Working God's Mischief (21 page)

Hourlr had fun watching.

Hecht told Hourli, “We'll never get anything done if you can't keep those fires banked.”

“They understand in here.” Hourli knocked herself in the forehead. “But it's been ages since they've been able to run wild. Nobody knows them. Nobody fears them anymore. They don't yet understand in here, or here.” She tapped herself over her heart, then her crotch. “But don't despair. They're working through it. Now they're all excited about helping you.”

That sent a chill down Hecht's spine.

Hourli touched his shoulder. “I wish you would trust us.”

He smiled, weakly. He was not yet entirely convinced that he dared believe they existed.

“Tell us what you want done. Work will keep us out of mischief.”

He sometimes fell asleep worrying that. How could a mortal manage indentured gods? He had a list of chores, of use but not especially imaginative.

Hourli whispered, “Interesting game you have going with your Empress. Is the object to see who goes mad from self-denial first?”

Hecht nearly panicked. But only he had heard.

His staff were still distracted by hormonal hangovers.

Hecht said, “Gentlemen, these people get immediate access to me. Unless I'm sleeping. More will show up eventually. You'll know them when you see them.”

*   *   *

The others turned up next afternoon, during Hecht's meeting with Archbishop Brion. Brion pressed the usual Brothen Episcopal agenda. His heart was not in his bullying, though. He knew he was wasting his breath.

He understood more soon after Titus leaned through the doorway to announce, “Three ladies to see you, Commander. The ones you told us to expect.”

Hecht felt their presence before they came in, as did the Archbishop, who nearly whimpered when he saw them. They had no special look, though. They had taken the semblance of middle-aged tradesmen's wives.

Wife had done an especially fine job making herself into a dowager milliner. But there was no stopping the feeling of Night coming off her.

“Greetings,” Hecht said. “I see you've been eating well.”

All three were less tenuous than they had been.

Wife considered the Archbishop. “This one is sensitive.”

Brion croaked, “Demons! Commander … are you trafficking with demons?”

“Instrumentalities. Which the Church does, too, when it's convenient. This lady became a national saint in Andoray a century ago.” In the thinnest disguise.

Brion's tic returned, with a palsy added. He had some historical training. He worked out the identity of the milliner's wife.

She offered him a benevolent smile.

He nearly melted in terror.

All Shining Ones had their dark sides. Each figured in some tale where wickedness got done to mortals or denizens of the other worlds. It was no great matter that the Instrumentalities might be responding to bad deeds done them with deeds more wicked. The deeper truth was that the Shining Ones decided what deserved divine retribution.

Viciously senseless divine behavior was central to all religions birthed in the Holy Lands. The God of the Dainshaukin was especially irrational and cruel.

Those Instrumentalities seemed starved for the fear of mortals.

Some mortals now offered fear back.

Piper Hecht did not feel good, thinking that.

He asked Brion, “Do you know the old northern gods the Church pushed aside?”

Brion croaked, “Yes. Some.”

“Despite Church doctrine, the Shining Ones existed. Now they're the Old Ones to people up north. And they're still around.” Hecht gestured at Wife and the Choosers. “They're indentured to the Righteous. They'll help liberate the Holy Lands. And you, my friend, will keep that to yourself. While being the best damned Archbishop you can. Understand?”

The Choosers moved out of Hecht's sight. They showed Brion something that served up another helping of terror. He babbled assurances that no one would hear a word from him.

“I do hope that's true,” Hecht told him. “For your sake, I do.”

*   *   *

The last visitor had gone. Hecht could relax with some routine administrative work. He told Consent, “When you're young you daydream about being a famous warlord. But once you're there you find out that mostly you do political stuff.”

Consent shrugged. “Not something I'll ever have to worry about. You needed something?”

“Not exactly. Lila was here today. I didn't see her. She brought mail. There's something for you from Noë.”

After an instant of excitement, Titus grumped, “She's probably knocked up again. I don't know how she manages.”

“You really need me to explain?”

Flicker of a grin. “Maybe. How the hell does Anna keep from getting pregnant?”

