Chapter 92: Cold Front

Chapter 92: Cold Front

One day the black hound came to the white wolf, complaining that the raven had been taking its fill from the fields. He said that he had been tasked with guarding the grain from the raven, but with its sharp eyes and broad wings it fled before the hound could draw close.

The wolf said that the hound should stop hunting the raven. Further, the hound should gather some grain and present it to the raven every day as a tribute.

The hound refused, saying he would not cede victory to the raven so.

The wolf laughed, then, and said that the raven who was being hunted would never be caught, canny prey that it was, so the hound should not hunt it. The raven who had won would be a much easier quarry.

- Pre-Gharic Ardan manuscript, vellum, c. 500 PE

Michael sat at the lodges opulent dining table, watching the snow fall outside. It had continued all night, though at a lesser rate than when Luc had touched off the storm with his use of power. The windows were half-obstructed by drifts, and the road to the lodge was buried under a thick blanket of white.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

It would have been relaxing in other circumstances; in the moment, however, it had put Michael in a foul mood. Most of the others were still asleep, though Richter was up making breakfast. True to his word, the cook had managed to throw together a rather wonderful meal from the stores on hand when they had returned.

The men had needed some form of distraction - or, rather, Michael had needed to distract them from looking at him, darting glances and muttering under their breath. Their focus was impossible to ignore; the sense of their emotions through Spark a persistent drone in the back of his mind that threatened to drive him from their company altogether.

In the end, he managed to put up with the attention long enough to finish the meal. There had been remembrances, then a toast to the four dead men. Afterward he had made his excuses and gone to bed, but mere hours later he found himself restless and awake.

The dining room was at least visually interesting enough to divert him for some time; he had sat alone in the dark studying the rows of trophies until he was fairly certain he had them memorized. It had soured as a distraction when Michaels mind supplied the image of Jeorgs cabin lined with dead faces, the men and women whose souls had come to Michael staring glass-eyed into the dark. He had turned his attention to the snow, then, and waited for the others to rise.

A noise prompted Michael to raise his head; the Webels butler reentered the room to look nervously down the table. More tea, milord? he asked.

Michael nodded, the man disappearing almost as soon as his head began to move. Despite his frosty reception at their arrival, the butler - named Alois - had emerged as an attentive, albeit very confused host. The man seemed to sleep even less than Michael, and had been bringing him tea since before the sun rose.

He leaned back as Alois placed another steaming mug in front of him, watching as it shimmered in his sight. Not with a real light; it was more akin to the jeweled quasi-color that appeared when he drew on Vincents soul. Even when he looked away, the heat remained present in his mind, an instinctive awareness of the warmth just in front of him.

Thank you, Alois, Michael said, taking a sip. I hope we wont trouble you for too much longer.

The butler gave a shaky laugh. Its no trouble at all, he said. Not Master Webels standard sort of guests, for sure, but then again it isnt the standard Master Webel bringing them. He paused, the false cheer on his face diminishing slightly. Nor is he the same young master Id known. His previous appearances here were more inclined to revelry and dissolute vice; seeing you at the door I expected much of the same.

He looked at Michael - then froze, perhaps realizing that he might have offered offense.

Michael raised his hand placatingly. Were not the most savory group, he admitted. It was a fair expectation. Honestly, Im as surprised as you that the men havent torn through the place. Theres a gravity to our situation, though, and I think its put a damper on their mood.

I heard what you said last night, Alois said. And I saw the young master, and the Mendiko representative- He paused. It seems as though youre engaged in a dangerous business.

Michael snorted. Fair to say. It could have been worse last night, a lot worse. As it stands, the- He paused, then took a sip of his tea. The enemy was only trying to send a message.

Alois stood in silence for a moment, though Michael could feel the quiet dread as he processed the implications of that statement. Then I will leave you to your work, the butler said quietly. Please take good care of the young master. Even with his long absence and past lapses in behavior, he is dear to many in the family.

Michael nodded and watched the butler walk away. The room returned to its silence, save that his head was now echoing with a word he had thus far avoided saying.

