“Punish?” Sorgan asked curiously.
“Some Church armies tricked us once down in the southern part of the Empire,” Gunda explained. “One of the commander’s relatives was killed, so he was very upset. Padan and I came up with a way to even things out, though, and the Church didn’t like it one little bit.”
“Just what was it that you did to make them willing to come this far to kick you around?”
Gunda shrugged. “We hired several professional murderers, and they filled a few graveyards with high-ranking churchmen and assorted Church army commanders.”
“Are there really people down in the Empire who make their living by killing people?” Sorgan seemed a bit surprised. “We usually do our own killing in the Land of Maag.”
“Professionals are much neater,” Gunda said, “and they’ll kill the ones you want to get rid of any way you want them to—either quick and quiet, or slow and noisy. There’s one murderer down in the Empire who’ll guarantee that it’ll take your enemy at least two days to finish dying. If the enemy dies any sooner, the murderer won’t take your money.”
“Now that’s what I’d call a real professional, cousin,” Torl said admiringly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever disliked anybody quite that much,” Sorgan said.
“Anyway,” Narasan continued, “whether they hate us or not, when they see all that imitation gold out there, that’s the only thing they’ll be able to think about.”
“I think the key word there is ‘when,’ Narasan,” Sorgan added. “Dropping boulders on them definitely slowed them down to a crawl. It could take them months to finish that ramp, and we’ll have to hold back the bug-people until the Church armies get up here to take over for us.”
“I know,” Narasan replied glumly. “I’d be more than happy to listen to any suggestions.”
“Maybe we should help them,” Omago the farmer said somewhat hesitantly.
“What exactly did you have in mind?” Veltan asked.
“Well, they’ll need a lot of big rocks to finish that ramp, but there aren’t really all that many boulders down there at the foot of the falls, because the river’s worn most of them down over the years. If our people kept on pushing boulders off the cliff, those people down below would think that we were still trying to stop them, but what we’ll really be doing will be providing them with exactly what they need to finish the job.”
“I like it!” Sorgan exclaimed. “They don’t know it, but those people down there are really our friends, and it’s always nice to help a friend—particularly if he’s going to do all the dying for us.”
“In line with that thought, I think we should modify Gunda’s wall here just a bit,” Longbow added.
“It’s a very good wall, Longbow,” Gunda protested.
“That’s the trouble, friend Gunda. It’s too good. When our friends from the south reach your wall, it’ll take them quite some time to get over it in enough numbers to do us very much good. I’d say that we’ll need a gap about a hundred feet wide for that many of them to charge through.”
“Why don’t you gentlemen let me take care of that?” Veltan suggested. “Leave Gunda’s wall right where it is until our new-found friends come rushing up here to grab all of that imitation gold out there. Then I’ll make a nice wide opening for them so that they can go on down and take over the dying for us.”
“And just how did you plan to do that, Veltan?” Gunda demanded.
“Are you sure you really want to know, Gunda?”
“Ah—now that you mention it, Veltan, I guess I really don’t—not too much, anyway.”
“Are you quite certain that the bug-people will continue the foolish business of going back home every evening when the real sun goes down?” Narasan asked Veltan and Zelana a bit later.
“They’re creatures of habit, Commander Narasan,” Zelana replied. “If they do something one way today, they’ll almost certainly repeat it tomorrow.”
“We saw that fairly often back in the ravine, Narasan,” Hook-Beak reminded his friend.
“They’re perhaps a bit brighter this time,” Veltan added, “but they still respond to the commands of the Vlagh, so if the Vlagh tells them to come home every evening, they’ll keep on doing that until the Vlagh tells them otherwise. Blind obedience is part of their nature.”
