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publican consul. The position made limited demands, yet did consume time he
could use being Marshall and virtual king-surrogate.
"Why don't you list your objections-take them down, Derel-and we'll deal with
them in an orderly fashion."
Mocker was appalled. "Is end. Is perished. Is dead, absolute, friend of youth,
wrapping self in cocoon of time, coming forth from chrysalis as perfect
bureaucrat, all impatient and indifferent. Or is imposter, taking place of
true gentleman of former time? Rising from Sea of Perdition, snakes of rules
and regulations for hair-not my department, go down hall to hear same-Bastard
Beast-Child of order.... Enough. Self, am beloved get of Chaos. Am having
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business of own. Otherwheres. Open door."
He was irked. And Ragnarson was tempted to apologize, except he wasn't sure
what to apologize for. "Let him go, Luther. Tell Malven to take him to his
room." One by one, he palmed the double nobles.
Part of his failure came from inside, he reflected. He had changed. But as
much blame lay with Mocker. Never had he been so touchy.
Michael Trebilcock, one of the faces Mocker didn't know, asked, "What now?"
Ragnarson gestured for silence.
Mocker didn't make it past Luther. As the guard steppedaside, the fat man
turned and asked musingly, "Double nobles five?" He grinned. "Hai! Might
soothe conscience, same being sufficient to keep wife and son for year or two
in eventuation of certain death of cretinic chaser-after-dreams of old
friends." He then railed against the Fates for several minutes, damning them
for driving him into a corner from which he had no exit but suicide.
It was all for show. The mission Bragi had shouldn't be dangerous.
They settled it then, with Mocker to leave Vorgreberg the following morning.
The group gradually dissolved, till only Bragi and Fiana remained.
They stared at one another across a short space that, sometimes, seemed miles.
Finally, she asked, "Am I getting boring?"
He shook his head.
"What is it, then?"
He massaged his face again. "The pressure. More and more, I have trouble
giving a damn. About anything."
"And Elana, a little? You think she knows?"
"She knows. Probably since the beginning."
Fiana nodded thoughtfully. "That would explain a lot."
Bragi frowned. "What?"
"Never mind. You have trouble with your conscience?"
"Maybe. Maybe."
She locked the door, eased into his lap. He didn't resist, but neither did he
encourage her. She nuzzled his ear, whispered, "I've always had this fantasy
about doing it here. On the table. Where all the important laws and treaties
get signed."
There were some things Ragnarson just couldn't say, and first among them was
"no" to a willing lady.
Later, he met with Colonel Balfour, who commanded the Guild regiment being
maintained in Ravelin till the country produced competent soldiers of its own.
High Crag was growing a little arrogant, a little testy, as the inevitable
withdrawal of the regiment drew closer. Each year the Guild grew less subtle
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in its insistence that the regiment's commission be extended.
There were mercenaries and Mercenaries. The latter belonged to the Guild,
headquartered at High Crag on the western coast just north of Dunno Scuttari.
The Guild was abrotherhood of free soldiers, almost a monastic order,
consisting of approximately ten thousand members scattered from Ipopotam to
Iwa Skolovda, from the Mountains of M'Hand to Freyland. Ragnarson and many of
his intimates had begun their adulthood in its ranks and, nominally, remained
attached to the order. But the connection was tenuous, despite High Crag's
having awarded regular promotions over the years. Because the Citadel
recognized no divorce, it still claimed a right to demand obedience.
The soldiers of the Guild owned no other allegiance, to men, nations, or
faith. And they were the best-schooled soldiers in the west. High Crag's
decision to accept or reject a commission often made or broke the would-be
employer's cause without blows being struck.
There were suspicions, among princes, that the Citadel- High Crag's heart,
whence the retired generals ruled-was shaping destiny to its own dream.
Ragnarson entertained those suspicions himself-especially when he received
pressure to extend the regiment posted to Ravelin.
Ragnarson had, on several occasions, tried to convince the Guild factors that
his little state just couldn't afford the protection. Ravelin remained heavily
indebted from the civil war. He argued that only low-interest loans and
outright grants from Itaskia were keeping the kingdom above water. If El Murid
died or were overthrown, that aid would end. Itaskia would lose its need for a
buffer on the borders of Hammad al Nakir.
Following the inevitable bitter argument with Balfour, Bragi spoke to the
Thing, doing his best to shuffle his three hats without favoring any one.
Still, as chief of the armed forces, he concentrated on an appropriations
measure.
The bill was for the maintenance of the Mercenary regiment. The parliament
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