Working God's Mischief

by Glen Cook

  They could not see that. Of course not. Only Lord Arnmigal did, along with the Instrumentalities who would deliver the genocide.

  Much as he anticipated Helspeth’s advent, so did Hecht dread it. Having his lover in camp, with no privacy to be had … They would do something stupid. It was sure to happen.

  He reddened, remembering Katrin. That humiliation returned.

  * * *

  Almost the first thing Helspeth said, following the ceremony attendant on her arrival, was, “I brought that candle you like, Lord Arnmigal.”

  Hecht’s eyes widened. He had forgotten the time candle. Last he had seen it, it had been in his quarters in the Still-Patter house. He recalled several instances when it would have been handy to have.

  “Thank you so much, Majesty. That was thoughtful of you.”

  “And selfish.” Lady Hilda had accompanied her empress, clearly without enthusiasm. She wanted nothing to do with this rude end of the world but she was entertained at the moment. “Perhaps you could take that candle along and pray together tonight.”

  Helspeth gave her friend the darkest possible look.

  “Just trying to help,” Daedel grumbled. “The old Chaldarean church here, Saint Eules, is famous.”

  True. The chapel’s foundations dated from Aaron’s own time. Much early history of the faith involved the site. Lord Arnmigal had been startled by its small size when first he saw it.

  Unprepossessing size had saved it from being converted to a Praman place of worship.

  Frustration bedeviled the lovers. There were no moments free from the petitions of swarms of natives of local and crusader origin, come to beg peace, to pledge eternal fealty (till the next shift in the wind of war), to wheedle some advantage, or to complain about someone else.

  Capture of the invincible city, by a lesser fraction of the Righteous, left an impression. And so did the cruelty of the fall of the citadel.

  An opportunity to visit St. Eules did come three evenings after Helspeth’s arrival. Lord Arnmigal and the Empress did not go alone. A score of notables escorted them. A hundred other folk crowded into the church. The nearest they came to privacy was in approaching the altar as just they two. Lord Arnmigal whispered, “Probably as well they don’t give us time. I’m exhausted. I’m not getting enough sleep.”

  Mirth edged Helspeth’s voice as she murmured, “Nor am I. Much as I yearn for your touch … I’d fall asleep, for sure.”

  “This won’t last forever.”

  A priest of St. Eules blessed them as the new masters of Shartelle. He was Antast Chaldarean but the Brothen Episcopals of the Holy Lands were not caviling about doctrinal trivia. Yet.

  That would come. But no one, after hearing what had befallen the garrison of the citadel, wanted to irk the Righteous or their Commander.

  Following the blessing the Empress rose and stepped up to light a votive candle. She had brought one of her own. Lord Arnmigal joined her but only for a quick touch and pant and reaffirmation. “Not in this place. Not now,” he said. “But soon. I promise.”

  “Don’t disappoint your Empress.”

  Hecht sensed an oddness. Helspeth had changed, in a small way, while they were apart. It seemed a huge strain for her to be responsible right now, not stealing hours from the world. He watched her light another candle, bow her head, and shiver. He retreated to his place of kneeling. Helspeth extinguished the time candle after just seconds, made it disappear inside her clothing.

  She rejoined the Commander of the Righteous, without kneeling.

  The priest, puzzled, commenced his final benediction.

  Hecht noticed Lady Hilda’s smirk. She winked. This time he was sure that Daedel was playing her own game, not Helspeth’s.

  The Adversary scattered temptations everywhere.

  From St. Eules Lord Arnmigal went to make his acquaintance with the full facts of the latest bad news.

  * * *

  During the final hours of the siege a brave courier from Shamramdi, having escaped that city and having survived a passage through crusader lands, had reached the coast of the White Sea. Evading every danger he had come to Shartelle, where he swam the harbor by night, slipped into the city, stole to the citadel, then entered that by scaling its exterior wall. That all added up to an effort worthy of a saga. But …

  The hero found the garrison all dead, torn up like rats ripped apart by dogs. The stench was overwhelming. Those men had been dead for days. Evil had overtaken them almost as soon as they had locked themselves in.