“All right, then,” Narasan continued. “We’ve come up with several ways to delay them to the point that they’re not just dashing up here to start kicking at Gunda’s wall. The bright light from Dahlaine’s little toy has more or less eliminated the bug-bats. The breastworks and poisoned stakes pretty much stop the oversized snake-men, and our catapulted fire generally eliminates the imitation turtles. We’ve got thirteen lines of breastworks down the slope from Gunda’s wall here. We don’t really have to totally eliminate these enemies. All we have to do is slow them down. Since they all go home after work, we’ll be able to rush on down and reoccupy the outermost breastworks tonight. Then, tomorrow night, we’ll pull back to the next breastworks. Then, on the third night, we’ll pull back one more again. That should give the Church soldiers almost two weeks to finish their ramp and see all that imitation gold out there. At that point, we’ll just politely tip our hats and walk away.”
“You can walk if you want to, Narasan,” Sorgan said, “but I think I’m going to run, and you’d better not get in my way.”
Longbow found a certain hard practicality in Narasan’s plan. If the servants of the Vlagh seemed to be making a certain amount of progress each day, the Vlagh quite probably would see no reason to dream up some new and unanticipated strategy. The servants of the Vlagh would continue to overrun one barricade each day, and if Omago’s suggestion worked as well as it should, the Church armies should finish their ramp at about the same time.
At least he’d finally managed to persuade Narasan and Sorgan that the voice which had haunted his sleep for the past several nights had been telling the truth. Of course, the sudden appearance of miles and miles of imitation gold had helped quite a bit.
“Maybe if I’m lucky, she’ll go pester somebody else tonight,” he muttered as he walked on back to the forest a mile or so to the south of Gunda’s wall. Although he now had several friends among the outlanders, Longbow still preferred solitude when the time came for him to sleep.
The trees in this forest were of an unfamiliar variety, quite probably because Veltan’s Domain was much farther to the south than Longbow’s original home, but they provided him shelter—although shelter wasn’t that important in the summer.
He lay down on his bed of leaves and drifted off to sleep.
“Thou hast done well, brave hunter,” the now-familiar voice intruded into his mind. “I shall trouble thee no more. Fare thee well, Longbow of Zelana’s Domain. In times yet to come, we may meet again.”
THE BRIDGE
1
Padan was more than a little dubious about Longbow’s notion that some “unknown friend” was sending help in the form of five Church armies. The Amarite church was based upon raw greed, of course, but so far as Padan knew, none of the Church soldiers, nor priests, nor even the brutal Regulators had seen the colorful alteration of the red sand stretching out over the Wasteland.
“It just doesn’t float,” Padan muttered to himself as he went back down along the wide, turbulent river toward the waterfall where his men were still dropping boulders on the roof that had been cleverly designed to protect the Church soldiers from the arrows of Longbow’s archers.
Narasan had accepted the idea, however, so now Padan was obliged to go along despite his doubts. Padan had always felt that to be one of the drawbacks of army life. Once the commander made up his mind, the officers who served under him were required to obey. Back in the days when Padan, Gunda, and Narasan had been cadets in the army compound, the sergeants who had trained them had made a habit of beating them over the head with that every time they turned around. “Just do as you’re told” had seemed to pop up thirty or forty time
s a day. It made a certain amount of sense, of course, but if the commander happened to be wrong, half the army could wind up dead.
When he reached the brink of the gorge the River Vash had carved on down through the mountains to the south, Padan called his officers together. “The plans have changed, gentlemen,” he told them. “Something new has come up, so stop dropping rocks on that makeshift roof down there. Our glorious leader wants us to help those half-wit Church soldiers down there instead of hindering them. From now on, roll the boulders off the edge so that they’ll come down in front of that ramp instead of on top of it.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, Padan,” one of the older officers protested.
“Narasan seems to like it,” Padan replied. He hesitated slightly, but then decided to let his officers know why they were changing the overall plan. “It would seem that we’ve got a friend out here who’s been playing some very interesting games,” he said. “We all know how the Amarite church feels about gold, and this friend of ours is using imitation gold as bait. When those Church armies finish their ramp and see miles and miles of what they think is the real thing, they’ll go crazy, don’t you think?”
