Authors: Glen Cook
At last. The end of a long and tiring journey. Burla glanced back to see if he had been overtaken at the penultimate moment, sighed, slipped into the cave. His friend Shoptaw, the winged man, greeted him with anxious questions. “Fine, now,” Burla replied with a wide, fangy grin. “But tired. Master?”
“Come,” the winged man said.
The old man was solicitous and apologetic. “I’m sorry you had to go through this. But Burla, you did me proud. Proud. How’s the child?”
Swelling in the Master’s praise, Burla replied, “Good, Master. But hungry. Sad.”
“Yes, so. You weren’t prepared to bring him so far. I feared...”
Burla laid the baby before the Master. The old man opened its wrappings.
“What’s this? A girl?” Thunderheads rumbled across his brow. “Burla...”
“Master?” Had he done wrong without knowing?
The old man held his temper. Whatever had happened, it had not been Burla’s fault. The dwarf didn’t have thebrains. “But how?...” he asked aloud, wondering how a counterswitch had been made. Then he looked closer. The hereditary mark was there.
The King had lied. To support his shaky throne he had announced the birth of a son when a daughter had been born. The fool! There was no way he could have pulled it off...
Realization. His own schemes had been dealt a savage blow. A wildcat was growling in his embrace. Willy-nilly, he had inherited the Krief’s plot. “Oh, damn, damn...”
Two days passed before he trusted his temper enough to confront his shadowy ally. The failure was the easterner’s fault. He should have used spells to assure the sex of the child. The old man would have done it himself had he suspected the other’s sloppiness.
But no one accused the Demon Prince of incompe-tence. No sorcerer was more powerful or touchy than Yo Hsi, nor had any had more time to perfect his wickedness. He was an evil spanning unknown centuries. Only one man dared openly challenge the Demon Prince, his co-ruler and arch-enemy in Shinsan, the Dragon Prince, Nu Li Hsi. And, perhaps, the Star Rider, the old man thought, but he was irrelevant to the equation.
The old man, who had taken great pains to remain anonymous, was a noble of Kavelin, the Captal of Savernake, hereditary guardian of the Savernake Gap. His castle, Maisak, in the highest and narrowest part of the pass, had seen countless battles fought beneath its walls. Only once had it been threatened, when El Murid’s hordes, by sheer numbers, had almost swamped it. The Wesson, Eanred Tarlson, had prevented that. That near-defeat had led the Captal to reinforce his defenses with sorcery.
A greater sorcery was in the Savernake Gap now. That of Shinsan. The Demon Prince’s interlocutors had come to the Captal and found a bitter, ambitious man, Ravelin’s only non-Nordmen noble gone sour over the treatment he received in Vorgreberg. The emissaries had tempted him with the Crown of Kavelin in exchange for service to Yo Hsi and eventual passage west for Shinsan’s legions. Yo Hsi was ready to settle his ancient strugglewith the Dragon Prince. A united Shinsan would move swiftly to fulfill its age-old goal of world dominion.
The Captal, from his lonely aerie, had seen little of the world but that contained in the caravans flowing past Maisak. Since the fall of Ilkazar, the west had been weak and divided. The major powers, Itaskia and El Murid’s religious state, were deadly enemies evenly matched. Neither showed much interest in using sorcery for military purposes.
Shinsan hinged its strategies on sorcery. Physical combat was a followup, to occupy, to achieve tactical goals. Rumor whispered dreadful things of the powers pent there, awaiting unity to release them.
The Captal had chosen what he thought would be the winning side. Western sorcery and soldiery had no hope against the Dread Empire.
Yo Hsi had established a transfer link between Maisak and a border castle in his sector of Shinsan. Th old man now used it. He bore the child in his arms.
The place he went was dark and misty. There were hints of evils out of sight, evils more grim than any he had created in the caverns in the cliffs against which Maisak stood.
A squad of soldiers, statue-like in black armor, surrounded his entry point. He could see nothing beyond them. He, and they, might have been the entire universe.
Was Yo Hsi expecting trouble? He had never been greeted this way before. “I want to see the Demon Prince. I’m the Captal of Savernake...”
Not a weapon wavered, not a man moved. Their discipline was frightening.
