Of course Andar had never even heard of the Isle of Akalla until the Trogite fleet had reached the temple of Lady Zelana’s sister early last autumn. The notion of a place where women were dominant was so unnatural that Andar was almost positive that it was some kind of hoax. He was quite certain that a man was the true leader on the isle, and that Trenicia was nothing more than an elaborate deception.
But she could run for at least a half a day, and her shoulders were even larger than Andar’s were. She had all of the characteristics of a warrior—except that she was a woman. Commander Narasan treated her with respect, and the two of them seemed to get along quite well.
As the army continued the march to the east, Andar continued his private argument with himself. Queen Trenicia wasn’t really supposed to be with them—but she was. Queen Trenicia was supposed to be in some fancy palace surrounded by servants who were supposed to respond to her every whim—but she wasn’t.
Andar’s whole world seemed to be turning upside down, and he didn’t like that at all. “I really wish that we’d stayed home,” he muttered to himself.
They reached the coast several days later, and the Trogite ships were still anchored where they’d been when Commander Narasan’s army had disembarked to begin the long march to Mount Shrak.
Then Sorgan Hook-Beak rowed over to the Victory, and Narasan was already standing at the rail waiting for him. “We need to talk, Narasan,” Hook-Beak called.
“Of course,” Narasan replied. “The weather, maybe?”
“Very funny,” Sorgan said without smiling. “Can we get down to business?”
“Sorry,” Narasan apologized.
“I’ve been talking with several of the men who were with you when you arrived at the temple of Lady Zelana’s crazy sister. I gather from what your men told me that the priests aren’t any too bright. If I was going to be dealing with people who had something besides air between their ears, I might be able to get away with an advance force, but from what I’ve heard, the ‘Holies’ down there wouldn’t even know what I was talking about. I’m going to have to make it simple for them by putting my whole army down on the beach at the same time. Then I’ll be able to persuade Lady Zelana’s stupid sister that I’ve got enough men to protect her and her ‘holy of holies’ when the bugs attack her precious temple.”
“And to find out how much gold she’ll be willing to pay?” Narasan asked.
“That is sort of important, Narasan. Anyway, if we agree that putting my entire army ashore will be the best way to go, I’m going to need about a hundred of those wallowing tubs of yours to get me and my people in place.”
“It makes sense, friend Sorgan. As soon as you get your men ashore, though, release those ships. I’ve got a lot of men who’ll still be camped here, and I’m fairly sure I’m going to need them when the Creatures of the Wasteland come storming in.” He looked rather speculatively at his friend. “Would it bother you if I made a few suggestions about dealing with Lady Zelana’s sister?”
“Not one little bit, Narasan. You know her and I don’t.”
“First off,” Narasan said, “push up your price just a bit. Money doesn’t mean anything to Aracia, so she probably won’t pay any attention. When you talk with her, act sort of arbitrary. Tell her that if she doesn’t agree to do things your way, you’ll take your men back to the ships and sail away. She will pay what you ask and agree to keep her priests from interfering, but agreeing with everything you say will make her feel a bit on the defensive side. You’ll need to use any lies or ideas you can think of to keep her that way. If she believes that you’ve got the upper hand, she’ll do just about anything you demand of her. Always be abrupt—and even arbitrary—particularly when you announce that you’re going to tear down a major part of her temple to get the material you’ll need to build a fort. Don’t ask her; tell her. Her fat head-priest will probably start screaming as soon as you announce that you’re going to dismantle a major part of her temple. I don’t know if I’d kill him right there on the spot, but you can make a few threats—draw your sword or hit him in the mouth with your fist. Always keep Aracia off balance if you possibly can.”
“You can be a very nasty fellow when you set your mind to it, old friend,” Sorgan said with a broad grin.
“That’s where I made my mistake when I was there, friend Sorgan. I avoided ‘nasty’ because I was trying to be polite. ‘Polite’ doesn’t work when you’re dealing with someone like Aracia. Push her—and keep pushing. Don’t give her time to object.”