“I know that it loosened my head up just a little when I first saw it,” another officer admitted.
“Let’s just hope that the church-boys feel the same way,” Padan said. “Our new ‘grand plan’ is to help the dear old churchies get up here where they can see all that glittery dirt out there. Then we’re supposed to just get out of the way and let them run on down the slope beyond Gunda’s wall and tramp all over the bug-men.”
“While the bug-men are poisoning everybody who comes their way?” another officer added dubiously.
“That’s sort of at the core of this new ‘grand plan,’” Padan agreed.
“You don’t really sound very convinced, Padan,” the first officer said.
“I don’t really have to be convinced,” Padan declared. “Narasan bought the idea, and that’s all we need to know. Get started, gentlemen. Move your men upriver a hundred yards or so and start dropping boulders ahead of that ramp instead of on top of it. Let’s find out how long it’s going to take those holy nitwits down there to realize that our boulders are as useful as the ones out in the middle of the river.” He paused. “If some of our boulders accidentally come down on top of a few dozen Church soldiers, I won’t be too upset,” he added.
Padan’s men chuckled and grinned at him in a wicked sort of way.
It was about noon on the following day when the clever little smith Rabbit came down from the north. “I’m supposed to tell you that there’s going to be another one of those get-togethers up near that waterspout.”
“What now?” Padan replied irritably. “I thought we’d pretty much covered everything yesterday.”
“They didn’t come right out and tell me what this is all about,” Rabbit said, “but I think Lady Zelana’s big brother wants to know more about that Church in your part of the world.” He hesitated, looking around to make sure that nobody was close enough to hear him. “I think that what’s really behind this has to do with just exactly who came up with this scheme. That ocean of fake gold that just popped out of nowhere has them all upset. I wouldn’t want to swear to it, but I think that was something that nobody in Lady Zelana’s family could have pulled off. Her older sister seems to be so upset about it that she could bite nails and spit rust.”
Padan laughed. “That’s a colorful way to put it, Rabbit.”
Rabbit shrugged and looked down into the gorge the water-fall had gouged out of the surrounding mountains. “That’s quite a drop,” he observed.
“You’ve got that right,” Padan agreed.
“It’s likely to take those people down there a long time to get up here, wouldn’t you say?”
“That’s their problem, Rabbit, not mine. Let’s go on up to the geyser and find out what’s afoot.”
Rabbit shrugged. “That’s up to you, Padan. I just carry messages. I don’t make decisions.”
The towering geyser which was the ultimate source of the River Vash was a noisy sort of thing, blasting high up into the air as it was driven by some incomprehensible force far down in the bowels of the earth. Padan conceded that it was a pretty thing, but the continual spray arcing out from the top of the geyser was very much like an endless spring shower.
Fortunately, Veltan’s elder brother was wise enough to select an area some distance away from the geyser for them all to gather. At least they wouldn’t get wet.
It seemed to Padan that almost everybody was there. “Who’s minding the store?” he quietly asked Narasan.
“The sergeants, mostly,” Narasan replied.
“Oh,” Padan said. “Things should go more smoothly, then.”
“I wouldn’t let that get out, Padan. If people find out who really runs the army, we might both have to go out and find honest work.”
“What’s this all about, Narasan? Did we leave something out yesterday?”
Narasan glanced about and lowered his voice. “Lady Zelana’s big brother seems to be very curious about the Amarite church and those Church armies,” he replied. “Things seem to be much more relaxed here in the Land of Dhrall than they are down in the Empire.”
“What do you need me here for, then? I don’t know beans about the Church, and I think I’d rather keep it that way.”
“Wouldn’t we all? I think our easiest answer to this would be to hand it off to Keselo.”
“I’ll go along with you there,” Padan agreed. “That young fellow’s got more education than all of the rest of us put together.”
