Moontide 03 - Unholy War

by David Hair

  In the end it all comes down to money.

  The cost of doing business with the calipha was not cheap, but she had done well by the army. The gold had been used to purchase vital supplies: not just food, but leather, timber, iron, coal, even complete sets of chainmail and thousands of spears and swords, as well as more than a thousand desert-bred Khotri horses. The calipha’s prices were extortionate, but if they were going to get out of Ardijah undetected, it’d be worth it, Ramon was convinced of that.

  ‘You will all be gone by dawn, yes?’ Calipha Amiza asked in her thickly accented Rondian.

  Ramon glanced sideways at her. He might admire her ruthless avarice but he didn’t trust her. Good thing she thinks that’s the last of our gold, he thought, or she’d turn on us to claim the rest, of that I’m positive. But he still kind of liked her. ‘Well gone,’ he assured her.

  ‘Good. Life can return to normal here.’

  ‘Provided Salim doesn’t try and cross anyway.’

  ‘Salim does not need a war with Khotri,’ the calipha replied, a faint smile on her face. ‘He will pursue you, but he will respect the border. Of this I am confident.’

  ‘I trust you are happy with all of the deal?’

  The calipha glanced over her shoulder towards the room inside. ‘Renn is precisely the sort of husband I need. Powerful, but easily led.’ She smiled smugly. ‘Though I enjoyed your comfort in the aftermath of my previous husband’s unfortunate demise.’

  Ramon flushed. ‘Er, about that …’ The mental image he’d been trying to ignore sprang to his mind: her pulling him into her sitting room with her husband’s body still warm, and he’d been powerless to do other than what she wanted. She was a magician too, in her own way. Not conventionally beautiful, but fully aware of her best assets and how to use them – possibly far more than the cloistered wife of a caliph should. Even so, he wasn’t proud of that encounter. Sevvie was carrying his child and deserved better. ‘I don’t—’

  Amiza waved a hand dismissively. ‘We shared a moment, nothing more. Something we can both fondly remember, yes?’ She caressed the back of his hand, smiling secretively. ‘You will henceforth be faithful to your wife, yes?’

  He shifted awkwardly. ‘Si.’

  ‘Anyway, Renn is very nearly the perfect man: he has powerful magic, a large phallus and a small intellect.’

  Ramon laughed uneasily. ‘How romantic.’

  ‘A woman in my situation must marry with her head, not her heart.’ She poked Ramon in the chest. ‘You would have been too much trouble, though I think perhaps, you might have pleased both my head and my heart.’

  ‘Severine and I have a child together,’ Ramon reminded her. And himself.

  ‘You and I have too,’ she murmured.

  ‘What?’

  Amiza smiled secretively. ‘We conceived, that night, you and I. Renn did not enter my bed until after I had already missed my courses.’ She touched his hand. ‘Congratulations, Magister.’

  Ramon glanced anxiously over his shoulder. ‘Does Renn—?’

  Amiza shook her head. ‘He knows I am with child. He believes it to be his.’

  Sol et Lune! Ramon exhaled.

  ‘So are you sure you don’t want to stay?’ she asked slyly.

  He blinked, speechless for a moment, and then he sighed regretfully. ‘I cannot. The army … Sevvie …’ Running a kingdom would have been fun, though. They shared a speculative, slightly regretful look, then she was all business again.

  ‘Perhaps you will leave a little gift for my unborn, Magister? Something worthy of a calipha’s child?’ She winked. ‘Gold is appropriate.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he muttered.

  The curtain behind them parted and Renn Bondeau stepped through, resplendent in a richly decorated Keshi coat and a turban. His chin was unshaven and his moustache was growing thickly.

  No longer the surly, baby-faced young mage I flew with to Pontus! Ignore the pale skin and he could almost pass for a local nobleman. Which was what Renn Bondeau was about to become.

  ‘Sensini? You’re still here?’ he observed sullenly.

  ‘Good to see you too, Renn. I guess you’ll be out of reach of the bailiffs here.’

