Working God's Mischief

36. Shamramdi, Lucidia: When God Averted His Eye

Nassim Alizarin watched the disguised Ansa leave the Shamramdi house, youthful shoulders slumped. “Bone, I wish we could do something. But Indala has tied our hands.”

Indala al-Sul Halaladin was distressed and severely depressed by the ease with which the crusaders crushed any who resisted them. Each engagement left the Believers involved defeated in detail. The Righteous seemed to know the very secret intentions of the commanders of the Faithful. Only the rare minor patrol and unknown captain enjoyed any success.

Nassim grumbled, “He doesn’t fully see the horrors possible if we allow er-Rashal to indulge his madness.”

“Could that be worse than the Arnhander invasion?” Young Az demanded.

Nassim glowered at Mohkam, who said, “He just bulled past me, sir!”

“Those who rise in the shadow cast by a great man sometimes confuse that shadow with their own, thinking it relieves them of the burden of civil behavior.” He met the boy’s eyes.

Young Az reddened. He opened his mouth twice, probably to apologize. But he did not do so.

“Why am I gifted with this intrusion?” Nassim asked with none of the warmth that he could not help showing the boy normally. Azim did not miss that.

“That strange boy. He had tattoos under his eyes. Who was he?”

There was no reason to dissemble. “One of the Ansa, begging for help. Er-Rashal has started taking children.”

Worse news, er-Rashal had discovered a way to make firepowder explode from afar. The discharges Nassim had heard while descending the Mountain had been the sorcerer’s test of the new spell formula. That time the madman had not been wise enough to stay well back. That had cost him valuable weeks recuperating.

The Ansa could have gotten him then had not tribal politics interfered. Those who wanted to pretend that er-Rashal was no real threat attained ascendancy till the sorcerer started stealing children.

There was no helping the Ansa now. Perhaps next week, or next month, if Indala discovered a formula for success against the approaching crusaders. They had left a third of their strength to garrison captured cities while fugitives from those cities had joined Indala. Today the Great Shake’s army outnumbered the Unbelievers by ten thousand.

Scouts were looking for the perfect place to destroy them.

Nassim was not optimistic. Indala’s captains wanted to fight where horsemen could gain glory, ignoring the fact that similar horsemen had been defeated repeatedly already. The captains argued that those fools had chosen constrained battlegrounds where horsemen had inadequate maneuvering room.

Nassim thought that the crusaders would ignore the Believer cavalry-along with the pride of their own equestrian class.

Captain Tage had chosen intimates who could think in whole-force terms and least-cost victories, disdaining individual combats and heroics. Those men compelled their followers to conform. Continuous success had a way of eroding objections.

Young Az suffered the blindness of his class. He would not see. “We will sweep in and tempt them to charge. We will flee. They will pursue. We will keep on till their mounts are exhausted, then we will turn.”

The Mountain did not tell the boy that the man who had created the Righteous knew eastern light-horse tactics intimately. He did say, “They will ignore you.”

“We’ll soon find out, Uncle. I came to warn you that the army moves north tomorrow.”

Nassim sighed. “May God be generous.”

Old Az agreed. “He has delivered punishments enough, lately.”

The morning news from Shartelle said that the crusaders had sailed fireships into the northern harbor. Most friendly shipping had been consumed. The men operating the chain had thought they were welcoming a relief convoy from Dreanger. The ships were Dreangerean but had been captured by the fleets of the Firaldian trading republics. Rumors said those fleets had had supernatural assistance.

Marines captured one of the towers guarding the harbor entrance, too. Shartelle was cut off from the sea, now, too. Heavy firepowder weapons had been installed to discourage relief efforts from that direction.

The Righteous were using stone from the captured tower to create a causeway leading to the low point in the wall facing the harbor.

Mischief was happening inside Shartelle, too, evidently by crusader agents who had infiltrated before the siege began-though none of those agents had yet been identified.

As Indala’s host drifted northward, in theory thirty-eight thousand strong, levies and militias tried to relieve Shartelle. Commanded by Indala’s cousin Kharsa, they were tasked with investing the crusaders from outside, besieging the besiegers. Their numbers and their fighting skills proved insufficient. Few were motivated, either. The Righteous obliterated them. Prisoners were put to work as siege labor.

The Commander of the Righteous led from the fore, as terrible in the fighting as an angel of death. None withstood him. Kharsa himself, renowned across Qasr al-Zed, fell to the Commander’s lightning spear.

