Surrender to the will of the night

31. Lucidia: End Around

Per instructions from Shamramdi Nassim Alizarin shut down traffic past Tel Moussa. He drove his soldiers to exhaustion harassing the Unbeliever. The enemy, he was sure, would realize that something was up. Lone travelers could not all be intercepted. Those who did get through would carry rumors. Throughout the Crusader states the Arnhanders would gird themselves for the worst, though even Indala’s captains remained ignorant of what their ruler planned.

Indala’s grandnephew participated in every action. He distinguished himself each time. He worked harder than the Mountain himself till a courier arrived with a summons from Indala. The boy left immediately, accompanied by a few warriors his own age.

The Mountain stood in a high parapet. He watched till the only trace of Azim was a distant hint of dust. He had become emotionally invested. Azim was everything he could have hoped Hagid would become.

Someone said, “And a new age is about to dawn.”

Nassim came back to his everyday world. He shared the parapet with Bone and old Az, the core of Tel Moussa’s renegade Sha-lug.

Azer er-Selim had spoken. Nassim responded, “Meaning what?”

“Look out there. Farther than you were. Do you see a fuzziness that makes the horizon indistinct?”

Nassim looked but did not see. “Must be your bad eyes. I see what I always see out there. Don’t play games, Master of Ghosts.”

Bone remarked, “He can’t help it, General. When they teach these camel-fuckers their trade they whip them if they say anything in plain language. The point is to keep it murky so later nobody can claim they got it wrong.”

Nassim eyed Bone for several seconds. Bone seldom had much to say. This was a week’s worth of chatter in one lump.

Er-Selim was surprised, too. And irked. He said, “All right, but only so it’s all done before the old-timer embraces the Angel of Death. Our employer, never trusting us completely, has been hiding the fact that he’s going to invade al-Minphet.”

“What?”

“Indala has spent a year pretending he’s getting ready to charge into the Holy Lands. He’s convinced everyone. We’ve been key in convincing both sides.”

“But you know something different?”

“Yes. Because I took advantage of our visit to Shamramdi. I poked my nose in. I listened. I exercised my reason.” Old Az paused briefly, then added, “It’s obvious if you watch Indala’s family and trusted companions. And you ignore the chattering fools of al-Fartebi’s court.”

The Mountain said, “Dispense with self-congratulation. Tell me.”

“I did. Indala means to invade Dreanger, capture al-Qarn, and unify the two kaifates.”

Nassim let that simmer, then observed, “That poses a moral dilemma, doesn’t it?”

“Only if you insist. Though being in revolt against Gordimer the Lion isn’t the same as joining in a foreign enterprise meant to put an end to Gordimer and al-Minphet. The moral quandary is what Indala has spared us by keeping us ignorant.”

“We’ll suffer for this.”

“Whether Indala succeeds or fails the Sha-lug will blame us.”

“Should we send warning while we still have friends there?”

“Could we manage? Unnoticed? Won’t Indala know who to blame if he finds the Lion prepared?”

“He can lay that blame no matter what we do.”

“We do make convenient scapegoats.”

Nassim mused, “The Lion may have gone rotten, and the Rascal even worse, but they aren’t the Sha-lug, nor even Dreanger. There were Dreangeran agents in Shamramdi. Nothing this big is ever completely secret. Rumors have been reported back to al-Qarn. They’ll be given credence because geography compels Indala to approach from the north.”

“The prophecy. Certain to excite the Lion.”

Nassin reflected, then said, “It will be interesting if this is the prophecy fulfilled.” Then, “We’ll just do our job. Nothing more. Nothing less. That was our commitment.”

Nassim wondered if Indala meant to use him as a puppet Marshal. He said, “We’d best see to our defenses. If I were a Crusader prince I’d charge Shamramdi if Indala and Gordimer were locking horns behind me.”

Bone seemed to be somewhere else. Not unusual with him. But now he asked, “Do we have any idea what’s become of the Rascal?”

That sorcerer, only briefly rehabilitated, had had another falling-out with Gordimer, religious rather than based on bad behavior. The Lion did not mind er-Rashal being a murderous villain so long as he remained a devout Praman murderous villain. But he crossed a line when he kept trying to resurrect ancient devils.

It had taken the Marshal an age to understand that his henchman had no more love or respect for him than he had had for the apprentice Sha-lug Hagid, whom he had ordered murdered for a reason that, even today, only he understood.

Gordimer had not gotten the message meant to be conveyed by the presentation of the head of Rudenes Schneidel. He had been blinded by er-Rashal’s immense and ferocious utility. But he came to the truth eventually.

Er-Rashal el-Dhulquarnen was a declared, dedicated enemy of God.

“He’s hiding out again,” Azer er-Selim said. “Most likely among his ancestors in the Hills of the Dead. That’s where he went before.”

The Mountain said, “None of that concerns us now. Once the decision has been handed down by God… We’ll know how to face our tomorrows.” He stared due north, toward the distant Idiam. And worried that the dead city there, though a hundred miles away, had infected his soul. He had not gone near it, yet, during his flights over the border of the dead realm. He had seen nothing to suggest that the nearer reaches of the Idiam differed from regions around it. There was even evidence that someone lived in the haunted territories.

