The Redemption of Althalus

by Eddings, Leigh;Eddings, David

  I didn’t quite follow that, Althalus, the boy confessed.

  When you get a little closer to his illusion, it starts to fall apart. Some of those horses out there have all four feet off the ground, and the flags stick out from the lances they’re attached to as if they were made of wood. It’s a picture of an army, Eliar, and that’s all. These two regiments around that striped tent are the entire extent of Gelta’s army. Keep your hand close to the hilt of your Knife when we go into that tent, boy. Gelta’s not entirely sane, so you might have to show her the Knife to bring her back to her senses.

  I’ll watch her, Eliar replied.

  They dismounted in front of the pavilion, and Althalus drew the white toga he’d borrowed from Lord Dhakan up over one shoulder and assumed a supercilious expression. “You, there—fellow,” he said to one of Gelta’s Generals in an arrogant voice, “take me to your leader, and be quick about it.”

  The General’s eyes bulged indignantly, but he held his tongue. He stepped to the front of the striped tent and held the flap open. Althalus tossed a copper penny on the ground at the General’s feet with a negligent gesture as he and Eliar entered the pavilion. “For your trouble, my man,” he said in his best “down the nose” tone of voice.

  “Aren’t you pushing it just a little?” Eliar whispered in a choked voice.

  “Just getting into character,” Althalus murmured.

  The Queen of Night was seated on a rough camp chair inside the tent, and she was obviously trying to look regal.

  Althalus gave her a perfunctory sort of bow. “I am Trag,” he announced, “and I represent her Majesty Andine, Arya of Osthos. What are your demands?”

  “Open your gates,” Gelta rasped.

  “Not until we’ve discussed the terms, madam.” Althalus gave her another “down the nose” look.

  “I might let you keep your head if you do exactly as I tell you,” Gelta replied. Now that he was closer to her, Althalus could see how truly ugly she really was. Her face was a mass of deeply indented pockmarks, and her big nose had obviously been broken several times. She had piglike little eyes and more than a hint of a mustache. She also had shoulders like an ox and a rancid fragrance about her.

  “Madam,” Althalus said coldly, “this is neither the time nor the place for threats. Circumstances have given you a slight advantage, and my Arya has instructed me to inquire as to your terms.”

  “There are no terms, you silly fop!” Gelta flared. “Open your gates to me, or I will destroy your city!”

  “Try to maintain your perspective, madam,” Althalus replied. “Take a moment, if you wish, to go outside and have a look at the walls of Osthos. Our city will stand, no matter what you throw at those walls. A prolonged siege, however, would inconvenience the citizens slightly. To put it to you bluntly, how much will you take to go away?”

  “You are very clever—and very brave—Lord Trag,” Gelta almost purred. “You will not provoke me, however. Your city cannot withstand my forces. I will be in the palace of your Arya by noon tomorrow.”

  Althalus maintained his expression of bored superiority, despite a sudden urge to dance on the table. Gelta had just inadvertently pinpointed the exact time of Ghend’s dream vision. “That has not been determined as yet,” he replied in a lofty tone. “Winter approaches, and the walls of Osthos can surely hold until spring. The spring of which year might still be in question. To avoid unnecessary bloodshed, however, my Arya has agreed to capitulate and give you our city to pillage as you see fit for one week—no more. In return for her most generous offer, you will stand aside until midmorning tomorrow to permit the citizens to depart.”

  Gelta’s face darkened, but the somber-eyed Yakhag, who stood behind her impromptu throne, grasped her shoulder in one mailed fist and leaned forward to whisper to her.

  Gelta shrank momentarily from Yakhag’s grasp, but then she recovered, and her expression became transparently cunning. “Your ordinary people would just be in my way anyhow,” she said in her harsh voice. “Your Arya and her officials, however, will remain in the palace and will surrender to me before noon tomorrow.”

  “That seems to be a reasonable request,” Althalus replied.

  “It wasn’t a request,” Gelta snapped harshly.