Meantime, Indala’s host trickled onto the Plain of Tum, which his captains had chosen as the place where the invaders would be humbled. The omens were uniformly excellent.

“This is not good,” Mowfik grumbled. The renegade Sha-lug were at the head of the van, Indala being confident that Nassim Alizarin would see more clearly than most.

The Mountain saw despair in the offing. He saw disaster.

The Righteous had arrived already. They were camped on the south bank of a stream beneath low hills marking the northern verge of the plain. They were positioned exactly as Indala had prayed they would be, arrayed to come onto the field as he would have them do.

Nassim did not command the van. Still, he sent word to young Az warning that the Unbeliever appeared to know Indala’s thinking and meant to give him what he wanted. Then they would eat him alive.

The message had no effect. Nassim received no reply. Indala commenced the action before his forces all arrived, sending riders forward. They skirmished with light cavalry from the crusader force, mercenaries recruited from the Antal. Most were Pramans. Some appeared to be Hu’n-tai At.

Frightening, that. They would be here not to help the Righteous but to observe their ways while helping weaken Qasr al-Zed.

The skirmishing lasted all day. Casualties were minimal. Young men from both sides wanted to show their courage.

Evening brought a brief round of negotiations. Nassim Alizarin was privileged to observe. Indala did honor his wisdom.

The invaders made no religious demands, which had puzzled the Believers from the beginning. The outsiders never insisted that only their own faith be practiced in lands they ruled. They were not particularly tolerant but were never as harsh as the Believers were once they triumphed over Unbelievers.

The invaders did make demands. They were confident. Many also came in disguise, Nassim believed.

Afterward, Alizarin told Indala, “Those who did the talking were not in charge. They were lords and captains but not decision makers. Those whose wills matter were the younger, leaner men in back.”

“That was my impression, as well. They measured us for shrouds while the others blustered.”

Nassim said, “Begging pardon, Shake. These old ears heard no bluster, just supreme confidence.”

“Why? What cause can they have?”

“The old one, the Admiral, said it. This is not the Well of Days and their commander is not Rogert du Tancret.”

“You let them defeat you before you face their swords?”

“Not at all. I just caution you against overconfidence.”

At that point young Az paraphrased, “‘God’s Will shall be seen in the battle’s outcome.’” He said it aloud without meaning to do so. His uncle had said the same on more than one occasion. The remark captured the core precept of the Faith. God would decide. God knew the outcome beforehand. There was no evading the Will of God. And so forth, denying cause and effect in the ordinary world.

Indala responded, “God favors those who plan ahead and have the numbers.”

* * *

The Faithful launched attacks by horsemen who shot arrows as they swept past the face of the ranked enemy infantry. The infantry remained behind their shields and endured. Light field ballistae flung bolts from behind them, doing little damage but compelling the horsemen to loose their shafts from farther than they preferred. The artillerymen aimed for horses instead of riders. The bigger targets panicked when injured.

When riders approached in too dense a formation a firepowder weapon would belch a storm of iron darts.

Indala told his companions, “They aren’t going to counterattack, are they? They’re content to let us come to them.”

Nassim said, “Yes. And tomorrow will be worse. Tomorrow they will have caltrops and tangle cords out.”

Indala silenced him with a hand sign. “I see that. I’d do that myself, with fresh soldiers in the front lines. While I had food and water I’d stand and let the sea break on my rock. So. What is their long-run intent? Besides refusing to play by our preferred rules?”

News of the disaster at Shartelle had yet to arrive. The Believers remained confident of the favor of their God and the wisdom of their Great Shake. The outcome, here, might be difficult but the only final result would be victory.

A distant cousin of Indala said, “The crusaders are protecting their flanks with earthworks instead of cavalry. Their horse aren’t numerous and are being held behind the infantry line.”

Nassim said, “Their heavy horsemen will fight dismounted the way they did at the battle of the Four Armies.”

Indala nodded. “Which means they won’t launch one of their massed charges. So. They do hope we’ll exhaust ourselves against a fixed position.”

Nassim thought they were missing something. Arnhanders were not normally so patient. Their knightly class would not endure inaction. They would demand their chances at glory.

He kept announcing, “We’re overlooking something. We need to consider their behavior more closely.” But no one wanted to hear him. The situation had to change. Casualties, so far, favored the invaders, who, therefore, had no need to change tactics.