“My guess is, she can't. Or maybe she just doesn't want to. Noë doesn't seem to have any problems having babies.”

“No kidding.”

“I did mean intellectual reservations.”

“Not that, either. I'm lucky I don't see her more than I do. She'd be dropping one every ten months.” Consent reddened slightly. Despite years around coarse men he could not lay his private affairs out in common view.

Carava de Bos came in. “One of your new friends wants to see you, Boss.”

“I'm going to regret saying they could drop in any time. All right.”

De Bos stepped aside. Hourli pushed past. De Bos shuddered. Hecht wondered how he responded to Eavijne, Sheaf, or Aldi.

The goddess announced, “We found your missing king, Commander.”

 

16. Tel Moussa: Misfortune

Nassim Alizarin was enjoying a chilled pomegranate. Azim al-Adil had sent a dozen from Shamramdi. A warrior came to his cell. “Arnhanders are approaching bearing a palm branch, General.”

“What?” The Mountain could not have been more surprised had Old Az come back from his hunt with the Rascal chopped up and stuffed into bags, though the real surprise there would be that er-Selim had not instantly burned the fragments in a dozen scattered fires before the meat had cooled.

The Master of Ghosts was not inclined to take chances.

“What I said, General. A party has come from Gherig. Twenty-five knights. They stopped just outside falcon range. Their banners are Brotherhood of War. Black Rogert isn't with them.”

“To the parapet, then. And have my advisers join me.”

*   *   *

Nassim leaned out, looked down. Twenty-five men exactly, formed neatly, armed, but not looking for a fight. A fight would not go their way. If they wanted to gain the Mountain's attention they had found the perfect means. He would not be able to control his curiosity. The situation suggested so many possibilities, some potentially positive. “Heads together, here. Anybody. What does this mean? Are they trying to lure us out?”

Bone suggested, “They want to talk.”

“Why?”

“They have something on their minds.”

“Bone!”

Bone pointed. “The pennon on the lance of the man beside the herald with the palm frond proclaims him a Master of the Commandery.”

“The scarlet pennon with the white-accented blue stripe down the middle?”

“Exactly.” With a touch of exasperation.

“We haven't seen one of those since the Battle of the Four Armies.”

“We have not. They're rare. There are only four. One in Brothe. The senior one, in Runch. The second most senior, in Vantrad. And the one in the Brotherhood fortress in the harbor at Triamolin.”

“Not much chance we'll see either of the first two.”

“Nor either of the others.”

“Bone? You saying this is a trick?”

“Those banners and pennons, and the devices on the shields, aren't ones we're used to seeing.”

“So they're the new people at Gherig. Let's go see what they want.”

“It was me, I'd let them broil in their armor a while, then hit them.”

Nassim chuckled. It took Bone a while to work up a case of bloodlust, then longer to let it go.

It took a while to get downstairs, get armed up and mounted, then get out the gate. A brace of falcons rolled out behind Nassim and Bone. They took positions where they could snipe at the outlanders at long range. Their support would give the Mountain and Bone a running start.

The falcons crews did not sneak. Neither did they make a show.

The Mountain wished his Master of Ghosts were beside him. But Az was still hunting er-Rashal. Nassim had begun to worry.

Bone remarked, “This might be a bad idea. Two of the men in the front rank are Special Office.”

“Sorcerers?”

“Possibly.”

“Let's hope this is an honest effort to talk, then.”

“I've been hoping that since they showed up.”

Nassim grew more comfortable as he moved closer. None of the westerners wore helmets. Most had eased the fit of their armor so air could circulate a little.

It was miserably warm for men newly arrived from cooler climes.

Nassim halted ten feet from the two out front of the westerners. “I am Nassim Alizarin, sometimes called the Mountain. I hold this fortress in the name of the Great Shake Indala al-Sul Halaladin and the God Who Is God.” He did not include his father's name or a place of origin when identifying himself. If these Arnhanders knew the east they would understand that they faced Sha-lug.

