Working God's Mischief

by Glen Cook

  Did longevity qualify them for special empathy? Their long lives had provided them untold opportunities to rain down misery on mortals.

  “Piper, do you know where you want to point that thing?” Cloven Februaren asked.

  “What?”

  “Your loudmouth toy. You leaning on it has got the business end pointing at the floor.”

  “I was going to skip the shot off the deck.”

  “A creative approach. But it might do more damage to the good guys.”

  “Upon reflection, I agree. How much longer?”

  “Depends on your sister. She wants to wrap everything this one trip. I could use a few hours down in the tavern, though. And a good long nap.”

  “Must be a trying life, being a bitter old man.”

  “Damned straight it is.”

  Heris was right there to hear herself discussed, and to see the ascendant and Bastard nod. She ignored them all.

  The hammer mill made the place shake.

  * * *

  Pella dashed in, pushing his way past indignant divinities. “Dad … The bridge…”

  “Get some air inside. Then tell it like it’s old news.”

  The boy drew several breaths. “The bridge. That goddess with the apples. She’s stealing the magic from the rainbow.”

  “Asgrimmur?”

  “Damn! The bridge is the only magic left. But who would think that any of these dimwits could unravel Aelen Kofer work?”

  Hecht said, “We could drag one of these boomers down the hall, tilt it out a window, and take a shot.”

  “Not necessary. Let me talk to Eavijne. Heris?”

  “Go. I’ll stay and figure out how to fly down.”

  Hecht’s companions were more cautious once Asgrimmur left. No one turned a back on the divinities. But the Instrumentalities had their own problem. The eldest female gestured. The youngest took off after Asgrimmur. Hecht intuited that she had orders to support the ascendant.

  No point escaping prison if you just ended up in a bigger cell.

  The senior goddess said something.

  The Bastard said, “That’s classical Andorayan. The Old Gods still had a rural following when I was young. I might be able to talk to her.”

  Heris said, “Chances are, she’s following everything we’re saying. She wanted to talk to you without the god killers understanding.”

  Hecht said, “A leopard is a leopard and a lion is a lion, Renfrow.”

  “Folksy, but what does it mean?”

  Heris knew from her middle-eastern days. “That you’re deluding yourself if you think a lion or a leopard can be turned into anything but a lion or a leopard. A major Instrumentality, even with his balls in a vise, will go right on thinking like a god.”

  “Understood. And understood.” Renfrow faced the goddess. Who seethed, clearly.

  Hecht expected nothing more. He thought Heris was trying to domesticate leopards.

  Heris picked up the two soul eggs still nearly too warm to touch. “They aren’t gone permanently.” The hammer mill cycled. “But we won’t try to restore them while any of us feel uncomfortable about any of you.”

  Ferris Renfrow asked, “We’re taking hostages?”

  The goddess responded, “Save the bluster. I’m not Red Hammer. An offense to my dignity won’t shatter my reason. I know we’re dependent on your good will. That’s galling but even the gods themselves bend the knee to needs must.”

  “No knee bending required,” Heris said. “Just cooperation. Tit for tat. We aren’t asking for anything beyond our lifetimes.”

  “The situation is clear in all its aspects, Godslayer Heris. Go ahead with your work.” She turned.

  The lone male deity appeared. He carried maybe fifteen feet of rope.

  “Where was that hidden?” Heris grumbled.

  “I’ll be damned!” Renfrow said, in pure awe.

  “What?” Hecht demanded while Februaren nodded as though he understood, too.

  “Geistrier, Commander.”

  “Bless you. What’s happening?”

  “Geistrier is a rope that’s always as long as it needs to be and so strong the giant Blognor couldn’t break it when it was used to tie him up.”

  A beautiful, shining girl turned up carrying a spear. It looked perfectly ordinary, an infantry spear, made for thrusting, not throwing. Shaft eight feet long, blade adding another foot and two inches wide at its hips, its edges sharpened. The spearhead glowed with the opposite of light.

