by Glen Cook
Azer er-Selim had spoken. Nassim responded, “Meaning what?”
“Look out there. Farther than you were. Do you see a fuzziness that makes the horizon indistinct?”
Nassim looked but did not see. “Must be your bad eyes. I see what I always see out there. Don’t play games, Master of Ghosts.”
Bone remarked, “He can’t help it, General. When they teach these camel-fuckers their trade they whip them if they say anything in plain language. The point is to keep it murky so later nobody can claim they got it wrong.”
Nassim eyed Bone for several seconds. Bone seldom had much to say. This was a week’s worth of chatter in one lump.
Er-Selim was surprised, too. And irked. He said, “All right, but only so it’s all done before the old-timer embraces the Angel of Death. Our employer, never trusting us completely, has been hiding the fact that he’s going to invade al-Minphet.”
“What?”
“Indala has spent a year pretending he’s getting ready to charge into the Holy Lands. He’s convinced everyone. We’ve been key in convincing both sides.”
“But you know something different?”
“Yes. Because I took advantage of our visit to Shamramdi. I poked my nose in. I listened. I exercised my reason.” Old Az paused briefly, then added, “It’s obvious if you watch Indala’s family and trusted companions. And you ignore the chattering fools of al-Fartebi’s court.”
The Mountain said, “Dispense with self-congratulation. Tell me.”
“I did. Indala means to invade Dreanger, capture al-Qarn, and unify the two kaifates.”
Nassim let that simmer, then observed, “That poses a moral dilemma, doesn’t it?”
“Only if you insist. Though being in revolt against Gordimer the Lion isn’t the same as joining in a foreign enterprise meant to put an end to Gordimer and al-Minphet. The moral quandary is what Indala has spared us by keeping us ignorant.”
“We’ll suffer for this.”
“Whether Indala succeeds or fails the Sha-lug will blame us.”
“Should we send warning while we still have friends there?”
“Could we manage? Unnoticed? Won’t Indala know who to blame if he finds the Lion prepared?”
“He can lay that blame no matter what we do.”
“We do make convenient scapegoats.”
Nassim mused, “The Lion may have gone rotten, and the Rascal even worse, but they aren’t the Sha-lug, nor even Dreanger. There were Dreangeran agents in Shamramdi. Nothing this big is ever completely secret. Rumors have been reported back to al-Qarn. They’ll be given credence because geography compels Indala to approach from the north.”
“The prophecy. Certain to excite the Lion.”
Nassin reflected, then said, “It will be interesting if this is the prophecy fulfilled.” Then, “We’ll just do our job. Nothing more. Nothing less. That was our commitment.”
Nassim wondered if Indala meant to use him as a puppet Marshal. He said, “We’d best see to our defenses. If I were a Crusader prince I’d charge Shamramdi if Indala and Gordimer were locking horns behind me.”
Bone seemed to be somewhere else. Not unusual with him. But now he asked, “Do we have any idea what’s become of the Rascal?”
That sorcerer, only briefly rehabilitated, had had another falling-out with Gordimer, religious rather than based on bad behavior. The Lion did not mind er-Rashal being a murderous villain so long as he remained a devout Praman murderous villain. But he crossed a line when he kept trying to resurrect ancient devils.
It had taken the Marshal an age to understand that his henchman had no more love or respect for him than he had had for the apprentice Sha-lug Hagid, whom he had ordered murdered for a reason that, even today, only he understood.
Gordimer had not gotten the message meant to be conveyed by the presentation of the head of Rudenes Schneidel. He had been blinded by er-Rashal’s immense and ferocious utility. But he came to the truth eventually.
Er-Rashal el-Dhulquarnen was a declared, dedicated enemy of God.
“He’s hiding out again,” Azer er-Selim said. “Most likely among his ancestors in the Hills of the Dead. That’s where he went before.”
