The Younger Gods

by David Eddings

  “And that would mean that she’ll be out of business, wouldn’t it?” Andar said.

  “I’m not completely positive about that,” Lady Zelana disagreed. “It’ll take her a long, long time to build the number of her children back up, but as long as she’s there, she’ll still be a danger for us.”

  “We’ll have to kill her then,” Trenicia said bluntly.

  Zelana winced. “We’re not allowed to do that,” she replied.

  “That’s why you hired us, isn’t it?” Trenicia suggested. “If the best that we can do is block her off, she’ll go back to her nest and lay more eggs, and next spring she’ll attack again.”

  “Not quite that soon, Queen Trenicia,” Dahlaine disagreed. “It might take as long as another century for her to produce enough children to pose any significant threat, but—” He left it hanging there.

  “Cut off her food,” Two-Hands of Matan said bluntly. “Doesn’t no food mean no new calves? You can play with the weather, Dahlaine. You’ve demonstrated that several times already this year. A drought might be the best answer.”

  “Or possibly a flood,” the farmer Omago from Veltan’s Domain suggested. “That worked extremely well last summer.”

  “I’d say that we can decide which way we should go after we’ve stopped the army that’s coming to visit us here,” Longbow said then.

  “How long would you say it’s likely to take the bug-people to get into position to attack Gunda’s fort, Longbow?” Narasan asked.

  “A week or ten days,” Longbow replied. “Right now I’d suggest working on catapults. They worked rather well last autumn in the north country.”

  “I’ll put the men to work on those,” Gunda agreed.

  It was about noon on the following day when Ekial and Keselo came up to the back side of Gunda’s fort. Narasan was a bit surprised by how well Keselo was riding the horse Ekial had provided. “You two made good time,” Narasan said as they dismounted.

  “That’s because young Keselo here is a natural-born horseman,” Ekial declared. “It didn’t take him more than a couple hours to get old Bent-Nose there so attached to him that the silly horse wants to sleep with him now.”

  “Bent-Nose?” Narasan asked. “Isn’t that an odd sort of name for a horse?”

  “When he was quite a bit younger, we were fighting horsemen from a different part of our country, and one of the enemies slashed the horse across the nose with his saber. When the cut healed, the scar changed the shape of the horse’s nose. ‘Bent’ might not be too accurate, but it sounds better than ‘swelled-up,’ wouldn’t you say?”

  “I see what you mean.” Then Narasan looked inquiringly at Keselo. “How did you manage to get on the good side of the horse so fast?” he asked curiously.

  Keselo smiled. “I just happened to have some candy in my pack-sack, sir,” Keselo replied, “and Bent-Nose seems to have a sweet tooth. After two small pieces of candy, he was following me around like a puppy dog.”

  “Bribery, Keselo? I’m shocked.”

  “I wouldn’t really call it ‘bribery,’ Commander,” Keselo protested. “I’d say that ‘a treat for a friend’ would come closer.”

  Ekial laughed. “The young man was nice enough to give me the recipe for that candy, so if I don’t eat it all myself, I’ll be able to get on the good side of just about every horse in the Land of Malavi.” Then his scarred face grew more serious. “Have the bug-people made any attacks yet?”

  Narasan shook his head. “Longbow says that they’ll probably wait until all of their relatives join them. I was talking with Ariga, and he advised me that the Malavi had come up with a scheme to disrupt the advance of our enemies.”

  “Lances, most likely,” Ekial said.

  Then Lord Dahlaine and Lady Zelana came out of the back side of Gunda’s fort and joined them. “What did Sorgan say about our sister, Keselo?” Lady Zelana asked.

  Keselo told them Aracia had finally come to her senses, thanks to Veltan’s images of assorted varieties of bug-people, and then she came down on her priests—hard—and on the little priestess Alcevan.

  “A priestess?” Narasan said in astonishment. “I didn’t even know that Aracia has female priests.”

