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to start after Oryon crosses into Altea and there's nobody left to argue with
me."
Haaken commanded the Vorgreberger Guards, a heavy infantry regiment begat by
the force Ragnarson had com-manded during the civil war. He was also Bragi's
chief of staff.
Jarl Ahring commanded the Queen's Own Horse Guards, consisting of one "battle"
of heavy cavalry and two of light. The army Ragnarson was building included
another five regular regiments, each numbering six hundred to seven hundred
and fifty men organized in three battles. Each regiment regularly drilled
twice its number of volunteers, who could be integrated in case of
mobilization. The volunteers, in turn, were responsible for training their
neighbors. Counting Nordmen and retainers, Marena Dimura scouts and mountain
troops, and regular garrisons and border guards. Ravelin could muster a field
army of twelve thousand five hundred overnight, and be assured of a steady
supply of partially trained replacements.
"How broad a mobilization?" Haaken asked.
"Just alert the ready people at first. But don't bring them in. Let them
finish planting. Step up the training."
"You'll scare hell out of our neighbors."
"If they've got guilty consciences.... No. The enemy is Shinsan. Let that leak
when you issue the orders. No more leaves. Training in full swing from now on.
And reinforce Maisak and Karak Strabger. We've got to hold the Gap. I'll do
what I can diplomatically. We'll have a first class plenipoten-tiary."
"Who?"
"Varthlokkur. If they don't listen to him, they won't listen."
"You won't get much backing. I mean, I can take your word that Shinsan is
moving again. But you'll have to produce hard evidence to convince other
folks."
"I'll work on it. And about two thousand other things. You know, Haroun wanted
me to take over as King here. The bastard is crazy. And look what he wants to
be king of. Hammad al Nakir is a hundred times bigger than Ravelin."
"Hammad al Nakir runs itself. It's got a whole different tradition."
"Could be."
They reached Valther's home. "Any news?" Bragi asked.
"Not much. Nepanthe, Ethrian, Haroun, Rolf....She couldn't find a trace.
They're either shielded, or...."
"Or?"
"Dead."
"Rolf's dead. Definitely. We found him in the cemetery. He took three of them
with him."
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"Three of who?"
"Ones like we had at my house."
"Harish?"
"No pretense this time. But they were the same breed. What about the jewel?"
"It's not there."
"Where'd it go?"
"She doesn't know."
"It keeps piling up, and that's the best we can come up with? Nobody knows
anything for sure? But I do. I'll get them if they don't get me first."
"That goes without saying," Haaken remarked sarcastically.
"Eh?"
"They knew that before they started. That's why they tried to kill you first."
"Oh. Where's Gundar? Let's see what he's got to say."
Gundar didn't tell them anything new. His description of Nepanthe's visitor
fit the six dead assassins.
"Guess we can kiss her off," Haaken whispered.
"Quiet!" Bragi muttered. "This'l! give Valther a bigger stake. Maybe get some
action out of him." He felt that Valther was dragging his heels. Why? His
brother-in-law kidnapped, his brother murdered.... That should have been
motivation enough. If Nepanthe didn't move him, Ragnarson reflected, he would
have to find a new chief spy.
His paranoia had reached the point where he suspected everyone. Anyone he
didn't see working as hard as he- \ irregardless of how hard they hit it when
out of his sight-was somehow betraying him.
That, too, may have been part of the enemy plan. A cunning adversary operated
on many levels.
SEVENTEEN: Michael's Adventure
Michael Trebilcock lay as still and patient as a cat. His ga/e never left the
house across Lieneke Lane.
He had stumbled onto the foreigners while visiting his friend Aral, whose
father had known his own in their younger days. Aral's father was a caravan
outfitter fallen on hard times. He survived on military supply contracts given
because the family had remained loyal during the rebellion.
The three had left an inn down the block, looking so much like the men Michael
had seen at Ragnarson's that he had felt compelled to follow them.
His investigation had been luckless till then. Even with Aral's help he hadn't
discovered anything of interest.
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Everybody in Vorgreberg believed something was afoot. But anyone who knew
anything was keeping quiet. There was an undercurrent of fear. Knives had
flashed by moonlight; bodies had turned up in rain-damp morning gutters. Few
people were interested in risking a premature visit from the Dark Lady.
"Aral!" he had yelled, and they had followed the three here. One was inside.
The others were out of sight, hiding. Aral Dantice was a short, wide, tough
little thug, tempered in the streets during his father's hardship. He didn't
look bright. Scars complimented his aura of thuggishness. His problem, his
weakness, was a lack of patience. He wouldn't have taken half his scars if he
had had enough self-control.
"Let's grab them," Dantice whispered. "If they're the same gang...."
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