The Tower of Fear

by Glen Cook

  Azel studied Sullo and his witch, uncomfortable because Fa’tad and several of his captains were eyeing him. He pretended not to notice, mimicking the sleepy indifference of his fellow guards while trying to catch everything he could.

  Cado continued, “Colonel Bruda’s people have put out markers on the map showing what we know, which is mainly that the Turoks are west of Agadar and moving our way, staying near the coast. Colonel Bruda has dispatched scouts by land and sea but we’ll have been in the field several days before we have their reports. Fa’tad, you think they’ve grown bold enough to violate Dartar territory?”

  One of the Dartars translated for the old warrior though he understood Herodian perfectly. All part of the game, as was Cado’s having ignored Fa’tad’s honorifics. He barked an answer translated as, “Not if they hope to get home with their booty.”

  “I thought not. I presume plunder to be the object of their exercise. They won’t want a real fight. I’m not spoiling for one, either. So we’ll march along the coast in easy stages and chase them back the way they came. Fa’tad, I’ll need fifteen hundred horsemen. I’ve already told General Lucillo he’ll be taking twenty-five hundred from the Twelfth. I want you on the road as soon as possible. As soon as naval vessels can be manned and loaded you’ll have offshore support and supply.

  “Four thousand plus naval support should be strength enough to chase the Turoks without us weakening ourselves here.”

  Right, Azel thought. Even left Cado a little stronger in respect to Fa’tad’s gang, just in case. But what was he up to sending out troops from the Twelfth under orders from Lucillo, who commanded the Seventh Cadadasca? What was he saving Marco for? If he was going to use the general from the Seventh, why not its men?

  He grinned. Old Fa’tad was all pruned up as he tried to untangle the same questions. And that pruning was probably the whole answer. A fillip to keep the Eagle wondering.

  When the meeting broke up, Dartars would start scurrying around trying to find out if they had overlooked something about Lucillo.

  Azel did not lead the sort of life that saw him sitting in on many military planning sessions. He found they were not very exciting. After Cado announced who was going to send how many men, it was all pounds of food and fodder, would the temporary span in the Cherico bridge stand up to the passage of an army, could soldiers who had been in garrison too long make the march from the Sahdri Well to Quadrat in one day or should they be issued an extra canteen? Should artillery be taken? One faction insisted. Another said it would only slow them down because the ox teams could not keep up a fast pace. And so forth.

  Cado settled the artillery debate by saying he would load the engines aboard ship.

  To Azel it seemed calm and professional and about as adventuresome as conversation amongst greengrocers. The Dar-tars did not say much, speaking only in response to direct questions, which Azel supposed was the way it was supposed to be, them being the hired hands.

  Fa’tad kept an eye on him all the time.

  The civil governor was all business, never saying a word. Azel did not learn anything about him.

  He got the impression the ugly little witch was there doing what he was, sizing up the boss’s enemies. She paid him no mind. Fa’tad made up for her indifference.

  The man grew more obvious. Feeling for a reaction? Why? Had one of his gang recognized the stable boy who had busted a guy up for running off at the mouth about Qushmarrah?

  Trouble with the whole thing was, Cado and Bruda were going to notice. No way to stop it, though. Just ride it out, like a ship in a storm.

  Then the confab was over. Cado hadn’t consulted him once. He was pissed. That risk for nothing.

  Before sunset Joab and the Dartar elite, and Lucillo and his twenty-five hundred, would be off to stalk the ferocious Turok. Tension in the city would soar as everyone waited for the Living to try something because garrison strength was at low ebb.

  Azel did not expect the Living to act. But a few fanatics might, and might set off the explosion the old man had feared from the moment he had made his deal with the Witch.

  Qushmarrah might throw the yoke of Herod in a sudden savage uprising but there could be no realistic hope of keeping its independence unless the flame of rebellion scorched the entire coast or the Living came up with a weapon more potent than the Herodian legions.

  Nakar could be that weapon. Nakar the Abomination. Without Ala-eh-din Beyh to hold him in check.

