fears so I can draw him back to the world.”
“Oh?”
“I would’ve gone mad without him.”
“Then him being here was piece of good fortune.” And a grim harbinger, perhaps.
“So. You’re not here to kill me. Then tell me what’s happened out there.”
Shih-ka’i brought him up to date.
Kuo sighed. “The Empire has fared well.”
“Better than we had any right to expect, given the foibles of our class.”
“I hoped, of course. I’m sad that there’s no place for me. But I was resigned to that when I came to you.”
Lord Ssu-ma nodded. “It hasn’t been a long time but it has been busy. A lot changed. Most importantly, the wars are over. Successfully, thanks to your foresight. But the exhaustion of the state and the legions are such that the surviving Tervola have put aside personal ambitions.”
“On the surface, perhaps.”
“No doubt temptation will sway some who can’t see past the Empress’s sex, however sound her leadership and thorough her discipline.”
“What do you want from me, Lord Ssu-ma?”
“Right now, truly, only to see that you’re well. Later, maybe something more. Assuming your own ambitions are now manageable.”
“They were never unmanageable. I did what I did for the Empire.”
“A good thing to know.” Every fallen Tervola would claim the same. Most would believe themselves. “I’ll be back. Probably sooner than this time. Time is less pressing.”
Kuo said, “Lord, I will make any adjustment necessary to get out of here.” Happily, he was not yet desperate enough to do something stupid.
The attempt would have been fatal.
Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i held a low and cynical opinion of his fellow Tervola. He viewed all they did through the lens of that cynicism and his own low birth. But he could and did grant kudos to those who rose above their nature. Kuo was one such man.
...
The routine in the prison tower remained unchanged. Only the faces of those who brought the meals were different. They talked no more than had their predecessors.
Ragnarson was tempted to attack somebody to force an interaction.
He did not. The beast inside was cunning enough to understand that he would regret that sort of defiance quickly, deeply.
Mist’s remarks during her visit had begun to shape his thinking. He now spent too much time trying to figure himself out. It was embarrassing. He was glad that his beloved dead could not see him so enfeebled. Haaken, Reskird, Elana, and so many others would never have understood.
He came to fear that his ghosts would understand more and better than he did.
His own philosophy of life had shrunk to a smash-and-grab level.
Once the introspection vice set in nothing was safe from repeated review. Trivial incidents stuck in his head like musical refrains, cycling over and over.
Time flew, then. In sane moments he wondered if this was not just a way to escape the monotony of imprisonment. Then he would recollect an incident or decision that constituted another early brick in his edifice of despair.
Mostly he dwelt on mind-warps that had led him to rush through the Mountains of M’Hand and attack an invincible enemy already determined to exterminate him.
He could not identify the moment when confidence in his own talent and luck had become an irrational conviction that he could never be deprived of good fortune and victory.
He knew the seeds lay in the head butting with Varthlokkur over whether or not to tell Nepanthe what Ethrian was doing in the east.
He concluded, after numerous rehashes, that Varthlokkur was more culpable than he. That old man’s stubbornness, in the face of all evidence, had caused Kavelin’s downfall.
Insofar as Ragnarson knew there had been no softening of the wizard’s attitude. He would not admit that he was wrong.
Ragnarson could do that. Privately. To himself. He did not know if he could confess the failing publicly.
Days fled. Mist did not return. Ragnarson received no news. He could only imagine what was happening at home.
“Oh?”
“I would’ve gone mad without him.”
“Then him being here was piece of good fortune.” And a grim harbinger, perhaps.
“So. You’re not here to kill me. Then tell me what’s happened out there.”
Shih-ka’i brought him up to date.
Kuo sighed. “The Empire has fared well.”
“Better than we had any right to expect, given the foibles of our class.”
“I hoped, of course. I’m sad that there’s no place for me. But I was resigned to that when I came to you.”
Lord Ssu-ma nodded. “It hasn’t been a long time but it has been busy. A lot changed. Most importantly, the wars are over. Successfully, thanks to your foresight. But the exhaustion of the state and the legions are such that the surviving Tervola have put aside personal ambitions.”
“On the surface, perhaps.”
“No doubt temptation will sway some who can’t see past the Empress’s sex, however sound her leadership and thorough her discipline.”
“What do you want from me, Lord Ssu-ma?”
“Right now, truly, only to see that you’re well. Later, maybe something more. Assuming your own ambitions are now manageable.”
“They were never unmanageable. I did what I did for the Empire.”
“A good thing to know.” Every fallen Tervola would claim the same. Most would believe themselves. “I’ll be back. Probably sooner than this time. Time is less pressing.”
Kuo said, “Lord, I will make any adjustment necessary to get out of here.” Happily, he was not yet desperate enough to do something stupid.
The attempt would have been fatal.
Lord Ssu-ma Shih-ka’i held a low and cynical opinion of his fellow Tervola. He viewed all they did through the lens of that cynicism and his own low birth. But he could and did grant kudos to those who rose above their nature. Kuo was one such man.
...
The routine in the prison tower remained unchanged. Only the faces of those who brought the meals were different. They talked no more than had their predecessors.
Ragnarson was tempted to attack somebody to force an interaction.
He did not. The beast inside was cunning enough to understand that he would regret that sort of defiance quickly, deeply.
Mist’s remarks during her visit had begun to shape his thinking. He now spent too much time trying to figure himself out. It was embarrassing. He was glad that his beloved dead could not see him so enfeebled. Haaken, Reskird, Elana, and so many others would never have understood.
He came to fear that his ghosts would understand more and better than he did.
His own philosophy of life had shrunk to a smash-and-grab level.
Once the introspection vice set in nothing was safe from repeated review. Trivial incidents stuck in his head like musical refrains, cycling over and over.
Time flew, then. In sane moments he wondered if this was not just a way to escape the monotony of imprisonment. Then he would recollect an incident or decision that constituted another early brick in his edifice of despair.
Mostly he dwelt on mind-warps that had led him to rush through the Mountains of M’Hand and attack an invincible enemy already determined to exterminate him.
He could not identify the moment when confidence in his own talent and luck had become an irrational conviction that he could never be deprived of good fortune and victory.
He knew the seeds lay in the head butting with Varthlokkur over whether or not to tell Nepanthe what Ethrian was doing in the east.
He concluded, after numerous rehashes, that Varthlokkur was more culpable than he. That old man’s stubbornness, in the face of all evidence, had caused Kavelin’s downfall.
Insofar as Ragnarson knew there had been no softening of the wizard’s attitude. He would not admit that he was wrong.
Ragnarson could do that. Privately. To himself. He did not know if he could confess the failing publicly.
Days fled. Mist did not return. Ragnarson received no news. He could only imagine what was happening at home.
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