Working God's Mischief

25. Lucidia: Living and Dead

Nassim Alizarin and a half-dozen hardy veterans reached Shamramdi at sunset, to no welcome. Nassim had been summoned. The Great Shake wanted to know why the crusaders no longer faced a challenge in the gap once commanded by Tel Moussa.

Nassim had an answer. Indala might not accept it but he would stand by it. He had done remarkably well with what he had been given. He had been bested by a determined enemy, nature, and the indifference of those who were supposed to support him.

Nassim Alizarin was angry. He felt that he had been betrayed.

News of his arrival ran ahead. Azim al-Adil ed-Din materialized. He told Nassim, “If Uncle’s summons has you worried, don’t be. It isn’t your effort that he wants to review.”

The Mountain was not prepared to believe that. Neither did he argue. “Good to see you again, youngster. I don’t expect to be here long. I hope we can find a few moments for one another.”

Young Az was as fond of the old wolf as the General was of him. They were kindred spirits looking at life from its nether ends.

The youth led Nassim to the house he had occupied before. “A messenger, probably me, will come when Indala is ready.”

And so it was.

* * *

Nassim Alizarin and Indala al-Sul Halaladin faced one another across a low table burdened with shelled nuts, fruits, and some spicy shredded lamb. No one else was present. Indala’s own brothers made sure that there were no eavesdroppers.

The General did not stint. “I haven’t eaten this well since the last time I visited.”

Indala inclined his head in response to the implied gratitude. “Your due, General. You haven’t been afforded any opportunity to live well, for which I apologize.” He meant that in a limited and diplomatic sense. The behavior of his people toward Nassim had dishonored him.

“You are most gracious.” Nassim understood Indala’s position.

“Azer tells me you brought documents.”

“The daily logs from Tel Moussa. I understand that you’re impatient with such things. I ask only that you have a reliable reader report their gist. My scribe was not Sha-lug. He wrote in the Lucidian script, which I do not read well, so I present his record on faith. The man came here with me should you wish to talk to him.”

The Great Shake smiled. Nassim thought that might be hard work. Indala’s wounds still troubled him more than he cared to admit.

Indala said, “Present the basic argument. Be as neutral as you can.”

Nassim told his story, actually downplaying the lack of support he had received.

“These journals will say the same, in finer detail?”

“Yes.”

“So. What now?”

“Me? When you’re done with me I’ll go back to my band of survivors. I’ll release the men who don’t want to roam the haunted desert with a crazy old man. The rest of us, with the Ansa, will hunt and kill the Dreangerean sorcerer.”

Indala was startled, confused, and inclined to disbelieve.

Nassim observed, “Lately it seems that no one who is not Sha-lug understands who we are or what we really believe. I’ve been away so long that I’m no longer sure myself.”

Nassim could barely admit to himself that Bone’s report had produced a disappointment more painful than his wife’s rejection. Bone had not found one senior Sha-lug who wondered if the Mountain would be interested in becoming Marshall. Bone had not asked anyone. Nassim had not asked Bone to do so. But it was clear that the idea had not occurred to anyone in al-Qarn.

Not long ago no one but Gordimer the Lion had been more honored. The Mountain was old history today.

Letting himself be imposed on the Sha-lug by Indala would have been a greater travesty than he had imagined.

Indala sipped tea. Then, “That is true. I have no idea what moves the Sha-lug. I beat them on the battlefield but still they…”

Nassim pretended to miss Indala’s frustrated intensity. “They don’t see themselves as defeated, only as betrayed.”

Indala consulted his tea, then said, “I see. The desertions of the Maxtreans and Arianist Chaldareans.”

“Exactly.”

“I see your need to deal with the monster in the Idiam. You were faithful at Tel Moussa, beyond reasonable expectation. I had to restrain Azer, threatening him with discipline, he was so distraught over what he perceived as deliberate sabotage. Privately, I think there is some merit to his accusations. Some who were supposed to support you behaved badly. Possibly there was corruption. If that proves to have … They will be sent to greet Tsistimed’s sons in the land between the rivers.”

“You might want to reflect on that.”

“Meaning?”

“Would you want such men out in front in a struggle with the Hu’n-tai At?”

Another silence. Indala did reflect. “You’re right, General. I might be better served by keeping them close.”

“Yes.”

“So. I did not bring you here to criticize you. You did well. The damage to Gherig was extensive. You could have taken it had you had the troops I thought you had. Were I healthy enough I would hit the crusaders now, myself. They have only a few dozen able men.”

“Send Azim.”

That startled Indala.

“He’s ready. Or, if not, this would be a good time to discover his limitations. Before the crusader flood arrives.”

“You think well of the boy.”

