Greyfells stopped pacing. He placed himself at parade rest, back to the fire. “It doesn’t matter a whit who controls her son, does it?”

“No, Lord. Fulk is King. Confirmed by the Thing and the Estates. I’ve been thinking…”

“I think I know, Josiah. My cousin is in grave danger. This kingdom is renown for its intrigues. Her family should put her under our protection for her own sake.”

“Exactly, Your Lordship!”

Babeltausque smelled a king-size load of what, technically, was called bullshit. But which man had tipped the cart?

Gales stayed the evening and night, mostly heads together with the Duke.

Babeltausque suspected that success at gaining Vorgreberg and Castle Krief would mean less than Greyfells hoped. His writ would extend no farther than he could see from the capital’s wall. And that might be problematic.

Other forces were at work.

TWO: 1016–1017 AFE
MOUNTAINS FAR

Fangdred bestrode one of the highest peaks in the Dragon’s Teeth. Who built the castle was a mystery, as was how the engineering had been achieved. Fangdred had been there for countless centuries.

Its current population was miniscule and included several mummies. Many of the living would not, strictly appraised, easily pass for sane.

The sorcerer had worn many names, including Empire Destroyer, but, commonly, was called Varthlokkur. He employed his arts to spy on the wider world while he wrestled the demands of love, honor, and pride. He observed carefully, painfully aware that mortals were subject to manipulation by puppet masters unseen and driven by imperatives that might not make sense even to them.

He spent hours every day looking for puppeteers, with little success.

He was able to track factions in Kavelin, where everyone acted on best guesses while guessing wrong. His successes elsewhere were less clear. The lords of the Dread Empire were wary. Getting anywhere near the Empress was problematic. What he did see might be staged for his eyes.

He did manage one triumph beyond the Pillars of Ivory. He stumbled across a man he had thought long dead, a fugitive who had escaped from Lioantung during its destruction by the Deliverer. That man was headed home, now.

The wizard did what he dared as the man’s guardian angel.

Varthlokkur’s mad pride had done irreparable harm during the business of the Deliverer. He had yet to understand what had driven him to such stubborn excess. His excuse had been his fear of losing his wife, but common sense saw that battle won well beforehand.

On the other hand, that fool Ragnarson had been just as stubborn… “Damn it!” His blood was rising for no sane reason.

He could not back down. He could not admit that he had been wrong. Yet he had cost Kavelin dearly. Protecting Haroun during his long journey west was slight recompense but it might pay off in time to come.

Haroun carried his own guilt burden.