  “I gathered that Alcevan’s entry into the priesthood was fairly recent. Fat Bersla orates his adoration, but tiny Alcevan whispers hers—continuously, even while Bersla’s performing. She sounds a lot like an ordinary priest trying to get Aracia’s undivided attention—but she was recently involved in an attempt to murder Aracia’s Dreamer, Lillabeth.”

  “She’s trying to kill Lillabeth?” Dahlaine exclaimed.

  “That’s what Sorgan told me, sir,” Keselo replied. “He said that she’d already bribed a young priest to kill the little girl, but the priest showed up in Lillabeth’s play-room when several other people—Sorgan included—were there. The priest reported back to Alcevan that the time wasn’t right yet, but that he’d take care of it when there was nobody about. Alcevan told him that was a wonderful idea, and then she cut the young man’s throat from ear to ear. Sorgan’s fairly sure that she doesn’t want anybody who knows what she’s doing to stay alive for very long. Veltan believes that Alcevan has her eye on Aracia’s throne and she’ll routinely kill any accomplice after they’ve either done what she wanted them to do—or failed, for that matter. I’d say that the life expectancy of anybody who goes to work for little Alcevan will be just about one day. After that, he’ll be dead meat.”

  “That’s terrible!”

  “Look on the bright side, Lord Dahlaine. Every priest she kills now will be one less that we’ll have to kill when this is over.” He looked over at Ekial. “That’s called ‘thinning the herd’ down in Malavi-land, isn’t it?”

  It was late that afternoon when Red-Beard, riding the horse he called Seven, led the archers of Longbow’s tribe—or the Old-Bear tribe—down to the upper end of Gunda’s fort. Longbow, of course, went out to greet them, and Narasan, as a courtesy, went with his tall, somber friend.

  “Ho, Longbow,” a lean archer with steely eyes greeted his friend.

  “Tracker,” Longbow replied with a nod. “What took you so long?”

  “We ran into some of the Creatures of the Wasteland,” the one Longbow had called Tracker replied. “Red-Beard here told us that there had been several encounters with them along that worn-out old mountain range. I think that the Vlagh doesn’t really want too many archers standing in the path of her children when she sends them up here. Evidently she’s learned that we can eliminate her children without much difficulty, so she’d rather not have us to come up against. It took us a little while, but we cleaned them out of our way. Oh, Chief Old-Bear told us to give you his regards.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “The same as always, Longbow. You should know that by now. He can still bend his bow, and his arrows always go just where he wants them to go.”

  “Is One-Who-Heals feeling any better?” Longbow asked. “Word reached us that he was quite ill a month or so ago.”

  “We thought that the bad news had reached you by now. We lost him, Longbow. He died a few days before the Maag called Skell sailed into our bay.”

  Longbow sighed. “We’re all made less by that,” he said mournfully. “He was one of the wisest men in all the Land of Dhrall. Was he ever able to identify the disease that took him from us?”

  “I don’t think it was really a disease, Longbow. Old age would probably come closer. He was at least ninety years old, and not too many people live much longer than that.”

  “That’s true, I suppose. I think that out of respect for him we should exterminate all the servants of the Vlagh and leave her sitting alone on that hive of hers.”

  “She’ll just lay more eggs, Longbow.”

  “Maybe—but then again, maybe not. Oh, this is Commander Narasan of the Trogite Empire. You probably met him during the war in the Domains of Zelana and Veltan.”

  Tracker nodded. “He’s been very helpful.”
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  “We try,” Narasan replied. “What is it that gave you the name ‘Tracker’?” he asked.

  “It’s what he does, friend Narasan,” Longbow explained. “Tracker can follow any animal—or man—just about anyplace they go. He can find tracks laid down on solid rock—or so I’ve been told—and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find out that he can track fish as well.”

  “Only if the water isn’t too deep, friend Longbow,” Tracker said. “I don’t really swim very well, so fish can usually get away from me. The little rascals can move very fast when they need to.”

  “Let’s go on back to Gunda’s fort, gentlemen,” Narasan suggested. “It’s a bit chilly out here, and I’m sure your men would be very happy to get something to eat along about now.”

