Book 3 - A Path to Coldness of Heart by Glen Cook Page A

amongst the Tervola was a man who wanted to bring her down.
Phsaw! Of course there was. But no Tervola would recruit, arm, and inform a band of guerrillas. It would be beneath his dignity. Nor would any Tervola believe that cat’s-paws like these stood a chance against her.
Again, she was not supposed to have been here. The attack must have had another point.
She bullied the surviving staff into securing the tower, starting with the ladder and door. A census of prisoners followed.
There had been no escapes. Evidently, liberation had not been the intent. Three prisoners were dead. Another prisoner had been mauled. Three remained undisturbed, including Ragnarson, who had remained unaware of the attack.
Mist focused on the transfer chamber.
Her paranoia did not fade because she was occupied. She considered the possibility that Varthlokkur was behind the assault.
Unlikely, though. Varthlokkur would be direct. He would send his familiar monster.
The raiders had had a close knowledge of the inside of the tower but had lacked real-time intelligence. They had not been ready for her.
She moved to the door of the staging chamber. “Bring the dead raiders to me here! Without damaging them!”
None had gotten away and none had been taken alive. But the dead had not been dead for long. Some could still bear witness.
First, though, she had to make contact with her headquarters.
    ...
    Ragnarson heard a click. He faced the door, uneasy. Neither breakfast nor lunch had come. Mist must be messing with him.
    The Empress came in carrying a tray. He stifled a rude remark. She did not look healthy. “Are you all right?”
“No. I just spent three hours talking to the dead.”
“What happened?” That she was still here and bringing him food told him it was something bad.
“Persons as yet unidentified may be aware of your survival.”
“What?” Was she frazzled enough to give something away?
“There was an attack on the tower. By local people. Those I could make talk hoped news that our portals were out would encourage a general uprising. But there were hints that they wanted to free the prisoners held here, too. They expected to suffer heavy casualties. Someone here must have been worth it.”
“Me?”
“Maybe. There were other prisoners. Some of those got killed.”
“You didn’t take any of the raiders alive.” Which explained her remark about talking to the dead.
“No. And I didn’t get to the dead fast enough to squeeze out everything I wanted. But I can’t help thinking some clever soul with a different agenda conned some malcontents. I don’t know that. It’s intuition. Maybe somebody wanted to get you out.”
Michael Trebilcock?
He did not say the name. But no one else they knew had the connections. Or the gall.
“Trebilcock does seem plausible,” she said. “Or maybe just someone who enjoys a good framing.”
“Old Meddler? Why would he sink to that low a level?”
“For the drama?”
“With all the grand drama in this world, he wants to stir up skirmishes?”
“The drama is fading. The war with Matayanga is guttering. I intend to avoid war afterward. It will take Shinsan a generation or two to recover. The Tervola see that. Whatever their feelings toward me, they want to nurture the Empire first. Even dedicated old troublemakers want a healing time.”
“So you’re getting comfortable.”
“Never while I’m a woman trying to control cruel men awed by nothing but superior power. My point is, Shinsan is headed for a time of peace. The whole world is exhausted. There was a battle in Hammad al Nakir recently. Yasmid routed Megelin. She could not follow up. Magden Norath is in Al Rhemish. He could become a tool of the Meddler again. Kavelin is chaotic and getting more so. If the Meddler was behind the raid here his intent might have been to inject you into that chaos to see the fur and blood fly.”
“You said you were thinking that way yourself.”
“I was. Because of my fondness for you and my fondness for