As if his thoughts were read, he heard Ochen say, "Tharn must delight in the prospect of so much bloodshed."
He answered softly, awed by the incredible prospect spread before him, "Aye."
There was no need now for the wazir to maintain his own gramarye: the massed sorcerers heading the army had cleared the way well enough, and Chazali heeled his mount to a gallop over the churned ground, hailing the riders who spun to meet him, they answering with shouts of welcome.
His men, Ochen, and the questers galloped after the kiriwashen, an escort forming about them, speeding them past the long line of marching soldiers to where the commanders rode behind the van of wazirs. Calandryll wondered if Rhythamun watched them go past, looking out from the eyes of Jabu Orati Makusen.
There were fifteen kiriwashen, Chazali the sixteenth, each representing a family lieged to the Makusen. Each commanded a thousand kotu-zen— more kotu-anj and kotu-ji—all the clan warriors, save those few left behind on the march. The din was tremendous, a cacophony of hooves and thudding feet, creaking wagons, snickering horses, the braying of mules, the clatter of weapons and armor, the voices of the men. Chazali must raise his voice to a near shout to be heard as he introduced the questers and advised his fellow kiriwashen of all that had transpired. He offered a succinct report, the details left for later, when the army should make camp, and as he spoke Calandryll was aware of the eyes that studied him and his comrades, speculative, from behind the concealing veils.
In turn the commanders told of their progress, unopposed as yet, while of the armies advancing from Zaq-teng and Fechin-teng there was little news: those insurgents already stationed outside the walls of Anwar-teng maintained the siege, awaiting the arrival of the main forces, content until then to hold the citadel isolated. And that condition extending beyond the physical, they said, for there was such a clouding of the aethyr now that contact with the wazir-narimasu, or occult observation of the rebels, was become impossible.
It seemed to Calandryll that to locate Rhythamun's stolen form in so vast a horde was no less impossible. Had the warlock elected to join the army he likely knew by now the questers had caught up, and would therefore take measures to conceal himself, either by once more shifting his shape, or by slipping away. Both seemed possible, even easy, among so many men. More likely, Calandryll thought, he had gone by the army, eschewing its slow progress to ride solitary to . . . Anwar-teng? Or farther, to the Borrhun-maj? Did he attempt the former, then the questers must make all haste to the citadel, hoping to overtake their enemy. Did he choose the latter, then it still appeared their most favorable course remained the ride to Anwar-teng. There, did they succeed in overtaking Rhythamun, they might find the powers of the wazir-narimasu at their beck, and prepare a fitting welcome. Did he attempt the Borrhun-maj, then they could go through the gate and set an ambush in the world beyond. That they should come upon him along the way, and defeat him there, Calandryll could not believe: they had dogged Rhythamun's footsteps for too long that he might hope for so simple a solution.
He waxed impatient as the Makusen horde continued its inexorable march, the kiriwashen unwilling to halt while the day still granted sufficient light they might draw closer to their destination.
He must wait, however, until the wan sun descended behind the western ridge and shadows lengthened across the snowfields. And then wait longer as the great mass of men and animals bivouacked for the night. Only then, when tents and pavilions had been set up, guards posted, fodder doled out, and fires been lit, did the commanders and the sorcerers agree to hear in full council what Chazali and Ochen, the questers, had to tell them.
They gathered in a pavilion that might have housed a family, the wind setting the Makusen standards to crackling overhead, the symbols of the clan emblazoned on walls and awning. Inside, braziers were the sole source of light, the wood they burned aromatic. The canvas of the floor was spread with carpets, and kotu-ji erected a long table flanked by faldstools. Food and wine were served and the kotu-ji departed. Aijan Makusen, supreme commander of Pamur-teng, sat erect at the table's head. He was old, for all he sat stiff-backed, stern, and soldierly, his ringleted hair white, his beard the same. He it was led the premier clan, to which all others swore fealty, and it seemed to Calandryll he radiated a palpable sense of authority. Chazali and Ochen sat with the questers at the table's foot, not speaking until Aijan Makusen gestured his permission.
Kiriwashen and wazir introduced the outlanders then, fleshing Chazali's earlier brief report with detail. Calandryll, elected to speak on behalf of his comrades, was invited to describe their quest to the crossing of the Kess Imbrun. When he was done and sipping wine to assuage a mouth gone dry with the telling, tawny eyes studied him in silence, that finally broken by a wazir he dimly recalled was named Chendi.
