Working God's Mischief (64 page)

Titus mused, “What else? How about er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen?”

Lord Arnmigal stiffened. “Er-Rashal?”

“A sorcerer. Sometimes called the Rascal. Used to be the court wizard for Gordimer the Lion. They called him something else because Believers can't consort with necromancers, sorcerers, or diviners. He ran for it after Indala's victory. He headed up the Shirne toward tomb country. They cut him off, so he turned back north. Nobody noticed till he attacked a Lucidian watchtower near Gherig, where he got his ass handed to him. He lost his henchmen and animals and ended up injured himself. He scuttled into the Neret Mountains. Some renegade Sha-lug went after him.”

Titus knew more than he realized. “Into the Idiam,” Lord Arnmigal breathed. “Into the land of ghosts. To the Dead City.”

There had been hints before, of course. Soldiers loved their rumors. He had paid no attention because neither the Rascal nor Andesqueluz ever got mentioned directly. Nothing suggested that the rumors were based on anything real.

The Shining Ones had reported nothing.

That was suggestive itself.

“Into the Idiam.” In mildly wondrous dread.

Titus said, “To a ruined city remembered in sacred texts as Andesqueluz, home of one of the uglier Instrumentalities of the god times.”

“To Asher. The Mountain. And Ashtoreth, which means Bride of the Mountain. I've heard that much.”

“Then you paid closer attention than I thought.”

“Maybe. I like to know about those things.”

“I have no concrete evidence but—based on rumors and the circumstances of this er-Rashal's association with Rudenes Schneidel—he may be trying to resurrect Asher.”

“Plausible. And our divine associates have neglected to tell us.”

“I would assume they're not hiding anything, they're just failing to point fingers.”

“Oh, those clever devils.”

“Could they possibly want Asher back?”

“No. They wouldn't want to share what little magic is left while they're finding a way into Eucereme. It must be something else.”

“Any suggestions?”

“No. Keep your ears open. There are facts missing. The Shining Ones may have them. If so, they must be inconvenient somehow.”

“Shall I sneak out there myself?”

“You'd never get away with it. Go to the horse pasture east of al-Sar. Find Just Plain Joe. Tell him what we need.”

Consent saw his thinking. “I'm on my way.”

Hecht wondered if it was worth the bother, trying to keep a low profile, hoping the Shining Ones would not consult the Choosers of the Slain, who were always with him.

They were abidingly disdainful of Fastthal and Sprenghul, who seldom gave anyone an excuse to see them in a better light.

It might be worthwhile to create some diversions.

There was always something diverting him from pursuing the triumph of the Enterprise. Oft times it was difficult not to believe that a malignant Night was meddling.

He had seen Gordimer the Lion succumb to that kind of thinking, abetted by the Rascal's whispers. In his more rational moments Lord Arnmigal saw himself starting to externalize blame the way Gordimer had.

He was in the first stage of creating his own demons.

And was that not one way tadpole Instrumentalities came into the world?

*   *   *

Hecht started.

Titus was long gone. Hourli had come in. She had just snapped her fingers under his nose, a gesture outright disrespectful. “What?” he barked.

“You always were broody. It's part of your manly charm, though I don't find it particularly endearing. Put your mind's house in order, quickly. We have no time to waste.”

Lord Arnmigal was confused. “What?”

“The Empress.”

“Oh. Got you. I'll ask for an audience.”

*   *   *

Helspeth ordered everyone out.

Hecht said, “Lady Hilda needs to stay.”

“I'm not that concerned about my reputation, Lord Arnmigal. I'm already considered a freak for being here. I understand that the locals call me the Iron Virgin.”

Lady Hilda made a face, and leered.

“Chaperonage isn't why she's needed. She knows our troubles. She was involved from the start. We can't get by without her now.”

Seconds passed. “Oh? You're probably right. Stay, then, Hilda.” Helspeth's sudden desperation begged Hecht to be sure.

“There is no getting around it.”

“You have some fresh ideas?”

“Some. Let's not discuss them here. Too easy to eavesdrop.”

“There are no quiet rooms handy.”

