And so, in the end, Demansk was able to restore the proper relationship between Vanbert father—patriarch unquestioned—and his impudent female offspring.
“Idiot girl,” he growled. “Do not think you can teach strategy to your father. Spirit and courage, yes; maneuvers, no.” He grinned. “Not even close.”
He came to his feet like a young man, almost springing. “Idiot!” he repeated. “No, I think we’ll leave your precious Adrian alone for a bit. He and his ferocious brother Esmond both. Let them stir up the Southrons and gather the forces of barbarism against us. All the better. When the time comes, that will turn the last lock.”
Helga’s eyes were as wide as her son’s, and just as vaguely focused. Demansk was delighted to see how the wise father had left the cocksure daughter fumbling in the mist.
“Ha! Lecture your father on strategy, now, would you? No, no, girl. Adrian’s for a later time. For the moment—I’m off to the Isles.”
His own humor faded, replaced by an odd combination of emotions. Cold fury, overlaying a much deeper core of affection.
“I’ll get your vengeance on your pirates, Daughter,” he said softly, icily. “And then . . .”
Warmth began to return to his voice. “We’ll see about Adrian Gellert. He’s playing his own very intricate game, be sure of it. When the time comes, I won’t be surprised to see him playing with the son he’s never met.”
He barked another laugh. “Actually, he’ll be doing that soon enough! But, I think—not sure, nothing in this world ever is—that the time will come when he’ll be doing so in a mansion of his own—his and yours—instead of a barbarian campsite.”
By now, he had left Helga completely behind. She was no longer fumbling in the mist; her eyes were as blank as a blind woman’s.
“As they should be,” stated Demansk, with all the satisfaction of a pig farmer ruling his domain. He had a hard time to keep from giggling himself. But, a kindly father as well as a stern patriarch, he took pity on her.
“Haven’t you figured it out yet, silly girl? I need to maneuver with Adrian Gellert, not against him. But to do that I need to send him an envoy. Someone from the Confederacy of Vanbert he can trust.”
Helga’s mouth formed a perfect “O.”
Her father clucked his tongue. “Odd, really. She’s normally rather bright.”
O.
“Not as bright as her father, of course.”
O.
“Which is as it should—”
He got no further. Helga had the baby down on the bench and was clutching her father. Not even clutching him so much as jiggling him up and down, as if he were an infant himself. It was a wonderful moment for him, one of the best in his life.
Not perfect, true. There was still the dull, aching sadness of knowing that it would all be swept away, soon enough, by the coming time of blood and iron, fire and fury.
Chapter 3
It was a strange place. Even after all this time, and the familiarity of the many hours Adrian Gellert had spent here, the place still seemed . . . foreign.
I never got used to it either, really, came one of the two “spirits” which had created that strangeness. Even after years had passed. And I only had to share my brain with one other, not two.
Adrian shook his head slightly. Then, through the slight haze of the “trance”—as if he were seeing it on another’s face rather than feeling it on his own—sensed his lips curling into a little smile. It’s not sharing my “brain” that’s the problem, Raj. I wasn’t using a lot of it anyway. It’s that I’m always a little confused whose soul is working at the moment.
i do not have a soul. Center’s statement, as always, came so firm and certain that it reminded Adrian of a level plain. A sheet of granite, covered with only the thinnest soil. No hills, no gullies—no mountains, certainly, nor valleys—gave that “voice” any relief at all. Sometimes it was tiring; and it was always a bit annoying.
He sensed Raj Whitehall chuckling. “Sensed” it, only, because in the end Raj was as disembodied as Center himself. But Whitehall, at least, had once been a human being.