Im not your enemy, Michael.

His tea was down to the dregs before the others in the house began to filter in, drawn by the waxing light outside or the smells of Richters cooking. Vera was first, looking as though she hadnt slept well; her hair was in disarray and her eyes bleary. One hand trailed its fingers along the wall as she walked, the other holding the Mendiko radio.

She offered Michael a wan smile, then sat quietly at the table. Others filed in - Charles, Lars, and most of the soldiers were present before long. Lars was still red-faced and peeling from Lucs attack the night before, which did not stop him from seating himself directly next to Vera.

Sobriquet came in last, speaking with Unai; the anatomens already looked much-improved from his prior state, though his arm was still a burnt mess. Much of his hair had gone, and his steps were unsteady. Zabala helped him to a seat and went to fetch food.

You look dreadful, Sobriquet said, sitting next to Michael. Did you sleep at all last night?

About as much as before, Michael sighed. Its not the lack of sleep, its everything else. Were going to finish our meal, and then theyre going to look to me for direction. He looked at her. So do I tell them that we repeat the plan that got four of their number killed, or the plan that involves me flailing against thousands of soldiers while Luc runs? Nevermind that Sofia has apparently decided that Im not useful enough to talk to, so we have no way of actually finding him.

Sobriquet gave him a flat look. We dont need her. Luc still has to go through Korbel, theres no advancing past it with the garrison intact. We go there and wait. Sooner or later, hell show.

Hell run again, Michael pointed out. And if he wants to shake me off, hes found a method that works. He shook his head. I cant use you and the others to screen his troops. It makes you too vulnerable.

It was blind luck that he caught four of us at that distance, Sobriquet said. But I think its better if I focus on attacking Luc directly. I wont be able to take him down on my own, at least not quickly, but I can probably prevent him from rabbiting off like hes been doing.

Michael sat up, giving her a disapproving look. And when he attacks you?

She smiled at him - then disappeared, only to reappear in the corner of the room. Another Sobriquet smiled at him from the door to the kitchen, while others populated the empty seats at the table. Soon the whole room was filled with smiling, identical copies.

Then they vanished, leaving the original still in her seat. Dont underestimate me, lordling, she warned him. I am Sobriquet.

Youve mentioned, Michael sighed, throwing up his hands in defeat. Fine. Smaller team, though. You, plus Zabala for protection.

Sobriquet broke into a jog to keep up, glaring at his back. And do what, precisely? Youve already pointed out how good of a deal this is for the Assembly, theyre hardly going to reject it on your advice alone.

I know, Michael snapped. But what else can we do? Should we sit back and watch? This isnt just about Sofia or Ardalt anymore. There are powerful souls in the Assembly, and hes shown hes not averse to killing in the name of strength.

She had no reply for that; they ran on until they emerged from the treeline not far distant from where the delegation still stood waiting for their response. There were none of the obruor-led soldiers among them; most of the men present had the look Michael associated with Institute men - an odd sameness in their stance, a bland manner that made the eye slide away from them with unnatural ease.

So, now what? Sobriquet scowled. Theyve made their offer, I doubt murdering the peace delegation is going to pose a convincing argument in our favor.

Michael shook his head and began to walk out towards the waiting men. When have I ever had a plan going in? he muttered. Come on. We can at least insert ourselves into the conversation.

Some of the men turned to look at Michael as he drew closer, though they did not seem concerned at his approach. One of them, a portly fellow who bore sweat stains on his jacket despite the chill, turned to face them as they approached.

I should warn you, he said, his voice quavering slightly, that we have the means to detect mental tampering. If you use Spark on us, it will be detected and reported to the Assembly during negotiations as an attempt to interfere with the peace process.

Michael drew up short, looking bemusedly at the sweaty man. You know who I am? he asked.

Of course I do, the man retorted. Youre Baumgarts son, the one who killed the director - and the director before him, I might add. His tone was somewhat at odds with his pale face and the shaking of his hands; Michael could tell the man was terrified - but resolute, for the moment. You can tell your father that no number of assassinations can slow the work of progress. Well continue our mission regardless of his attempts to destroy us, and see him cast out instead.