  “What a great idea,” Longbow said without cracking a smile.

  The arrival of the members of Longbow’s tribe seemed to have changed their friend quite a bit. Longbow had always seemed to be a solitary sort of man, but now that he had his friends here, he even smiled on occasion.

  The next morning, just after sunrise, the bug-people began a steady march toward the steep slope that led up to Gunda’s fort at the upper end of Long-Pass.

  Ekial’s horsemen savaged them as they advanced, but it didn’t seem to Narasan that the bug-people were slowing their pace very much.

  During the previous night, however, the men from the main army had reached Gunda’s fort and had delivered the barrels of naphtha, pitch, and tar. Gunda had then moved his catapults into position and the catapult crews were carefully mixing the three elements in preparation for launching fire missiles.

  “Did you speak with Ekial, Gunda?” Narasan asked. “We don’t want to start throwing fire at our friends, you know.”

  “We’ve got it all worked out, Narasan,” Gunda replied. “We’re falling back on toots. When Ekial and his men hear the horns blowing, they’ll get clear. Then the catapult crews will set fire to enough bug-people to persuade the other ones to go play somewhere else.”

  “That’s the most brutal way to make war on somebody that I’ve ever heard of,” Trenicia said.

  “In the long run, it probably saves a lot of their lives, dear,” Narasan told her. “Even the stupidest enemy in the world will turn and run when he sees his friends engulfed in fire. The bug-people aren’t any too bright, but even they will probably turn and run when it starts raining fire.”

  “Then we’ve just won another war, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I’m not at all that certain, dear,” Narasan replied, looking out at the massed Creatures of the Wasteland marching up the slope. “We don’t have an unlimited supply of fuel for our fire missiles, and when we run out, the enemies will most probably resume their advance.”

  “Right up until they reach the poisoned stakes,” Gunda added. “Then after they come through the stakes, the archers from Longbow’s tribe and Kathlak’s Tonthakan archers will shower them with poisoned arrows. If any of the bug-people get past that, the Matan spear-throwers will greet them. I’d say that dear old Vlagh’s going to lose about half of her army on that slope, and then they’ll come face-to-face with this fort. They’re not going to get past us, but even if they do, they’ll come up against Andar’s fort a mile or so down the pass—and more forts farther on down the pass. The Vlagh may have started out with a million or so soldiers, but she’ll be lucky if she’s got even a dozen left after a week or so.”

  CONFUSION

  1

  Rabbit was fairly sure that Fat Bersla and tiny Alcevan would be nowhere near any place along the rickety southern wall of the temple where most of Aracia’s priests were engaged in honest work and endless complaints about it—and about the steady diet of beans. Gimpy and Squint-Eye were Maag ship-captains, but they’d been put in charge of the construction of what passed for the south wall more because they’d irritated Sorgan than because they were good builders. Rabbit was quite sure that the two of them weren’t certain just how many of Aracia’s lazy priests were supposed to be working on that wall. That should have made it quite easy for Bersla and Alcevan to slip away. “Except that there won’t be much for Bersla to eat—except maybe for cobwebs,” Rabbit muttered. “I think I’d better go see if I can find those two,” he decided. “If they’re still trying to come up with a way to kill Aracia’s little Dreamer, I’d better stay right on top of them.”

  Given Bersla’s need for lots of food, Rabbit was quite sure that they wouldn’t be too far from the nearest kitchen.

  He roamed around in the dark, dusty corridors near the rickety south wall of the temple, searching more with his ears than his eyes, and as luck had it—or possibly destiny—he heard the priestess Alcevan talking in her peculiar voice. “Stay calm, Takal Bersla,” she was saying. “I still have my hands on a fair number of novice priests. In the light of all this chaos, nobody’s really paying much attention to the various corridors leading from here to the central temple, so sooner or later one of my agents will get through and kill the spoiled brat Lillabeth, and that should put Aracia back under our control.”