  The massacre left the courier in such despair that he just opened a sally port and surrendered to the first Chaldarean priest he could find.

  The Commander of the Righteous knew Fastthal and Sprenghul must be responsible, thinking the effort would please him. Thinking it a nice surprise.

  Indala was sure to be outraged. The Praman world would be.

  Lord Arnmigal was not pleased. He had to impress upon Hourli the fact that he did not want such actions undertaken without prior approval.

  He had to admit, though, that, despite the outrage, the average Praman would understand what the Choosers wanted to make plain. Attempts to thwart the Commander and Righteous would not profit them.

  The massacre was sure to raise more questions amongst the Righteous. They and other crusaders would know that their own had not done that slaughter. Some would recall past strange events.

  They would suspect that the slayers were Instrumentalities, and cruel Instrumentalities at that. Those who knew some folklore might even guess who those Instrumentalities must be.

  “Hourli, darling, I need to see you.”

  The Shining One appeared in the first instant that she could without being seen doing so. She said, “They have been admonished. They truly believed that they were giving you a precious gift. They are abashed and will not act again without asking.”

  Hecht was surprised. She was ahead of him. “Assuming they don’t forget.”

  “There is that about them. They do tend to exist in the moment.”

  Ahead of him. That happened more than left him comfortable.

  It was not just the Choosers who were thinking for themselves.

  “What?” he asked. She had something on her mind.

  “They may not have asked permission but I cannot find fault with their reasoning. Such ferocious destruction will be instructive to everyone inclined to be stubborn. Indala may be offended but Indala is your determined enemy already.”

  He could not be pleased, despite all.

  “You are too fond of your prerogatives, Commander. Even a god cannot manage every detail of every daily event.”

  He started to protest that the massacre was no tiny detail.

  “But it is. To immortals it is no more than overturning an annoying anthill. And it will be trivia to history. One paragraph in the record of the fall of Shartelle, after a dozen lauding the relative bloodlessness of the city’s capture. Consider what happened when the first crusaders took Vantrad.”

  Yes. They had butchered people by the thousand, including Deves, Dainshaus, Chaldareans who failed to cleave to the Episcopal rite, and even some who did but who owned property somebody wanted to claim. The histories did not exaggerate much by saying that the blood ran ankle deep in the streets. It had taken decades for Vantrad’s economy to recover.

  Hourli said, “With you it’s always about control.”

  He had been told that often, and with some force, for some time, now. “I will concede the point. I may overdo it. But this is a case where…”

  “I told you. They have been admonished. So. Allow yourself a week before you become more stressed. See what moral impact it really has. Send a message to Indala asking him not to compel you to do that again. He won’t listen but you can point to the request forever after and insist that you gave him a chance.”

  For a moment Hecht wondered how she had been able to deflate his anger so slyly. He was very nearly on the defensive, now.

  Hourli said, “T
hat’s that. Over and done. I have some news.”

  “Uhm?”

  “There is an army coming up from Dreanger, mercenaries and men who accept Indala’s vision for the Holy Lands. Two thousand Sha-lug are with them, having given a truce that will last for the campaign plus forty days. The total force numbers fourteen thousand. They have no idea what they actually face.”

  “Meaning?” Not focusing completely because, for the first time, he fully understood that he must, before long, make war on his own past.

  That had been inevitable, of course. He had seen it intellectually but never truly with his heart.

  “They have discounted the lessons of the Shades and the battles in the Antal. Though your weapon was created in Dreanger, they disdain everything to do with er-Rashal. Choose your ground well and you will have no trouble turning them back, perhaps without having to do much real damage.”

  A place came to mind right away. Any army from the south would come to it before reaching Vantrad or Shartelle. A Dreangerean army had perished in the same place two thousand years ago, in a great clash of chariot forces. He had visited that ground when he was young. He told Hourli about it, told her what he wanted scouted. “And find out who is in command on the other side. That could be critical. A Sha-lug general will take a more flexible, thoughtful, and aggressive approach.”