  He should not be thinking of that in Government House. Here he should remain the perfect Herodian agent in thought as well as appearance.

  The military men had begun moving out. Sullo had gone with his shadow instrument. Cado and Bruda were whispering with Lucillo and Marco while Fa’tad eagle-eyed them from across the room. Cado suddenly bobbed his head and turned away, beckoned his bodyguards, stalked out of the room. He dismissed all of them but Azel immediately. “We didn’t learn much from that, did we, Rose?”

  “Found out the governor can keep his mouth shut when he wants.”

  “I guess you could call that a blessing. Yes.”

  “I need to get up on that balcony on the third level on the southwest corner. To see what direction somebody goes when he heads out.”

  “All right.” Curious. He did not ask who or why.

  Damned man trotted along with him, picking at this and that like he was maybe trying to circle in on something. Whatever it was, it had Sullo near the bull’s-eye. And it wasn’t like he was hinting that something should happen to the governor. He would come right out with that. No. It was like Cado’s level of trust had suffered...

  The damned Moretians! Of course. Cado had mentioned them to him. He had mentioned them to the General. The old man had had their heads chopped off. Cado was asking himself how the Living had found out so fast and he didn’t like one of the possible answers.

  He would have to give Bruda something that would ease Cado’s mind.

  The Dartars did not scatter the way they should have. They paused out front, in a cluster, then moved into the streets west of Government House. The streets somebody exiting the side door would head for if he wanted to get out of sight quickly.

  He could handle that. He’d just go out one of the public doors on the other side, maybe drift down and see what bel-Shaduk was up to before he went out for his look at what was left of the old man.

  Meantime, Fa’tad deserved a tweak.

  “One thing I did hear but didn’t have a chance to check the rumor. Fa’tad supposedly left a couple hundred men in the city last night, in the Shu maze.”

  “That’s useful. You didn’t mention it before.”

  “Didn’t know if it was worth it. It’s just a rumor I never got a chance to check. You want I should go ahead and figure how to set Sullo up? Or do you reckon you’re going to get along?”

  That did for the moment. Cado said of course Rose should be ready if a move had to be made. Azel said he would do it and made his exit wishing Cado was not so interested in him. He’d rather deal with Bruda.

  The sinkhole country looked better all the time. If there was a blowup, he was gone till the dust settled.

  Yoseh realized he had been chattering for hours.

  Actually, once she got over her initial shyness the girl did most of the talking. It was plain she did not get much chance to say what she thought at home. She offered him an ill-informed opinion on almost every subject imaginable. Yoseh found himself smiling and nodding in agreement just to keep her there.

  Medjhah finally came back. He wore a look of awe. He sat down beside Nogah, shook his head, said, “You wouldn’t believe it. I don’t believe it. And I was there.”

  “Fortune smiled upon you?”

  “Fortune crawled all over me. If I’d wished for gold I’d be the richest man in the world.”

  Nogah snorted derisively.

  A pair of mason’s helpers came out for more bricks. Yoseh wondered what was happening inside the labyrinth. It had been a quiet day
. He had expected excitement but they had not brought out a single prisoner yet. Medjhah thought maybe most of the villains had slipped out during the night. Nogah grumbled that it was probably because the men he had sent in were loafing. Yoseh suspected the whole maze thing had been overrated and there had not been that many people in there to begin with.

  Medjhah started playing catch with Arif, using an orange somebody had stolen from one of the groves beyond the compound. The boy was very inept, mostly because he was too afraid he would get hit. Yoseh thought his parents probably protected him too much. These veydeen all sheltered their children more than did Dartar parents.

  Mo’atabar came down the hill alone. Nogah went to talk to him.

  Stafa tried to get into the game with his brother and Medjhah. His idea of catch was to grab the orange and scurry around among the animals laughing till somebody ran him down. Medjhah caught up, started to lift him, thought better of it, set him down, and said, “Phew! This one needs to be changed.”

