The Redemption of Althalus (69 page)

“Millions, my Lord!”

“Weiko, you couldn’t count up to a million if your life depended on it.”

“The advancing army stretches from horizon to horizon, my Lord!” the flustered courtier declared. “We are lost!”

“You may go, Weiko,” Dhakan told him coldly.

“But—”

“
Now,
Weiko, and don’t slam the door behind you.”

The courtier looked almost as if he wanted to argue, but then he changed his mind and left the room.

“He’s another one,” Leitha told Andine.

“Really?” Andine seemed surprised. “Ghend’s scraping the bottom of the barrel, then. Nobody in the entire court takes Weiko very seriously.”

“He’s just a bit more clever than he lets on,” Leitha told her friend. “He’s a member of one of those cults Argan’s been establishing here in the low country. He’s been promised a high position in the new government of Osthos, and Argan’s ordered him to encourage panic. The whole plan is to persuade you to surrender without a fight.”

“That word ‘cult’ keeps cropping up,” Bheid noted. “Just exactly what’s involved in those little secret religions, Leitha?”

“Are you sure you want to know?” she asked him.

“I think I should, don’t you? Sooner or later, I’m the one who’ll have to counter them.”

“Just take everything you’ve ever been taught and turn it upside down, Brother Bheid,” she replied. “You’ll be fairly close. Argan’s very good at promising rewards to his followers. Everyone has certain unwholesome desires—money, power, sex—all the usual nastiness. Argan preaches the fulfillment of those desires. Just about everything
you
look upon as sin is a virtue in Argan’s new religion. I can go into greater detail, if you’d like,” she offered archly.

“Ah . . . no, Leitha,” he declined, blushing slightly. “I think that’s sufficient.”

“You’re no fun,” she accused.

Let it lie, Leitha,
Althalus chided silently.

Andine rose and went to the window. “The leaves are just about the right color,” she observed, “and the nights
are
getting chillier. How long should we drag out the negotiations, Althalus?”

“I’d try to hold out for the rest of today,” he advised her. “Tomorrow’s the day when it’s all supposed to happen, and I think we want our timetable and Gelta’s to match. If you surrender today—or the day after tomorrow—Emmy’s very likely to tie her tail in a knot.”

“You’d better send an emissary out to meet the scar-faced hag, Dhakan,” Andine suggested.

“We’ve never surrendered before, my Arya,” Dhakan said. “Do you happen to know where I might be able to put my hands on a white flag?”

“You could lend him one of your petticoats, dear,” Leitha suggested slyly. “That might add a personal touch to the whole affair.”

“Very funny, Leitha,” Andine said sarcastically. Then she turned to look at her Chamberlain. “I forbid
you
to go out there, Dhakan,” she told the elderly man quite firmly.

“That’s not what we’ve got in mind, Andine,” Althalus told her.

“Who’s going to be our emissary then? It’s
got
to be somebody who knows what’s going on.”

“I know,” Althalus replied. “That’s why
I’m
going to take care of it.”

The Queen of Night was riding at the head of the column, and she reined in when Althalus and Eliar, accompanied by a platoon of Andine’s soldiers, came out through the main gate under a white flag. Gelta barked a few orders, and her soldiers hastily erected a garishly colored pavilion for the incipient parlay. Althalus gave the illusory army at her back a rather cursory glance. From the walls of Osthos that vast army had looked quite substantial, but now that he was closer, Althalus noticed that it didn’t move so much as an inch. It was as static as a picture.
Ghend needs more
practice,
he muttered silently to Eliar.

I didn’t quite follow that, Althalus,
the boy confessed.

When you get a little closer to his illusion, it starts to fall apart. Some
of those horses out there have all four feet off the ground, and the flags
stick out from the lances they’re attached to as if they were made of wood. It’s
a picture of an army, Eliar, and that’s all. These two regiments around
that striped tent are the entire extent of Gelta’s army. Keep your hand close
to the hilt of your Knife when we go into that tent, boy. Gelta’s not en
tirely sane, so you might have to show her the Knife to bring her back to her
senses.

I’ll watch her,
Eliar replied.

They dismounted in front of the pavilion, and Althalus drew the white toga he’d borrowed from Lord Dhakan up over one shoulder and assumed a supercilious expression. “You, there—fellow,” he said to one of Gelta’s Generals in an arrogant voice, “take me to your leader, and be quick about it.”

