by Glen Cook
Socia said, “I don’t know when Raymone will be back. Maybe when all the invaders are dead. More likely, in time to see his first son born. Meantime, he trusts me to handle things. So be frank, Master. Why did Isabeth send you? What does she want?”
Brother Candle presented his documents. He said what he had been told to say. Socia did not respond. Finished talking, in danger of an exhausted collapse, he begged to be released. The Countess said, “Thank you, Master. You’ll be in your usual cell. Go.” She began to talk to Kedle about mundanities like nursing and labor.
***
Count Raymone returned three weeks after Brother Candle’s arrival, not in a happy state. The Captain-General had departed the Connec in good order. The Society had slipped away with him. There were no more enemies to torment and butcher, except as necessary to maintain civil order.
Raymone Garete was not quite sure what to do with himself in a world where he lacked enemies.
37. Lucidia: The Great Campaign
Indala’s effort to unify the kaifates of al-Minphet and Qasr al-Zed won the title “The Great Campaign” while it developed. Indala al-Sul Halaladin could not have wished a better champion to shield the flank of his line of communications than Nassim Alizarin. No caravans passed Tel Moussa, westbound or east. No reconnaissance companies got by to go spy on Shamramdi. The Arnhanders of Gherig enjoyed their customary daily pressure — though it was necessary to be wary of the young castellan. Anselin of Menand was vigorous, clever, and determined. He gave as good as he got.
Nassim Alizarin developed an admiration for the boy.
They fell into a routine of patrol and counterpatrol, each trying to lure the other into making a mistake. The Mountain held a slight edge in number of successes. Anselin’s youth did work against him occasionally. He suffered moments of impatience.
The news from the south, that summer, was less than golden. Despite the disadvantages Gordimer had created through bad living and an increasingly bad character, despite his having alienated the friendships of those he dealt with daily, the Marshal of the Sha-lug had not lost the genius that had made him a dread opponent.
Gordimer’s mystique was founded on the fact that he never lost a battle when he was in charge. As a boy, in school, he never lost a skirmish with a fellow student. As a young officer he carried out every assignment successfully and brought his companions home.
He had known defeat as a minor participant in two lost battles. Neither time had he been in charge, nor near those making decisions, but he had been close enough to see defeat develop and understand why.
Nassim Alizarin had been there near Gordimer throughout the early years, a clever captain himself. He had risen as the Lion rose.
None of the news from the south surprised the Mountain.
The forces of al-Minphet — only a minority Sha-lug, especially early on — crumbled before the Lucidian host. Till Gordimer himself left al-Qarn and met the invaders at Nestor, where the desert gave way to the green fecundity of the Shirne delta. There the superior numbers and quickness of Lucidian horsemen did little good. The Sha-lug fixed them in place on boggy ground while engines aboard Dreangerean galleys in channels nearby punished them with continuous missile fires.
The again rehabilitated sorcerer er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen aided the Dreangerean cause dramatically.
The engagement at Nestor was unusual. It occurred in brief, sudden bloodlettings over several days once the initial massive exchange subsided. Indala tried to draw Gordimer out. Gordimer worked Indala’s flanks, keeping him fixed within range of the ships. The Lucidians had no means of silencing those.
Each side suffered a level of casualties considered unacceptable in an engagement that would not prove decisive. Indala finally chose a genuine withdrawal into the desert. Once there, out of sight, he sent a substantial force south, through the wilderness. Meanwhile, Indala demonstrated in front of Nestor. That kept the Dreangerean main force in place while the southern group presented itself at the gates of al-Qarn. The city was defended by local militias and retired Sha-lug.
Azim al-Adil ed-Din was one of the commanders in that adventure.
Admitted to the city by traitors, the Lucidians ran wild. They were fierce and merciless, murdering anyone who resisted. A day after getting past the wall they reached the Palace of the Kings and forcibly assumed protection of Kaseem al-Bakr, Kaif of al-Minphet.
