Working God's Mischief (55 page)

As Indala's host drifted northward, in theory thirty-eight thousand strong, levies and militias tried to relieve Shartelle. Commanded by Indala's cousin Kharsa, they were tasked with investing the crusaders from outside, besieging the besiegers. Their numbers and their fighting skills proved insufficient. Few were motivated, either. The Righteous obliterated them. Prisoners were put to work as siege labor.

The Commander of the Righteous led from the fore, as terrible in the fighting as an angel of death. None withstood him. Kharsa himself, renowned across Qasr al-Zed, fell to the Commander's lightning spear.

Meantime, Indala's host trickled onto the Plain of Tum, which his captains had chosen as the place where the invaders would be humbled. The omens were uniformly excellent.

“This is not good,” Mowfik grumbled. The renegade Sha-lug were at the head of the van, Indala being confident that Nassim Alizarin would see more clearly than most.

The Mountain saw despair in the offing. He saw disaster.

The Righteous had arrived already. They were camped on the south bank of a stream beneath low hills marking the northern verge of the plain. They were positioned exactly as Indala had prayed they would be, arrayed to come onto the field as he would have them do.

Nassim did not command the van. Still, he sent word to young Az warning that the Unbeliever appeared to know Indala's thinking and meant to give him what he wanted. Then they would eat him alive.

The message had no effect. Nassim received no reply. Indala commenced the action before his forces all arrived, sending riders forward. They skirmished with light cavalry from the crusader force, mercenaries recruited from the Antal. Most were Pramans. Some appeared to be Hu'n-tai At.

Frightening, that. They would be here not to help the Righteous but to observe their ways while helping weaken Qasr al-Zed.

The skirmishing lasted all day. Casualties were minimal. Young men from both sides wanted to show their courage.

Evening brought a brief round of negotiations. Nassim Alizarin was privileged to observe. Indala did honor his wisdom.

The invaders made no religious demands, which had puzzled the Believers from the beginning. The outsiders never insisted that only their own faith be practiced in lands they ruled. They were not particularly tolerant but were never as harsh as the Believers were once they triumphed over Unbelievers.

The invaders did make demands. They were confident. Many also came in disguise, Nassim believed.

Afterward, Alizarin told Indala, “Those who did the talking were not in charge. They were lords and captains but not decision makers. Those whose wills matter were the younger, leaner men in back.”

“That was my impression, as well. They measured us for shrouds while the others blustered.”

Nassim said, “Begging pardon, Shake. These old ears heard no bluster, just supreme confidence.”

“Why? What cause can they have?”

“The old one, the Admiral, said it. This is not the Well of Days and their commander is not Rogert du Tancret.”

“You let them defeat you before you face their swords?”

“Not at all. I just caution you against overconfidence.”

At that point young Az paraphrased, “‘God's Will shall be seen in the battle's outcome.'” He said it aloud without meaning to do so. His uncle had said the same on more than one occasion. The remark captured the core precept of the Faith. God would decide. God knew the outcome beforehand. There was no evading the Will of God. And so forth, denying cause and effect in the ordinary world.

Indala responded, “God favors those who plan ahead and have the numbers.”

*   *   *

The Faithful launched attacks by horsemen who shot arrows as they swept past the face of the ranked enemy infantry. The infantry remained behind their shields and endured. Light field ballistae flung bolts from behind them, doing little damage but compelling the horsemen to loose their shafts from farther than they preferred. The artillerymen aimed for horses instead of riders. The bigger targets panicked when injured.

When riders approached in too dense a formation a firepowder weapon would belch a storm of iron darts.

Indala told his companions, “They aren't going to counterattack, are they? They're content to let us come to them.”

Nassim said, “Yes. And tomorrow will be worse. Tomorrow they will have caltrops and tangle cords out.”

Indala silenced him with a hand sign. “I see that. I'd do that myself, with fresh soldiers in the front lines. While I had food and water I'd stand and let the sea break on my rock. So. What is their long-run intent? Besides refusing to play by our preferred rules?”