The General’s eyes bulged indignantly, but he held his tongue. He stepped to the front of the striped tent and held the flap open. Althalus tossed a copper penny on the ground at the General’s feet with a negligent gesture as he and Eliar entered the pavilion. “For your trouble, my man,” he said in his best “down the nose” tone of voice.

“Aren’t you pushing it just a little?” Eliar whispered in a choked voice.

“Just getting into character,” Althalus murmured.

The Queen of Night was seated on a rough camp chair inside the tent, and she was obviously trying to look regal.

Althalus gave her a perfunctory sort of bow. “I am Trag,” he announced, “and I represent her Majesty Andine, Arya of Osthos. What are your demands?”

“Open your gates,” Gelta rasped.

“Not until we’ve discussed the terms, madam.” Althalus gave her another “down the nose” look.

“I might let you keep your head if you do exactly as I tell you,” Gelta replied. Now that he was closer to her, Althalus could see how truly ugly she really was. Her face was a mass of deeply indented pockmarks, and her big nose had obviously been broken several times. She had piglike little eyes and more than a hint of a mustache. She also had shoulders like an ox and a rancid fragrance about her.

“Madam,” Althalus said coldly, “this is neither the time nor the place for threats. Circumstances have given you a slight advantage, and my Arya has instructed me to inquire as to your terms.”

“There
are
no terms, you silly fop!” Gelta flared. “Open your gates to me, or I will destroy your city!”

“Try to maintain your perspective, madam,” Althalus replied. “Take a moment, if you wish, to go outside and have a look at the walls of Osthos. Our city will stand, no matter what you throw at those walls. A prolonged siege, however, would inconvenience the citizens slightly. To put it to you bluntly, how much will you take to go away?”

“You are very clever—and very brave—Lord Trag,” Gelta almost purred. “You will not provoke me, however. Your city cannot withstand my forces. I
will
be in the palace of your Arya by noon tomorrow.”

Althalus maintained his expression of bored superiority, despite a sudden urge to dance on the table. Gelta had just inadvertently pinpointed the exact time of Ghend’s dream vision. “That has not been determined as yet,” he replied in a lofty tone. “Winter approaches, and the walls of Osthos can surely hold until spring. The spring of which
year
might still be in question. To avoid unnecessary bloodshed, however, my Arya has agreed to capitulate and give you our city to pillage as you see fit for
one
week—no more. In return for her most generous offer, you will stand aside until midmorning tomorrow to permit the citizens to depart.”

Gelta’s face darkened, but the somber-eyed Yakhag, who stood behind her impromptu throne, grasped her shoulder in one mailed fist and leaned forward to whisper to her.

Gelta shrank momentarily from Yakhag’s grasp, but then she recovered, and her expression became transparently cunning. “Your ordinary people would just be in my way anyhow,” she said in her harsh voice. “Your Arya and her officials, however, will remain in the palace and will surrender to me before noon tomorrow.”

“That seems to be a reasonable request,” Althalus replied.

“It wasn’t a request,” Gelta snapped harshly.

“A linguistic variation, perhaps,” Althalus murmured urbanely. “Your accent seems to suggest an Ansu background, madam, and the language as spoken here in Treborea has progressed quite noticeably in the past several eons. I shall advise my Arya of your demands, and I shall return before sunset with her response. One more thing, however. No burning. If you will not agree to that stipulation, these talks break off right here and now.”

“Why would I want to burn that which is mine?”

“Good question. I’m sure you’ll find your stay in my Arya’s palace most pleasing. It has many amenities to which you may not be accustomed. I strongly suggest that you take fullest advantage of the baths while you are there.”

The faintest hint of a smile touched dead-eyed Yakhag’s lips, and Althalus shuddered.

Then he shook off that momentary chill and bowed to the Queen of Night again. “Until tomorrow, then, Madam Gelta,” he said politely, and then he and Eliar left the pavilion before the meaning of the remark that had amused the somber Yakhag had fully dawned on his hostess.

“She let it slip, Em,” Althalus reported when he and Eliar rejoined the others in the tower. “I don’t think she even realizes that she did it. I’m sure Yakhag caught it, though.
That
one tends to freeze my blood, and I don’t think
anything
slips past him. Anyway, Gelta’s little charade is scheduled for noon tomorrow.”