The invaders continued vigorous in suppressing resistance, for which they paid. The elderly and retired Sha-lug of the staffs of the various palaces of state refused to yield. Those old men were slower than the Lucidian youngsters but they were crafty and they knew their ground.
The cost of taking the civil center grew too heavy. The invaders took Kaseem al-Bakr and settled in at one of the city’s great temples.
All this news reached Tel Moussa eventually, as it wended its way back to Shamramdi. Nassim strutted around as proud of young Az as if he were his own son.
Other news arrived as well, with Akir’s firepowder and two of the promised falcons. Bad things were happening in the Eastern Empire, specifics uncertain till Akir himself arrived. He had made a side trip to Haeti, to the Dainshaukin founders there. The rest of the four-pounder battery would not be coming.
Raiders from the Grail Empire had overrun the Devedian manufactory before those could be moved out. Akir himself had gotten away, “By the thickness of one of God’s whiskers. Had I wasted another half hour they would’ve caught me.”
There was more. The raiders had taken all the firepowder and weapons, and all the craftsmen as well. They had destroyed the works. Then they had crossed the Vieran Sea to invade Firaldia.
“Why would they do that?” Nassim was confused. Akir seemed unable to tell his story linearly. Too, he wandered off into speculations about what God must be thinking, causing these things to happen.
Nassim listened with the rest of the garrison, during supper. After the meal he told Akir, “Join me for prayers. I have a few questions.”
The Mountain fulfilled his obligation in the highest parapet, with the sun already set and a sliver of moon pursuing the evening star. It was getting chilly.
Akir prompted, “Your questions, General?”
“Your report was confusing. You had so much to say that you didn’t get it out in any sensible order.”
“And that would be the truth.”
The general did not push. Akir could not recall every critical fact if he became excited.
Nassim interspersed questions with comments about a remarkable meteor shower. “The angels are flinging death stones by the score tonight.” He wondered who and where the targets might be. The streaks of fire all headed west.
The Mountain’s efforts brought out news that would not reach his crusader neighbors for days, nor Indala for more than a week.
Three western kings were dead. The three who had crushed the flower of the manhood of al-Halambra. God is Great! The death of one had turned the Grail Empire against the Brothen Church. It now looked like the greatest of all invasions of the Holy Lands might be stillborn. God is Great!
The death of another king placed the heir to one throne right over there in Gherig. God is Great!
Nassim tried to winkle out what Else Tage might be doing along with the real prospects for the Grail Empress’s greatest of all crusades.
Surely she would set that aside, now. And once she fed her hunger for emotional equity, she ought to have no crusader spirit left. Right?
The history of the wars between the Patriarchs and the Grail Emperors was, largely, one of futility. The lords of the scores of little Firaldian polities played them one against the other. They had an interest in chaos. It inflated their importance.
Still … Much would depend on Captain Tage. He might be the man to shatter the deadlock so he could head east, to address his own grievances. Gordimer might survive Indala only to find himself chin to chin with the Grail Empire.
“Akir, tell me more about what happened at the pl
ace where they manufactured the firepowder weapons.”
Akir had nothing else to tell. He had had to flee before he could learn anything useful. “The critical point, General, is that the Grail Empire controls all those weapons and the craftsmen who make them.”
“My heart bleeds, Akir. No good will come of this.”
***
The Mountain knew almost to the instant when news of Regard’s death reached Gherig. Bells started ringing. Their clangor was annoying even at Tel Moussa’s remove.
Nassim had been awaiting the distraction. He began raiding immediately. He enjoyed some success, but only briefly. The Arnhanders of the region dashed inside their fortress. Gherig was like a tortoise pulling in head and legs. The foreigners regained their balance, then counterattacked.
Nassim hoped he could harass Anselin of Menand enough to keep him from leaving. The longer it took him to get home the more chance for chaos to breed there. Arnhand, more than any other infidel kingdom, fed and financed the crusader movement.
Anselin refused to be managed. He came out in force, scattered Nassim’s raiders, drove them back into Tel Moussa and the desert, then headed for the coast. Untroubled.