"This is a frightening tale you bring us," Chendi declared, ' and did Ochen Tajen and Chazali Nakoti not speak on your behalf I'd find it hard of believing. But ..."
He paused, slanted eyes pensive, a hand stroking at the oiled beard he wore. Another—Dakkan, Calandryll thought was his name—spoke into the gap: "But do we not all feel what stirs now, fouling the aethyr? Is our aim not the securing of Anwar- teng against the Mad God, in equal measure to the rescue of Khan and Mahzlen?"
Aye, so it is," said one named Tazen. "And what Ochen saw we all have seen, in greater or lesser measure, and this war, the clouding of the aethyr, all the signs indicate they speak the truth."
"You'd have us examine every kotu-anj of the Orati?" asked a wazir whose name Calandryll had forgotten. "That should take two days or more."
"As long—or longer—to allow this woman," a kiriwashen named Tajur grunted, eyes skeptical as they rested on Cennaire, "to study their faces."
"And that with no surety of success," said a wazir, "for be this Rhythamun what these outlanders claim, he might well assume another's body while we search."
"Which should mean we must examine every warrior in our companies," said another.
"Horul!" declared a kiriwashen Calandryll thought was named Machani. "How long should that take? With Anwar-teng in jeopardy each day!"
"This warlock shape-shifter is not among the Orati." This defiantly from the wazir of that clan. "I'd know it, were it so."
"He's a sorcerer of great cunning," Ochen said, his tone diplomatically mild, "and great power. That waxing greater the closer he comes to Tharn."
A kiriwashen nodded, eyes moving from Ochen , to Chazali. "You're persuaded to their cause, Chazali Nakoti?" he asked.
"I am," Chazali replied. "I believe all they say.
I believe we renege our duty to Khan and Mahzlen—to Horul himself!—do we not aid them."
Aijan Makusen spoke then for the first time, and all fell silent.
"Shall Ochen Tajen not soon be named wazir- narimasu? Can any here doubt the loyalty of Chazali Nakoti? Can we then doubt their belief, that these outlanders war with Tharn himself? That some among them have spoken with our god? I say we must aid them as best we may."
Protests erupted then: that the giving of such aid must halt the army's advance too long, work to the advantage of the rebels, that there could be no certainty of finding Rhythamun among the massed humanity of the Makusen forces, that perhaps these outlanders were employed by the rebels to slow the army, that perhaps they ensorcelled both Ochen and Chazali.
The tumult died as Aijan Makusen raised a hand. "For my own part I cannot believe a wazir of Ochen Tajen's undoubted power might be so seduced," he declared, "and so, that Chazali Nakoti is not enspelled, for Ochen should know it. Therefore, I cast my vote for belief and aid."
Dark faces turned toward the old man, tawny eyes studying him, some with acceptance, Calandryll thought, but others with disbelief. Chafing, he wondered how long this debate should continue, how it should be settled. He turned a grateful gaze on Ochen as the wazir offered a solution, looking first to Aijan Makusen, speaking when the supreme commander nodded his assent.
"I am not ensor
celled," he said, "neither Chazali. But that none here present entertain doubt I suggest you examine us. Look into our minds, and then into those of our outlander allies, and you shall know the truth of what we tell you."
"That would seem a satisfactory resolution," Aijan Makusen said. "Do you others agree?"
There was a murmur of consent and the assembled wazirs rose, beckoning Ochen forward.
The ancient sorcerer faced them almost defiantly as they locked their eyes on his wrinkled face. They began to speak, in unison, and the great tent filled with the scent of almonds. It took no more than a few heartbeats, not so long as Ochen himself had taken to enter the minds of the questers, back in the keep atop the Daggan Vhe. "So, do you see clearer now?" he demanded when it was done, and the wazirs nodded, murmuring their agreement.
Chazali rose then, accepting the examination for all Calandryll read resentment on his face, and then, in turn, each of the questers. Calandryll felt the thirty eyes fasten on his, and it was as though he pitched headlong into darkness, falling. He staggered, shaking his head, ,as he felt their hold released, the insubstantial tendrils that had wandered the pathways of his brain withdrawing. For an instant his ears rang, and "then he heard the wazir named Tazen say, "There can be no doubt. All we have heard is true."
