Free An Empire Unacquainted With Defeat by Glen Cook

explained. "Bad trouble."
    "I saw the tracks."
    "Worse than that. She'll be able to cut loose for real . . . ." The youth pushed the door. Frightened faces peered out at Tain.
    The three women weren't Trolledyngjan. And their children were too old to have been fathered by the mercenaries.
    Tain had seen those faces countless times, in countless camps. Women with children, without husbands, who attached themselves to an occupying soldiery. They were always tired, beaten, frightened creatures.
    Mothers and children retreated to one corner of the Spartan room. One woman brandished a carving knife. Tain showed his palms. "Don't be afraid. We came to see Baron Caydar."
    Rula tried a smile. Torfin nodded agreement. "It's all right. They mean no harm."
    The knife-woman opened a path.
    Tain got his first glimpse of Caydar.
    The Baron lay on a pallet in the corner. He was a spare, short man, bald, with a scraggly beard. He was old, and he was dying.
    This was what Torfin had meant by saying the trouble was big. There would be no brake on the Witch with the Baron gone. "Torfin. Move them. I'll see if I can do anything."
    The Baron coughed. It was the first of a wracking series. Blood froth dribbled down his chin.
    Torfin gestured. The Tower people sidled like whipped dogs. Tain knelt by the old man. "How long has he been sick?"
    "Always. He seldom left this room. How bad is it?"
    "Rula. In my left saddle bag. The same leather packet I had when I treated Toma." She left. "He'll probably go before sundown. But I'll do what I can."
    "Tain, if he dies . . . . Grimnir and the others . . . . They'd rather take the Witch's orders. Her style suits them better."
    Tain checked the Baron's eyes and mouth, dabbed blood, felt his chest. There was little left of Caydar. "Torfin. Anyone else shown these symptoms?"
    "I don't think so."
    "They will. Probably the girl, if she's been intimate with him."
    Rula reappeared. She heard. "What is it?"
    "Tuberculosis."
    "No. Tain, she's only a child."
    "Disease doesn't care. And you could say she's earned it."
    "No. That isn't fair."
    "Nothing's fair, Rula. Nothing. Torfin. Find out where she went." Tain took the packet from Rula, concentrated on Caydar.
    He left the room half an hour later, climbed the ladder to the ramparts. Hands clasped behind him, he stared at the green of the Zemstvi.
    A beautiful land, he thought. About to be sullied with blood.
    Fate, with a malicious snicker, had squandered the land's last hope.
    Torfin followed him. "They're not sure. She just led them out."
    "Probably doesn't matter. It's too late. Unless . . . ."
    "What?"
    "We smash the snake's head."
    "What? He's going to die? You can't stop it?"
    "No. And that leaves Shirl."
    "You saying what I think?"
    "She has to die."
    Torfin smiled thinly. "Friend, she wouldn't let you do it. And if she couldn't stop you with the Power, I'd have to with the sword."
    Tain locked eyes with the youth. Torfin wouldn't look away. "She means a lot to you, eh?"
    "I still love her."
    "So," Tain murmured. "So. Can you stand up to her? Can you bully the others into behaving themselves."
    "I can try."
    "Do. I'm into this too deep, lad. If you don't control her, I'll try to stop her the only way I know." He turned to stare across the Zemstvi again.
    Though the Tower wasn't tall, it gave a view of the countryside matched only from the Toad. That grim formation was clearly visible. The rain had cleared the air.
    Someone was running toward the Tower. Beyond, a fountain of smoke rose against the backdrop formed by the Dragon's Teeth.
    A distance-muted thunderclap smote the air.
    "That's your place," Torfin said softly.
     
XVII
    A man in black, wearing a golden mask, rounded a knoll. He paused above the Palikov stead. Bloody dawn light leaked round the Toad. It splashed him as he knelt, feeling the earth. It made his mask more hideous. The faceted ruby eyepieces seemed to catch fire.
    Thin fingers floated on the air, reaching, till they pointed