***
News came up from Dreanger. It was not good. Gordimer and er-Rashal had faked a withdrawal from Nestor. Indala and his generals had believed what they saw. Indala took half the remaining troops and scurried off to see al-Qarn. He was forty miles south of Nestor when the Sha-lug attacked the troops he had left behind. The surprise was complete. The slaughter afterward was very nearly so.
The Dreangerean success put Indala in a position where he had to win his war to survive politically.
His dead all had families to mourn them. Many had relatives of standing who could raise difficulties if they believed lives had been wasted. Further, the unity existing inside Qasr al-Zed did so because of the respect and admiration Indala’s family had inspired by their many successes. Indala must continue to succeed to retain that respect.
Following his triumph the Lion did leave Nestor. He used the great fleet ported at Iskendemea to leapfrog the mouths of the Shirne to that second greatest of Dreangerean cities. There he reorganized and refitted. His intent was to march up the west bank of the Shirne, hoping that Indala would come over and fight. The numbers lay with the Sha-lug and Dreangerean forces.
Indala had achieved most of his goals. He held al-Qarn. He had possession of Kaseem al-Bakr. In the Lucidian mode of thought that should have ended it. But Gordimer and er-Rashal gave those facts no special weight. They were annoyances. Inconveniences. They could be rectified.
The world awaited an outcome.
In the Holy Lands the lords of the Crusader states got ready to jump on the back of the winner.
***
The Mountain was drafting his monthly activities report for the clerks in Shamramdi when old Az appeared. “Big news, General. And it isn’t good.”
“Indala got his head handed to him?”
“No. Not that. That’s still in the hands of God. I’m talking about Queen Clothilde bullying Berismond into giving Gherig back to Black Rogert.”
“Oh.” Nassim sat in glum silence for more than a minute. Then, “What do we know? Where will he be coming from? And when?”
38. Vis Corcula, the Shades
It was a beautiful summer dawn in the Shades. It started chilly. That would change dramatically once the sun climbed high. It had rained off and on all night. A mist now concealed the wildflower-strewn ground out in front of Piper Hecht. Somewhere beyond that, a few miles downslope, lay the encampment of the army sent to clear Vis Corcula of this tumor called the Righteous.
Hecht, Titus Consent, and Rivademar Vircondelet had slipped down there in the darkness and rain. They had not gotten a good look because of the weather but what Hecht had seen assured him that he faced big numbers, entirely disorganized. Heris had been right about Serenity being able to roll out a large mob.
The rain had made hearing unreliable. They avoided getting too close, fearing they might stumble into a sentry post because they could not hear the sentries complaining about having guard duty in foul weather.
There had been a lot of fires, both inside of and outside a low stockade meant to manage sheep and cattle. The camp centered on a longtime livestock operation belonging to the Benedocto family.
Wherever Hecht wandered next morning, willfully alone, the soldiers watched nervously. They wanted to believe he could work a miracle. They wanted to believe they were the best of the best and invincible. But they were daunted by the numbers. A disparity still growing as more troops arrived down below. A plan was in place but was so weird the men did not believe it could be the real plan. It had to be a plan the Commander wanted the Patriarch’s spies to discover.
And that was true. With Hecht hoping the enemy gave it less credence than did his own men, who understood the concept despite its departure from doctrine.
Clej Sedlakova joined Hecht between hummocks that might have been faded recollections of prehistoric burial mounds. “They’re getting nervous, boss. You still haven’t told anybody the real plan.”
“Smoke and mirrors, Clej. That’s the way it stays. What our men don’t know those people down the hill can’t find out. Tell them to do what I say when I say it. What about the meadow?”
“It gets soggier by the minute.” Drainage was not good. Hecht saw several sheets of water, none deep enough to overtop the grasses and wildflowers but definitely deep enough to have gotten into his boots on his way back from scouting.
“Good. That’ll make the footing worse.” He licked a finger and stuck it in the air. “I don’t know about that, though. I can’t decide which way I’d rather have it blow.”
