He had done no thinking. The fatalism ingrained during boyhood had taken over. What would be would be what God Willed. He could only wiggle and whine in a doomed effort to thwart the Almighty.
Startled thought.
He was in the presence of a god. This god shaped his world directly, every day, and did so visibly. He did not have to ascribe anything to her. She talked to him. He did not have to subscribe to the existence of a fathomless Will or Plan.
Hourli observed, “You have had a thought.”
“Not a practical one, I expect, but possibly useful.”
His apostasy, grown deviously since his betrayal by the Rascal and the Lion, had passed a tipping point. He muttered, “I shall have no other gods before me.” Then, puzzled, “Before you?”
Hourli asked, “What?”
“I have lost my connection to the divine.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh! Darling! I doubt that very much!”
“Huh?”
“You were thinking in some direction other than what the God of the Pramans and God of the Chaldareans would like. They have pushed you away. You’re stuck with leftovers from a time of barbarism, obsoletes without the decency to pack it in and fade away. Not so? You were about to suffer an epiphany.”
“Now you mock me,” Lord Arnmigal grumbled.
“Sometimes it’s fun to mess with you.”
He frowned, glared. One hardship of dealing with the Shining Ones was that there was subtext to everything they said. Hourli especially operated on multiple levels. “You’re not going to seduce me again?” she said.
“Oh! What? No. Not me.” Again? What? The idea never occurred to him. Who was she talking to?
“That was backwards, darling. I’m the bad girl of the tale.”
“What are you talking about?” Was he whining? That sounded like whining.
“No worry. When I decide it’s time you’ll be a dried-out husk before you know you’ve been asked.”
He shuddered. What the hell was she doing? He had more trouble than he could handle already.
Then Hourli laughed. “What a face! Come on. What were you thinking?”
He needed a moment to recall that they had been talking about Helspeth before she decided to rattle him. Helspeth? Helspeth! Who was with child. His child. “I was thinking we should create another Helspeth. One who can be seen not being pregnant while the real Empress stays out of sight.”
Hourli considered him intently for some time. “Are you sure?”
“No. I want to save her the … But she might not … I’d have to find out what she wants to do.”
“You do realize that that is begging for cosmic complications?”
For problems he could not imagine right now because worry was crippling his reason? Cosmic? Hyperbole or fact? “I’ll manufacture a way for you, me, and Helspeth to discuss this.”
“Good. Listen to her when we do. Hear what she says. We don’t want to repeat mistakes already made before.”
What did that mean? She was not talking about Helspeth’s situation.
Helspeth’s news almost completely distracted Lord Arnmigal. Details slipped past him. He failed to define assignments adequately when the Shining Ones went off to handle shadowy particulars. He did not monitor his captains adequately. The Shining Ones did not come volunteering for work. They basked in whichever Well of Ihrian seemed sweetest, growing supernaturally fat. Captains had to guess at the Commander’s intent when acting.
“Where is Pella?” Lord Arnmigal demanded of his lifeguards one morning. He could not find the boy. “I have a job for him.”
Titus materialized. “Sorry, Boss. He went off to help deal with the Dreangereans. They’ve stopped moving again. Sheaf says Iresh is waiting for his siege train, now.”
Lord Arnmigal shook his head. “Why? All he had to do was attack while we were busy everywhere else.”
“Plenty of strange stuff going on in this war, Boss. Him not wanting to take risks hardly seems odd. Anyway, how could he know that we’re all tied up everywhere? He doesn’t have our intelligence resources.”
“You’re right. Send somebody to drag the boy back.”
“Sure. What did you want him to do?”
“I was going to put him in charge of the falcons harassing the Dreangereans. But now he’ll take an entry-level job in the grave and latrine excavation trade. He needs to learn to take orders.”
“Harsh.” Titus laughed. “I had a note from the Empress. She wants to see you after midday devotions. She did not sound like a woman who is enchanted with Lord Arnmigal.”
“Sometimes I don’t have sense enough not to say things that people don’t want to hear. Plus, I think she thinks she should get more attention than she does. She could have had plenty if she’d just stayed home. Us smelly men down here are too busy with our war.”
“Have you had any midnight visitors lately?”
The shift evaded Hecht briefly. His conscience squealed. “You have, then?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I wondered if Heris or your girls had visited. I’m worried about Noë and the boys.”
“No. Either they’re preoccupied or we’re too far away. I worry about Anna, too.”
Despite all, that was true. Anna Mozilla did own a firm place in his heart.
Hecht said, “If any of them turn up I’ll ask for a report.”
39. Shamramdi: The Godstalkers
Young Az came to the house where the Mountain and his men were enjoying the siege of Shamramdi. He was pale and grim. He had lost weight. He had been wounded twice during sorties against an enemy who was always ready.
Nassim Alizarin said, “I hope you feel better than you look, Nephew.”
“I doubt that, Uncle.”
“Then why are you out of bed?”
“Indala couldn’t come. His own health remains poor.”
Rumor suggested that the Great Shake was dying, or was suffering from slow poisoning. Or Unbeliever sorcery was sucking his life and soul.
Nassim had not seen Indala for weeks. He suspected that age alone would explain the Great Shake’s indisposition.
“Not heartening news, Nephew. But you have darker matters on your mind.”
“Complications, certainly. My great-uncle wishes to offer his apologies for not having been more supportive of your effort to crush the Dreangerean sorcerer.”
This was odd. “Has a serpent turned in his hand?”
“A courier bringing dispatches from the coast, across the mountains, was held up by the Ansa while they found a tribesman able to read and write Lucidian. They wanted to send you a message.”
“And then someone here had to make sure I wasn’t getting secret instructions from the crusaders.”
“Not entirely. Some people just can’t not stick their noses in.”
Nassim snorted. The longer he lived the less well he thought of his own kind. “So tell me what it says.”
“How? The letter was meant for you.”
“You aren’t familiar with its contents? Do come on, Nephew.”
“As you will.” Young Az read, but slowly. Nassim had thought him more literate.
He took the letter. The text was not in the florid style he usually saw. It made no effort to proclaim the author’s command of language. The sentences were simple declarative grunts, the words mud bricks only, not an artist’s paint. Nor was the calligraphy artful. That alone might explain young Az’s trouble reading. Too, the writer did not know his Lucidian as well as he might pretend.
“Damn! This is rough. But I think I get it.” Nassim Alizarin certainly had his own difficulties with Lucidian.
“Then explain. If you will be so generous. Because no one who has seen that message understands what it actually means. Most think it’s code. If he says camel, you know he means something particular happened…”
“He is hard to decipher and harder to follow but he is as literal as a poisoned dagger. When he says camel he means camel. This is a desperate warning. The Dreangerean will resurrect Asher soon. The process may be under way already, after the natural delays suffered in getting this out of the Idiam.”