“A suggestion, if I may?” Andar said, stepping in.
“I’ll take all the help that I can get,” Sorgan declared.
“I’d say that Keselo came up with the best answer,” Andar said. “Pick out the best liars in your army and send them out into the countryside to pretend that they’re scouting. When they come back, you’ll want them to start telling stories about all the terrible things the bug-people are doing to the ordinary peasants—eating them alive, pulling out their livers, having their eyeballs for dessert—that sort of thing. If Aracia’s priesthood is totally terrorized, Aracia will do almost anything you tell her to do.”
“You’re even nastier than Narasan,” Sorgan noted.
“I received my training from the best, Captain Hook-Beak,” Andar replied modestly.
“We’ll try it your way then,” Sorgan declared. Then he grinned. “I’ve got a hunch that I’m going to have a lot more fun than you two will. You’ll have to face real bugs. All I’ll have to do is deal with imaginary ones to make sure that big sister’s frightened enough to do just about anything I tell her to do.”
“I think you’ll do just fine, friend Sorgan,” Commander Narasan said with an answering grin.
It took several days to load the Maags on board the ships Sorgan had borrowed, and then, when all was ready, the burly Maag joined Narasan and the others on board the Victory. “We’re just about ready to start,” he advised. “If it’s all right, I’ll go on ahead. It won’t take long to unload my men, and then I’ll send the ships back here to pick up the rest of Narasan’s men and take them on down to the mouth of Long-Pass. I’ll send word of how things are going from time to time, but I don’t really expect much in the way of trouble.”
“Keep our sister off balance as much as you can, Sorgan,” Zelana told him. Then she looked at Dahlaine. “I’ve found that the unexpected always seems to startle Aracia,” she said.
“I pretty much agree with the scheme to drop horror stories on Aracia—and her priesthood,” Dahlaine replied. “If it goes the way I think it will, the priests will be so frightened that they won’t be able to deliver all those flattering orations, and that alone will shake Aracia right down to her roots.”
“Your sister has roots, Dahlaine?” the beautiful lady called Ara asked with a sly smile. “If she does, then maybe we could transplant her—in the middle of the night, probably. When her priests wake up and find that she’s gone, they won’t have any idea at all about where she’s gone—or why—and it’s likely that their minds will shut down.”
“I’m not at all sure that something like that would work, dear lady,” Dahlaine replied. “Aracia’s priests spend all their time groveling in her throne room whether she’s there or not. Groveling is an art form among the priests of Aracia.”
“Doesn’t that make them sort of meaningless?” Ara’s husband suggested.
For the life of him, Andar could not think of any reason at all just why the two neighbors of Lord Veltan were present here on the Victory—except, perhaps, for the glorious food Ara presented to Narasan and his friends when mealtime arrived. Without a doubt, Ara was probably the finest cook in the whole world, but why did she and her husband always participate in these serious meetings?
“Build good forts, friend Narasan,” Sorgan said then. “I don’t want the bug-people sneaking up behind me when I’m busy swindling holy old Aracia.”
“We’ll do the best we can, Sorgan,” Narasan replied with a grin
. “Swindle away for all you’re worth, and we’ll keep the bug-people out of your hair.”
The weather was holding—probably because Dahlaine told her to—so the remaining ships in the fleet made good time as they sailed on down to the mouth of Long-Pass. The ships that had carried Sorgan’s Maags down to Aracia’s temple had turned around and they’d passed Narasan’s fleet two days ago, and they were probably picking up the numerous cohorts that had stayed behind. It wouldn’t be much longer before the entire army would be reunited and marching up the pass toward whoever—or whatever—would soon be invading.
THE
TEMPLE
OF
ARACIA
1
It was late afternoon when the hundred Trogite tubs Sorgan had borrowed from Narasan hauled into the harbor of the temple-town of Zelana’s elder sister. Sorgan, Veltan, and Padan were standing in the bow of the Ascension, the lead ship, and Sorgan was more than a little astonished by the enormity of the temple. Narasan had told him that the silly thing was about a mile square—which might be easy to say—but Sorgan realized that saying and seeing were altogether different. “It seems to go on forever,” he said to Veltan in an awed sort of voice.