  “Heartsplitter,” Renfrow said, clearly in awe.

  Soon afterward someone turned up with a horn, then a hammer, ragged silk slippers, and a flute. None of the relics looked like much.

  The Bastard muttered, “It’ll be scary as hell getting out if the bridge is gone. But we can do it with their help.”

  “I’m still wondering what I’m doing here. I have a big war in the east that I should be getting ready for.”

  Pella had not lingered after delivering his shaker. Now Vali rushed in. “Heris, Asgrimmur says to tell you the situation isn’t as bad as he thought. The rainbow is still solid. It’s just not wide enough for carts anymore.”

  “I’ll strangle Iron Eyes next time I see him. That stubby prick saw this coming.”

  Most mortals had to ride goat carts across because they were not psychologically fit to walk on air. The Aelen Kofer had taken the goats along when they scurried out of the Realm of the Gods. There would be no escapes from the Realm, however inept the overconfident middle-worlder mortal rescuers were.

  Whatever happened, no one, mortal or Instrumentality, would depart the Great Sky Fortress without walking the rainbow bridge.

  It was there for anyone with the nerve to walk it.

  * * *

  The hammer mill cycled for the last time. The Great Sky Fortress creaked and shook. Heris made sure every crumb of cracked egg, every recoverable speck of dust, preceded a silver ball into the hidden universe. “All right. Time for a beer. Or three. Or ten. And then a week of sleep. I’ll decide what next when I wake up.”

  Nobody asked questions. Nobody wanted Heris thinking of something else that needed doing. Excepting the Trickster.

  Even the least sensitive, like Piper Hecht, felt the desperation building as the trapped Instrumentality finally understood that he would not be released.

  His peers were indifferent. He had exhausted their patience and friendship.

  Hecht watched Heris pack the soul eggs of Zyr and Red Hammer, admiring her detailed and meticulous work, even in circumstances that encouraged haste and sloppiness.

  Heris asked, “What should we do about the falcons? We can’t take them with us.”

  “Damn! Give me a second to think like Kait Rhuk or Drago Prosek.” The observing Instrumentalities seemed intrigued.

  “I’ll fix them so they can only be unfixed by one of my experts.” A challenge to the gods. “Iron Eyes will come back someday. After he gets over the beating I’m going to give him. He can rebuild the rainbow bridge, then haul the falcons out on his goat carts.”

  “Make sure they can’t be used against us later, then let’s go drink some beer.”

  “Where’s that keg of firepowder? All right. I see it. Go ahead and take off.” He wondered about her thirst as he pounded a sliver of iron into the touch hole of a falcon. Heris was not a drinker, unless she had developed a taste since coming to the Realm of the Gods.

  The room shivered. Hecht felt a hint of rage from the trapped Instrumentality. He reflected momentarily. “Better do it. Just in case.” He collected the firepowder keg.

  “Dad? You going to futz around all day?”

  “Vali. How come you’re back up here?”

  Glassware fell, crashed. They both jumped.

  “Anna sent me to find out why you didn’t come down when Heris did.”

  “Work to do here.” He fiddled with a spring. “I’m almost done.”

  “They’ve started crossing the bridge.”

  “I didn’t rea
lize I was taking too much time.”

  “She’s just worried. You know she worries.”

  “Uhm.” He surveyed the falcons. All spiked. Firepowder keg, set to go.

  “I mean really worries, Dad. When you’re away.”

  “Let’s go.”

  The room shivered again. Hecht thought this tremor was weaker. The prisoner had spent his strength and fury.

  * * *

  Clever gods had made crossing the bridge easy. One took an end of Geistrier across and tied it to a boulder. Heartsplitter, thrust into the fabric of the bridge, supported the rope midway. The near end was tied to an old, green brass post of memorial significance. Nobody remembered of what. Asgrimmur said, “It may have a part in the Twilight War. I’m not sure. You changed everything. A destiny that has been fixed since the beginning just isn’t anymore.”