No good Praman ventured there by choice.

Nassim feared Andesqueluz like he feared for his soul. Yet he seemed drawn to the haunted city. If only to slake his curiosity.

“Bone. Az. Tell me about Andesqueluz again.”

Bone said, “There’s nothing new to tell.”

“Try.”

Azer said, “Its reputation might make you think it was a major city, long ago. Yet I doubt that a thousand people ever lived there at one time. It’s on top of a mountain. Not that great a mountain, but the mountain, Asher. The buildings are all either carved from Asher or built from stone the mountain provided.”

Nassim grunted. “Their holy place.”

“The holiest of holies. For those pagans. Which they kept a closed kingdom. They raised their food on tiny mountainside plots. Pilgrims were required to bring a basket of soil to gain entry.”

“So few, yet we remember so much.” Vaguely suspicious of al-Azir’s knowledge.

“Every wall has its pictographs. They’re easily read. Andesqueluz exported fear. Its sorcerers extracted tribute from all the kings in this part of the world.”

“At a time when kings were little more than village chiefs.”

“Andesqueluz was powerful but it did something to offend the whole world. The world united and destroyed Andesqueluz, to the last babe in arms, then went away, shunning the city and the Idiam forever. The fear was that the evil hadn’t been destroyed, only the people had been. The evil just lay dormant. It couldn’t be destroyed because the soul of the mountain, Asher, is the Adversary Himself.”

Nassim heard nothing new. Again he asked the question that had been asked so many times. “What did er-Rashal want with those mummified sorcerers?”

It had to do with Asher, surely. El-Dhulquarnen had tried to resurrect Seska, the Endless, another wicked elder deity, already.

Az said, “I have had a new thought about that. After all these years. It doesn’t have to do with Asher. But it’ll still be unacceptable to the Faithful.”

“Do tell.”

“I think er-Rashal is after ascendance. He wants to become one of the Instrumentalities of the Night.”

“You’re right. True Believers wouldn’t want to hear that. You could get in trouble just for saying somebody could think that way.”

“Which is why the quest for ascendance went out of fashion.”

“I’m sure. Az, anything to that notion? I heard something similar on Artecipea. Would the Rascal have gotten involved in such a dangerous scheme on speculation? Wouldn’t he make sure he could become a god before he took chances?”

“I don’t know. He never thought like normal Faithful. But trying to become a god was common in pagan times. The pictographs in Andesqueluz say ascendance was the city’s reason for existing. The pagans must have succeeded once in a while. Which might explain why the Idiam is said to be haunted. If wicked ancients are still prowling the night.”

“You saw direct evidence?”

“No. But we all felt like we were being watched. All the time. Captain Tage’s bogon was our only direct contact with the Night.”

Nassim sighed. “Always nothing. Oh, well. We should enjoy an interesting summer here. What do you think? Will the Arnhanders help Gordimer? Or will they sit back and enjoy the spectacle?”

Er-Selim said, “That might depend on who barks loudest. Vantrad would center any action. It’s the biggest Crusader state and the one nearest probable points of contact. And Vantrad is positioned to interfere with Indala’s line of communication. But King Berismond is a diseased boy under the thumb of an older wife with a diseased mind. Whom Indala bought off somehow. There’ll be other Arnhanders, though, who’ll see the danger of a united kaifate.”

Nassim looked to the northwest. “This could be a situation made for Rogert du Tancret.”

“If Berismond is seen as indecisive or weak. And how can he not be with Clothilde manipulating him?”

“Al-Adil hinted that something might happen to Black Rogert.”

“That’s always a possibility. For any of us. An assassin could get in here, too. But du Tancret has a phenomenal sense for personal danger. The love of the Night, perhaps. Don’t base any strategy on the assumption that assassins will push him aside.”

“Just thinking out loud. It’s not my problem. We have enough to keep us busy here.”

Nassim went downstairs, thinking about Azim al-Adil. Young Az had found a way into his heart. He would be devastated if the boy followed Hagid and Ambel into the dark.

Indala had asked if Ambel’s end had left him a broken tool. Broken, not. But there were cracks.

The Sha-lug Mohkam approached Nassim as he approached his own quarters. He whispered, “There’s a letter came from Akir. He’s succeeded in buying twelve hundred pounds of firepowder. It will come by ship to Shartelle. We need to have people there to meet it. The Deves also offered a battery of six four-pounder falcons at six hundred eighty Aparionese ducats apiece if we take the set.”

“That’s cheap. What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re obsolete out there. Akir says they’ve survived repeated test firings, though.”

“If that’s what we can get. We can adapt. Why so generous with the firepowder?”

“Akir says they’ve found a way to produce it in quantity, less expensively.”

“Then the face of war will change.”

Mohkam shrugged. He was not one to care.

“Thank you,” Nassim said. “I need to rest, now.”