“There's another option. It won't thwart Instrumentalities but it will keep the mortal sneaks off.”

“The candle?”

“Exactly.”

Helspeth needed less than a minute to locate and light the time candle. That did not have the elusive nature of many artifacts associated with the Shining Ones. It had not been made by the Aelen Kofer.

The candle blazed up. Blushing, Helspeth talked to her friend. Hilda said, “I thought it might be that, though I prayed that I was wrong.” She hugged Helspeth, for the moment no more than an empathetic friend.

Helspeth said, “You must be sure of your suggestions, my lord, or you wouldn't have insisted we meet.”

“I have an idea loosely based on something Hourli suggested.”

“She knows?”

“She's known since the quickening. She is what she is. I don't like it, either. It gives her leverage. But that's the way it is with the Instrumentalities of the Night.”

Helspeth blew out a chest full of exasperation. “Of course. Sure. All right. We know how to deal with that, don't we? Go on.”

Hecht hoped none of the Shining Ones heard that but feared that any hope for an absence of eavesdroppers would be a vain one.

“I'm going after Vantrad. If I surprise them and take over I'll lock Beresmond up and run Clothilde off to Gherig. I'll install the Grail Empress as Queen. Shining Ones will surround you. They'll become you whenever you have to be seen. Lady Hilda will be your shadow. If Helspeth is forced to be in the presence of an outsider the Shining Ones will disguise you. Hourli says they can fix it so you won't even smell like you.” He nearly suggested that, with practice, she might even be able to fool those who knew her well.

Better not give her any dangerous ideas.

She was the daughter of the Ferocious Little Hans and nothing would keep her from hitting the streets in disguise if the notion took her.

Despite all she had seen lately, she might not believe that a hostile Night might take advantage of self-inflicted exposure.

“There you go, drifting off again.”

“I apologize. I don't know why it happens. It's not just with you. I do it with everyone.”

“Instead of saying you're sorry all the time, why not
do
something about it?”

Lady Hilda observed, “I'm sure your Night friends could scrounge around in your soul and figure out why your head don't work right when you're awake.” Swinging a well-honed double-edged blade, there. “They might even find out why you fall asleep in the middle of something crucial, like a future-changing discussion with your lover.”

Daedel was in a harsh mood.
And
she knew things she had no business knowing.

He turned a hard eye on Helspeth.

The Ege blood shone through then. The Empress was not intimidated, nor did she offer explanations. She had thought that Daedel needed to know.

“What is, is,” Hecht muttered, like a calming mantra. “It is, and cannot be changed. I will focus. I will take Vantrad. We will proceed from there. Moves are underway already.” Pella was pressing Iresh abd al-Kadiri in hopes of attracting regional attention to himself. A limited Righteous move along the Vantrad road should be interpreted as a flanking effort.

The Shining Ones would know the truth. He could imagine no reason they would betray him, yet still did not trust them fully.

A consequence of status gained? Was that what had turned Gordimer weird? Might the Lion's paranoia have been due to more than dark prophecies and the Rascal's evil whispers?

“And there he goes again,” Lady Hilda cracked, voice edged with irritation and possible contempt. “Despite the pretty promises. A man's man indeed. And here I be in the oven of hell's kitchen, being rendered down for jerky and people grease, for the sakes of ingrates, when I could be basking in the coolth of Alten Weinberg, having my way with some starry-eyed boy.”

She flashed a wicked smile at Hecht's appalled response.

“I'll get that Hourli creature to curse you. You know those sparky shocks you get during the winter? This curse will let me smack you with a big one any time your eyes glaze over. It will be like teaching a pig to dance.”

Hecht did not understand that but did grasp her general meaning. It might even work if he got stung enough.

He had earned himself a shock already.

*   *   *

Pella launched nuisance attacks against the Dreangereans. Despite strong cautionary advice from the Sha-lug, Iresh gave in to rage, perhaps seduced by the murmur of unseen powers. He launched two counterattacks directly into the face of falcon fires from prepared positions. Casualties were terrible. Desertions trebled. The Sha-lug refused to execute further unreasonable orders.

