by Glen Cook
Mohkam and Akir came running with the falcon, pushing the carriage. The little brass cannon could be as dangerous to its operators as to its target. It had not been fired since its test shots at the foundry where it had been cast. Falcons were new, secret weapons meant to be used only in desperate circumstances.
“Firepowder!” Else thundered. “Get moving! Bone! You lazy old fart, let’s go! Heged! Agban! Where are you? Move it! Come on. Come on. Get that firepowder loaded. Charge and a half.”
They looked at him warily but did as they were told. Bone arrived with the gravel. “This shit is everywhere when you’re trying to sleep on the ground. But try to find a gallon when you need it.”
“Get the chest open. Just silver. Fast. Mix it with the gravel.”
“Captain! You can’t . . .”
“Bitch about it later. Akir. Prime it. Heged. Agban. Load the shot. Move. Move.” The bogon would not wait.
Seconds later, Agban jumped back. “It’s ready.”
“Get the ram out.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
Else said, “Good. Done with time to spare. Az. Get your ass over here. With the torch.”
The wizard sputtered. He was no common soldier. He was a Master of Ghosts.
“You’re the one who knows when to touch the fire. Get in here and do it.”
The wolf shapes dared the light, testing the encampment’s wards. The bogon towered eighteen feet high and eight wide, hunched forward like an ape. Its eyes had gained definition.
“Az!”
The wizard shook as he stepped up beside the falcon.
“The rest of you, get down. Get behind something. Or go calm the horses and oxen.” He was pleased that the bogon had chosen to manifest on the side away from the animals. And wondered if there was any significance to that.
In an eye’s blink the bogon finished manifesting.
Al-Azer er-Selim set torch to match hole.
The falcon gouted flame, thunder, and a vast cloud of sulfurous smoke. Else understood instantly that he had been right to overcharge. The firepowder had been damp. It had burned slow. It created so much smoke that, for half a minute, it was impossible to discover the effect of the shot.
Ah! That part had gone perfectly. The bogon was down, full of holes, with darkness evaporating off it like little streamers of black steam. Shredded wolf lay scattered around the monster. Beyond, brush had been leveled and trees stripped of their bark. Several small fires burned out there, already dying. And then there was the quiet, a silence as profound as that in the Void before God created Heaven and Earth.
Awed swearing began to leak from the nearest raiders.
“Bone. Mohkam. Akir. Have you checked the falcon for cracks? Have you swabbed the embers out? Are we ready if that thing gets up off the ground?”
The Master of Ghosts said, “The bogon won’t bother us, Captain. It won’t bother anyone ever again.”
“Then the bogon is no concern anymore, Az. Now we worry about the man who raised it. It isn’t him that we just killed.”
“Worth remembering. He’ll know that he failed. And awareness of the bogon’s destruction will spread fast. Though not how or why. A secret to be kept for sure. A lot of folk will think that some terrible feat of sorcery did it. We should get out of here fast. Before people come to investigate. We aren’t supposed to be here.”
“We can’t move now. Not with our cargo. And I need to collect up as much of the silver as I can.”
“This isn’t our territory, Captain, whatever Gordimer and the Kaif say. The Rhûn, the Arnhander princes, and the Kaif of Qasr al-Zed claim it, too. Their presence is more concrete. We have several unfriendly fortresses within a half day’s travel. Even those mad Unbelievers from the west have their Masters of Ghosts. Anyone who owns a horse is going to head this way. The destruction of a bogon is a major event. You don’t dare ignore it.”
“You’re right, Az. Every word true. And every faction in the Holy Lands has heard that a band of foreigners is skulking around.” You could evade men’s eyes but only the most powerful sorcerers could avoid being noticed by the Instrumentalities of the Night. Else had no means of keeping his force concealed. His tools were speed and deception.
His band had drawn little attention so far. They had collected what they had gone after. They were well on their way home again.
Az continued, “There might even be wild tribesmen around.”
