Cook, Glen - Dread Empire 07 - An Ill Fate Marshalling by Cook Glen

Author:Cook, Glen [Cook, Glen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 1988-01-17T23:00:00+00:00

15 Year 1016 AFE

Unpleasant Surprises

RAGNARSON ROLLED OUT of bed gently, careful not to disturb Inger. He went to the window, stared out at mist-shrouded Vorgreberg.

He had come to Inger with the best of intentions, then had put her off, pleading wounds and weariness. She had accepted his claims. Yet the story would have been different had he been with Sherilee, he was sure.

There was something wrong between them. Something getting wronger. Sherilee was the latest symptom.

Why was it going bad? It had seemed so right when they met, during the war.

No, he told himself. You had your reservations when you sent your proposal. You had doubts and suspicions. You just weren’t sure. She’d been good to you in your exile. You were vulnerable.

She’s been trying, hasn’t she?

Maybe she has mixed feelings too.

He couldn’t shake a conviction that he was missing out. That there had to be something more to life. Would Sherilee give it to him? Probably not. Her best gift would be a last illusion of youth.

It couldn’t last. He was twice her age. He was on the downhill side. It would catch up. But, gods! how alive he had felt that night. Inger hadn’t done that for him, ever. Neither had Elana, despite all their years together, though he had loved her deeply and did still. Fiana... she had had the knack.

How much was emotion? How much physical? “Damn!” he growled. He could analyze forever and never unmask the whole problem. Some of the mental parts were quite clear. The physical... was it simply a matter of more approximate physical templating, where the needs of one pairing simply meshed better than another?

“Gods,” he muttered. “This is Prataxis-thinking. Maybe that’s why he never married. Maybe he analyzes too damned much.”

The bed creaked. He didn’t turn. Inger began kneading his shoulders. “What is it?”

He stared across the misty city. Morning birds winged above the carpet of wool. He watched a brace of blackbirds harass a crow who wanted nothing more than to pursue his corvine business. There I go, he thought. Only there’s a whole flock after me, with half of them invisible.

“Brooding,” he replied.

“Can I help?”

“I don’t know. I have to find out the problem before I figure what to do about it. I feel kind of hemmed in, kind of guilty about maybe not caring enough about things, lonely, like I’ve wasted half my life, and maybe plain restless. Yesterday I scored a big coup. If it turns out, it could be one of the big dates in Kavelin’s history. And I’m not excited. I don’t feel any sense of accomplishment.”

“Talk to Derel.”

“I have. All he does is give me a scholarly explanation. That doesn’t help.”

“Maybe part of you doesn’t believe you gained anything.”

“What?”

“Maybe your heart knows something your head doesn’t. Your intuition is spooky. How many times have I seen you guess right without any apparent evidence?”

That talent was contributing to his nervousness and indecision. He wanted desperately to still its dark whispering. He had ideas and suspicions even Derel had not heard.

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