  Whereupon Stafa, still armed with the orange, headed for home yelling, “Mom! I’m pooped!” Like he had not known perfectly well and been. too busy to be bothered.

  Tamisa said, “I’d better go. Chores to do. Mother is going to be crabby enough as it is. Arif, come on.”

  Yoseh said his farewells and watched them go. He had disappointed Arif severely, he knew, being more interested in the girl than in him. But what could you do? How could you explain?

  Mo’atabar went on down the hill. Nogah went back and sat down, preoccupied.

  “What’s up?” Medjhah asked.

  “Joab. He’s taking fifteen hundred men out to chase those Turoks.”

  That scaly thing inside Yoseh wakened and started wriggling.

  “We going?”

  “No. We’re staying to play Fa’tad’s game. He’s taking all horsemen. He wants to hurry and get between the Turoks and the herd. Just in case.”

  Yoseh tried not to show his relief. There was nothing dishonorable about it but he did not want to admit that he had no taste for fighting and glory and riding around in the weather.

  There were a few more clouds now. The veydeen did not seem excited so it seemed unlikely they would turn to rain. He wished it would rain.

  The city was a madhouse. Troops were on the move, headed south to assemble outside the Gate of Summer, whence they would march before sunrise. Azel was not pleased by the dislocations. They made it difficult to be as cautious as he liked.

  What about tomorrow, when the garrison was reduced? Would the Living’s crazies make themselves heard?

  Something. From somewhere. He felt the first tingle of it. He did not like it because he had no idea from what direction disaster might strike.

  He took position in sight of the place where Ishabal bel-Shaduk lived in the northern Shu. He watched for an hour. Several men visited. He recognized two as thugs. Guys who would do anything for money.

  He had a notion what bel-Shaduk was doing. He did not like it.

  He’d thought bel-Shaduk possessed of better sense.

  Gold and women had their ways of dribbling blindness into even a wise man’s eyes.

  The day was getting on. If he wanted to get out the Gate of Autumn and back with plenty of time he’d better waste no more here.

  He overtook the cavalcade moving the old man two miles east of the Dartar compound. The new gimp General told him to get up inside the covered wagon where the stiff lay.

  One look at that black print and he knew his suspicions were feet.

  The damn woman had gone mad! She would set the city on fire.

  And she didn’t care. That was the hell of it.

  He climbed out of the wagon, drifted back to walk beside the gimp on his donkey. A comedown for him. He’d probably ridden a purebred stallion out to Dak-es-Souetta. “I got an idea where to start looking.”

  “Where? Who?”

  “I’ll let you know if it comes out sure. Meantime, I got a suggestion. Burn the old boy. Don’t bury him.”

  “Immolation is a rite of Gorloch, not of Aram.”

  “How many people going to be involved in this, eh? All of them mourning the beloved General. What chance you figure there is all of them will keep their mouths shut about who, what, and where? Cado gets the word, he’s going to have the old boy dug up and paraded around.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Dumb shit. He was asking for it. “You put some time in on the new governor and his witch, too. There’s something more there than meets the eye. Talk to you more when we get together. I got something else I got to do right now.”

  He turned and headed west.

  There was a lot of traffic on the road. Too much. How much had to do with the funeral? He checked faces. A few were familiar. He remembered them all. It was a habit he had, one he followed unconsciously sometimes even when he was aware of no need. Thus he noticed two particular faces among the inevitable beggars and loafers inside the Gate of Autumn.

  He had seen one for the first time not far from where Ishabal bel-Shaduk lived. He’d last seen the other in the halls of Government House.

  So.

  He did not lead them an interesting chase. He went to Muma’s, where he spent the afternoon and early evening eating, thinking, and carefully, laboriously composing a long letter to General Cado. He entrusted that to Muma’s youngest, a quickwitted urchin, and relaxed with some black-market beer before he went out for the night’s work.

  Meryel guided bel-Sidek to a mound of cushions. “You look awful tonight. If you’ll pardon me saying so.”