“There might be. They’d have to be stupid to think that we’re an easy chance.”
That could not be denied. Particularly if Else ordered the Sha-lug standard revealed. The wild tribes showed the slave soldiers great respect. Gordimer the Lion, the warrior slave so great that he mastered the mighty and ancient kingdom of Dreanger, would have it no other way. That lesson had been bloodily taught several times.
Else did not want to reveal the band’s allegiance. Too many questions would be asked. Once those started it would not be long before someone unfriendly put answers together. Who knew what evil would come of that?
Else asked, “Do we have any reason to worry again tonight? Will there be another monster?”
“I think not.”
“Then let’s stand down. Get some rest. Bone. I want to be ready to move out as soon as we have enough light. Even if we don’t go right away. Az, have you checked our cargo?”
“I haven’t, personally. The job is being done. Falaq!”
Of course the job was being done. Else’s companions were the best of the Sha-lug. He did not need to mother them.
AS SOON AS THERE WAS LIGHT SUFFICIENT TO INTIMIDATE THE NIGHT, ELSE sent scouts out, posted sentries at the wood’s edge, and had men start collecting the coins that had killed the bogon. He did not expect to recover many. There would be no time. Az was right. Soldiers from the Arnhander city-states, and everyone else interested in the Wells of Ihrian, would head for Esther’s Wood the moment their Masters of Ghosts told them it was safe.
Else observed, “This land could see some blood spilled before the Tyranny of the Night reclaims it.”
Someone suggested, “Suppose we check in with God? We could ask Him to make sure we don’t do any of the bleeding.”
ELSE STARED AT THE SPOT WHERE THE BOGON HAD FALLEN. THE EARTH WAS burned barren, the soil cooked to dust, across a fifteen-foot circle. That formed a shallow bowl a foot deep in the middle. What looked like an obsidian egg six inches on its longer axis lay there. It still radiated heat. Likewise, occasional streamers of mist curled away. You could see into the egg. Which, Else decided, was more kidney-shaped than egg-shaped. Silver coins remained trapped there. The coin nearest the egg’s surface had melted around its rim. The inscriptions upon it were illegible.
Else asked, “The bogon can’t pull itself back together here, can it, Az? It can’t hatch out of this egg? It isn’t some kind of phoenix?”
“No. A bogon is really strong. It’s a king of spirits. But it’s as simple as it’s strong. Easy to kill in its manifest form, apparently. If you have a falcon, forewarning, and some silver shot. Not to mention the assistance of a Master of Ghosts who doesn’t get rattled.” The unshakable Master of Ghosts collected the egg using a pair of heavy sticks. He wrapped it in rags, being careful not to touch it.
“I see. Good to know.” Else was not reassured. Sorcerers, sorcery, and the Tyranny of the Night were beyond his simple understanding. He did not believe them capable of being straightforward or positive, whether they were on his side or opposed. Nor had he ever encountered any evidence to suggest that his attitudes were overly pessimistic.
“Captain!” One of the coin hunters beckoned.
“What have you got?” The man was quite wide of eye.
“A dead man. And not that long gone, either.”
The corpse was charred. What remained of clothing and jewelry was foreign. Likewise, his weapons, though his sword was a horseman’s blade. Around him lay what looked like foreign tools of sorcery.
Al-Azer said, “There should be ho
rses around here somewhere. They’ll tell us a lot.”
“He what I think he is, Az?”
“Probably. Long way from home.”
“Find those horses. You think he was spying on us and got part of the falcon’s load?”
“Looks that way. He had no idea what the falcon was.”
“Interesting. Is he the one who raised the bogon?”
“No. He was too young. But he might’ve worked for the man who did. As an eyewitness. On the other hand, he might have been following us because he knew about the mummies.”
“Too many might haves, Az. What I’d like to know is how one of his kind can be down here, south of Lucidia. Bone! Are you ready to travel?”
“Just give the order, Captain.”
Al-Azer said, “We’ll know more after we look at his horses.”