  Bondeau scowled, then patted his coat, preening. ‘It suits me, hmm? Caliph of Ardijah! Once a mage of Pallas, now an Eastern potentate! Who could have foreseen it?’

  ‘No diviners I know,’ Ramon replied. He dropped his voice and murmured, ‘Watch your back, Renn. You’re still an infidel devil to most of the people here.’

  ‘Do not presume to advise me, you sewer rat! Anyway, I am to convert to the Amteh.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Why not? Let’s see if Kore or Ahm strikes me down at the altar, or whatever they call it here.’

  ‘You do know that they pray six times a day.’

  Bondeau’s eyes widened. ‘Really? Well, that’ll change. First law I’ll pass, damn it.’ He ignored his bride-to-be and turned back to Ramon. ‘Oh, and don’t try taking refuge here again. This is my town now and we don’t need lost soldiers wandering in.’

  ‘There – and I thought I’d come back after the war and bring you some Brician wine, for old time’s sake.’

  ‘We had no old times, Silacian. But do send the wine. That’s one thing I’m going to miss here.’

  ‘We’ve left you a cask,’ Ramon told him. ‘Consider it a wedding gift.’ He stepped back, and gave them both a flourishing bow. ‘I wish you both health, wealth, happiness and many children.’

  ‘Already started on that,’ Renn announced, puffing out his chest.

  Let’s hope it takes after its mother.

  ‘Sal’Ahm, Magister Ramon,’ Calipha Amiza purred. ‘I shall not forget you bursting into my house.’ Her nose twitched. ‘A most propitious and profitable day.’

  Ramon took his leave of the calipha and her caliph-to-be and hurried down to the bridge, where Pilus Lukaz and his cohort awaited. They were all mounted now, and had been practising their riding on the southern end of the causeway, out of the sight of the Keshi on the north bank. None of them were particularly confident riders yet, but all of them could trot and even canter at need. Predictably, Vidran, Harmon and Lukaz himself were the best, but Ramon thought a few of the others would soon be equally as accomplished. They’ll get plenty of practise in the next few weeks – we’ve got twenty-five days to cover two hundred and fifty miles to the bridge over the Tigrates. It should be a comfortable march, except that they didn’t know the roads. Ten miles a day was considered good going for an army in hostile territory.

  Pilus Lukaz saluted. ‘Are you ready, sir?’

  Ramon glanced at the balcony above and the thin woman looking down at him. Renn Bondeau was nowhere in sight. He touched his right fingers to his forehead, then his left chest, and the calipha echoed his actions. Head and heart.

  Then he turned his mount and they trotted south across the bridge. By dawn they were far away.

  That night, after the first day of their trek to Vida and safety, Baltus flew in and reported that the Keshi army had not followed. Their deception appeared to have worked.

  *

  Seth Korion watched the tail of the army march away east along the north bank of the Efratis. They were three days out of Ardijah and had forded the river that day. He was now officially back in Kesh. It was evening, and just two horses waited by the river: his and Latif’s.

  He’d been avoiding Salim’s impersonator during the journey, which was easy to do when there were men to supervise, scouts to consult with and orders to write. There was never nothing to do in an army, especially one that had to make ten miles a day or risk attack. And they now had two thousand Khotri women in their baggage train; they’d be a severe drain on food and water, but there would have been mutiny if he’d refused permission for the new legion wives to travel.

  But now here he was with Latif, just the two of them, standing beside the Efratis River, and about to part for ever.

  ‘So,
my friend,’ Latif started. He looked as sad as Seth felt. They were both dressed for travelling and holding the reins of their horses. ‘I will speak to Salim, as we have agreed. I am confident that he will agree: you must cross the Tigrates River at Vida by the last day of Rami – your Septinon – or hostilities must resume. Do not let me down, please.’

  ‘Of course! We will not detain your army further. Go and deal with my father, if you can.’

  Latif smiled faintly at that. ‘We have plans for your father. This is still a war, Seth Korion. A holy war.’

  ‘Can a war ever be holy?’

  ‘When the cause is just.’