From the darkness, a darker darkness still, Yo Hsi materialized. Fear cramped the Captal’s guts. The man hadn’t been the same since losing his hand-though, perhaps, the change had begun earlier, with the failure in the child’s sex. Consistency of oversight suggested that Yo Hsi was developing a godlike self-image that underesti-mated everyone around him.
“What do you want? You’ve dragged me away from sorceries of the highest and most difficult sort.”
His face came visible in the sourceless light. It wasdrawn and haggard. The eyes were surrounded by marks of strain. The Captal felt a new touch of fear. Had he made an ally of a man incapable of fulfilling the scheme?
“We’ve got a problem.”
“I don’t have time for guessing games, old man.”
“Eh?” The Captal controlled himself. He had just learned his status in the easterner’s thoughts. “The child. Your Prince changeling. It’s a girl.”
The Captal had been enthusiastic when Yo Hsi had first proposed the switch. Couldn’t miss, what with both Princes their creatures...
The Demon Prince flew into a screaming rage.
It was all the Captal’s fault, of course. Or his minions had betrayed him, or...
After several minutes of abuse, the old man could tolerate no more. The Demon Prince had slipped over the borders of reason. The ship of alliance was no longer sound. Time to abandon it and cut his losses.
With a slight bow the Captal interrupted, said, “I see I’ll find no comfort in the source of our embarrassment. You may consider our alliance dissolved.” He spoke the word that would return him to his own dungeons.
As he flickered away, he grinned. The expression on Yo Hsi’s face!
The moment he materialized in Maisak he initiated dissociative spells to close the transfer stream. To pursue the discussion Yo Hsi would have to walk from the hold of his nearest secret ally.
II) He bears the burden of loyalty
Eanred Tarlson was one man who never ceased worrying the mysterious exchange.
Following his encounter in the Gudbrandsdal there was a long period for which he had no memories. His wife, Handle, said he had lain on the borderland of death for a month. Then, gradually, he had recovered. Six months had passed before he could get around under his ownpower. Kavelin spent that time under intense pressure from its neighbors.
At home, in the taverns with his men, or maneuvering in the field, Tarlson never stopped puzzling. Something kept ragging the corners of his mind. A clue that only he held. Some memory of having encountered the old man before, long ago. But his bout with death had left his mind unreliable.
“Maybe it’s a memory from a previous life,” his wife observed one evening, a year after the swap. She was the only one he had told. “I was reading one of Gjerdrum’s books. There’s a man at the Rebsamen, Godat Kothe, who says the half-memories we get sometimes are from other lives.”
Gjerdrum had just finished a year in Hellin Daimiel, courtesy of the Krief. Handte Tarlson, with a thirst for knowledge and little opportunity to indulge it, had instantly begun devouring his books.
Eanred frowned. That reminded him of a problem he had to face soon. The Nordmen were upset that a common Wesson, on state funds, was being sent to a university considered a noble preserve.
It had begun without Tarlson’s knowledge, during his unconsciousness. There had been strong opposition, which was stronger now. Gjerdrum had outperformed his classmates. Though Tarlson felt immensely honored, he feared he would have to ask the boy to withdraw.
He felt a quirk of irritation. It startled him. It wasn’t like him to feel antagonism over accidents of birth. Still, they couldn’t accuse him of ambition. He had never asked honors or titles, only the opportunity to serve.
“Maybe. But I’m sure it’s a memory from this life. I’ll find the handle someday.” After a long pause, “I have to. I’m the only one who. saw them all.”
“Eanred, tell the King. Don’t take everything on yourself.”
“Maybe.” He considered it.
Weeks passed before he spoke with the Krief. The occasion was his induction into the Order of the Royal Star, the Crown’s household knights. The endowment was hereditary and carried a small living.
The Nordmen were bitter. But their opposition remained muted. The ceremony took place in Vorgre-berg, where Tarlson was immensely popular.
He could be put in his place when the mad King died. Afterward, in his private-audience chamber, the Krief asked, “Eanred, how are you? I’ve heard the pressure’s bothering you.”
“Fine, Sire. Never better.” “1 don’t believe it. You showed nerves today.” “Sire?”
“Eanred, you’re the only loyal subject I’ve got. You’re invaluable as champion, but worth immeasurably more as a symbol. Why do you think the barons hate you? Your very existence makes their treasons more obvious. They resist honoring you because it makes you more promi-nent, makes your loyalty a greater example to the lower classes. And that’s why I refuse to let you take Gjerdrum out of the Rebsamen.” Tarlson was startled.