The Mountain said, “None of that concerns us now. Once the decision has been handed down by God … We’ll know how to face our tomorrows.” He stared due north, toward the distant Idiam. And worried that the dead city there, though a hundred miles away, had infected his soul. He had not gone near it, yet, during his flights over the border of the dead realm. He had seen nothing to suggest that the nearer reaches of the Idiam differed from regions around it. There was even evidence that someone lived in the haunted territories.
No good Praman ventured there by choice.
Nassim feared Andesqueluz like he feared for his soul. Yet he seemed drawn to the haunted city. If only to slake his curiosity.
“Bone. Az. Tell me about Andesqueluz again.”
Bone said, “There’s nothing new to tell.”
“Try.”
Azer said, “Its reputation might make you think it was a major city, long ago. Yet I doubt that a thousand people ever lived there at one time. It’s on top of a mountain. Not that great a mountain, but the mountain, Asher. The buildings are all either carved from Asher or built from stone the mountain provided.”
Nassim grunted. “Their holy place.”
“The holiest of holies. For those pagans. Which they kept a closed kingdom. They raised their food on tiny mountainside plots. Pilgrims were required to bring a basket of soil to gain entry.”
“So few, yet we remember so much.” Vaguely suspicious of al-Azir’s knowledge.
“Every wall has its pictographs. They’re easily read. Andesqueluz exported fear. Its sorcerers extracted tribute from all the kings in this part of the world.”
“At a time when kings were little more than village chiefs.”
“Andesqueluz was powerful but it did something to offend the whole world. The world united and destroyed Andesqueluz, to the last babe in arms, then went away, shunning the city and the Idiam forever. The fear was that the evil hadn’t been destroyed, only the people had been. The evil just lay dormant. It couldn’t be destroyed because the soul of the mountain, Asher, is the Adversary Himself.”
Nassim heard nothing new. Again he asked the question that had been asked so many times. “What did er-Rashal want with those mummified sorcerers?”
It had to do with Asher, surely. El-Dhulquarnen had tried to resurrect Seska, the Endless, another wicked elder deity, already.
Az said, “I have had a new thought about that. After all these years. It doesn’t have to do with Asher. But it’ll still be unacceptable to the Faithful.”
“Do tell.”
“I think er-Rashal is after ascendance. He wants to become one of the Instrumentalities of the Night.”
“You’re right. True Believers wouldn’t want to hear that. You could get in trouble just for saying somebody could think that way.”
“Which is why the quest for ascendance went out of fashion.”
“I’m sure. Az, anything to that notion? I heard something similar on Artecipea. Would the Rascal have gotten involved in such a dangerous scheme on speculation? Wouldn’t he make sure he could become a god before he took chances?”
“I don’t know. He never thought like normal Faithful. But trying to become a god was common in pagan times. The pictographs in Andesqueluz say ascendance was the city’s reason for existing. The pagans must have succeeded once in a while. Which might explain why the Idiam is said to be haunted. If wicked ancients are still prowling the night.”
“You saw direct evidence?”
“No. But we all felt like we were being watched. All the time. Captain Tage’s bogon was our only direct contact with the Night.”
Nassim sighed. “Always nothing. Oh, well. We should enjoy an interesting summer here. What do you think? Will the Arnhanders help Gordimer? Or will they sit back and enjoy the spectacle?”
Er-Selim said, “That might depend on who barks loudest. Vantrad would center any action. It’s the biggest Crusader state and the one nearest probable points of contact. And Vantrad is positioned to interfere with Indala’s line of communication. But King Berismond is a diseased boy under the thumb of an older wife with a diseased mind. Whom Indala bought off somehow. There’ll be other Arnhanders, though, who’ll see the danger of a united kaifate.”
Nassim looked to the northwest. “This could be a situation made for Rogert du Tancret.”
“If Berismond is seen as indecisive or weak. And how can he not be with Clothilde manipulating him?”
“Al-Adil hinted that something might happen to Black Rogert.”
“That’s always a possibility. For any of us. An assassin could get in here, too. But du Tancret has a phenomenal sense for personal danger. The love of the Night, perhaps. Don’t base any strategy on the assumption that assassins will push him aside.”