  ‘It all seems very unholy to me,’ Seth replied. He pulled off his gauntlet and offered his hand. ‘Good fortune, Latif. I hope we can meet again, somehow.’

  ‘When this is over, who knows?’ Latif took his hand, stepped closer. ‘In my land, close friends greet each other with a kiss to the lips. There is no shame or dishonour in the greeting.’ He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Seth’s. He tasted of cinnamon and cloves.

  It left Seth feeling unsettled, scared almost, but he was unsure of what.

  ‘Sal’Ahm,’ Latif breathed. ‘May He shine His eyes upon you and guide your path.’ He stepped away, bowed formally, and swung into the saddle. His little mare pranced, eager to be moving.

  Seth raised a hand. ‘So tell me, is your name really Latif?’

  The impersonator laughed. ‘Farewell, Seth Korion!’ He loosened the reins and squeezed his thighs gently and the horse leaped into motion. He rode as he did everything, Seth thought: immaculately.

  Seth raised a pale hand and stared after him until he was gone from sight.

  31

  The Vizier’s Gambit

  The Many Faces of Power

  Some say that military might is the pinnacle of power; others that the way to real dominance is the control of minds through religion. Still more claim that social rank or wealth is the key. But I have always held that knowledge is supreme: know more than others and the rest will follow.

  ERVYN NAXIUS, ORDO COSTRUO, 904

  Teshwallabad, Lakh, on the continent of Antiopia

  Shaban (Augeite) 929

  14th month of the Moontide

  Dareem had introduced Alaron and Ramita to a room beneath the vizier’s palace – a place not even the servants knew about – where he and Hanook practised the gnosis, and it was to here Alaron retreated so that he wouldn’t have to think about Ramita today. He had his kon-staff with him; he thought it best to start integrating his strangely mutating gnosis with his new weapon.

  The room had been dug into the ground to suppress any gnostic echoes, and there was no furniture save for a few wooden targets, frames hung with charred and dented armour. The back wall was similarly blackened and scarred. There was a pool of water at one end, and a big copper brazier filled with coal, and a pile of rocks of varying sizes.

  ‘How do your botany studies progress?’ Dareem asked, as he turned to leave.

  Alaron said neutrally, ‘Well enough,’ though it was difficult to act so relaxed about it now that Hanook’s library had supplied the last remaining ingredient-runes for the Scytale. He still had questions about the measures of each ingredient required, and a larger problem: was this recipe all that was required, or were they just variants to add to a base compound? He was still chewing on that particular question, but it was not something he wished to discuss with his hosts, not yet at least.

  ‘Lady Ramita is doing what is best,’ Dareem said neutrally, though his gaze hinted at sympathy. ‘I hope you see that.’

  Alaron made a show of examining the gaudy new orange rakhi-string on his wrist, then looked up. ‘I need to concentrate,’ he said shortly. For a moment Dareem and he locked stares, and all the things they could have said throbbed in the air.

  I wonder what he hopes for? Perhaps that it will fall through so he can marry her himself …?

  He waited impatiently until Dareem had bidden him good morning and left, then sealed the doors. It was a relief to be alone, and he had a burning core of frustrated energy to burn off. He set to work.

  First came the kindling of the gnosis, all of it. He closed his eyes, opened his gnostic sight, and spread the ‘arms’ of his aura, holding the elements. He opened the sigil on his forehead and four ‘eyes’ of light formed above his head: the Sorcerous studies. He conjured the cloak on his back – four strips for each of the Hermetic Studies – and summoned the four female faces he associated with the Theurgy studies. Whilst none came as easily as just Fire used to, if he held them apart, they were all accessible. He fed them power, waited until they were all solidly in place, then he opened his eyes, twirled the kon-staff and began to move.

  Until then, all an ordinary watcher would have seen was a young man standing immobile for a minute, before going into a series of slow but well-balanced staff movements. But now he began to add gnostic blows too, aiming at the wall, first simple mage-bolts, the pure energy strike that was every mage’s standard weapon. They set the targets rattling and the air was tinged with the faint whiff of smoke.

