Surrender to the will of the night

11. Tel Moussa: A New God Talks

Back to Father One bronze falcon lay hidden in the tower at Tel Moussa, its existence known only to Nassim Alizarin and two cronies. The Mountain had hired it made-the tube only-by a renowned Dainshau founder in Haeti, a city in Rh?nish territory. It was smaller than falcons elsewhere. This Dainshau cast the weapon believing it to be something intended for use in a Devedian temple.

The Mountain had mounted the falcon on a goat cart. Everything Nassim knew about its use he had learned during the campaign against Rudenes Schneidel, by watching his Unbeliever allies. The firepowder-what precious little he possessed-had been purloined from Sha-lug stores in al-Qarn by sympathizers and smuggled north an ounce or two at a time.

Alizarin had powder and shot enough for a dozen discharges. He did not try to accumulate more. He was sure his weapon would not survive that many firing cycles. Bronze was not the best metal for casting falcons. Brass was better, iron best. But only the Deves out west had mastered casting iron tubes that cooled without developing fatal flaws. Gossip out of al-Qarn said the stubbornness of the iron had been a greater irritant to er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen than all his failures in the west.

Which adventures he had sold to Gordimer the Lion as preemptive machinations meant to cripple the west’s ability to launch fresh incursions into the Holy Lands. Or, as the Marshal so feared, against Dreanger itself.

The Rascal was back in al-Qarn, momentarily rehabilitated. The Lion needed the sorcerer more than he abhorred the man.

Each year left Gordimer more frightened of the future. The prophecy concerning his doom came nearer fruition every day.

It might be a blessing to the Sha-lug, Dreanger, and the kaifate of al-Minphet, all, if someone were to slip the Marshal a taste of poison.

Nassim Alizarin set little store by omens or prophecies. Nor had he been inclined to be God’s most faithful servant since his son’s murder.

The Mountain stared at his half-eaten meal. Was there any point to going on? Looking back, it seemed his very soul had been invested in Hagid.

El-Azer er-Selim interrupted, “Riders on the Shamramdi road. Coming our way.”

“Meaning we’re about to be blessed with demands from our lords.”

Az bowed slightly, said no more. Garrison duty at Tel Moussa was not difficult. Its one great demand was patience. But the Mountain treated every message from the Lucidian capital as an imposition. Though he never failed to do as he was asked, nor did he not do it well.

“Young Az!” Alizarin said, pleased to see Azim al-Adil again. “Old Az didn’t tell me it was you.”

The Master of Ghosts said, “Old Az doesn’t see that well anymore.”

The boy said, “My pleasure, I assure you.” He launched into flowery flattery, a sure sign he had been taught well at his granduncle’s court.

The Mountain said, “I’m getting old, boy. I may not last through all this. Have your companions been seen to?”

“They won’t want much. We’ll head back as soon as you and I finish talking.”

“My lord! You mustn’t subject yourself…”

“I must. We all must. Something dramatic is happening with the Hu’n-tai At. Some unknown force attacked Skutgularut. Left it in ruins. Tsistimed is calling in all his sons and grandsons and their armies. There’ll be a huge event of some sort.”

“Maybe the old man will beat his brains out against whoever did it. What does it mean to us?”

“To you, very little. To Indala al-Sul Halaladin it means tribes on the periphery of the kaifate will feel more comfortable about defying the central authority. Few of their chieftains can think ahead far enough to understand that they’ll need protection again next summer.”

“I see.” Governance was difficult when communications seldom exceeded the speed of a galloping horse. “Again, what part am I to play?”

“My illustrious relative begs your assistance in an entirely different matter. The beast du Tancret has offended al-Prama again. Deliberately.”

“The lepers?”

“You heard?”

“The caravan master came here. He begged me to punish Rogert. I showed him our weakness and told him to make his case at court. I see that he did.”