“I’m sure that Aracia likes to think so,” Veltan replied.
“Most of it’s empty, though,” Padan advised. “It’s not what I’d call jam-packed with priests and her church hangers-on. I nosed about when we first arrived last autumn, and there aren’t really that many people living there.”
“Fat Takal Bersla was probably responsible for the overdone size of the silly thing,” Veltan added. “It’s one of the many myths he’s foisted off on my big sister. He claims that there are thousands and thousands of priests living in that absurdity. Aracia’s absolutely certain that she has worshipers beyond counting living here, but she never bothers to look. There might be thousands and thousands of creatures living here, but most of them are probably mice.”
“Or spiders,” Padan added. “I roamed around in that foolishness last fall, and most of the corridors in ‘Holy Temple’ are jammed to the ceiling with cobwebs.”
“It’s nothing but a hoax, then?” Sorgan asked.
“A ‘holy hoax,’ Captain Hook-Beak,” Veltan corrected. “Aracia devoutly believes that the absurdity her priests have foisted off on her is a sign of her overwhelming importance.”
“That’s pathetic,” Sorgan declared.
“That’s a fair description of my sister, yes,” Veltan agreed.
“We’ve got company coming,” Padan said, pointing across the bay. “I’d say that it’s most probably fat old Bersla coming out here to find out what we want.”
“That thing doesn’t look at all like Longbow’s canoe,” Sorgan observed.
“It’s not really the same thing, Sorgan,” Veltan agreed. “Longbow’s canoe is designed to carry one man. The ugly thing coming out here to meet us is designed for show. Bersla yearns to be important, and he thinks that having hundreds of men paddling him out here makes him look important.”
Sorgan squinted at the approaching boat. “It looks to me like it was made out of a single tree trunk.”
“That’s fairly common here in the Land of Dhrall,” Veltan said. “They’re called ‘dugouts,’ probably because making them involves scraping out most of the log with sharp stones. I’ve never actually seen one built before, but I’m told that most of them are partially hollowed out with fire—very well-controlled fire, of course. There are certain advantages, though. A boat made from a single log wouldn’t leak, would it?”
“Maybe not,” Sorgan said, “but if it doesn’t have a keel, it’ll probably roll over any time one of the paddlers sneezes or hiccups.”
“That has happened here fairly often, Captain Hook-Beak,” Veltan said, smiling. “Stately—but not very bright—Bersla doesn’t understand why just yet but it might come to him—eventually.”
“That’s pure stupidity!” Sorgan declared.
“I’d say that’s a fair description of Bersla, yes. You’ve already met Aracia herself back in my Domain, so you don’t really need Bersla to introduce you to her. He’s terribly impressed with himself. He’ll demand to know why you’re here, but I’d suggest that you tell him that you’re here to see Aracia herself, not some servant.”
“Won’t that offend him?”
“Probably, yes. I’d say that you should tell him that you’re too important to talk to servants. When we reach the temple, I’ll introduce you to my sister and tell her that you’ll defend her temple if she’ll pay you enough.”
“That sounds good to me,” Sorgan replied. “How should I behave? Am I supposed to bow to her or any of that other nonsense?”
“A certain amount of arrogance wouldn’t hurt. Tell her that you’re the mightiest warrior in the world, so you’re worth your weight in gold—that sort of thing. One thing you should always remember. Don’t let her give you orders. Tell her that you’ll do what’s necessary to defend her, and you don’t want any interference from her or her priesthood. Get that established right away. You’re going to be tearing down a large part of her temple, so there’ll be a lot of screaming from the priests. Tell them that you have her permission, and that they should mind their own business. Pull out your sword, if you have to.”
“Or maybe even if I don’t, right?”
“Now you’re getting the idea. I think you’ll do just fine, but you’ll have to push my sister back into a corner as well, and that might take a few days.”
