A Path to Coldness of Heart Read Free Page A

have trouble working in the dark.”
    “You don’t work at all.”
    “To work I must be given tasks. Plausible, possible tasks. Not pie in the sky, wishful thinking tasks.” Babeltausque had found his courage today. “Bridge builders are constrained by the limits of their materials. A sorcerer is constrained by the limits of the Power.”
    “Varthlokkur never seemed limited.”
    “Only from outside. He was. He is. He makes what he does look easy because he’s ancient and far more talented than me.”
    Greyfells grumbled but did not send the sorcerer away. Babeltausque found a shadow and settled. He resented the Duke’s attitude but understood it. He was just a house sorcerer, under contract. He lacked a grasp of the Power sufficient to make it as an independent. He could help heal scrapes and bruises. He could retard meat spoilage. He read the tarot imperfectly and the stars the same. His divinations were reliable out to about three hours. He did read character well, usually recognized lies, and could anticipate danger’s approach, particularly when that included him.
    His most valuable talent was the ability to remain calm and bland of expression in the face of fear or provocation. He used that talent frequently. Greyfells was an ambitious beast blessed with cunning and a complete lack of scruples—typical of his line. He was neither the worst nor the best duke that Babeltausque had known. He was mediocre in most ways. He stood out because of his rages.
    Those assured Dane’s early demise, probably as soon as someone believed he had a chance to get away with it.
    Babeltausque’s most important chore was to protect the Duke from his own family, which was not that difficult out here.
    The tradition of elevating oneself over the corpse of one’s father, brother, or uncle had not been much honored of late. Only outsiders had laid the Greyfells Dukes low with any verve the past three decades. But the possibility survived in Dane’s imagination.
    If this Duke met an early end the House of Greyfells might collapse. There were no relatives suited to replace him.
    Enemies in Itaskia must be busy as worker ants trying to make that happen while Greyfells was away. Returning deserters would tell encouraging tales of Dane’s incompetence, which explained why he grew ever more testy. Every day of triumph delayed out here was a day when the family lost ground at home.
    Colonel Gales entered. He wore clean clothing that did not fit. His hair was stringy wet from an unwanted bath. His face was red from a rough shave. His right arm was in a sling. He limped.
    Greyfells, of course, first noted that he needed a haircut.
    The Colonel bowed.
    The Duke said, “I hear you had some trouble.”
    “We got ambushed by Marena Dimura. They knew who we were and had our itinerary.”
    “But you fought through.” Stating the obvious.
    “They didn’t press the matter. They hit us, hurt us, failed to kill me in the first rush, started getting hurt themselves, so they faded away. I didn’t chase them. We were all hurt and they would’ve led us into a secondary ambush.”
    Greyfells grunted. He was not pleased but he understood. That was everyday life in Kavelin.
    Gales said, “Abaca is content to wear us down a man at a time.”
    “Too true. Josiah, I’m starting to think I miscalculated when I decided to do this.”
    “Don’t feel badly, Lordship. This kingdom ends up making everyone over into a pessimist, whether you love it or hate it.”
    The man in shadow studied Duke and soldier. Gales enjoyed remarkable freedoms. He and Greyfells had known each other since childhood. Still, the Duke looked like he wanted to hurt somebody. He controlled the beast within. “Tell me why I’m still out here, Josiah. Why am I not enjoying a cozy fire inside Castle Krief?”
    “I can put no kinder face on it than to tell you that Inger wants it this way. She doesn’t trust you. She’s determined not to let you in till she knows you won’t