“He did. Indala’s anger was boundless. Among the women in the caravan were two of his brother Ibid’s granddaughters, Needa and Nia, returning from a visit to the antiquities of Dreanger. No. They weren’t defiled. Not even Rogert du Tancret would dare that with any but slaves and pleasure women. But the girls were among those ‘guests’ he forced to dine in Gherig, then served using lepers.”

“I sense a particular interest on your part, young Az.”

“One of the girls, Needa, could be my betrothed.” In answer to the general’s lifted eyebrow, “The relationship is remote. Indala and Ibid had different mothers.”

The old man nodded. The children would be sufficiently distant to marry.

“What do you require of me?”

“The beast dared that insult only because my illustrious relative was preoccupied with Tsistimed. But now the Hu’n-tai At have turned their faces. Indala would like to seize the moment to punish du Tancret. Permanently.”

“Again, what do you require of me?”

“That you insert a spy into Gherig. Some of your followers have visited the west. They should be able to play Gisela Frakier well enough to fool the Arnhanders.”

“Sad hope,” the Mountain said. “I’ve tried. Twice. Both men were caught. And thrown from the wall. A gesture of contempt. As though they were trash, not worth torture or ransom. One man, abd Ador, survived. You can talk to him. He’s had nothing but time to think about what went wrong.”

“The paralyzed man in the wheeled chair downstairs?”

“Him.”

“Why do you keep him?”

“He hasn’t asked to die. He isn’t ready for Paradise.”

The youth’s eyes narrowed. A preference for pain and incapacity over Paradise suggested a feeble level of faith.

The boy was brilliant. Well educated. But he needed seasoning in the world outside palace walls.

“It’s his choice, youngster. We’re Sha-lug, not some rabble turned out of a prison that won’t wait for the wounded to die to bury them.”

The boy inclined his head slightly, conceding the point.

Alizarin said, “There may be a way to get inside Gherig that hasn’t occurred to us. I’ll find it. Betimes, your illustrious relative might try to lure Rogert out and destroy him.”

“Such plans are being considered, General. But the Arnhanders aren’t fools. Gherig sits on the frontier of the Holy Lands, surrounded by princes and principalities, tribes and chieftains, towns and townsmen, any of whom is likely to betray any of the others, or us, for a fistful of copper. And never suffer a pang of conscience.”

“The alternative would be to isolate the fortress.”

“Harder on the Faithful than the Unbeliever. Gherig can withstand a prolonged, determined siege.”

“I understand. I don’t mean a siege. Instead, just deploy raiders. Cut Gherig off. Attack anyone going in or coming out. Lay on the occasional small sorcery to worsen the misery of servants, soldiers, and merchants who are inside and have to watch the rest of the world go on.”

“I see. Shield the world from Rogert du Tancret by caging him. With people who will come to realize that the only way to change their fortunes is by stepping over his corpse.”

“Exactly.”

“Not particularly satisfying. But it might appeal to my uncle’s sense of humor.”

A soldier, Hawfik, interrupted, “Pardon me, General. Riders are approaching. They’re from Dreanger. The Master of Ghosts says it’s time to be wary.”

“Az? But…” But old Az was no longer in the chamber, lurking at the edge of awareness. “This could be trouble, young Az. We’ve been expecting the Rascal to try to silence us, now he’s back in favor.”

Alizarin had been awaiting a counterstroke since the fall of Rudenes Schneidel. It had taken time because the Rascal had had to worm his way back into the Lion’s good graces.

The boy waited quietly. Alizarin suggested, “Stay here. Make yourself known quickly if we fail to defend ourselves. Er-Rashal won’t want to offend Indala.”

“Er-Rashal offends my uncle by existing. I won’t hide from his lackeys.”

Quick, the general thought. The boy recognizing that the Rascal would not waste his own time on an upstart rebel.

Al-Adil asked, “How does your Master of Ghosts recognize trouble from so far off?”

“Az is a very minor sorcerer. But quite good within his abilities.” Enough said. Indala’s loathing for sorcery was well known, and shared by his associates. “He knows.”