  “A linguistic variation, perhaps,” Althalus murmured urbanely. “Your accent seems to suggest an Ansu background, madam, and the language as spoken here in Treborea has progressed quite noticeably in the past several eons. I shall advise my Arya of your demands, and I shall return before sunset with her response. One more thing, however. No burning. If you will not agree to that stipulation, these talks break off right here and now.”

  “Why would I want to burn that which is mine?”

  “Good question. I’m sure you’ll find your stay in my Arya’s palace most pleasing. It has many amenities to which you may not be accustomed. I strongly suggest that you take fullest advantage of the baths while you are there.”

  The faintest hint of a smile touched dead-eyed Yakhag’s lips, and Althalus shuddered.

  Then he shook off that momentary chill and bowed to the Queen of Night again. “Until tomorrow, then, Madam Gelta,” he said politely, and then he and Eliar left the pavilion before the meaning of the remark that had amused the somber Yakhag had fully dawned on his hostess.

  “She let it slip, Em,” Althalus reported when he and Eliar rejoined the others in the tower. “I don’t think she even realizes that she did it. I’m sure Yakhag caught it, though. That one tends to freeze my blood, and I don’t think anything slips past him. Anyway, Gelta’s little charade is scheduled for noon tomorrow.”

  “Can we have everything in place by then, Sergeant?” Dweia asked Khalor.

  “Eliar probably won’t get much sleep tonight,” Khalor replied, “but I think we’ll be ready.”

  “I’ll need to borrow him for about half an hour, Sergeant,” Bheid noted. “I should pass this on to my assassins in Kanthon.”

  Dweia nodded. “And we might want to return Smeugor and Tauri to that fort as well,” she added. “Since Ghend’s going to take care of them for us, we might as well make it easy for him. Were you able to get any sense of what Yakhag’s planning, Leitha?”

  “He was blocking me, Dweia,” Leitha replied, “and I’m not sure exactly how. It’s almost as if he were dead.”

  “In a certain sense, he is dead, Leitha,” Dweia replied. “I don’t think you should try to break through his barrier, dear. He’s even older and more corrupt than Ghend.”

  “Gelta’s afraid of him,” Eliar said. “I could see that every time he spoke to her.”

  “They’re all afraid of Yakhag,” Dweia said solemnly. “Even Ghend’s afraid of that one. Daeva holds Yakhag in reserve in Nahgharash for emergencies.”

  “Doesn’t it make you proud to be an emergency, dear?” Leitha asked Andine archly.

  “Not really,” Andine replied. Then she turned to Dweia. “When should I have Dhakan round up all the spies and cultists in my palace?” she asked.

  “Let’s get that out of the way tonight,” Dweia decided. “As soon as they’re all safely in your dungeon, Sergeant Khalor can start bringing in reinforcements to scoop up Gelta’s soldiers the minute she enters your palace.”

  “Everything’s coming together real neat, isn’t it?” Gher said enthusiastically. “The bad people are all going to think they’ve got the world by the tail until about noon tomorrow, and then it’s all going to turn into a bucketful of worms, isn’t it?”

  “That’s the ultimate reward of a good deception, Gher,” Althalus told him. “It’s not the money or property you get, so much as it’s the satisfaction of outsmarting your victim—and the way he feels when he finally realizes what you’ve done to him. By this time tomorrow, Ghend’s going to be eating his own liver.”

  “You’re a terrible person, Althalus,” Dweia chided.

  “Be honest, Em,” he replied. “Doesn’t the notion of Daeva eating his liver sort of warm the cockles
of your heart just a little?”

  “That’s entirely different,” she sniffed with a toss of her head.

  “I wouldn’t pursue that, Althalus,” Leitha advised.

  ———

  During the night they put on some show of evacuating Osthos. Long, torchlit columns of civilians streamed out through the south gate of the city for Gelta’s entertainment; and once the streets were largely deserted, Lord Dhakan’s officials quietly gathered up the assorted people in the palace that Leitha had identified as agents of the enemy. Then, about two hours before dawn, Eliar and Sergeant Khalor brought the bald-headed Sergeant Gebhel and six regiments of Gweti’s infantry into Osthos.