  “I can pardon you anything if you can pardon me.”

  She looked at him curiously but did not pursue it while her servants came and went with the courses of their meal. Then she asked. He told her about his day.

  “Murdered? You’re sure?” She did not seem interested in his conduct while questioning the traitor’s wife.

  “It seems more likely all the time. The trouble is, I can’t see who would have gained by getting him out of the way.”

  “One of the fanatics, getting impatient?”

  “No. They honored him too much. Besides, getting him out of the way just puts me in the way. Tonight I intend to name another moderate as my successor so there’s nothing to gain getting rid of me, either.”

  “Could it be the governor’s witch getting even for what happened to his guards?”

  “Not unless she’s one hell of a diviner. I think he died before they did. Herodians would have taken him alive, anyway. Sullo laying hands on the mastermind of the Living so soon after getting here would have been a political deathblow for Cado. There are people in Herod who want his head. He survives because he’s competent, he has several very powerful friends, and he has the indulgence of the Living.”

  “Hubris?”

  “Fact. We could cause trouble enough to get him taken out. If a Herodian must rule here, we’d prefer General Cado. None of the likely replacements would be so kind to Qushmarrah. I’d better go. We have a lot to argue out.”

  Meryel rose with him. She said, “I have a few contacts among those who operate outside anybody’s law. I’ll ask them if they’ve heard anything that might have something to do with the old man’s death.”

  Bel-Sidek paused at the door. “All right. Also find out what they know about a child-stealing ring. And about a man named Azel.” He slipped out, not at all eager to face what lay ahead. But

  they did have to decide who should take over in the Shu and who should take over most of his own duties on the waterfront.

  Too, he hoped to discover if there had been some dark side to the old man that, in his love, he had been unable to see.

  The Witch moaned, twitched uncontrollably. Her flesh was beyond her command. All her will was bent upon the child, that stubborn brat.

  Three times she had tried to breach the barrier of trauma. Three times she had been repelled. Never had she encountered such resistance. The previous life must have ended terribly
.

  She gathered her remaining reserves, feeble after half a day in trance. One last effort... No matter. This could not be the one she sought. Azel could have him and welcome.

  Her thoughts were not that clear. They constituted more an instinctual flow than actual reasoning.

  Once more she advanced upon the child’s defenses. And this time found a tiny crack. She focused upon it, struck with all the remnants of her strength...

  And screamed. And screamed.

  Terror squeezed her heart.

  The soul on the other side was that of Ala-eh-din Beyh. It was not lost. It was not bewildered. It had been lying in ambush.

  Torgo did not think. Instinct drove him. He plunged inside the tent, fists flying. He knew what had happened without having to think it out.

  He struck child and woman with powerful blows to the head. The shock broke the link. The devil in the child tumbled back into the abyss. But it did not vanish completely. Torgo felt the power there.

  The Witch’s screams waned. She lapsed into a deep sleep, maybe a coma. Torgo destroyed the tent, killed the fire in the braziers, fanned fumes away. Tears stained his cheeks.

  Had he been fast enough?

  She should have foreseen this. She should have trained him for this. In his ignorance all he could do now was watch and wait and hope that Gorloch would be merciful and permit her return from that far darkness into which she had fallen.

  Power streamed from the child.

  Outside, clouds began to gather.

  13

  Aaron entered the house and found the females all prickly and sullen. “Now what?” He was not in the mood for it. Things had not gone well at work that afternoon. The Herodians were sorting themselves out to line up behind the civil or military governors and were trying to frustrate one another by giving conflicting orders to their Qushmarrahan employees.

  Arif said, “Nana’s mad at Mish because she took Yoseh some food.”

  Mish said, “You told me to do it.”

  “A damn fool idea, Aaron,” Raheb said. “And you didn’t have to behave like a trull, Tamisa.”

  Laella snapped, “She did nothing of the sort, Mother. Tamisa, you shouldn’t have spent all that time talking to him. It didn’t look right.”