows it and is content.

She wondered if the Voice ever lied to her. Without Bulion she would not be here and she loved him, but how was he going to behave when his wife was submerged in politics and the tides of war flowed closer to his beloved valley?

The Voice did not comment.

Sojim? Why had it mentioned Sojim?

Ah! Dreadlord Zorg was one key, but another was Wung Tan. If the king of Nurz died now, then so did all hope of a coalition. He was dying of something Labranza’s Ivielscaths could not cure. That sounded very much like old Sojim. He needed a Poulscath to help.

The windows were almost light. Time to rise and fight another battle or two. The council meeting should be easy—she would merely announce her decision. Letters to all the kings, and other letters to the Raragashian advisors… The Zorg problem to solve, one way or the other. And after that?

“Today I planned to visit all the villages and talk to each group of Cursed.”

Good idea, but it will take at least two days.

“And then I shall have to ride to Chan San and heal King Wung? How long will the journey take?”

At least three.

Perhaps she should send a fast messenger right away to say that help was on its way…

The Voice uttered a disembodied chuckle. That would guarantee his swift demise.

“Like that is it?”

Very much like that. A nest of scorpions. You will take Ching Chilith with you.

She puzzled for a moment. Why not leave him to run things in Raragash?

A baby scorpion, the Voice explained. Not to be trusted out of your sight and not much trusted in it. Labranza cannot oppose you, but he is not Cursed. Leave Labranza here to run the Academy and take Chilith with you to Chan San.

Why should Ching Chilith want to…

Somebody screamed and a door banged.

Gwin was out of bed and pulling on clothes even before Bulion had sat up. Voices were raised outside.  She was at the door when he said, “Wait! If it’s urgent, you may be the last person they need at the moment.” He hauled his smock on over his head. His face emerged in a tangle of beard.

“True!” she admitted, and waited for him to dress. Then he took up his sword and she let him lead the way.

The voices were quieter now, coming from the commons. All the men seemed to be there, most in a state of undress, many holding swords. The view through the doorway was blocked by Jukion, who was a sizable tract of scenery in his own right.

Bulion poked him in the kidneys. “What’s all the excitement? Who’s screaming?”

“Tigon.” Jukion glanced around, saw Gwin, and realized that he had no clothes on. He moved swiftly to the far side of Wosion. Others with the same problem sat down at tables. The movement revealed the cause of the commotion.

“I startled him,” said a hard, tuneless voice. He had to be Vaslar Nomith, of course, but he was a head taller than he had been the previous night, and solid muscle. His nose had almost disappeared. The skin of his face was blotched with white patches, giving him a leprous appearance almost worse than that of a true Faceless. Quite unworried by his nudity, he stood fists-on-hips, returning his audience’s stares with amused contempt and the studied arrogance of a Zarda warrior. “You approve of the transformation?”

Bulion walked all around him, inspecting him as he might inspect a horse at a sale and showing no indication that there was anything unusual happening. “It’s not quite complete yet. But impressive so far.”

Vaslar drew back his lips in a gruesome smile of satisfaction. “Am I a convincing Frenzkion Zorg?”

Gwin flopped down on a bench. She knew the voice. She had heard it at Polion’s funeral.

“No.” Bulion tapped the warrior’s chest. “You’re Fearmaster Zilion. I remember that scar on your arm, and there’s another coming here.”

The warrior scowled. “I have failed you, Gwin Saj?”

“Go and put some clothes on,” she said.

He bristled, but then he spun on his heel and strode back down the corridor.

Bulion walked back to Gwin. “Disappointed?” His eyes were full of hurt and suspicion.

“He may still be useful.”

He waited. They all waited. They were decent men, all of them. She would not burden them with her guilt. Not meeting anyone’s eye, she stood up.

“I feel I’ve wandered into the wrong bath house.” She headed for the passage, following Vaslar.

Bulion said, “Gwin!”

“Can’t have him terrorizing the whole crater.”

“Gwin, wait!”

She kept going. “Won’t be a minute. Must have a word with him.”

Tying the thong on his breeches, the warrior was just emerging from a doorway. He backed into the room; she entered and closed the door. Three of the four beds had been slept in. They were very close together, leaving little room for standing. She wondered which bed Tigon had used. Waking up to find a Faceless there would be enough to make anyone scream. Just being near the man now was disconcerting enough.

“Are you Zilion or Vaslar Nomith?”

He chuckled throatily. “Vaslar.”

He was not yesterday’s Vaslar, a weedy, donkey-laughed mediocrity. Auras of danger flickered in his eyes.

“And where do your loyalties lie?”

“To you. I told you yesterday I was grateful. Did you turn me into this?”

Her destiny had. She ignored the question. “You lost two brothers at Tolamin.”

He made a brutal growling sound and smiled eagerly. “Now I can avenge them?”

“It will be very dangerous, extremely—”

“Do not worry about that, Gwin Saj! I have Zilion’s nerve now. Tell me how!”

“I don’t know how.”

“Kill Zorg?” He smiled again, and she glimpsed the youthful serrated teeth she had noticed in the genuine Zilion.

“No! I need Zorg. The problem is the king. Remember Wraxal telling you that Hexzion was the one to blame for Tolamin?”

The warrior shivered. “Then I will gladly kill Hexzion for you! Joyfully! How?”

“I told you, I don’t know! But if you were to head over to his camp and take an Ogoalscath with you, then you might get an opportunity. Vaslar, this is incredibly dangerous…”

“Don’t speak to me of danger—it makes me want to hit you. I will do the world a favor and bring you his heart, Saj!”