“You’re sure there’ll be more than one?”
“If he’s really what he looks like he’ll have had at least three.”
* * *
A SOFT TONE FROM A RAM’S HORN SOUNDED AN ALERT. THAT HORN’S voice did not carry far. Else and al-Azer hastened toward the source of the sound.
A youngster named Hagid—not to be confused with Heged the cannoneer—crouched just inside the northeast edge of Esther’s Wood. Hagid was remarkable because he was second-generation Sha-lug. His father was an intimate of Gordimer the Lion. Hagid had been sent with Else for tempering. With the courtier expecting that the boy would return alive, with his parts all still attached. But Else knew the Lion. He understood that the mission meant more than the survival of any privileged boy.
Hagid pointed. A cloud of dust shone brown-orange in the light of the rising sun. The men raising that dust were not moving in a tight column. They were scattered. Later in the day, when the sun stood higher, that dust would be much less obvious.
“Over there,” Az said. “More of them.”
The second cloud, due east instead of north-northeast and emerging from the desert, owned a more yellow cast and was much more obvious.
Else grumbled, “Bone! Where’s Bone? Az. Who’s likely to be coming at us out of the east?” That was all desert in that direction. The little principalities of the Holy Lands lay all tangled up with one another nearer the coast, to the north and west.
Az said, “It’s time to go, Captain. One of those parties will be responsible for our spy. I’d guess the other would include the people who raised the bogon. Which is probably somebody who has something to do with the Kaif of Qasr al-Zed.”
Bone finally turned up. “We found the dead man’s horses. Three of them. We brought the stuff that was on them.”
Else examined bridles, blankets, a saddle, saddlebags containing little but dried food, and things Az said a wizard might carry on a trip. One closed case contained arrows. Another contained a fine recurved bow made of laminated horn. Else said, “This stuff didn’t belong to any Lucidian. Az, check this stuff over with your third eye.”
“Captain . . .”
“I know. Don’t get technical. Do what needs doing. Just be careful. He was out spying while your monster king was hunting. Hagid. Tell Agban to move out now. Due west, toward the coast road.” The sea was less than thirty miles away.
The wood would mask the dust the company raised. And those hunters out there would have to worry about one another.
They would not be friends.
Else examined the bow. “This is horse people work. They must be sending scouts out to see what comes after Lucidia.”
“They’ve never been defeated, Captain,” Bone said. “Not in twenty years.”
“They haven’t met the Sha-lug.” That might be an interesting encounter. The horse barbarians of the steppe were cruel, fearless, and disciplined. Their numbers were supposed to be inexhaustible but that could not be true. They made the best of what they had. They were, first and foremost, nomadic herdsmen.
The Sha-lug knew no life but war and preparation for war. They purchased boy children in slave markets everywhere, though mainly in Qasr al-Zed. Those boys grew up with weapons in their hands. The best and strongest became Sha-lug, the slaves who were masters of the sprawling, wealthy kingdom of Dreanger, the heart of the Kaifate of al-Minphet.
The Kaif of al-Minphet was Karim Kaseem al-Bakr, puppet of Gordimer the Lion, the Supreme Marshall of All Sha-lug, before whom the Enemies of God Wet Themselves in Terror, and so forth, and so forth.
Unlike most Sha-lug, Else was not impressed by Gordimer. He suspected the Lion was less noble than he pretended. Gordimer kept handing him these deadly chores, verging on the impossible. Like Gordimer hoped Else would not return.
In minutes the company was moving toward the coast, where friendly ships would be sure to see them.
Else, al-Azer, and Bone stayed behind.
Bone asked, “You know we’re looking at the Plain of Judgment?”
Else grunted noncommittally. He knew without knowing the significance. Everything in the Holy Lands had historical and religious meaning to someone. Every crag, every dry wash, every wood, and most of all, every mystic well was a thread in a vast and ancient tapestry. Bone or Az would explain. Whether Else was interested or not.