The Grail Empress and Commander of the Righteous, traveling with the battle group apparently flanking the Dreangereans on the Vantrad road, decided to tour the Holy City while they were close by.

They entered Vantrad with entourages but no large companies or heavy weapons. The locals relaxed. The Commander of the Righteous never made an aggressive move without his falcons.

Western pilgrims had visited in large numbers since the arrival of the Enterprise. Some of the most recent visitors had served with Lord Arnmigal for years.

The Choosers of the Slain, prepped with detailed instructions, isolated King Beresmond and Queen Clothilde while Righteous pilgrims secured key points of the city.

The Shining Ones added illusion and misdirection. There were few casualties and no fatalities, unlike the last time crusaders captured Vantrad.

Thirty-two hours after entering Vantrad, Lord Arnmigal set his seal to a document wherein Beresmond abdicated in favor of the Grail Empress. Local prelates added their own seals and pretended to be thrilled.

Temblors of change radiated quickly. Princes great and small, of every religious odor, quavered on dangerously shifting footing. Beresmond had been a spook, doing little but what Clothilde demanded. She was a shallow vessel. The Grail Empress and her warlord were sure to be harsher weather.

Clothilde resisted, though she controlled her tongue admirably. Those strange and wicked women with the Commander of the Righteous admonished her privately, revealing a detailed knowledge of her undercover transgressions. She was cunning and clever, if shallow and caring for no one but herself. She grasped the fact that hope depended entirely on abiding the favorable day.

She had friends. Allies, really. Among those were a few minor Instrumentalities, though none like the monsters guarding Lord Arnmigal. She would persevere. She would come back.

She was not wise enough to be afraid.

Hourli warned Lord Arnmigal: it was dangerously kind not to save the future from possible pretenders to Vantrad's throne.

Lord Arnmigal was preoccupied with the Grail Empress. He cared little what people thought, though he did concern himself about their perceptions of her. He intended doing nothing to stain her reputation more than he had.

He failed completely to notice the Shining Ones sketching a fog around his all-too-revelatory behavior.

He and she settled in comfortably, against inconsequential resistance, which the Shining Ones handled easily. Wife began to appear with Lord Arnmigal as a more glamorous and warmer Grail Empress. Her audiences thought that must be because she had added the Holy City to the Imperial diadem.

Lady Hilda enjoyed the change, at the real Helspeth's expense.

The Praman community fell into anguished despair. The Believers were being battered and decimated everywhere, with the Hu'n-tai At now gnawing at the Realm of Peace in the east.

The Dreangerean host southwest of Vantrad evaporated. Even its Sha-lug components fled in despair.

Pella strutted like a gamecock when he reported. He had learned from masters and had learned quite well. He had lost only a handful of men.

*   *   *

Vantrad's citadel boasted a quiet room worthy of the paranoia of Queen Clothilde. It was perfectly maintained and one of the stoutest ever built. Its walls were three feet thick. It had been reengineered and improved by senior brethren of the Special Office. Titus Consent met Lord Arnmigal there following some sleight of hand meant to divert invisible watchers. Hecht asked, “What's with the sneakery and shadow dancing?”

“Just Plain Joe is back from visiting his pal, Bo Biogna, out by Gherig.”

Lord Arnmigal probed his Else Tage memories for the lie of that land.

Gherig loomed on high ground to the south. The land in front fell away to a plain, then gradually rose again to the north. Those highlands became the Neret Mountains and haunted Idiam. The Well of Days, site of Indala al-Sul's signature triumph, lay not far north and east.

Lord Arnmigal opined, “I hope Joe enjoyed himself. He comes nearer being a true good man than anyone I know. He deserves more joy of life.”

“I would argue that we all do. God won't give it to us.”

“He got back quick. Did he find out something important?”

“In a nutshell. Nobody out there is making a big deal, maybe because they haven't seen the implications. I think our demonic allies
have
and are hoping we won't.” Titus raised a hand, forestalling Hecht's impatience. “The Dreangerean villain, er-Rashal, has created a spell that makes firepowder explode at a distance or at least fizzle and clog the falcon.”