  “Iresh abd al-Kadiri.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Moussa Iresh abd al-Kadiri, husband of a sister of Indala’s second wife. Family is the reason he was chosen to command. Though he demonstrated some competence during the conquest of Dreanger, Hourlr thinks he was put in charge so he would become a lightning rod for blame. Bad things were expected to happen. Iresh is not popular.”

  Hecht grunted. Politics. An army might be sacrificed so Indala’s people could shed an unwanted commander.

  “Find out who is next after al-Kadiri. Especially the senior Sha-lug.” His paranoid side had been triggered. “This Iresh may be in charge only within his own imagination.”

  “We will examine the facts immediately.”

  “Wait. You have a wicked notion.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I am beginning to gain a feel for how you think, dear. You’re considering something more than just scouting.”

  Hourli confessed, “You are getting to know me all over again. Yes. I was musing on what a tragedy it would be if your enemies suffered a plague of dysentery.”

  His instant response was irritation. Hourli had been thinking without permission or instruction. The reaction disgusted him. Was he becoming a megalomaniac? Maybe not. Those people never questioned it. Could it be a god complex?

  For some reason he thought of Osa Stile. Where was that loathsome worm these days? In Salpeno? He ought to drag Osa out here to be his creepy little conscience prod. Osa would not be impressed by Lord Arnmigal’s status. Osa had bedded Patriarchs and Princes of the Church. Osa had known Else Tage as a snot-nosed trainee who could do nothing right. Osa would not hesitate to point out his faults and shortcomings. Osa would make some up if that seemed appropriate.

  Hourli said, “You spend too much time daydreaming. You can afford it here but don’t take it into the field. You might not make it back.”

  What did she mean by that? Other than the obvious?

  She said, “Ignoring Dreangerean politics, Indala hopes that Iresh will capture Vantrad. He believes Vantrad is vulnerable if Iresh moves decisively. King Beresmond’s health is bad. Queen Clothilde is stupid, self-absorbed, and universally loathed. Indala has been in contact with enemies of hers whom he believes will betray Vantrad. He is also convinced that capturing the Holy City will change everything. He thinks that its recapture will obsess you and the Enterprise and that will ease pressure on Shamramdi. He would then be free to break out and begin gathering strength to take the offensive. He is sure that he can smash the Enterprise.”

  “Why?” Nothing had gone right for Indala so far.

  “Because God is on his side. Because there are tens of thousands of Believers who want to be part of a holy war. They just haven’t found an effective, unifying leader.”

  “He thinks he’s that guy?”

  “He does.”

  “So he’s suffering from a grand and glorious delusion.”

  “Or he might be right. The warriors are out there. They think something should be done about you but aren’t yet ready to uproot themselves. That might leave their tribes vulnerable to predatory neighbors.”

  “Nor will they abandon hope that a dimwit neighbor might go off with the bulk of his own warriors. Right?”

  “The facts of the world are facts.”

  It was ever thus. The coming of God’s Peace to the Believers had not stilled any older enmities.

  * * *

  A few days passed. The scrutiny of others relaxed. Helspeth became uninteresting to those unable to gain access. The soldiers got on with God’s Enterprise. Men of high station found ways to commit mischief in His Name. So much was happening, in so many directions, with so many towns and cities beleaguered, that the Shining Ones had trouble keeping Lord Arnmigal informed. It began to look like Indala had made a brilliant move. There might be no one left to intercept the army from Dreanger.

  In three days that army moved barely ten miles, then stopped altogether while Iresh al-Kadiri awaited anticipated reinforcements. Meantime, news of the army’s existence created considerable excitement in Shamramdi. The besiegers grew disheartened because their opponents were so perfectly confident that the Dreangerean host would turn the war around. Capturing Vantrad would reverse Praman fortunes completely.

  Other than issue orders to get a reinforced reconnaissance moving Lord Arnmigal seemed uninterested. Seemed to have turned his back on what had looked like a grand opportunity only days earlier.