“Just thinking out loud. It’s not my problem. We have enough to keep us busy here.”
Nassim went downstairs, thinking about Azim al-Adil. Young Az had found a way into his heart. He would be devastated if the boy followed Hagid and Ambel into the dark.
Indala had asked if Ambel’s end had left him a broken tool. Broken, not. But there were cracks.
The Sha-lug Mohkam approached Nassim as he approached his own quarters. He whispered, “There’s a letter came from Akir. He’s succeeded in buying twelve hundred pounds of firepowder. It will come by ship to Shartelle. We need to have people there to meet it. The Deves also offered a battery of six four-pounder falcons at six hundred eighty Aparionese ducats apiece if we take the set.”
“That’s cheap. What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re obsolete out there. Akir says they’ve survived repeated test firings, though.”
“If that’s what we can get. We can adapt. Why so generous with the firepowder?”
“Akir says they’ve found a way to produce it in quantity, less expensively.”
“Then the face of war will change.”
Mohkam shrugged. He was not one to care.
“Thank you,” Nassim said. “I need to rest, now.”
32. Tsistimed and the Chosen
There was no forgiveness in Tsistimed the Golden. And he was methodical about eliminating enemies. His biggest challenge in generations were the Chosen and their weird companions. No other enemy had come after him in more than a century. Others were content to wait for their doom to find them.
Ghargarlicea would enjoy a respite while he exterminated the threat from always-winter.
The Hu’n-tai At moved with the spring melt. They pursued the retreating freeze, guided by Chosen who had deserted their foul winter god.
It was not a war with much conflict. There was little left to find, other than starved bodies frozen alongside roads leading toward friendlier climes. Before summer’s peak the great lord of the steppe knew the Chosen would be no further threat.
No living humans remained north of lands Tsistimed ruled. He could shift ambition to the Ghargarlicean Empire, though that conquest would not now go as quickly as he would like.
The Hu’n-tai At needed time to regain strength. That could take decades.
Tsistimed was not pleased.
The wells of power continued to wane. He would not survive them by long.
Their power, and that of the Night, sustained him. While they went on, Tsistimed the Golden went on. When they failed, Tsistimed the Golden would die.
33. Realm of the Gods: Great Sky Fortress
Korban Iron Eyes and his troop followed their own path back to the Realm of the Gods. When Heris and Cloven Februaren arrived with the Bastard, Heris blurted, “Shee-it, Double Great! They beat us! I’m going to crack some heads! They screwed us, taking all damned winter to get down there to that damned castle.”
“Not really. Be calm. They can’t walk across to our world wherever they want. They have to go there on foot first, from an entry point they already know.”
“Like me with the Construct when I first started.”
“Like that. But, remember, time passes differently here.”
That might be. Iron Eyes had not taken advantage of the differential to clean himself up.
Heris recognized the ascendant instantly — though, in retrospect, that was no prodigy. He was the only unfamiliar non-dwarf. And, even in Asgrimmur Grimmsson form, he radiated a powerful presence. More so while he studied the Bastard, son and grandson of the fragmentary Instrumentalities inside him.
The Bastard did not react to the ascendant. The Bastard was unhappy. Bizarre myth had caught him up, had kidnapped him, and he could do nothing about it.
When the ascendant drew near, though, the Bastard jumped as though pricked.
“He believes it now,” Februaren said.
The Bastard’s gaze rose to the Great Sky Fortress and restored rainbow bridge. “It’s real.”
Februaren responded, “It’s all real. Whatever your beliefs.”
“I believe in Ferris Renfrow. Nothing more.”
Heris asked, “Not even the New Brothen Empire?”
While Februaren said, “Then Ferris Renfrow is true inside the Night, too. Let’s adjourn to the tavern. We’ll get comfortable. Jarneyn and Svavar can fill you in on your family history.”
The ascendant growled. He insisted on leaving Svavar behind.
Februaren had provoked him deliberately, to keep the shattered souls inside from exerting too much influence.