“It’d better not, Veltan,” Padan said. “Captain Hook-Beak has to persuade your sister to let him do things his way, but he can’t drag it out for too long. They’ll have to reach an agreement before he unloads his men and frees up all the ships here in the harbor. Those ships are vital to Narasan, because half of his army is still sitting on that beach up in Lord Dahlaine’s territory.”
“He does have a point there, Veltan,” Sorgan said. “I promised Narasan that I’d release his ships as soon as possible, and I don’t lie to my friends.”
“I can manipulate a few things,” Veltan said, frowning slightly. “A good following wind would recover a day or two. We can give you that much time to manipulate my sister if you need to. After that, you might have to be sort of arbitrary in your dealings with Aracia.”
“I don’t see much of a problem there, Veltan,” Sorgan declared. “I am a Maag, after all, and we invented arbitrary.”
The obviously unstable log-boat pulled alongside the Ascension, and the grossly fat priest rose to his feet to stand in the bow—which struck Sorgan as an act of sheer stupidity. “We have beheld your approach to the temple of Holy Aracia,” he declared in a rolling sort of voice, “and we must know of your purpose here.”
Veltan stepped forward. “I am Veltan,” he said, “the younger brother of she who guides you.”
“I have not heard of you,” Bersla declared in a haughty tone of voice. “Surely Holy Aracia would have advised me that she has a brother besides Mighty Dahlaine.”
“I wouldn’t depend on Aracia very much if I were you, fat man. Her mind isn’t all that stable anymore.”
“Blasphemy!” Bersla exclaimed in a shocked tone.
“Not if it’s true, it isn’t,” Veltan disagreed. “I see that you’re going to need some convincing. Watch closely, fat man, and pay close attention. This is your only chance to avoid my resentment.” Then Veltan slowly rose up into the empty air above the Ascension to stand on nothing but air.
Fat Bersla went pale, and his eyes bulged almost out of their sockets.
“I can go higher, if you’d like,” Veltan said. “I could even take you up into the air with me, if that would convince you. I am unlimited, Takal Bersla. If need be, I can carry you all the way up to the moon—but I don’t think you’d like that very much. There’s nothing to eat on the moon, and no air to breathe, so you’d probably die almost immediately.”
“I believe you!” Bersla declared in a shrill voice. “I believe you!”
“Isn’t he just the nicest fellow?” Veltan mildly asked the others.
It took the trembling Bersla a while to recover. “I pray you, Lord Veltan,” he said, “why have you come here?”
“It should be obvious, priest of my sister,” Veltan replied. “The Creatures of the Wasteland will soon invade my dear sister’s Domain, and I have brought fearless warriors to drive them away.”
“Eternally grateful shall we be if you succeed, Lord Veltan.”
“Were you planning to live eternally, High Priest Bersla?” Veltan asked with feigned astonishment.
“Ah—we will pass this on to generations as yet unborn, timeless Veltan,” Bersla amended. “May I speak now with the chieftain of these mighty warriors who have come from afar to defend our Holy Aracia?”
“I don’t waste my time speaking with servants,” Sorgan declared as roughly as he could. “Let’s go talk with your sister, Veltan.”
“That cannot be!” Bersla protested. “Holy Aracia’s time is all filled for this day. As you may know, however, I speak for Divine Aracia when it seems necessary.”
“Not to me, you don’t,” Sorgan declared. “I only talk with those who have gold.”
Sorgan and Veltan conferred briefly, and then a sailor with nothing else to do untied a rope that held a well-built skiff in place, and then he lowered it over the side.
“That is not permitted!” Bersla declared. “No alien ships or boats may go ashore in Holy Aracia’s Domain.”
“You don’t think for one minute that I’m going to ride to the beach in that unstable canoe of yours, do you?”
“It is perfectly sound,” Bersla declared.
“Of course it is,” Sorgan replied sarcastically. “At least it might be as long as you leave it on the beach. It’s when you push it out into the bay that it tends to roll over without much warning. How many times has that happened so far this month?”
The Younger Gods Page 5