Working God's Mischief

7. Tel Moussa: Specter of Tomorrow

The Mountain and his henchmen hungered for news from Dreanger. The longer it was delayed the more likely it was to be bad. Rumor had the disaster so great, no one had lived to tell the tale.

No veteran believed that. There were survivors, always.

Nassim Alizarin spent most of his time in the parapet, watching, unsure for what. His soldiers indulged him.

Mohkam came. “A messenger is coming.” Which Nassim could see for himself.

Feeling half as old as time and burned clean of emotion, Nassim said, “This rider comes not from the south. This could be about something trivial.” His gut disagreed. This would be the news they had been awaiting. And it would spark no joy.

Alizarin sighed, said, “Let’s go offer the man a civilized welcome.”

The great room of the fortress was the common space where the garrison took meals and did the day’s handwork. General announcements occurred there and battle plans were rehearsed. It began to fill.

The messenger arrived barely able to remain upright. He radiated exhaustion. He wore clothing common to Indala’s bodyguard. Nassim did not consider that a good omen.

The general had food and drink brought. He had men eager to ask questions pushed back and silenced. It cost nothing to wait a few minutes more.

The messenger nibbled some, drank some, recuperated visibly. “All right. I’m set. There was a chain of engagements. Some went Indala’s way, some went Gordimer’s. Days when Gordimer took the honors saw us lose more deserters than casualties. The Marshall had the same trouble. His Arianist Chaldarean troops left the field just before his Maxtreans took money to change sides.”

“Then Indala was victorious?” Nassim asked.

“Barely. The fighting hasn’t stopped. The Sha-lug refuse to give up. Er-Rashal unleashed great evils. Indala was badly injured. His brother took command. Then Gordimer died leading a Sha-lug charge that almost reversed our fortunes.”

“So. The prophecy came to pass. Gordimer was brought low by an army out of the north. It just wasn’t the army he expected.”

“So they say.”

“So Dreanger is taken. Now what?”

“Indala will regain his health. His champions will silence the diehards and unify the kaifates so we can cleanse the Holy Lands before the new crusaders arrive.”

That had been the plan from the beginning. Nassim observed, “There may be a hitch. Tsistimed the Golden. He could attack Lucidia before the Commander of the Righteous reaches the Holy Lands.”

The messenger managed a grunt of interest.

“Tsistimed has been having trouble managing his sons. Despite his losses in the war with the ice country savages, he’s sending armies into the Ghargarlicean Empire again, smaller forces commanded by his sons. If they reclaim territories lost when Tsistimed was preoccupied with the Chosen, he’ll send them against the kaifate next, to keep the boys too busy to revolt.”

“Not my concern, General. I’ve delivered my news. Now I need to lie down for a week. On my belly.”

Nassim chuckled. He had been there. “I understand. A place has been prepared. Mohkam will show you.”

Levering his stiffened body upright, the messenger said, “One more thing, from Azim al-Adil. Er-Rashal may flee this way instead of into the Hills of the Dead. Prisoners say he planned that after we captured al-Qarn.”

Al-Qarn lay between the fighting and the wilds of Upper Dreanger, where a hundred generations of the dead of antiquity lay buried. Er-Rashal had gone into hiding there whenever he was unwelcome in al-Qarn.

The Mountain had a sinking feeling. “Why come this way?”

“Andesqueluz, apparently. He’s more comfortable with the dead.”

“Marvelous. Mohkam. Show him his bed. The rest of you. Officers. My old companions. To the parapet.”

* * *

Nassim asked, “Az? A question?”

“Just a thought. That was grim news. Indala will have a hard time holding on to Dreanger. The Sha-lug will battle on.”

A troop captain, from Indala’s own tribe, said, “Your great enemy is no longer Marshall. What will that mean, here?”

“Joy and sorrow. Joy that he is no more. Sorrow that it was not my doing. But that isn’t the answer you want. You want to know if Gordimer’s demise changes our relationship.”

“Correct, sir.”

“I have an agreement with Indala. A contract. I will honor it. Further, Gordimer wasn’t nearly the great enemy that er-Rashal was. Is. If he is headed our way he won’t resist the impulse to do us harm.”

Bone said, “Was I him, I’d hook up with Black Rogert. If I really wanted to have at us.”

Could er-Rashal be wicked enough to turn on his own people?

Yes. Nor would it be the first time. Hell, he had turned on God Himself.

“He’ll think about it. But his main interest will be Andesqueluz. Az? Am I right?”

“Probably. We brought him those mummies, back when. Nobody knew why. It looks like they didn’t matter because he never did anything with them. It makes sense that he’d head for the Haunted City if he couldn’t reach his usual hideout. There’s something important to him there.”

Nassim mused, “We don’t know that he didn’t get what he wanted from those mummies. He wouldn’t tell anybody.”

“He would have, in his own way. He would have used it.”

“Probably so. Let’s forget it. Let’s look at tomorrow. What can we do to make him miserable if he does turn up?”

“Why are you looking at me?”

“Because you’re the only Master of Ghosts within a hundred miles.”

“But useless as a racing saddle on a pig in a face-off with er-Rashal.”

“I don’t want you to face off. I might ask you to be a Judas goat. And not that if we can lure him some other way.”

Silence descended. After a time, one of the Mountain’s old followers said, “The Lion has been laid low.” He used a wondering tone suggesting that the point not be overlooked.

Bone said, “He’s right, General. And Gordimer, being Gordimer, never made no arrangement for who should take over next. But, damn! I wanted it to be us who took him down.”

Nassim said, “God has His Plan.”

More silence. Alizarin’s old companions retained little fervor for the Almighty’s mysterious design.

Nassim added, “But God’s Will is best executed by those who prepare most carefully. What could we do if we did lure er-Rashal into a trap?”

“You need to back up,” the Master of Ghosts said.

“Az?”

“Before you go worry about that you need trustworthy intelligence on where the Rascal is, where’s he’s headed, and what he means to do once he gets there.”

“Of course I do,” the Mountain said. “But how will I get it? Send you out to ask him?”

Bone suggested, “You can’t go wrong starting with his character. Who he is will determine what he does and the way he does it.”

That precipitated a vigorous exchange. Anyone who knew anything about er-Rashal tossed it in.

In time, Nassim said, “I’m worn out. Let’s sleep on this. The key points are: the Rascal’s inflated opinion of himself, his contempt for the intelligence of others, and his hatred for us. That’s where we’ll find our leverage.”

Alizarin went to his pallet wondering if he did not think too much of himself, too. Would the world’s most powerful sorcerer, however petty, bother with the nagging fleas of Tel Moussa?

He should worry about Rogert du Tancret. Black Rogert meant to rid himself of the nuisance wasps’ nest called Tel Moussa. That was common knowledge. The Mountain’s Lucidian youths, who mixed with locals, heard it every day.

Of course, what they heard might be what Black Rogert wanted them to hear. The man was a cunning villain.

Nassim had plans for Black Rogert, built upon du Tancret’s character.

Alizarin fell asleep wondering if his enemies studied him.