***
Gallons of excellent Aelen Kofer beer passed through the principals while the Bastard learned. He had heard various stories about Arlensul and Gedanke but insisted that never had he suspected a personal connection. He had bought into the Chaldarean worldview. That old stuff was rustic folklore and discredited mythology.
“Never?” Heris asked, incredulous.
“Not once. It’s too outrageous. And heretical. And when I was young, every charlatan with any magical talent claimed he was the spawn of Arlensul. The most convincing ended up being murdered by the Church.”
“You didn’t suspect even after you knew you had all your power?” Heris had made herself lead interrogator. She had not downed as much beer as the males. And she was intrigued by Renfrow.
“Why would I? Did Februaren think he was the Bastard?”
“Well, he is. For sure. You should try working for him.”
Februaren wasted no time being amused. “Heris!”
The Bastard said, “I suspected a lot of things. That I might be the get of discredited gods wasn’t one of them. Understand?”
The Ninth Unknown swatted Heris on the behind. “Be quiet. We’re trying to save a world, here.”
“You’d better get ready to do it on crutches.”
“Runs in the family,” Februaren told the others. “Her brother …”
Heris interrupted, “I can save the world by myself, no Bastard necessary. Give me a falcon, a ton of firepowder, and two hundred pounds of silver-plated beads. The damned thing just lies there.” She gave Februaren a glare meant to remind him that her brother had no part in this. Especially considering the other hat the Bastard wore.
Februaren nodded, asked, “When did you last visit?”
“Ah. You could be right. It’s been a while. But that option is there and doesn’t require all this stuff with other worlds, lost gods, and cranky mythical people.”
“Watch your tongue, cutie,” Iron Eyes gurgled.
“There is something to be said for solving a problem by hitting it with a really big hammer. Still, let’s focus on what we’re doing here.”
The Bastard drained a flagon. Heris said, “Right there is proof that he’s a supernatural. I’d be destroyed by what he’s put away already. But he isn’t showing a sign.”
Not quite true, but close.
The Bastard said, “I might be what you claim. I can’t figure out how to make it not true. That being
the case, let’s get down to the mystical business and get it done. I have obligations back in the real world. People get into mischief when I’m not there.”
Februaren conceded, “An excellent point. I haven’t checked my own folks in much too long. Svavar …”
“Last chance to get it right, old man. Not Svavar. Asgrimmur, if you have to, but not Svavar.”
The Bastard said, “And I prefer Ferris Renfrow. Bastard has unfortunate connotations.”
Februaren glanced at Korban Iron Eyes. The Aelen Kofer shrugged, shoved another tankard into his beard. “I’m just the labor, Son of Man. One of the fetch and carry folk, the Aelen Kofer.”
Februaren did not argue. That was what Iron Eyes wanted. A squabble for entertainment. He and his tribe had not yet surpassed that constituent of the northern thing. The Ninth Unknown said, “Asgrimmur, you have to take charge, now. We got the … the man you needed. He’s here. You know what you did to seal the Instrumentalities up. You know what needs doing to break them out. So now I’m like Iron Eyes. I’m labor, sitting here waiting for instructions.”
The ascendant produced a rumbling from deep within, like something from a much bigger monster. Which could have been. In the Realm of the Gods forms and attributes often existed beyond the visible.
***
Ferris Renfrow and the ascendant put their heads together. Renfrow mostly listened. Februaren and Jarneyn bickered about something that made no sense to Heris. She had been brought up in the Eastern Rite of the Chaldarean faith and had become Brothen Episcopal by directive after her rescue by Grade Drocker. The dormant mythos of the east did not much resemble that of the north. Which, she suspected, must have confused its own pantheon often enough.
She asked, “Is there any reason for me to stick around here, Double Great? We’ve done our part. We rooted the Bastard out and brought him to the job site.”
“We did. And there probably isn’t much more you can contribute. But you’re walking through living myth. Aren’t you even a little curious about the Great Sky Fortress and what’s inside?”
“Marginally,” she admitted. “But it isn’t going anywhere, is it? I can come back when you’ve gotten it under control.”