  “I’d guess that most of them are going to throw down their weapons as soon as they see you, Gebhel,” Khalor told the bald soldier. “There might be a few enthusiasts, though. Make an example of them, and the rest should get the point.”

  “You’re being obvious, Khalor,” Gebhel growled. “What do you want me to do with them after I’ve rounded them up?”

  “I couldn’t care less,” Khalor replied. “You’ll have about ten thousand prisoners on your hands. Maybe you’ll get lucky and come across a slave trader.”

  Gebhel’s eyes brightened. “It’s a thought,” he said.

  “I get twenty percent,” Khalor advised him.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Five at the most.”

  “Fifteen.”

  “You knew it was going to be ten percent, Khalor,” Gebhel said in an exasperated tone. “Why did you start out with that absurd number in the first place?”

  Khalor shrugged. “It was worth a try,” he said.

  “Go away, Khalor. I’ve got to get my men into position.”

  “Just be sure they stay out of sight until I give you the signal.”

  “And did you want me to order them to put their shoes on, too, O mighty military genius?”

  “You can be very offensive sometimes, Gebhel.”

  “Then quit trying to tell me how to do my job. Get out of my face, Khalor.”

  Khalor was laughing when he and Althalus returned to the palace. “I like him,” he said.

  “I never would have guessed,” Althalus murmured.

  The day dawned clear and bright, and autumn had filled the world with color.

  “Don’t bite your fingernails, Andine,” Leitha told her small friend.

  “I’m just a little nervous, Leitha,” Andine replied.

  “Dweia won’t let anything happen to you, dear.”

  “I’m not worried about that, Leitha. Do you think we should run through the performance one more time?”

  “Andine, dear, we’ve practiced it dozens of times already. If you haven’t got it right by now, you never will.”

  “I always get so nervous before I make a public appearance,” Andine admitted. “Once I get started, I’m all right, but the waiting is awful.” She held out her visibly shaking right hand. “Look at that,” she said. “It happens every single time.”

  “You’ll do just fine, dear,” Leitha said, taking the smaller girl in her arms.

  Eliar came into Dhakan’s study. “They’re stirring up their cooking fires right now, Althalus,” he reported. “As soon as Gelta’s regiments eat breakfast, they’ll be ready to move.”

  “They might be, but I think Gelta may want to hold off just a bit,” Althalus replied with a slight frown. “She’s supposed to put her foot on Andine’s neck at noon, and if she does it too early, it’ll probably make things fall apart in the same way they would if she did it late.”

  “I wish Emmy was here.”

  “She is, Eliar,” Althalus assured him. “We might not be able to see her, but she’s here, all the same.”

  The morning dragged on, lasting, it seemed, forever. Then, perhaps two hours before noon, the Queen of Night emerged from her pavilion bellowing orders. Her soldiers scurried to their horses, mounted, and formed up. Then Gelta pulled herself up into her saddle and sat, quite obviously waiting for something.

  Then Argan and the somber-faced Yakhag came out of the garish pavilion. Argan spoke briefly with the Queen of Night, and a short argument broke out between them.

  Yakhag, however, clashed his mailed fist against his black-armored chest, and Gelta and Argan both fell silent with slightly apprehensive expressions.

  Yakhag spoke to the both of them at some length, his face expressionless and his eyes dead.

  Gelta started to object once, but Yakhag once again smashed his fist against his armor.

  “That’s a novel way to tell people to shut up,” Sergeant Khalor observed. “There must be some sort of threat involved.”

  “Probably so,” Althalus agreed. “Emmy doesn’t want to talk about Yakhag, but I’ve seen him bully Gelta once or twice. She’s really afraid of that one.”

  “Why do you and Eliar and Gher always call your wife ‘Emmy’?”

  “It’s one of those pet names married people come up with now and then,” Althalus replied. “It sort of rubbed off on Eliar and Gher. Keep an eye on Yakhag, Khalor. Ghend and Argan are up to something, and Yakhag’s the key to whatever it is. There’s something going on here that I don’t understand, and that always makes me jumpy.”

  The gates of Osthos stood open and unguarded to suggest to the enemy that the city was deserted. Gelta and Yakhag rode triumphantly into the city and along the broad avenue that led to the palace with the two Kanthonese regiments drawn up in close order behind them.