“Either way, somebody ain’t gonna be able to see shit.”
“Yeah. Send me Rhuk and Prosek.”
“Again? Haven’t you pestered them enough? They know what they’re doing. And they have plenty to do. Let them do it.”
“All right.” That used to be his strength. Giving a man a job, then letting him do it. “You’re right. They can handle the details. You’d better get going if you want to get there in time.”
“And if they don’t come today? Or if they just want to talk you into giving up?”
“If not today, tomorrow. They can’t have brought a lot of supplies. They didn’t have time to organize it. If they want to talk, I’ll talk. And be obviously stalling till my situation gets better.”
“You want them to come at us?”
“No. I want them to think that’s what I want. So they’ll be confused. And, maybe, not give me what I want. Oh, damnit! Go gently tell the Empress that it’s not good for her to be wandering around where a massacre could break out any minute.”
Katrin, in armor, roamed the slopes making a studied effort to connect with the soldiers. A cynical effort, to Hecht’s thinking.
“Will do,” Sedlakova said, not bothering to remind him that she would have heard it all from Captain Ephrian already. “She’s probably scaring the men more than giving them heart.” He left, humming a tune that had been a favorite of Madouc’s. If he spoke to Katrin Hecht missed it.
Hecht felt the ghost of a whisper of moving air. A soft voice asked, “You do intend to make a stand here, don’t you?”
Hecht tried and failed to hide his surprise. “Well. Hello. I thought you’d gone off to another world.”
Grinning, the man in brown said, “I did. I’m on holiday while your picky sister makes some arrangements. A detail-oriented girl, our Heris. She’ll do well as the Twelfth Unknown. If we survive all this.”
“We? You’re joining in here?”
“I was speaking generally. But, here? Yes. Good timing, eh?”
“Suspiciously.”
“Not so much. When Heris brought the latest news the Bastard and I decided we had to come back and add to the confusion. I’ve been around for a few days.”
“Really?” Hecht looked round to see who might have notic
ed the Ninth Unknown. The old man appeared to have generated no special interest.
“Two days. First I had to go over and make sure Heris’s falcons don’t end up in the wrong hands before the Aelen Kofer show up. Then I had to see Muno and poke around in the dark corners in Brothe. Not a pretty city, right now. Serenity is out to make it uniquely his own. Muno and his cohorts are undermining him.”
“What were you thinking of getting into here?”
“Mischief, dear boy. Malicious mischief. And lots of it.”
“Like?”
“Well, an invisible man can cause a lot of confusion. Orders could go astray. A general could say one thing and a captain could hear something else. There could be ghosts. Or Night things. Who knows? The options are infinite.” Februaren turned sideways, vanished. Then turned right back into being. “Forgot to tell you. They’re going to attack today. The first wave is on its way. They won’t parley. Their orders are to find you and overwhelm you, at whatever cost.”
“Not very sporting.”
“Serenity thinks like you, Piper. This is serious business. Time to go. People are starting to wonder.”
Terens Ernest and the self-anointed lifeguards arrived momentarily. Ernest demanded, “Who was that? Where did he go?”
Terens Ernest was a dangerous man. He was always around, somewhere. And Hecht seldom noticed. No telling what he heard and saw.
Ernest wilted under the glare of the Commander of the Righteous. He could not match Madouc’s immunity to his principal’s attitudes.
“A man who spies for me. Forget you saw him. Did I call for you? Any of you? You have assigned posts. You haven’t abandoned them, have you?”
The response consisted of nervous yak about being concerned. He was in the presence of a stranger, with no help close by. And it was not that long since he had proven that he was not arrow-proof.
Hecht stifled rising anger. It was unreasonable anger. These men should not be crushed for listening to their consciences. However much he found their concern inconvenient. “That will be all, then. Back to your posts. The enemy is coming. Terens, tell Mr. Rhuk and Mr. Prosek to attend me as quickly as possible.” This time he did have something new to say to those two.