The absurd tirade left Michael at a momentary loss for words. Im sorry, he managed. You think I killed Spark on my fathers orders? Have you gone entirely mad?

Its certainly led to a convenient political situation in Calmharbor for him, the delegate sniffed. He looked behind him to the other Institute men, as if for support; they stared ahead, their eyes disinterestedly focused on Michael.

Yes, well, the man said, mopping at his brow with his sleeve. The truth will out on the Assembly floor. He nodded smugly towards the city.

Michael followed his gaze and saw the doors partway open. A few soldiers were coming across the field to meet them under a small white banner. At their head walked Isolde Altenbach.

Isolde was different than Michael remembered, her fine, sharp features now unpleasantly severe. She was rail-thin, her skin drawn tightly over the bones of her face and her hair bound up at the base of her neck. She wore a voluminous white fur, and as she drew close her eyes fixed onto Michael.

Even at a distance he felt the stab of her hatred, red-hot and acidic. It was like staring into an open furnace door; Michael imagined his eyebrows crisping away as she drew closer. The delegation from Korbel came to a halt some distance from their group.

If it is agreeable, Isolde said in a clipped, brittle voice, I would propose holding discussions inside the city to prevent interference from undesirable parties.

I concur, the Institute representative replied. Well be in your care.

Dont do this, Isolde, Michael said, taking a step towards her and spreading his hands. Theres no peace to be had with them. If you let Luc into the Assembly, people will die.

She turned to him, glacially slow. I died two months ago, she said. If you wanted to intervene, it should have been for Vincent.

Michael balled his fists. Isolde-

Fuck you, Michael, she hissed, taking a step towards him. Take your murdering friends and go back to Mendian. You shed enough blood getting there, you should enjoy it. Ardalt doesnt need you. She made a sharp gesture to the Institute delegation, who began to walk forward. The soldiers with Isolde kept a wary eye on them until their charges had advanced a good distance away, at which point they followed them back towards the gate.

Michael watched the gates of Korbel swing closed.

He couldnt remember the last time he had been this angry - perhaps the last time he had met Isolde, and had found Vera toying with his mind. He wanted to barge through the gates, grab Isolde by her brittle shoulders and make her see-

And he could. Spark stood there, ready; he did not have to flail against the barriers of anger and confusion while Isolde and Sofia led themselves to certain destruction. He clenched his fists, straightened his back-

Michael let his breath out in a slow rush, feeling the blood thundering in his ears. A moment later, he turned and began walking back towards the lodge.

So? Sobriquet said. Now what? I presume were not going to let that scarecrow lead Luc straight to the Assembly floor.

No, were not. Michael looked back at her. Its going to take some time for them to organize the conference; nothing ever gets done right away when the Assembly is involved. I figure we have a week, at least, and thats only if they start organizing before the Institutes representatives arrive in Calmharbor. More likely, itll be two weeks.

Sobriquet nodded slowly. Okay, she said. So we have time before Luc kills everyone in the Assembly. She swept her hand to the side, palm up. I doubt were going to make any headway with Sibyl.

Were going to Calmharbor, Michael said. Were going to warn anyone who will listen.

Sobriquet snorted. Somehow, todays showing doesnt inspire me with confidence. Will anyone listen?

Michael turned, raising an eyebrow. Didnt you hear what the man said? he asked. Im obviously in league with my father. My father, who is effectively leading the country at the moment. I am Michael, Lord Baumgart.

Youre stealing my bit, she noted. And not very well.

He let his arms drop to his sides. Its not really my style, I admit, Michael sighed. But yes, there are people who will listen - even if its only out of self-interest.

Sobriquets eyes narrowed. Youre thinking of going to your father.

Perhaps not immediately, Michael winced. Im hoping that if we make ourselves known in town, using his name, that he might come to us instead. That would be preferable for - a few reasons. He paused, his feet crunching against the snow for several steps.

But, yes, he said. I think well probably have to.