“Could I have your attention?” The grey-bearded Dahlaine asked. “Our friends from the Trogite Empire are probably much more familiar with the religion of their part of the world than any of the rest of us are, so I thought it might be useful if they could give us some idea of what it’s all about.” He looked inquiringly at Narasan.
“I’m not too well versed in the peculiarities of the Church, Lord Dahlaine,” Narasan replied modestly, “but our young friend Keselo attended the University of Kaldacin, so he’s probably the best qualified to answer any questions you might have. To be completely honest with you, I don’t have much use for the Church—or the arrogant people who run the stupid thing. Tell our friend here about the religion that contaminates our part of the world, Keselo.”
“If you wish, sir,” Keselo replied obediently. Then he paused, his expression growing quite troubled. “The Church of the Empire isn’t really all that attractive, Lord Dahlaine,” he began. “I’m fairly sure that at some time in the distant past it was more wholesome and pure than it is now, but over the years it’s grown more and more corrupt.”
“Just how did it originate?” Dahlaine asked.
“That’s not too clear, Lord Dahlaine,” Keselo replied. “At some time in the distant past, a holy man named Amar, who may—or may not—have actually existed, came to the city of Kaldacin, which at that time was only a crude village, and he spoke to the people there about truth, charity, and morality. Nobody really paid too much attention to him at first, but then some rumors—that have never been confirmed—began to appear.”
“Exactly what sort of rumors?” Dahlaine asked.
“People said that they’d seen him flying—like a bird.”
“That’s ridiculous, Keselo,” Gunda snorted.
“Not really, Gunda,” Red-Beard disagreed. “Our Zelana can fly like an eagle, if she really wants to.”
“Not exactly, Red-Beard,” Lady Zelana corrected. “I don’t really need wings. Please go on, Keselo.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m quite sure that most of those ancient stories were pure fabrications thought up by Amar’s early followers to entice the nonbelievers into joining the faith. As the years passed, those fabrications grew wilder and wilder. Some said that Amar could remain underwater for several days at a time. Others said that he could walk through a solid stone wall—without leaving a hole in that wall. T
hen there were stories about moving mountains, freezing entire oceans, and other absurdities. As the Church grew larger, the absurdities grew more and more fantastic, and the gullible new converts came to accept almost anything. I think the real purpose of all those fabrications was to convince everybody that anything that’s impossible was possible, if your name happened to be Amar. At that time, it was little more than a myth designed to bring in more and more converts every day.”
“Just exactly where is this mythic person supposed to be now?” Dahlaine asked.
“The current Church doctrine’s a bit vague, Lord Dahlaine,” Keselo replied. “The last I heard, the Church maintains that he left the world behind and now wanders out among the stars, preaching to them.”
“I tried that one time,” Veltan said, “but the stars didn’t pay the least bit of attention to me.”
Keselo blinked and then he stared at Veltan in awe.
“That was quite a long time ago, Keselo,” Lady Zelana explained. “Our baby brother offended Mother Sea, and she sent him off to the moon to learn better manners.”
“I was only teasing her, Zelana,” Veltan protested.
“We’re straying here,” Dahlaine said firmly. “From what you’ve told us so far, Keselo, I’d say that the early Church of Amar was fairly simple and basically designed to make people feel more comfortable. What went wrong?”
“I don’t think I could actually pinpoint the time—or the event that altered the Amarite church, Lord Dahlaine,” Keselo replied. “I’d say that it was most likely a gradual change. The early priests of the faith were primarily paupers whose lives depended on the charity of the faithful. As time went on, though, contributions became increasingly mandatory, and the clergy more greedy. The way things stand right now, the higher-ranking members of the clergy are the wealthiest men in the Empire, but they still want more.” He smiled faintly. “There’s a tired old joke in the Empire that says that Church doctrine requires everybody in the empire to contribute everything—and then some—every time the collection plate goes by.”
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