The King chuckled. “Thought you had that in mind. In character. Bring me a brandy, will you?”
While Tarlson poured, the Krief continued, “Eanred, I don’t have much time left. Three or four years. If I do things that seem strange, don’t be surprised. I’m chasing a grand plan. So the scramble for succession won’t destroy Kavelin. Thank you. Pour one for yourself.” For several minutes he sipped quietly while Tarlson waited.
“Eanred, when I’m gone, will you support the Queen?” “Need you ask, Sire?”
“No, but I don’t envy you the task. My remotest cousins will be after the Crown. You’ll have no support.” “Nevertheless...” He remembered his wife’s sugges-tion. “Maybe if we found the true Prince...”
“Ah. You know. I guess everyone does. But it’s not that easy. There’re facts known only to myself and the Queen. And the kidnappers. Eanred, the Prince was a girl. Fool that I was, I thought we could pretend otherwise...”
: Tarlson dropped into a chair. “Sire, I’m a simple man. This’s a bit complicated... But there’s something I’ve got to tell you. It may help.” He described what he had seen the night of the abduction.
“The Captal,” the Krief said when Eanred finished. “I suspected it. The creatures in the tower, you know. But I kept asking myself, what did he have to gain? Now I wonder if he was a willing accomplice, or under duress? I’ve no ideas about your attacker. He must’ve been a Power...”
“You haven’t investigated?” The puzzle had been answered. The old man had been the Captal of Savernake. Eanred had seen him briefly during the wars.
“I had my reasons. For now I have a son, though he’ll never be King. Meanwhile, I keep hoping there’ll be an acceptable heir...” For a moment his face expressed intense anguish. “The girl’s no more my blood than the changeling.”
“Sire?”
“Don’t know how it was managed. But I didn’t father the child. Haven’t had the capacity since the wars. No need to be shocked, Eanred. I’ve managed to live with it. As has the Queen, though she wasn’t told till recently... I’d run out of excuses. And it was time she knew. She might find a way to give me an heir before it’s too late.” He smiled a tight, agonized smile.
“I doubt it, Sire. The Queen...”
“I know. She’s young and idealistic... But a man has to live by his forlorn, twisted hopes.”
Tarlson shook his head slowly. More than the knighthood, the Krief’s confessions were honors that showed the high esteem in which he was held. He wished there was something he could do...
He returned home in a dour, bitter mood, silently cursing Fate, yet with a renewed respect for the man who was his lord and friend. Let the Nordmen call him weakling. The man had a strength they would never understand.
III) She walks in darkness
Three times emissaries of the Demon Prince came to Maisak. Each time the Captal sent them home with polite but firm refusals. Then he heard nothing for a long time.
He considered going to the Krief. But temptation called. He might stumble into something yet...
News came, whispering on demon wings, of a great thaumaturgic disaster. It stirred awe and fear among sorcerers throughout the west.
Yo Hsi and the Dragon Prince had been destroyed. In his hidden fortress deep in the Dragon’s Teeth, the sorcerer Varthlokkur, the murderer of Ilkazar, had stirred and twitched and lashed out with unsuspected power.
The Captal, like sorcerers everywhere, retired to his most secure fastness to cast divinations and lay a wary inner eye on the Power in the north. The possibilities were unimaginable. The Empire Destroyer loose again. What would he do now?
And what of Shinsan? Nu Li Hsi’s heir-apparent was a crippled child, incapable of holding the Dragon Throne. Yo Hsi’s daughter was a postulant of a hermitic order, uninterested in her father’s position and power... Would Varthlokkur seize Shinsan before the Tervola could select an Emperor?
Across the west, sorcerers gathered their strength, saw to their defenses.
And nothing happened. The Power in the Dragon’s Teeth quietly faded away. The Captal’s probes sensed only patient waiting, not ambition, not gathering sorcery.
Nor were there thaumaturgic hostings in Shinsan. Both successions proceeded smoothly.
He returned to his experiments.
She came at night, under a full moon, three years to the day after the baby change. In her train were imps and cockatrices, griffins, and a sky-patrolling dragon. Sherode a milk-white unicorn.
She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He loved her from the beginning.
Shoptaw roused him from slumber with the news.