  So far, so ordinary …

  He spun, a pirouetting turn, and in quick succession hurled fire, a rock and a blast of air, then finished by trying to douse it all in water. The flame exploded against the target, the rock missed and he fumbled the other two.

  He cursed, paused to re-gather his grip on the elements, then tried again.

  The second time the Fire and Earth were easier, but he lost Air and Water before he’d even attempted the strikes. Hel! I’m reverting to old ways. But I can do this …

  This time he worked from Water to Air to Earth to Fire. A jet of water erupted from his fingers and missed the target; lightning crackled through the puddle, and the rock and flame were weaker than the previous attempts. He didn’t care about that, though: he’d kept hold of all four elements and loosed them on command. He punched the air and shouted in exhilaration.

  The next time was better, and the one after that, better again. He began to vary the order, but now he was able to keep control. He upped the energy, then tried different effects: dousing the flames by sucking the Fire-energy away, then manipulating Air and making the pool of water dance, all the while using Earth to make a rock spin in the air. After half an hour he was drenched in sweat and labouring for breath, but brimming with excitement, his earlier bad mood forgotten.

  Has anyone else ever done that? But I need to go further …

  He’d not tried the more involved studies before now so he started small, growing a dart of the end of his wooden staff then firing it into the targets. Then he added a raking blow with talons conjured on his left hand. It took time and practise, but at last it came.

  He knew enough Necromancy to be able to send a withering blast of purple light into the wall; then he mixed it with banishing spells against an imagined summoning, and illusory images against an imagined foe. Spells he already knew a little about came easiest, of course, but he managed to make a start even on those he’d only been told of.

  I can do this, he told himself, trying not to get too excited. I just need to find experts now, people who can coach me in each Study … that’s as long as I don’t get locked up – there’s probably some law against magi who can do every study.

  Finally he stopped, utterly exhausted and almost euphoric. That soured, as for the first time since Dareem had left, he wondered what time it was, and whether Ramita was back.

  Today she’d gone to meet the mughal.

  *

  ‘My lady, I promise you that you will be safe, even if this interview does not go as planned.’

  Ramita looked up at Hanook. As you planned, she thought. Her own plans were not at all clear.

  They were walking along a very long, well-lit underground tunnel that ran for half a mile from the vizier’s palace to the Mughal’s Dome. It had been built to give the vizier secret access to the ruler, and to provide an escape route for the mughal. Right now, i
t was leading Ramita to her first assignation with the young ruler.

  ‘Vizier, are you an Omali worshipper?’

  ‘I attend an Omali temple every day, to show solidarity with the vast majority of the people of this kingdom.’

  ‘But you are the child of a Rondian and a Khotri Amteh, and you were taught by Zains?’

  ‘That is true, but I have always felt that it is important that someone at court gives voice to the faith of the people, and as no Omali pandits are permitted to attend upon the king, that role falls to me. As the pandits themselves say, all four winds blow towards God.’

  Ramita smiled. Her family’s guru said the same. ‘I will not give up my faith,’ she told him.

  Hanook pursed his lips. ‘I mentioned earlier that it would be incumbent upon any bride of the mughal to become Amteh. The Ja’arathi sect is milder and—’

  ‘I will not convert,’ Ramita interrupted firmly. ‘It would be dishonest and I will not do it.’

  Hanook frowned, and sidestepped the argument. ‘Of what faith is Alaron Mercer?’

  She was a little taken aback. ‘Kore, I suppose. Though he only ever speaks his god’s name when cursing. I think perhaps that he does not believe in his god at all.’

  ‘And this does not trouble you?’

  ‘Why should it? I don’t believe in his god either.’

  Hanook smiled wryly. ‘Your husband was a noted atheist.’

  ‘He was strange like that,’ Ramita agreed. ‘But he allowed me to practise my beliefs. Your mughal must do the same if he wishes to marry me.’

  ‘What about this Alaron then? You care for him, do you not?’

  Ramita sucked in her lower lip. ‘Al’Rhon has been a good and loyal companion. He has never overstepped.’