“Can we have everything in place by then, Sergeant?” Dweia asked Khalor.

“Eliar probably won’t get much sleep tonight,” Khalor replied, “but I think we’ll be ready.”

“I’ll need to borrow him for about half an hour, Sergeant,” Bheid noted. “I should pass this on to my assassins in Kanthon.”

Dweia nodded. “And we might want to return Smeugor and Tauri to that fort as well,” she added. “Since Ghend’s going to take care of them for us, we might as well make it easy for him. Were you able to get any sense of what Yakhag’s planning, Leitha?”

“He was blocking me, Dweia,” Leitha replied, “and I’m not sure exactly how. It’s almost as if he were dead.”

“In a certain sense, he
is
dead, Leitha,” Dweia replied. “I don’t think you should try to break through his barrier, dear. He’s even older and more corrupt than Ghend.”

“Gelta’s afraid of him,” Eliar said. “I could see that every time he spoke to her.”

“They’re
all
afraid of Yakhag,” Dweia said solemnly. “Even Ghend’s afraid of that one. Daeva holds Yakhag in reserve in Nahgharash for emergencies.”

“Doesn’t it make you proud to be an emergency, dear?” Leitha asked Andine archly.

“Not really,” Andine replied. Then she turned to Dweia. “When should I have Dhakan round up all the spies and cultists in my palace?” she asked.

“Let’s get that out of the way tonight,” Dweia decided. “As soon as they’re all safely in your dungeon, Sergeant Khalor can start bringing in reinforcements to scoop up Gelta’s soldiers the minute she enters your palace.”

“Everything’s coming together real neat, isn’t it?” Gher said enthusiastically. “The bad people are all going to think they’ve got the world by the tail until about noon tomorrow, and then it’s all going to turn into a bucketful of worms, isn’t it?”

“That’s the ultimate reward of a good deception, Gher,” Althalus told him. “It’s not the money or property you get, so much as it’s the satisfaction of outsmarting your victim—and the way he feels when he finally realizes what you’ve done to him. By this time tomorrow, Ghend’s going to be eating his own liver.”

“You’re a terrible person, Althalus,” Dweia chided.

“Be honest, Em,” he replied. “Doesn’t the notion of Daeva eating
his
liver sort of warm the cockles of
your
heart just a little?”

“That’s entirely different,” she sniffed with a toss of her head.

“I wouldn’t pursue that, Althalus,” Leitha advised.

———

During the night they put on some show of evacuating Osthos. Long, torchlit columns of civilians streamed out through the south gate of the city for Gelta’s entertainment; and once the streets were largely deserted, Lord Dhakan’s officials quietly gathered up the assorted people in the palace that Leitha had identified as agents of the enemy. Then, about two hours before dawn, Eliar and Sergeant Khalor brought the bald-headed Sergeant Gebhel and six regiments of Gweti’s infantry into Osthos.

“I’d guess that most of them are going to throw down their weapons as soon as they see you, Gebhel,” Khalor told the bald soldier. “There might be a few enthusiasts, though. Make an example of them, and the rest should get the point.”

“You’re being obvious, Khalor,” Gebhel growled. “What do you want me to do with them after I’ve rounded them up?”

“I couldn’t care less,” Khalor replied. “You’ll have about ten thousand prisoners on your hands. Maybe you’ll get lucky and come across a slave trader.”

Gebhel’s eyes brightened. “It’s a thought,” he said.

“I get twenty percent,” Khalor advised him.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Five at the most.”

“Fifteen.”

“You
knew
it was going to be ten percent, Khalor,” Gebhel said in an exasperated tone. “Why did you start out with that absurd number in the first place?”

Khalor shrugged. “It was worth a try,” he said.

“Go away, Khalor. I’ve got to get my men into position.”

“Just be sure they stay out of sight until I give you the signal.”

“And did you want me to order them to put their shoes on, too, O mighty military genius?”

“You can be
very
offensive sometimes, Gebhel.”

“Then quit trying to tell me how to do my job. Get out of my face, Khalor.”

Khalor was laughing when he and Althalus returned to the palace. “I
like
him,” he said.

“I never would have guessed,” Althalus murmured.

The day dawned clear and bright, and autumn had filled the world with color.