A Path to Coldness of Heart by Glen Cook

sepsis. Gister Saxton told the same story.”
    “The Marena Dimura haven’t done anything since Abaca died. Why change now?”
    Wolf mumbled, “I don’t know, Your Grace.” He tried to explain why he had come instead of Gales.
    “Ah. Possibilities suggest themselves. Gales either stepped out of the equation deliberately, was ordered out by Inger, or was removed by someone else. That seems most likely. So. Why? To get rid of Gales? Or to move Nathan up a notch?”
    The sorcerer said, “That is a pathetically long stretch.”
    “Meaning?”
    “I believe in the malicious mischief theory of providence. My hypothesis? Gales went out drinking and got mugged, or killed, by somebody who didn’t know who he was.”
    “A twist on ‘It’s not conspiracy if it can be explained by stupidity’?”
    “Exactly.”
    Greyfells stared at Wolf. “Nathan has done well, Babeltausque. Remove the curse.”
    Wolf frowned, confused, as he slid away into sleep.
    The sorcerer frowned, too, but his scowl was born of irritation.
    Nathan Wolf had offended Babeltausque years ago, without knowing it. He never did figure out why the whole world suddenly found him repugnant.
    The sorcerer was not happy but he carried out his Duke’s will. He had too grand an idea of his own worth. He would not have survived with the Greyfells family if they had been able to attract a man with more talent and a better character.
    Babeltausque schemed, but only in small-minded, personal ways. He did not put his employer at risk.
    Dane of Greyfells appreciated that. “Babeltausque, you’ve served my family long and well. We should show our appreciation more fully. Do you have secret aspirations that we could make come true?”
    The sorcerer was startled. He squinted at the Duke. Was he being set up for torment? The man was capable of amusing himself by baiting a dog.
    Yet he could not keep from blurting, “I do, Lord. But I dare not state it. Punishment would be swift and harsh.”
    “Come, now.” The Duke assumed his sorcerer had a secret vice. The breed had that reputation. And Dane of Greyfells had vices he dared indulge only rarely. “Go on. I guarantee your safety. And no one else will know.”
    “Lord, I was obsessed with your half-sister Mayenne before we left Itaskia.” He cringed, anticipating a blow.
    “Well. You can surprise me. I expected something darker. She’s a little young, though, isn’t she?”
    “She’s almost fourteen.” Too old for the sorcerer’s taste, now, but so delectable…
    Mayenne was one of a dozen children the previous Duke had fathered on the far side of the blanket. He had been fond enough of this one’s mother to acknowledge her and her sisters.
    The Duke was amused. “Babeltausque, I’m glad you spoke up. This can be arranged.” Sudden cruelty edged his voice. “The little bitch needs to learn her place.” She had resisted his own advances more than once. She deserved to be thrown to a beast like Babeltausque.
    The sorcerer continued to look amazed.
    How his fortunes had turned!
    ...
    Nathan Wolf, on crutches, made the rounds of the Duke’s soldiers, telling them what Inger wanted them to hear—with the Duke’s blessing. A band of three were allowed to slip away. Two days later an eight-man group moved out. Both groups consisted of genuine deserters.
    A third band, twenty-six strong, were not the real thing. They included the Duke disguised as an archer and the sorcerer as a muleteer. The archer’s guise suited the Duke. He was skilled with the longbow.
    Six miles east of Breitbarth an outrider discovered human remains as vultures and ravens made a getaway. Flies were dense despite the season. There had been several days of warm weather. Maggots were at work. The ravens did not go far. They clustered in nearby trees and cursed.
    The remains could still be recognized. They were the men who had deserted first. They had been attacked by archers.
    “Bandits?” Greyfells asked the air.
    “Hard to tell,