Indala launched three attacks the next day, first to fix the soldiers on the crusaders’ line, then to rock each flank. The most massive went in from the east, with the sun behind, three thousand horsemen followed by four thousand of the best infantry.

The other attack was half as strong, its purpose to keep the troops on the western end from reinforcing elsewhere.

The main attack swarmed into the massed fire of a hundred falcons. The cavalry were obliterated. They could not flee. The infantry blocked the way. The falcons fell silent after only three salvos. Righteous horsemen came out to exterminate the stunned survivors.

Falcons decimated the lesser attack as well.

Nassim watched the western knights form for the charge. He said nothing. Indala would fall back, then try to turn in the time-honored fashion. Alizarin anticipated no success. The Unbeliever would be prepared.

At the command level, at least, the Arnhanders were professionals. Those professionals controlled the rest, who had learned to trust them while campaigning through the Antal.

The crusader charge scattered those who tried to resist. That resistance was barely strong enough to let Believers of weaker courage make their escape. The baggage was lost. Many horses were lost. Indala’s few falcons were lost, too, most without having been fired. The ambush down the road failed completely. The crusaders knew where it was and waited while light-horse auxiliaries, having advanced by alternate routes, harassed the Believers and kept them from fixing their positions.

No phase of Indala’s plan succeeded. Each had been anticipated. In every encounter the casualty ratio favored the invaders, usually dramatically.

Al-Azer er-Selim declared, “The Night itself favors the crusaders.”

Indala took the survivors into Shamramdi. Despair haunted the Believers. God had averted His gaze again. The imams searched for the cause of His disfavor.

The Great Shake summoned new levies. He sent to Dreanger for the armies of al-Minphet. And he looked eastward, nervously.

The Hu’n-tai At would take advantage. Tsistimed the Golden would attack once he learned of the despair of Qasr al-Zed.

The Mountain saw the frustration eating at Indala, who was safe enough inside Shamramdi. He could hold on there indefinitely-unable to impose his will anywhere outside.

News from outside arrived regularly. The crusader cordon was porous. That news was never encouraging. Crusaders on the coast had moved on from Shartelle, reducing other Praman towns and cities with no difficulty. The siege of Shartelle proceeded at a leisurely pace, everyone inside and out confident of the outcome. Rumors had the Commander of the Righteous planning to penetrate Peqaa and destroy the holies of al-Prama.

Nassim Alizarin did not believe that but neither did he want to believe that Captain Tage had taken this as far as he had.

When would he reveal his Sha-lug colors?

* * *

Imams complained that strange things were happening in the holy places. God’s presence could no longer be felt. All sense of consecration had faded.

Was God truly turning away, abandoning the Believers completely?

In Shamramdi, as elsewhere where the Believers were besieged, strange evils kept occurring. Few were of great moment but the cumulative effect was debilitating. Key men fell sick. Minarets collapsed. Wells dried up. Vermin got into the granaries. Mortar in the walls washed away in unseasonable showers. A plague hit the horses, killing a third and leaving the rest too weak for battle.

In Shartelle the Tower of the Bats collapsed. Grain rotted. Plague visited briefly. The besiegers found the hidden aqueduct that brought water down from a built-over, camouflaged spring in the hills northeast of the city. Loss of that resource caused severe rationing.

A Dreangerean relief fleet assaulted the blockade at Shartelle. The warships were allowed to break through. The cargo vessels fled or were captured. The warships were then lost while trying to break back out. Slaves aboard several somehow slipped their chains and revolted.

* * *

The Mountain huddled with his surviving veterans. “The end of the world is near. What shall we do? How shall we meet it?”

Old Az said, “We’ll meet it as we meet everything. Chin to chin.”

Bone, on crutches these days, agreed. “This is as it has been Written. We cannot dispute the Will.”

More of that fatalism that lay behind everything, Nassim thought.

Bone added, “The Rascal wrote the opening scene. I just hope we can end his tale before ours plays out.”

There was no good news from the Idiam. The Ansa felt abandoned, though Indala’s indifference was not of his own choosing. Er-Rashal was an apparition of the monster that had been but he forged on, relentless in his determination to raise the dead god and unswerving in his lust for ascension. The Ansa were on the defensive. They would flee the Idiam had they anywhere else to run.

The Mountain said, “Then let us bridle our grand ambitions and beg for that one boon. Perhaps God will grant us that.”

Someone muttered, “You would think He’d show more interest in making His enemies weep.”

Outside, none too distant, masonry crumbled. People began to cry out. That meant that there had been casualties.