much that she said. “It would be more kind to leave you ignorant. The heart I found while I was in exile disagrees.”
Ragnarson focused. Time to be careful. The Empress of Shinsan was going to give him something because she wanted something. “Do tell.”
“Last month your grandson Bragi seemed certain to become king of Kavelin, instead of Fulk. It was just a matter of time. The Itaskians were being neutralized. Inger was losing support fast. The Nordmen were distancing themselves from her and Greyfells. Your cronies were dead or fled, but that wasn’t hampering Kristen.”
“But?” That required no genius to see.
“Credence Abaca died. And everything began to fall apart.”
Ragnarson resumed pacing. “Abaca died? Really?”
“He’d been ill for some time, apparently. Once he went the tribes had no recognized chief of chiefs. With them out of it Kristen’s Wessons began to waver. There have been massive desertions. The men who haven’t yet left the regiments have no good reason to stay. They aren’t getting paid. They don’t want Inger but Kristen fled the kingdom once she no longer had the Marena Dimura to protect her. Kavelin seems ready to fall apart.”
It looked like Shinsan had a fine opportunity—that Mist evidently did not view in that light.
Why give her ideas? She had plenty of her own. And Kavelin’s torment was his fault.
“I’m sorry. It’s a sad thing I caused. Aren’t there appropriate sayings about hubris?”
“In almost every language. It’s a popular pastime, small men criticizing the stumbles of giants.”
Ragnarson glanced out the nearest window. It would be time to eat, soon. What would it be? Outguessing the cooks was a favorite exercise.
Derel Prataxis said men grew introspective with age. Ragnarson had tried it. He could not get interested in his own interior landscape, nor could he make himself care.
Mist broke the protracted silence. “You have no response?”
“Should I? It’s sad. My fault. I said that. It is what it is. I can’t do anything about it. Or is that why I’m honored with your presence?”
“In a sense. It was.”
“Sense me the sense, woman!”
“Don’t make me hurt you, old friend.” To remind him who was the guest.
“Sorry.” But he was not, and that was obvious.
“I hoped confinement would erode that attitude. That given time you would find your way back to the Bragi Ragnarson who won friends easily and inspired people. But he seems to have gone missing permanently.”
He did not respond. But he did pace.
“You haven’t tried to figure out how you came to this?”
“No figuring needed. I got too big for my britches, then I guessed wrong. My luck ran out.”
“So you’ve spent all this time, with no other demands on you, doing what? Pacing and being angry?”
The appalled way she said that tickled him. “Pretty much.”
“You are an animal.”
That did not please him. She seemed contemptuous now.
“I was considering sending you back but the Bragi Ragnarson I see here looks no better than Dane of Greyfells, or take your pick of Nordmen.” She headed for the door, muttering, “How did he get from that to this in a year?”
...
That same night witnessed an event the tower’s denizens considered impossible. There was an attack. It was a complete surprise.
The raiders put a ladder up to the tower door. They broke through, spread out, and started killing. They would have succeeded completely had the Empress not been there, stealing a night’s rest.
It was a close thing, still. Mist lost her bodyguards. Two of the kitchen crew survived only by hiding in the larder. Lein She made it, too, but was wounded badly defending the transfer chamber.
He apologized for the disaster. “I should have anticipated an effort to free the prisoners.”
The Empress touched the Candidate gently. “The fault was mine, Lein She. How many escaped?”
“I don’t know.” He went to sleep.
Mist studied her fingertips. Lein She
Ragnarson focused. Time to be careful. The Empress of Shinsan was going to give him something because she wanted something. “Do tell.”
“Last month your grandson Bragi seemed certain to become king of Kavelin, instead of Fulk. It was just a matter of time. The Itaskians were being neutralized. Inger was losing support fast. The Nordmen were distancing themselves from her and Greyfells. Your cronies were dead or fled, but that wasn’t hampering Kristen.”
“But?” That required no genius to see.
“Credence Abaca died. And everything began to fall apart.”
Ragnarson resumed pacing. “Abaca died? Really?”
“He’d been ill for some time, apparently. Once he went the tribes had no recognized chief of chiefs. With them out of it Kristen’s Wessons began to waver. There have been massive desertions. The men who haven’t yet left the regiments have no good reason to stay. They aren’t getting paid. They don’t want Inger but Kristen fled the kingdom once she no longer had the Marena Dimura to protect her. Kavelin seems ready to fall apart.”
It looked like Shinsan had a fine opportunity—that Mist evidently did not view in that light.
Why give her ideas? She had plenty of her own. And Kavelin’s torment was his fault.
“I’m sorry. It’s a sad thing I caused. Aren’t there appropriate sayings about hubris?”
“In almost every language. It’s a popular pastime, small men criticizing the stumbles of giants.”
Ragnarson glanced out the nearest window. It would be time to eat, soon. What would it be? Outguessing the cooks was a favorite exercise.
Derel Prataxis said men grew introspective with age. Ragnarson had tried it. He could not get interested in his own interior landscape, nor could he make himself care.
Mist broke the protracted silence. “You have no response?”
“Should I? It’s sad. My fault. I said that. It is what it is. I can’t do anything about it. Or is that why I’m honored with your presence?”
“In a sense. It was.”
“Sense me the sense, woman!”
“Don’t make me hurt you, old friend.” To remind him who was the guest.
“Sorry.” But he was not, and that was obvious.
“I hoped confinement would erode that attitude. That given time you would find your way back to the Bragi Ragnarson who won friends easily and inspired people. But he seems to have gone missing permanently.”
He did not respond. But he did pace.
“You haven’t tried to figure out how you came to this?”
“No figuring needed. I got too big for my britches, then I guessed wrong. My luck ran out.”
“So you’ve spent all this time, with no other demands on you, doing what? Pacing and being angry?”
The appalled way she said that tickled him. “Pretty much.”
“You are an animal.”
That did not please him. She seemed contemptuous now.
“I was considering sending you back but the Bragi Ragnarson I see here looks no better than Dane of Greyfells, or take your pick of Nordmen.” She headed for the door, muttering, “How did he get from that to this in a year?”
...
That same night witnessed an event the tower’s denizens considered impossible. There was an attack. It was a complete surprise.
The raiders put a ladder up to the tower door. They broke through, spread out, and started killing. They would have succeeded completely had the Empress not been there, stealing a night’s rest.
It was a close thing, still. Mist lost her bodyguards. Two of the kitchen crew survived only by hiding in the larder. Lein She made it, too, but was wounded badly defending the transfer chamber.
He apologized for the disaster. “I should have anticipated an effort to free the prisoners.”
The Empress touched the Candidate gently. “The fault was mine, Lein She. How many escaped?”
“I don’t know.” He went to sleep.
Mist studied her fingertips. Lein She
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