  He had decided that Vantrad needed a good dose of Praman moral salts. Beresmonde and Clothilde were embarrassments, he for his weakness and she for her wickedness. Perhaps Beresmonde could not help himself because of his afflictions. Clothilde had no excuse.

  Just since the Enterprise had reached the Holy Lands she had, twice, gone to her cousin Rogert, doing little to disguise the purpose of her visit.

  Let Iresh drive the incestuous witch out of Vantrad, to her lover. Madouc of Hoeles would not long suffer her indecency.

  Saying that to Hourli and the Shining Ones caused laughter and left him red and digging for excuses. “Katrin isn’t a relative!”

  “Who?” Sheaf asked.

  “Oh, my!” said Wife.

  “Helspeth! I meant Helspeth!”

  “Whatever,” Aldi observed, with paragraphs of sarcasm riding its humped back.

  He chose not to dig the hole deeper by defending himself. “That is what I want to happen.”

  Wife asked, “Why?”

  “I want them to occupy Vantrad, to cleanse it of the wickedness that has taken root there. Then I will rescue the city and make it a gift to the Empress.” Adding Vantrad to Helspeth’s diadem would enhance her place in the Chaldarean world magnificently.

  Hourli said, “We don’t get paid to understand his motives, ladies. Any ingenious ideas about how to make a difficult wish come true?”

  * * *

  A chance to be alone with Helspeth sneaked up when she, having lost patience, decided to make it happen. She lighted the time candle, which she had insisted on keeping herself, and walked through Shartelle, the candle hidden in a bucket. She entered the trade exchange center the Righteous had taken for its headquarters, wandered the labyrinthine interior in search of her lover, feeling more foolish by the minute. She found Lord Arnmigal arguing with his son, who wanted to command the falcon battery accompanying the force his father was about to send to shadow Iresh abd al-Kadiri.

  Helspeth was unaware of Lord Arnmigal’s strategic investment in a Praman success at Vantrad. Nor did Pella know. Helspeth caught only fragments of the argument from inside her time bubble.

  Her visit did not go unnoti
ced. Time also changed for anyone who got too close. It was impossible to remain unseen by someone breathing in your face. Sometimes she had to get close to get past.

  Her adventure would birth a fear that the Night was up to something involving a ringer for the Grail Empress.

  The Night, the Shining Ones, of course, would have managed without attracting as much attention. They did not have to travel through the space between.

  Piper Hecht sensed an unseen presence. So did Pella. The boy thought the quiet visitor might be his aunt or one of his sisters.

  Hecht thought one of the more shy Old Ones wanted to talk. For a moment he hoped it would be Aldi. Then he caught a glimpse that Pella, from his angle, did not.

  His son would not understand a late-night visit from that woman and was too old to fool with yak about a secret emergency.

  Helspeth did not reveal herself otherwise. She recognized the absurdity. She went away feeling sad, frustrated, and foolish.

  * * *

  Lord Arnmigal found the Empress inside St. Eules, not kneeling before the altar but seated discreetly on a bench in shadow in back. She was crying quietly. “I hoped you’d come here.” And, a moment later, “After so long.” Another moment. “It’s getting harder to give my lifeguards the slip.”

  She finally lifted her gaze. What light there was glistened off her tears. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Did it cause any trouble?”

  “There will be questions tomorrow but so many surround me now that they won’t bother pressing it.”

  She scooted over. He settled beside her. She said, “None of the priests are awake. They don’t do night prayers here.”

  “Antasts are more relaxed than we are.”

  Helspeth slipped her hand into his. “Aaron was more relaxed, too. His Church was more like the Maysalean thing than the Episcopal.”

  “Uhm. We should light the candle anyway if we’re going to be here. There’s no guarantee we’ll stay alone, otherwise.”

  “God knows, I hate this. But we can’t do anything else. Unless I want to become another Anne of Menand. Or Clothilde, rutting with whom I want, where I want, whenever I want.”