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"Uhm," she sighed, eyes still closed.
"Self, have something to confess."
She opened one sleepy eye.
"Self, am not Saltimbanco. Am not simple, wandering fool..."
"Shhh. I know."
"Hai! How? Am still breathing."
"Deduction. Valther's lists. You were the only one who could've gotten to them and have communicated with bin Yousif. In Iwa Skolovda."
Fear smote deeply. "Ridyeh?" he gasped, unable to articulate his question.
"I hated you then. But it wasn't your fault, really. I... uh... Why talk about it? It's over. Don't make me remember. I don't want to. Kiss me. Touch me. Love me. Don't talk. Just make me forget."
"No hate? Ravenkrak will die, and self, in one guise, am prime killer."
"Ravenkrak's dead. Only Ravenkrak hasn't heard."
"You change so."
They were interrupted by a knock. Neither moved. It grew insistent. "You'd better go," Nepanthe said. "Probably one of my brothers."
It was. Valther eyed the gown of Nepanthe's Saltimbanco had do
"Self, am dismayed by lack of respect..."
"My own thought exactly," Valther replied, cutting him short. "But Turran wants her, and what he wants, he gets. Got to run." He chucked Mocker under the chin. "The robe becomes you." Laughing, he ducked a spiritless punch and hurried away.
Mocker found Nepanthe dressing when he returned. Her face clouded. She was still afraid.
"Was Valther. Meeting in Lower Armories. Luxos came back."
"I heard. Will you help me?" She quavered when he touched her. A moment later, in a tremulous whisper, she asked, "What do your friends call you?"
"Many names. Hai! Not good for lady's ears, most. But mostly Mocker."
"Mocker, we have to leave."
"Why?"
"My brothers might find out. We should get out first."
"To where? How to live? Moneys from speechifying in Iwa Skolovda repose in secret place in Tower of Moon-lost forever!" This was a wail.
"I don't care where. And I've got lots of valuable things."
"How to escape?"
"There're ways. But you know bin Yousif, don't you?" There was no accusation in her voice.
"Long time."
"You're friends?"
"When gold is right."
"Anyone else?" She smiled, easing his tension. He understood.
"Red beard."
"What?" She was startled.
"Rendel Grimnason. True name is Bragi Ragnarson."
"And Astrid?"
"Name is Elana. And Blackfang, Kildragon, Rolf, also. And guess where loyalty of troops lies."
"Oh! Poor Turran. Surrounded by enemies. Even his sister, now. When's it supposed to end?"
Mocker shook his head. "Employer, closed-lip man of first class, tells nothing. Not even name. But we find out. Is magical Machiavelli."
"A magician?"
"Yes. Question still is, why so interested in Raven-krak?"
"What's his name?"
"Is Varthlokkur..."
"Varthlokkur!" She dropped to the bed. "I told Turran, but he wouldn't listen."
Her reaction startled Mocker. "What is trouble?"
"You know what he wants from Ravenkrak? Me! For years he's been after me to marry him. Probably for my power. Not the Werewind, but the power within. Storm King blood is strong with it. Our ancestors were nobles of Ilkazar. Matched, little could resist us. Controlling weather would be child's play. Which is why I always turned him down." She flushed. He knew that wasn't her primary reason. "I was afraid Ravenkrak would be first to feel his new strength. I guess he'll destroy us anyway. Sooner or later, destruction overtakes all the children of the Empire. Be ready to leave when I get back. See if your friends will go with us."
She settled her dress more comfortably, gave him a small kiss. "I love you." She struggled with words, but they came. "I'll be back soon."
As Nepanthe left the tower, shawl tightened about her neck and head against the worsening snow, she examined, and marveled at, the changed state of her mind. Though she still feared, her being, like a magnet being drawn, was orienting itself toward one lodestone. Saltimbanco. No, Mocker. But what was the difference? A rose is a rose. Fu
Nepanthe was last to reach the Lower Armories. She found her brothers waiting impatiently. No one criticized her lateness. After offering belated well-wishes for her marriage, Luxos demanded everyone's attention.
"These are Ridyeh's things. What I could recover," he said, indicating a clutter on the table. "A gold coin bin Yousif spent after a meeting with an old man at an Itaskian tavern. Given him by that old man. The mercenaries outside are being paid in the same mintage. Turran?"
Turran examined the coin. "Ilkazar. Scarce these days."
"Thousands are being spent."
"Somebody found the Treasure of llkazar?"
"Don't forget, an old man's the source. What old man might know where to find that treasure?"
"Varthlokkur!" Turran snarled.
"Brilliant deduction!" said Nepanthe. "What'd I tell you six months ago?"
"Okay, I apologize. I didn't think he wanted you that bad. That means we've got real trouble. We'll have to fight sorcery and soldiers both."
"I have more," Luxos said. "Concerning who gave that spy list to bin Yousif. I found this paper in Ridyeh's pocket. The river water almost ruined it. But two names are clear: Bragi Ragnarson and Mocker. Meaningless? Rumor has it that bin Yousif operated with men of those names during the El Murid Wars. And one of them was in Itaskia at the time, and was seen talking with the same old man. Where are they now? What're they doing? I think they're here. In Ravenkrak."
Nepanthe racked her mind for a diversion.
Offering the paper, Luxos said, "There's another readable line."
Turran frowned over ink badly run, read, "'... short and fat. Ragnarson is blond, tall...' That's all?"
They were at the marches of discovery. Nepanthe knew she had to warn her husband.... The thought startled her. Her declaration to Mocker, a half hour earlier, of a shift of allegiance, had lacked conviction. In the meantime it had matured and grown firm. She rose. To Turran's inquiring glance, she replied, "Bathroom," and left them bent over Ridyeh's effects like ghouls over an open grave.
"Does this mean anything?" she heard Turran ask. And, as she drew almost beyond hearing, Valther replied.
"The only fat man here is Saltimbanco..."
Which precipitated a brief silence. Nepanthe started to run-and collided with a breathless soldier. "Milady!" he gasped. "They're striking camp. Looks like they're pulling out."
Turran's strategy had been vindicated. "Thank you. I'll tell my brothers. Return to your station." She pretended to return toward the blue glow of the meeting room. She stopped when the soldier passed out of sight. She had no intention of telling Turran that he had won. Let him stew awhile, arguing, while she and Mocker got away. Anyway, she had a feeling his victory might not be what it seemed.
Diminished by distance, she heard Turran's anguished, "But we couldn't have married our sister to an enemy!"
"We did!" Valther retorted. "I'd swear, now that I think about, nobody else could've gotten to the lists. Not and have gotten them to bin Yousif. Maybe we can hold his merry hanging after all."
"Damn!" Turran roared. Metal rattled as he smote the table. "Well, that's one. What about the other?"
"Grimnason," Valther said sadly.