Bone resumed. “Battles have been fought here since before men began recording history. Eleven major battles have been fought between the Well of Calamity south of us and the Well of Atonement to our north. A distance of nine miles. There’ve been scores of skirmishes.”
“Indeed,” al-Azer said. “The Written itself says this is where God and the Adversary will come together in final battle. Some sages, both ancient and modern, say that history began here and that it’ll end here.”
Else was no more religious than he needed to get by. He had not connected this place with the Plain of Judgment in the Written.
The scattered riders in the north drew near enough now for individuals to be discerned. They failed to notice the cloud in the east. They were near enough for the combined effect of their hoofbeats to be sensed, more on the edge of feeling than hearing.
The Master of Ghosts said, “Time to leave. Those are the buddies of the guy who got killed last night.”
Else usually listened to his Master of Ghosts. It seemed the safest way to deal with the Tyranny of the Night. So, he was not there to witness a clash between steppe horsemen and cavalry from the northern Kaifate. The Lucidians were led by the famous Indala al-Sul Halaladin.
Not much happened. Neither force got the other to do anything stupid. Arhanders from Vantrad arrived in the afternoon. The earlier forces faded away as twilight gathered.
After dark supernatural forces got busy.
The Sha-lug made camp on the seaward side of the coastal road. Their carts had suffered badly, traveling cross country. Else doubted that the band would survive the journey south to Dreanger.
Bone was concerned. “What’ll we do if a ship don’t come?” Gordimer had vowed that warships would patrol the coast as far north as the roads of Vantrad until Else and his band were safely home.
“If no ship shows up I’ll strap a mummy on your back. And like some black crow of an old woman, you can lug your baby around while you work.”
Bone was no more religious than Else. That was characteristic of Sha-lug. They had seen too much to be unquestioning in their conviction of God’s Mercy. The old man made a sign warding the evil eye. He followed that with a gesture meant to invoke God’s favor—if He so willed.
Bone did not like the dead. He bore a particular prejudice against those dead who had practiced their trade a long time. Of the ancient dead of Andesqueluz, the Demon Kingdom, whose sorcerer kings’ accursed relicts Else’s Company had pilfered from their tombs, Bone’s opinion consisted of irrational hatred deeply awash in stark terror. These days the Demon Kingdom was lost in the backwaters of history, known intimately only to scholars, but echoes of the terrible truth lived on in myth and fairy tale.
But Bone was a good soldier.
Sha-lug was synonymous with Good Soldier.
> There were no incidents that night. Nevertheless, Else did not sleep well. He could not help anticipating further deviltry from the night.
Al-Azer claimed that the supernatural reverberations of the bogon’s destruction had not damped out yet. Anything might be attempted by sorcerers who wanted to spy on their neighbors during such unsettled times.
* * *
ELSE DID NOT POSSESS AN IMAGINATION ADEQUATE TO ENCOMPASS THE magnitude of his one cannon blast. None of the company but al-Azer er-Selim realized that the blast had changed the world forever.
Al-Azer would never speak the words. He would not write them down. Few mortals would realize the truth, even within the supernatural trades. But that one inspired blast had proclaimed the imminent end of Mankind’s long subjugation to the Tyranny of the Night. Mankind now had a means to contest with the gods themselves, did Man but realize it, for even the greatest gods were nothing more than bogons on a mightier scale, some with a dollop of intellect.
The Wells of Irhian vented concentrated magical power, the fertilizer in which the things of night flourished. The Holy Lands seethed with supernatural beings. The region was as critical to the Instrumentalities of the Night as it was to the religions that considered the Wells of Ihrian the Holy Lands.
There were dozens of other wells of magic scattered around the world but none were as potent as those found in the Holy Lands. Nor as concentrated. And all the wells, everywhere, were in a weakening cycle. Which meant a more difficult existence for the Instrumentalities of the Night, much harder work for sorcerers, and a lot more cold along the bounds of the inhabited world.