"Horul!" said another. "Shall we see Tharn raised then?"
"It shall not be through any want of our aid," Aijan Makusen said, his slanted eyes narrowing as they turned to Ochen. "What would you have done, wazir?"
"I'd go on to Anwar-teng," Ochen answered, "in company with these four—I deem it the wiser course that we apprise the wazir-narimasu of all we know, as soon we may. For the rest, I'm in agreement with these others that Rhythamun may evade discovery—may perhaps not be among the Orati even—but still I'd have a search mounted."
"To search the army—to thus delay—can only aid the rebels," a kiriwashen murmured. "Shall that not favor the Mad God?"
"'Does Rhythamun gain that limbo where Tharn rests the rebels shall need no further aid," Ochen said.
"No less shall the bloodshed of this war aid the god," a wazir whose name was Kenchun offered.
"Save these outlanders succeed, it would seem the Mad God gains whichever way we turn."
"I cannot stand idle by and see Anwar-teng despoiled," Aijan Makusen warned. "Mad God or no, we've a duty to Khan and Mahzlen, and that we cannot forswear."
"Aye," said Ochen, "that I know. I'd find a compromise."
It seemed to Calandryll as he listened to them that the Jesserytes were not a people much given to compromise of any kind. On the faces of the kiriwashen he could see alarm at the prospect of granting the insurgents such time to strengthen their position as the searching of the army must take,- on the faces of the wazirs he saw the contradicting pull of clan duty and fear of Tharn's resurrection.
"A compromise?" he heard Aijan Makusen say. "How may we achieve that, without betrayal to our duty or our god?"
Ochen thought a moment. Then, a wry smile curving his lips: "Only with difficulty,* only with a little patience I fear some shall find hard come by."
"Does it not conflict with those duties we owe the Mahzlen," Aijan Makusen said, his eyes scanning the assembly, issuing an unspoken command, "then we shall find such patience."
Ochen nodded and said, "Then this night I'd ask the kiriwashen and the kutushen—all the officers— to pass word among their followers. Is any man aware of strangeness—a friend who seems not himself, sickness, anything untoward—let him report it. I'd ask that the ranks of the Orati be searched for Jabu Orati Makusen. Does he come forward"—a doubting smile curved the wazir's lips—"then let the wazirs bind him with gramaryes and slay him. Does he look to flee, the same. Does Rhythamun yet hold that luckless form, he may well seek to take another. Be that the case, Jabu Orati will be dead, but likely the occupation of Rhythamun's next victim will be noticed. Remember always that you deal with a sorcerer of terrible strength!
"All this, I know, must delay the march, but Horul willing, not for too long."
He paused for breath and the wazir of the Orati— Kellu, Calandryll remembered was his name—said, "Must we examine every kotu-anj among our warriors, that shall delay us longer."
Aijan Makusen spoke again: "We shall allow two days for such investigation, occult and physical, as you require. Does that commence this night it may be done in such time, I think."
"Do we all bend to the task," said Kellu, "then, aye."
"Shall you not join in this, Ochen Tajen?" asked another.
Ochen sighed, shaking his head. "I fear that all this may prove fruitless," he murmured, ignoring the gasps, the grunts of outrage that met the announcement. His voice grew stronger as he continued, "But nonetheless needful! Does Rhythamun seek to conceal his foul self amid the men of Pamur-teng would you have it said we failed in our duty? That we, lax, allowed him such refuge?"
He waited as the kiriwashen and the wazirs voiced denial.
"The search shall be made," said Aijan Makusen. "Even be it time wasted, I'd not have such accusation made. But swift! We've another call on our loyalties."
"Aye, that I know," Ochen said, "and would not ask for more. As for me—I ride on, to Anwar-teng."
"You'd have an escort?" Aijan Makusen asked.
"No, though I thank you," Ochen returned, and encompassed the questers with a gesture, "we five shall go alone. The insurgents are less likely to find so small a party, while a larger group must surely be noticed. Horul willing, we shall gain the teng unharmed."
"And do you not?" asked Kellu, to which Ochen shrugged and smiled a silent answer.
"Should we find Rhythamun," asked Dakkan, "what are we to do with the Arcanum? How shall we recognize the book?"
