Part 23 (1/2)
”You'd start where you left off. You don't short-cut the Seven Steps. Your Guild rank wouldn't mean much inside the Order.”
”Why not? Why would they promote me, then?”
”The same reason you don't turn them down. It makes people think you've got the Guild behind you. They want your success to reflect on High Crag.
”I'll never get into the Citadel myself. I can't master the Mysteries of the Sixth Circle. Oh, well. The organizational table is top-heavy anyway.”
”Valther? Mist? What do you think?”
Valther shrugged.
His wife replied, ”Colonel Oryon sounds honest. He may even sympathize a little.
He has stretched his conscience today.” She flashed a smile that could melt hearts of bronze. Oryon responded.
She was, simply, inarguably, the most beautiful woman in the world. Before her fall from power in s.h.i.+nsan she had spent ages engineering her perfection.
”What action will you take, Colonel?” Ragnarson asked.”I don't know. If I inform High Crag, I'll either start worse rumors or warn the conspiracy-depending on who gets my letter. I'll have to investigate myself, when I get back.”
”Well, I've done what I could. Wish we could lay hands on Balfour. Valther. I've given you a whole list of things. Got anything yet?”
”No. I sent a couple men to that inn just before we came over. Told them to grab the next bunch of riders.”
”Mist. We need your help. First, locate Nepanthe. Then see if you can call in VisiG.o.dred and Zindahjira, and get Varthlokkur cracking.”
For an instant the woman's cold beauty gave way to pique. ”You can't trust a woman? You don't think I can handle....”
”No. Because you don't want to be involved in this sort of thing anymore. And because I don't think one wizard will be enough. Not when we're toe to toe with s.h.i.+nsan.... Ah. Derel. Well?”
”It's not there.”
”It's got to be.”
”You find it then. I took the place apart.”
”Hey, cool off. I believe you. Mist?”
”Someone took it.”
Ragnarson snorted. He needed an expert to tell him that? ”Another job for you, Valther.”
”I know. Find out who. When am I going to get some sleep?”
”Any time I'm in bed, you steal all you want. I won't be there to raise h.e.l.l.
Mist can help you. Can't you? At least to find out where the mask is now?”
”Yes.”
”All right. Derel, I've got two more jobs for you, then I'll leave you alone. One I think you'll like. First, scare up Haaken. Have him meet meat the cemetery. It's time I saw what he did for Elana.” He spoke with a throat suddenly tight. ”Then write Gjerdrum. Tell him to quit farting around and get his a.s.s back here.” He signed a blank piece of paper. ”That do you?”
Prataxis's smile was wicked. ”Perfect, sir. Absolutely perfect. Oh. I couldn't find Trebilc.o.c.k.”
”Probably whoring around. He runs with a strange crowd. He'll turn up.” But Ragnarson was worried. Too many people were out of sight. Michael might have found something and been silenced.
”I'll look for him too,” Mist offered.
”You want to find me someone, find Haroun. Valther, you be home later?”
”I imagine.”
”Okay. I'll be out to see how the house is coming. And to talk to Gundar.”
”What?””I told you to take the house apart to find this Tear of Mimizan, didn't I?”
”Yes.”
”Well?”
”Haven't made any headway. My people are all in the field.”
”Uhm.” Valther was going to have to show more initiative. ”Borrow them from Ahring. Or Haaken.”
”All right. All right.”
”You needn't destroy the house,” said Mist. ”I'll find it if it's there. I know it well....” Her eyes clouded as she remembered a cruel past, when she had been mistress in s.h.i.+nsan and warring with the Monitor of Escalon.
She must be getting restless, Ragnarson thought. Being a housewife isn't what she thought. She might need watching too.
This was getting touchy. The people he knew he could trust were being stripped away. Those who, potentially, could help most he didn't dare trust. Wizards. Witches.
Mercenaries. People whose prime loyalties were to themselves.
And somebody wanted him dead. He didn't doubt for an instant that the false Harish Cultists' primary mission had been to murder him.
”Enough. There're a thousand things we can discuss. But not now. I'm going to the cemetery. Derel?”
”I'll have a horse readied.”
”Someday you'll be rewarded.”
”Thank you, sir.”
To the others, ”Sorry I ran you all over. I'm getting desperate, trying to make sense out of things. I feel like a fly in a spider web, and can't make out the spider.”
He strapped on his new sword, donned a heavy coat. The nights were still chilly.
He left ahead of his guests.
The cemetery lay on a hill north of Vorgreberg, beginning about a mile beyond the city gates. It was large, having served the city since its founding. All Vorgreberg's dead were buried there. Rich or poor, honored or despised, they lay in the same ground.