“I do. He is the man I would choose to succeed you.”

The Great Shake withdrew inside himself. He came forward again to say, “You see with a clear eye. I, too, love the boy. I have kept him away from the worst dangers.”

“You unleashed him during the Great Campaign.”

“It may have looked that way from a distance. That was more show than substance. Men who expected to be hammered by the Sha-lug pushed Azim out front to take the blame for the defeat.”

Nassim sighed. How did civilization advance when so many men wasted so much time trying to embarrass one another?

“I’ll think about that, General. Meantime, ask what you will for your monster hunt.”

“I need food, not just for my men but for the Ansa. The tribal peoples have made common cause against the sorcerer. He has done them considerable evil, poisoning wells and savaging already meager flocks and herds. He wants the Idiam to be his. Peoples who have dwelt there since the time before time he means to drive out.”

“Those are people who bring the wrath of others down upon themselves.”

“He invaded their country, not they his. And he showed up behaving badly. That was my fault. I ambushed him. I killed his men and animals. I wounded him. The Ansa say he still has some paralysis on his left side.”

“He’s vulnerable, then.”

“He is. I will exploit it.”

“Food, then, will be provided. What else? More men?”

“I have the men. Unless you want to loan me those obstructionists. No. Not more men. Just a lot of what men need. Horses. Camels. Sheep. Cattle. Goats. Flour for the men and grain for the beasts. Water. Tack and equipment. A physician. Weapons for the Ansa. Ammunition for everyone. Firepowder. Lots and lots of firepowder. Only firepowder weapons can end the saga of the Rascal.” And, appropriately, round full circle, for er-Rashal had been first to make those weapons work reliably enough to take into the field.

“Firepowder is more dear than silver these days, General. Half of what existed east of the White Sea went up that night at Gherig.”

“God had a good laugh then.”

Indeed.

Madouc of Hoeles had begun smuggling firepowder there the moment he reached Gherig. He had seen its capabilities at Arn Bedu. He had planned a similar surprise for Tel Moussa, unaware that his opponent had understood the lesson of Arn Bedu as well.

One of Abu’s mines had ignited Madouc’s poorly designed powder magazine. The shock wave shook Tel Moussa off its foundations.

A cosmic jest, the Unbeliever triumphing in that long contest by virtue of having suffered an incalculable disaster.

Indala said, “You will be given what you need, I promise. Water, though, will be problematic. And firepowder will be more so.”

“I have a suggestion about the water. Assign us to the outpost at al-Pinea.”

“I don’t know that place.”

“West of here, and somewhat to the south, in the foothills, is a small spring called al-Pinea. It was once an Antast Chaldarean monastery, built on the ruins of a fort from Imperial times. That guarded the eastern end of a road through the Idiam. Al-Pinea derives from a Rhûnish name.”

“You embarrass me, Nassim Alizarin. I didn’t know this place existed.”

“You have larger issues to attend. The garrison, never more than twelve strong, is always old men meeting their annual obligations by going there to pretend to be fierce warriors. It’s an easy post. The mountain road isn’t much used.”

Indala considered his folded hands, frowning.

“Shake, that spring would be priceless to the Ansa. And al-Pinea is a fine place to deliver my supplies. A slow caravan can get there from here in two or three days.”

“How long will the hunt take?”

“The rest of my life.”

“It’s that sort of mission now, then? And the coming war?”

“I’m not likely to be much use there. I’ve failed at every task I’ve been given since Hagid died. But I’m determined not to fail at this. In Hagid’s memory.”

Indala grunted. Nassim was not sure what that meant.

A minute of silence passed. Then the Great Shake said, “It will be as you suggest. I ask again, though: can you finish before the crusaders arrive?”

“I can try. A promise will be of no value. The Rascal will have his own say.”

Indala did not disagree.

“In any event, what can Nassim Alizarin do to stem that flood? If it does materialize?”

Many of the Faithful doubted that the Unbeliever could organize sufficiently.

“You underestimate yourself, General. Be that as it may, however, it is time to part. This old corpse has reached its limit. Go. Al-Pinea is yours, along with whatever you need to crush the sorcerer. Before the coming of the Unbeliever, please.”

Nassim expressed his gratitude and got out.

* * *

The Mountain did not see young Az again before he departed Shamramdi. The Great Shake pulled the boy out of circulation.

* * *

Nassim left Shamramdi a tired old man, but hopeful. He had fared better than expected with Indala, though the Great Shake had wakened no new inspiration, nor had he sparked any spiritual renewal.

Which thought left Nassim slightly embarrassed. Indala was a warrior, not a religious thinker.

The men who rode with the Mountain supposed his interview had gone badly. They gave him room to be alone with his despair.