  “I’m not sure that you’re right, Alcevan,” Bersla disagreed. “I know Aracia much better than you do, and she’s totally independent now. The old Aracia would never have dismissed me the way this new one did. She’s not at all the same as she was before that cursed pirate Sorgan arrived. She used to rely on me for all things, but now she turns to Sorgan instead.”

  “That’s the work of the younger goddess Enalla, you fool,” Alcevan declared. “Once Enalla’s gone, Aracia will be ours again. That’s why we must kill the child Lillabeth. She’s Enalla in disguise. When she dies, Enalla also dies.”

  “You could be right, I suppose,” Bersla admitted dubiously.

  That struck Rabbit as more than just a little bit peculiar. Bersla was the highest-ranking priest in Aracia’s temple, but it seemed to Rabbit that the Fat Man was falling in line with the recently arrived Alcevan every time she opened her mouth. She seemed to have some kind of overpowering grip on the head of the Church of Aracia. “I think that maybe I’d better go warn Veltan that these two still want to kill that little girl,” he muttered.

  “She’s still sending those low-rank young priests through the corridors to come here and try to kill Lillabeth, Veltan,” Rabbit advised Zelana’s younger brother when they met in the cabin of the Ascension later that day. “She’s absolutely certain that Lillabeth is really Enalla in disguise, and that if Lillabeth is killed, Enalla will die as well.”

  “She doesn’t fully understand what’s happening, Rabbit,” Veltan replied, leaning back in the bulky chair near the broad window on the stern side of the cabin. Then a rueful sort of expression came over his face. “Of course, I’m not all that sure that I do either. When Eleria started to refer to Balacenia as ‘Big-Me,’ it startled me more than a little. The Dreamers and the younger gods are connected in ways that Dahlaine didn’t anticipate when he came up with his scheme, and they’re connected with each other in ways that none of us could have imagined.”

  “They share their dreams with each other, you mean?”

  “Exactly. We weren’t ready for that. We tend to avoid each other as much as possible, but our younger counterparts are much more closely linked.”

  “You know that you could take Lillabeth over to the cap’n’s fort on the west wall. If he put out the word that no priest will be permitted to go there, Alcevan’s scheme would go to pieces, wouldn’t you say?”

  “It probably would, Rabbit,” Veltan agreed, “but I think I’d better keep her right here. I can protect her here, and I’ve got a strong feeling that I should stay very close to my big sister. Aracia’s more or less come to her senses, but she might start veering off again. That priestess Alcevan is about ten times more clever than Fat Bersla will ever be, and if she wheedles her way back into Aracia’s presence, she’ll probably start pushing big sister off balance again.”

  “You could be right, I guess,” Rabbit agreed. “When we firs
t got here, we were all sure that Fat Bersla was the main one in your sister’s priesthood, but when I heard the Fat Man talking with Teenie-Weenie, she was calling all the shots. There’s something very strange about her, and I think maybe we should all do what we can to find out just what that is. Fat Bersla makes speeches, but ‘Teenie’ spends all of her time whispering to your big sister.” Then Rabbit stopped, and he felt just a bit foolish. “You could listen to those whispers, couldn’t you?”

  “Probably, yes.”

  “And neither Alcevan or your big sister would know that you’re listening, would they?”

  “Aracia might sense my presence, but I think I could conceal it from her.”

  Rabbit shook his head. “Bad idea, I think. If you’re busy eavesdropping who’s going to look out for Lillabeth?”

  Veltan’s expression became a bit sheepish. “I seem to have overlooked that,” he admitted. “Why don’t I have a talk with Zelana instead? She can either protect Lillabeth, or do our eavesdropping for us.”

  “That’s probably the best idea right there,” Rabbit agreed. Then he remembered something from the previous summer. “I think I know of a way to stop those novice priests from coming here,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “I’ll need a lot of spiderwebs that are quite a bit thicker than the ones the local spiders have been spinning in the hallways here in your sister’s temple. You do remember what happened to Jalkan and that churchman from the Trogite Empire, don’t you?”