  “I wish I was that important to history. But Anna and Heris are bigger god killers than me.”

  “Not true. You forget Seska and the ancients you put down in the Connec. But why worry about that? We have a bridge to cross.”

  Hecht had been trying to tame his dread. There were heights and heights. This was the kind where you could not see a place to stop falling.

  Nothing in his training had prepared him for this. Such a challenge could not arise because a situation like this could not exist. This was a fever dream of savages not yet blest with the Word of God.

  Asgrimmur said, “Just step up to the post, take hold of the rope, close your eyes, and head out. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Hecht took a quick look round. Most everyone was across. Lila was halfway over, striding confidently, fingers lightly dragging along the rope. A goddess walked in front of her. Another moved behind. Neither was close enough to help if the girl lost her footing.

  Anna was over and waiting. If she could manage, he could.

  Vali raced past as he moved toward the head of the bridge, ran out onto the span like it was a mile wide and built of granite. The youngest Shining One, Aldi, was close behind. Her courage flagged when she came to the bridge. Vali ran till she overtook the slow mover behind Lila.

  “Say nothing,” the ascendant cautioned softly. “Don’t distract her.”

  “No. But I’m not so sanguine about the one chasing her.”

  “She’s safe. But I’ll remind her not to irritate the god-killing folk.”

  “Good. And the god-killing folk will have a come-to-Aaron meeting with their daughter, in case she did something stupid.”

  “There you go.” Asgrimmur sounded like he was having trouble not laughing. “They’re just young people having fun.”

  That was plain enough from the body language Vali and Aldi showed.

  Hecht ground his teeth, shut his eyes, groped for the rope, grabbed hold, and started walking.

  Anna swarmed him when he reached the other side. “You made it.”

  “Of course I did. It’s like crossing a creek on a fallen tree.”

  “Only it takes you longer to get wet after you slip. Piper, we need to talk to the girls.”

  Vali and Lila were just a few feet away, the former striving mightily to look like butter would not melt in her mouth. Meaning it was certain that she had started whatever it was that he had witnessed. “Yes. Where is Pella?”

  “He’s still over there. With that Eavijne.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s a crush that won’t go anywhere. She’s taken.”

  “Good. I don’t want any of us getting friendly with these devils.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Worried about our souls.”

  Pella approached the nether end of the bridge. Asgrimmur went back to help.

  Hecht asked about that.

  “He’s helping everybody.”

  “So. I guess that’s a good thing.”

  “Better than any of the gods. They won’t even help each other.”

  True. Those who were over already were headed down the mountain, indifferent to anything happening behind them.

  “Just like real people.”

  “More so. They’re much too sure of themselves.”

  Ferris Renfrow and Cloven Februaren were on the path downward, too. They had no interest in what was going on behind them.

  Pella was deathly pale when he arrived. “Dad, I hope we don’t ever do anything like that again. I’m not good with heights.”

  “You and me both. Asgrimmur, who’s still over there?”

  “Just Eavijne, trying to nurture her orchard.”

  Pella said, “She doesn’t want to believe things turned out the way they did. It’s like she hopes that if she just wishes hard enough the world will be what she wants it to be.”

  Hecht said, “Some mortals think the same way.”

  Anna opined, “That’s how it is for gods, though, isn’t it? They wish for stuff and that’s what happens.”

  “Here she comes,” Asgrimmur said.

  Eavijne trudged onto the bridge. She carried a red sack. “Apples,” Pella explained. “Sick apples, all weird and shriveled.”

  “Where’d she get the sack?” Hecht asked. “More wishful thinking?”

  Heris said, “The dwarves left it. It was used to haul ammunition.”

  Eavijne had just grasped the spear Heartsplitter when an explosion ripped a dozen square yards out of the face of the Great Sky Fortress.

  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.