News of the disaster at Shartelle had yet to arrive. The Believers remained confident of the favor of their God and the wisdom of their Great Shake. The outcome, here, might be difficult but the only final result would be victory.

A distant cousin of Indala said, “The crusaders are protecting their flanks with earthworks instead of cavalry. Their horse aren't numerous and are being held behind the infantry line.”

Nassim said, “Their heavy horsemen will fight dismounted the way they did at the battle of the Four Armies.”

Indala nodded. “Which means they won't launch one of their massed charges. So. They do hope we'll exhaust ourselves against a fixed position.”

Nassim thought they were missing something. Arnhanders were not normally so patient. Their knightly class would not endure inaction. They would demand their chances at glory.

He kept announcing, “We're overlooking something. We need to consider their behavior more closely.” But no one wanted to hear him. The situation had to change. Casualties, so far, favored the invaders, who, therefore, had no need to change tactics.

Indala launched three attacks the next day, first to fix the soldiers on the crusaders' line, then to rock each flank. The most massive went in from the east, with the sun behind, three thousand horsemen followed by four thousand of the best infantry.

The other attack was half as strong, its purpose to keep the troops on the western end from reinforcing elsewhere.

The main attack swarmed into the massed fire of a hundred falcons. The cavalry were obliterated. They could not flee. The infantry blocked the way. The falcons fell silent after only three salvos. Righteous horsemen came out to exterminate the stunned survivors.

Falcons decimated the lesser attack as well.

Nassim watched the western knights form for the charge. He said nothing. Indala would fall back, then try to turn in the time-honored fashion. Alizarin anticipated no success. The Unbeliever would be prepared.

At the command level, at least, the Arnhanders were professionals. Those professionals controlled the rest, who had learned to trust them while campaigning through the Antal.

The crusader charge scattered those who tried to resist. That resistance was barely strong enough to let Believers of weaker courage make their escape. The baggage was lost. Many horses were lost. Indala's few falcons were lost, too, most without having been fired. The ambush down the road failed completely. The crusaders knew where it was and waited while light-horse auxiliaries, having advanced by alternate routes, harassed the Believers and kept them from fixing their positions.

No phase of Indala's plan succeeded. Each had been anticipated. In every encounter the casualty ratio favored the invaders, usually dramatically.

Al-Azer er-Selim declared, “The Night itself favors the crusaders.”

Indala took the survivors into Shamramdi. Despair haunted the Believers. God had averted His gaze again. The imams searched for the cause of His disfavor.

The Great Shake summoned new levies. He sent to Dreanger for the armies of al-Minphet. And he looked eastward, nervously.

The Hu'n-tai At would take advantage. Tsistimed the Golden would attack once he learned of the despair of Qasr al-Zed.

The Mountain saw the frustration eating at Indala, who was safe enough inside Shamramdi. He could hold on there indefinitely—unable to impose his will anywhere outside.

News from outside arrived regularly. The crusader cordon was porous. That news was never encouraging. Crusaders on the coast had moved on from Shartelle, reducing other Praman towns and cities with no difficulty. The siege of Shartelle proceeded at a leisurely pace, everyone inside and out confident of the outcome. Rumors had the Commander of the Righteous planning to penetrate Peqaa and destroy the holies of al-Prama.

Nassim Alizarin did not believe that but neither did he want to believe that Captain Tage had taken this as far as he had.

When would he reveal his Sha-lug colors?

*   *   *

Imams complained that strange things were happening in the holy places. God's presence could no longer be felt. All sense of consecration had faded.

Was God truly turning away, abandoning the Believers completely?

In Shamramdi, as elsewhere where the Believers were besieged, strange evils kept occurring. Few were of great moment but the cumulative effect was debilitating. Key men fell sick. Minarets collapsed. Wells dried up. Vermin got into the granaries. Mortar in the walls washed away in unseasonable showers. A plague hit the horses, killing a third and leaving the rest too weak for battle.