Alizarin went to the small balcony overhanging the tower gate. The tower itself was just a few feet wider than the gate itself on that face. It formed a widening wedge behind, climbing Tel Moussa. There was a six-foot dry moat in front of the gate with a bridge that could be taken up and dragged inside. Alizarin had yet to see that done. Behind the gate, the way rose steeply. Any attacker who broke through still had to attack uphill.

The general found that Az had wasted no time waiting for orders. The men had been turned out. They were at posts away from the gate. Which stood open.

He considered the party of four approaching. Two Sha-lug. And two pretending to be Sha-lug. One of those radiated the arrogance Alizarin associated with er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen.

The senior Sha-lug looked up. The Mountain did not recognize him. The man said something to the sorcerer. Alizarin told al-Adil, “Time to fall back. Just in case.”

Soon afterward, a flash and howl spoke eloquently of interesting events outside. Nothing passed the wards denying entrance to things of the Night.

The boy was startled. “I didn’t think… I can’t believe…”

“When you return to Shamramdi you can say you saw it yourself.”

“If I get back. What can you do against that? Your Master of Ghosts…”

What al-Adil might have said, doubting Az’s abilities, vanished in a huge roar. The tower shook. Stones groaned. Dust fell.

Almost immediately horses began screaming. As did men. Or a man.

Alizarin returned to the balcony.

All four riders were down. Two lay still. The sorcerer was the human screamer. The other wounded man was focused on reattaching his right hand to his wrist.

Two horses were in flight, one on three legs. Neither appeared to be wounded. The cripple must have hurt itself trying to get away. The two fallen animals would have been in front, bodies shielding the fleeing pair but not their riders.

“Excellent,” Alizarin said. Though he mourned the fallen Sha-lug. Their crime had been to be in the wrong place with the wrong man. “Let’s see if we can salvage the sorcerer. He could make an interesting witness. Should your uncle be interested in what he has to say.”

“No doubt of that.”

“You have reservations?”

“He’s still a sorcerer. And I have no resources for managing him.”

“We’ll fix you up.”

Arriving down below, Nassim found his precious falcon defunct. “Az?”

“We overcharged it, sir. To make sure we put enough stuff in the air.”

“Deal with those horses. And the wounded. If the sorcerer looks like he might live, save him.”

Az met the Mountain’s eye. He nodded, went back to work. Comrades from his old company joined him. Bone shouted, “We can save the one with the hand gone if I get a tourniquet on him now.”

“Do it,” Alizarin called back. “We’ll kill him later if he needs it.”

Mohkam, one of Bone’s band, said, “They never saw us coming out of the bright sun, General.”

Azim al-Adil observed, “That sorcerer’s arrogant certainty astonishes me.”

“We’ll ask him about it.” Alizarin moved, the better to watch Az.

The Master of Ghosts ignored the sorcerer’s pleas for help. With assistance from two companions he removed the forefinger and little finger from each of the man’s hands. That would end his gesture magic. Then they punched a hole through his tongue. Through that they threaded a strip of silver, bent and twisted its ends together. There would be no verbal magic, either.

Only then did they bring their captive into the tower.

Nassim said, “I trust you’ll be able to wait till he’s ready to travel, young Az.”

“I can. But you’ll need to send a message.”

“I’ll have the signalmen get started. It’ll be a long message. I need to catch those horses, too. And we have bodies to bury.”

Nassim Alizarin al-Jebal was pleased. This had been a good day. The Rascal’s beard had been well and thoroughly yanked, then twisted. Word would spread amongst the Sha-lug. Some might question continued allegiance to a Marshal who let such schemes be woven around him.

“Bone! Tomorrow you go back to Haeti. Tell our Dainshau friend his bronze chalice is so favored by our congregation that they want to add three more just like it.”

Bone sighed. He was too old. But he did not argue. Nor had Nassim thought he would.

Bone was Sha-lug.