“Madouc of Hoeles, Brotherhood of War.” The man in charge spoke the Lucidian dialect with little accent. “Master of the Commandery in Gherig on behalf of the Brotherhood, the God Who Is the One True God, and all His saints.”

Nassim saw no emotion in the crusader's cold gray eyes. He might have come to buy sheep.

Nassim must have betrayed his surprise. The Brotherhood warrior inclined his head. “The Council in Runch have decreed the founding of a new Commandery at Gherig. I have been directed to be its Master. I wanted to introduce myself. I wanted to make it known that there will be changes. And I wanted to offer you an opportunity to evacuate your tower with your lives and possessions intact.”

“A generous gesture. So much so that I find myself compelled to respond in kind. I extend the identical offer to you and the folk of Gherig, good till the rising of the new moon.”

The Arnhander smiled.

Bone whispered, “We've seen this man before.”

“Yes. On Artecipea. He was the Captain-General's chief lifeguard. Possibly as cover for something more sinister.”

The outlander heard, understood, and appeared puzzled. He did not recall having seen them before. But they had been minor players at Arn Bedu.

The westerner said, “Though never hidden to the attentive eye, Indala's strategy has become manifest. The Brotherhood of War will not allow him to succeed.”

Clearly, the man not only meant what he said, he believed it and wanted to save those who must perish if Indala persisted.

Nassim took care to sound neutral. “The truth will be known when God reveals His hand upon the field of battle.”

“You were at Arn Bedu? The man who felled Rudenes Schneidel, who destroyed the demon god Seska, and who brought down the walls of unassailable Arn Bedu, is coming. The vastness of his host will be incalculable. Those wise enough to make peace now will find that season condign. Those who do not will be extinguished.”

“Is he in for a surprise,” Bone muttered, probably to himself.

Nassim was less certain. Else Tage had been given no reason to remain faithful to Dreanger, al-Prama, or even the Sha-lug.

The westerner asked, “You won't take advantage of my generosity?”

“Your generous grant of an opportunity to oppose the enemies of God? We will take every advantage. I promise.”

The Master of the Commandery of Gherig sat quietly, as though unable to believe what he had heard. “As you wish, so must it be.” He turned his mount and rode slowly to and through his companions. One by one, they turned and followed. The herald with the palm frond went last.

Bone asked, “Did we miss something here, General?”

“That could be. Maybe they thought we knew something that we don't. Find out. Those men are absolutely certain of the future.”

Nassim did not move till the last Arnhander passed out of sight.

*   *   *

Al-Azer er-Selim returned. He had nothing good to report. Er-Rashal had escaped into the wild Idiam. His soldiers, Lucidians familiar with the horror stories about that country, flatly refused to go after the sorcerer.

Old Az took over trying to figure out why the crusaders felt so confident. He discovered nothing useful.

The Mountain called Bone to the parapet. “Bone, I have another journey for you. I'm asking because you're the only man who can do this.”

The only man did not conceal his distress. “Chances are, I wouldn't survive another journey.”

“You'll outlive me by twenty years. This time you won't go alone. Take a dozen men with you. Anybody but al-Azer.”

Bone awaited his sentence.

“I want you to go to al-Qarn.”

Bone asked no questions.

“Find our brethren and explore their attitudes toward the current situation. Find out how successful Indala has been at unifying the kaifates. Also, find out what became of Captain Tage's family. And my wife.”

“The Captain's wife explains why me, I suppose. We've looked before. We had no luck.”

“Men were told to look. They took no risks. They didn't want to attract attention.”

“Things should be more relaxed, now. And I've actually met the woman, though that was a long time ago. Do you have something in mind?”

“Nothing so wicked as what you're imagining. They're owed. And their appearance in the Holy Lands might remind the Captain of his roots. He seems to have lost touch.”

“Oh, he has, General. If he'd taken us with him we all would have.”

Never having been part of an isolated and intimate company like Else Tage's, Nassim did not fully understand the bonds those men had forged. But he did understand that war made families of men who became alloyed far more solidly than any conventional family.