  “She didn’t leave any men to secure the gates,” Khalor said incredulously.

  “Gelta’s a country girl, Sergeant,” Althalus replied lightly. “She hasn’t had much experience with cities. She did put her shoes on, though.”

  “Very funny, Althalus,” Khalor said sardonically.

  When the Queen of Night reached the palace, she barked out several commands, and her regiments surrounded the huge structure.

  “We could call Gebhel in right now, you know,” Khalor suggested. “That’d put an end to all this nonsense before it went any further.”

  “We’d spoil Andine’s whole day if we did that, and she’d go on about it for weeks.”

  “Good point. She’s got a pretty voice, I suppose, but I hate it when she points it in my direction.”

  When they reached the throne room, Andine was practicing her cringing for all she was worth.

  “Isn’t she overdoing that just a bit?” Khalor quietly asked.

  “Her audience isn’t going to be very sophisticated,” Althalus replied. “Now, Sergeant, listen rather carefully. Andine’s going to kneel down in front of Gelta, and that’s your signal to start the ball rolling. As soon as Andine’s knees touch the floor, I want Gebhel’s troops to move on the men surrounding the palace, and I’ll want the men you’ve got hidden here to overpower Gelta’s bodyguards. You’re going to be hearing some peculiar sounds, but don’t pay any attention to them.”

  “Your wife’s already explained all this to me, Althalus,” Khalor said.

  “She did? She didn’t tell me she was going to do that.”

  “Maybe she was trying to surprise you. I know where I’m supposed to be and what I’m supposed to do. Now why don’t you go on inside and let me take care of things out here?”

  Althalus went on to the throne room, grumbling to himself.

  It may have been pure coincidence, but it probably wasn’t, that the long-familiar wailing sound began to echo through the halls of Andine’s palace the moment Althalus entered the throne room, and no more than a moment later the Queen of Night appeared in the doorway with Argan and the dead-eyed Yakhag close behind her. “What wench is this who doth defile my seat?” Gelta demanded harshly.

  “I . . . I am Andine, Arya of Osthos,” Andine replied in a quavering voice.

  “Thou wert! But no more! Let the wench be bound in chains, and let this task fall to her own servants, so that they who loyally follow me be not defiled by touching this abomination!”

  “Would you do the ho
nors, Lord Trag?” Argan suggested to Althalus in a faintly amused voice.

  “As you wish, Reverend Sir,” Althalus replied, bowing slightly.

  Something wasn’t right here. Neither Argan nor Yakhag had been present during the original dream vision. He moved quickly to the throne, however. Andine was well rehearsed, but still . . . Keep your mouth shut and your eyes on the floor, he silently advised. Gelta’s trying to goad you into some kind of flare-up.

  I’ll kill her! Andine shouted silently in reply.

  Althalus had prudently concealed a set of chains identical to those Andine had worn in the original dream, and he quickly clapped them around the Arya’s wrists and ankles. Don’t wiggle! he sent his thought through the curtain of her rage. The chains aren’t locked. Then he took her roughly by the arm and dragged her from her throne.

  “Thy service shall not go unrewarded, Lord Trag,” Gelta told him, striding toward the throne. “Advise all others herein that submission unto me is the path to life.”

  “It shall be as thou dost command, O Queen of Night,” Althalus replied, bowing deeply.

  The wailing rose to shake the very walls.

  Then Gelta, Queen of Night, mounted the dais and sat upon the golden throne of Osthos with imperious demeanor and bleak satisfaction.

  “And now shalt thou kneel and submit unto me, frail child,” ox-shouldered Gelta said, “and should thy submission please me, mayhap I shall spare thy life.”

  Althalus once again seized Andine’s arm and dragged her up onto the dais. You know what to do, he sent to her. Do it.

  Andine dropped to her knees. “Do with me as thou wilt, mighty Queen,” she said in her best throbbing voice, “but I pray thee, spare my beloved city.”

  Keep talking! Althalus hissed. Every word you speak is disrupting Ghend’s original version of this.