A Path to Coldness of Heart by Glen Cook Page A

Your Grace,” a soldier replied. “The broken arrows are the Marena Dimura type.”
    Babeltausque, unhappy about being in the field, said, “It hardly matters now.”
    “True enough,” the Duke admitted. “Sorcerer, here is where you earn your sweet cunny. Make sure it doesn’t happen to us.”
    Babeltausque soon had his chance. “We’re being stalked. Four men. In the woods to our left. A dozen more are hiding up ahead, in the brush around that lone chestnut.”
    Greyfells had been looking forward to this. His troops were all afoot. Each carried a strung bow with an arrow laid across. “The finer you determine where they are the happier I’ll be.”
    “Keep moving like you’re ready for trouble but don’t really expect it. I’ll give you my best.” He would. He had a reason to live.
    Greyfells halted at the extreme range of the short bow favored by the Marena Dimura. He laid flights of arrows into the ambush area. Shrieks and curses responded.
    The frustrated ambushers rose to loose their own shafts. That made the Itaskians’ work easier.
    Those ambushers still able to do so ran.
    The Itaskians found eight wounded men. They recovered their arrows, left seven dead to their more fortunate brothers. They took one youth along for questioning. His wound was not life-threatening. He was not nearly as tough as he imagined.
    Watching Babeltausque booby-trap corpses, Greyfells said, “Sorcerer, I’m developing a whole new appreciation of you. I may give you all of my bastard sisters.”
    “Mayenne will be sufficient, Your Grace.” Then greed reared up. “Though Jondelle would make Mayenne a fine companion.”
    Greyfells laughed. “Wicked man. But be cautious with Jondelle. She is insane.”
    The party smashed three more ambushes. Babeltausque’s stock soared. Years of maltreatment and disdain went by the wayside. Soldiers tended to give respect to those who saved their asses.
    Babeltausque was no empire destroyer but he was handy on the killing ground. That carried plenty of weight with the sloggers.
    The prisoner was worthless. He had no idea why the forest people were active again. He did what his father told him.
    The Itaskians left him alive but in horrible pain. Whoever tried to help would regret his empathy. Babeltausque included a nasty booby trap.
    ...
    Twelve days. Still no sign of Josiah. And no word from Wolf. Things were falling apart. Gales’s disappearance had shaken the garrison. He had been more important than Inger had imagined. Once they suspected that the Colonel was not coming back the native garrison began to evaporate. Changes for the worse were evident daily. Those regiments that had remained loyal soon became paper tigers.
    The vanishing soldiers were not shifting allegiance. They were just leaving.
    Inger had no reliable intelligence about what was going on outside Vorgreberg. It did seem that the pretender’s soldiers were deserting, too.
    The nobility began abandoning Vorgreberg, finding excuses to return to their holdings. They did not want to get crushed in the coming collapse.
    Inger knew she needed to make a show of strength. But she had none to show. Her enemies had brought her to the brink by walking away or by ignoring her.
    Then came the six deserters from Damhorst, four of them injured. They had lost one on the way. They had hurt the bandits back.
    Bandits. There had been no banditry when Bragi was king.
    The lead sergeant informed Inger that, “The Duke and a bigger band are behind us. He means to disguise himself as an archer. The sorcerer will be with him.”
    “Whitcomb Innsman, isn’t it?”
    “Your Majesty’s memory is excellent. It’s been years.”
    “It is good. This time, though, I was told before you came in. I need to know my cousin’s real situation. What did he leave behind? Can he count on help if I ambush him?”
    That startled the soldier. Evidently no one had considered the possibility that she would try to turn things around