In Shartelle the Tower of the Bats collapsed. Grain rotted. Plague visited briefly. The besiegers found the hidden aqueduct that brought water down from a built-over, camouflaged spring in the hills northeast of the city. Loss of that resource caused severe rationing.

A Dreangerean relief fleet assaulted the blockade at Shartelle. The warships were allowed to break through. The cargo vessels fled or were captured. The warships were then lost while trying to break back out. Slaves aboard several somehow slipped their chains and revolted.

*   *   *

The Mountain huddled with his surviving veterans. “The end of the world is near. What shall we do? How shall we meet it?”

Old Az said, “We'll meet it as we meet everything. Chin to chin.”

Bone, on crutches these days, agreed. “This is as it has been Written. We cannot dispute the Will.”

More of that fatalism that lay behind everything, Nassim thought.

Bone added, “The Rascal wrote the opening scene. I just hope we can end his tale before ours plays out.”

There was no good news from the Idiam. The Ansa felt abandoned, though Indala's indifference was not of his own choosing. Er-Rashal was an apparition of the monster that had been but he forged on, relentless in his determination to raise the dead god and unswerving in his lust for ascension. The Ansa were on the defensive. They would flee the Idiam had they anywhere else to run.

The Mountain said, “Then let us bridle our grand ambitions and beg for that one boon. Perhaps God will grant us that.”

Someone muttered, “You would think He'd show more interest in making His enemies weep.”

Outside, none too distant, masonry crumbled. People began to cry out. That meant that there had been casualties.

 

37. The Mother Sea: Pilgrims

Brother Candle argued that he had lived a long, productive life. He had had a positive impact on the world. He had done his share. It was time the world let him go home to the Light. The Good God had prepared him a place.

The Widow and the Vindicated did not agree.

Never had he been so sick for so long.

Kedle, her henchmen, and the Terliagan seamen all promised that he would get over it.

They lied. He was still at the rail, still limp, when
Darter
made port at al-Stikla, on the heel of Firaldia, which was as far east as Terliagans were willing to travel.

There were pirates in the eastern Mother Sea. Also, the Dateonese and Aparionese were lethally jealous of their monopolies. They even fought one another, constantly.

There was a long delay at al-Stikla. Passage east, for groups, was scarce and dear. Countless pious pilgrims and bloodthirsty adventurers wanted to get to the Holy Lands in time to participate in the great event of the age.

At shared prayers Kedle murmured, “You would think that supernatural forces were at work.”

The Perfect harrumphed. Solid ground had yet to restore his good temper. “Of course they are! Weren't you paying attention?”

Lady Hope had visited
Darter
several times.

Kedle blushed. The Perfect noticed and was startled. Was there something physical between Hope and the Widow?

Oddities suddenly lined up and made sense, then, though he had trouble getting his mind around the situation. That was plausible only on an intellectual plane. “It doesn't matter.”

“You are too liberal, Master.” Kedle paused. “It's … I can't help myself.”

“Let's not talk about it.” After his own pause, “She has that effect on
me
and I'm older than stone, nor ever owned strong appetites.” Kedle's had been strong from the first. “Just ask the blessing of the Light.”

Hope was not the only supernatural visitor. The monster bird with the damaged wing sometimes circled while
Darter
was at sea. Brother Candle thought the ship was being shadowed by something in the water, too. He was too miserable to care much but did mention it to the crew, whereupon the Terliagans grew excited.

There was no such beast native to the Mother Sea.

Kedle observed, “We must be caught inside a bigger story than the one we can see.”

Brother Candle agreed. He had no doubts about that.

He did wish that the Good God was the sort who stepped in on behalf of his followers.

Brother Candle did not like being afraid. Being an object of interest to the Night—in particular to those parts of the Night that dogma proclaimed to be unreal—was scary in the extreme.

*   *   *

Kedle found a fat Dateonese transport, purpose-built to carry pilgrims, that had room for the Vindicated. Such vessels reaped grand profits by shifting the pious and ambitious.