Ochen looked to Calandryll, motioning that he should speak. He said, "It is a small book, bound in black, the title inscribed in red. It seems an insignificant thing, save for the malign aura it bears. We are sworn to deliver it to Vanu, as I have told you, that the holy men of that land might destroy it."
"Then do we find it, and you be slain," said Aijan Makusen with blunt pragmatism, "we shall deliver the book there. My word on that."
"Then you've our thanks," Calandryll said.
A grim smile dirided the old man's stern features for a moment. "I'd no more see the Mad God raised than concede the rebels Anwar-teng. I pray Horul you succeed." The smile disappeared as his eyes swept the table. "So, we've much to do and long leagues yet to march. Do you kiriwashen go to your duties, then,- and you wazirs to yours."
The commanders and the sorcerers rose, quitting the tent. Chazali paused, studying the questers. "I've another duty now," he said, "and must go to my Nakoti. Should we not meet again ere you depart, know that my prayers go with you, and you shall be ever welcome in my home." He turned to Ochen. "Horul be with you, old friend. I pray we meet again ere long."
"And I," the wazir murmured.
They clasped hands, and then Chazali bowed deep to the questers, again to Aijan Makusen, and spun round, marching briskly from the pavilion.
"I, too, have duties I must attend," said Aijan Makusen, "do you excuse me."
It was a tactful dismissal: Ochen bowed and the questers followed suit, going after the wazir out of the tent.
The night was loud now with more than the natural clamor of a bivouacked army as the kiriwashen and the wazirs went about their tasks. Orders rang out, riders cantered by, soldiers came from tents and cookfires,* all was disciplined confusion, the unprecedented presence of foreigners in the midst of a Jesseryte army ignored. They found their horses where the standards of the Nakoti fluttered over the ranked tents and saw the animals bedded as comfortably as was possible, bringing their gear to the pavilion Ochen indicated.
It was smaller than the great tent of Aijan Makusen, but still luxurious, divided into compartments, with rugs scattered about the floor and braziers filling the interior with warmth. Ochen showed them where they might sleep, Calandryll and Bracht separated from
the two women by a wall of heavy silk. The forward area was set with a table and faldstools, open to afford a view of the encampment, and the wazir stood there, looking out at the bustle.
"Think you he's here?" Calandryll asked, coming to stand beside the smaller man.
"No." Ochen shook his head, his next words confirming the doubts Calandryll had earlier felt. "Was he ever here, he saw us arrive and took his cue to depart. He draws too close to his goal that he'd risk discovery."
"Then why suggest this search?" Bracht gestured at the camp, buzzing now like a disturbed hornets' nest.
"For fear I'm wrong." Ochen sighed wearily, his voice dropping close to a whisper as he added, "And to slow the army's advance, Horul forgive me."
"What?" Confusion set a frown on the Kern's face. "Why?"
Ochen moved from his observation, crossing the vestibule to a brazier. He stretched out his hands, palms forward, to the flames. "I believe," he murmured, almost too low they might hear him, "that Rhythamun likely avoided the line of march. Did he join the Nakoti legions, he must travel at the army's pace, and he's likely impatient now; eager to reach his goal. I believe he goes on, to Anwar- teng or the Borrhun-maj.
"And the closer he comes to Tharn, the stronger he becomes, the greater the likelihood of his reaching the Mad God. You know that shed blood is meat and drink to Tharn, that war augments his power. Think then what the arrival of this army at Anwar-teng must mean, think what blood must spill when these loyal forces encounter the rebels."
He turned from the brazier, and in its dim light his face was grave, hollowed with a dreadful doubt. Calandryll nodded, understanding. Bracht continued to frown, and Ochen explained, "Do all these thousands and all the thousands of Ozali-teng fall on the thousands of the rebels, then the land must stink of blood. There's the irony of it—the loyal forces would defend the gate,- but to defend that gate can only strengthen Tharn." He shook his head, sighing again, and it seemed to Calandryll the weight of all his years sat heavy on him, his vitality suddenly drained. "I'd not give the Mad God that feasting sooner than is inevitable. The longer that battle is delayed, the better your chance of defeating Rhythamun, for does full war commence I believe our enemy shall find such power granted him as to render him unvanquishable.
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