* * *
Old Az returned from a five-day espionage mission. “General, the good news is that Black Rogert’s leg is mending poorly.”
“Good to know his luck sometimes runs shy of perfection. Unless he’s just ducking the risks of joining his patrols.”
“An excuse?” Du Tancret’s combat shyness had been bruited for years but Nassim did not credit it. The man had too much luck.
“Are the servants so angered that they’ll help us get inside?”
“That won’t happen. They’re more scared of Rogert than of God and the Adversary combined. They see the cost of inspiring his ire every day.”
“Uhm.” Nassim reflected briefly. Overall, today had been a good day in a good week. A new four-pounder had come through from Haeti, accompanied by twelve twenty-five-pound kegs of firepowder. That was not as good as the powder made by the Devedians in Rhûn but it would do. The best stuff could be hoarded against a day when reliability would be critical. “Good news, I suppose. Azer, could we trick someone into doing deadly work for us?”
“For example?”
“We know the servants who live outside are searched at Gherig’s gate, heading in either direction. But the incoming searches are perfunctory. Rogert is mainly worried about theft. It shouldn’t be hard to smuggle firepowder in, one ounce at a time, using people who don’t know what they’re doing. A charge could be built at a vulnerable point and sparked.”
The Mountain’s companions fell silent, stared. This was the man who had gone through moral convulsions after his attempt to assassinate Black Rogert, using firepowder. That time he had used a true volunteer.
Old soldier Bone asked, “Have you become that fixed on ending du Tancret’s black tale?”
It took Nassim a moment to comprehend the universal response. He felt mildly shamed. But only mildly. The people his plot put at risk would not be known to him.
“I see your point. No. I’m not obsessed. Yet. Still, let’s examine our chances of establishing a cache of firepowder inside Gherig.”
Men shrugged. The notion inspired no real enthusiasm. Easier to breach the wall from outside.
“All right. Az, look into it. And keep trying to establish active agents inside. We need better intelligence. Rogert has a plan. Once he’s healthy … I don’t want to be surprised.”
* * *
Surprises came. A move by Rogert du Tancret was not one of them. His villainy was overshadowed by events.
Az reported, “A new company of Brotherhood fighters has moved into Gherig. The most dangerous sort, committed newcomers.”
“How many?” Nassim asked. “Will they make du Tancret too strong for us?”
“Thirty-four lances, the way they figure. Meaning about a hundred twenty fighting men, plus a few servants who could be armed if necessary. They’re all veterans of the Calziran Crusade or other campaigns. But they may not actually strengthen Black Rogert.”
“Uhm?”
“Word is, they’re here to keep him under control. The Brotherhood couldn’t keep him from returning to Gherig but they intend to control his bad behavior now that he’s back. His leg was the excuse they needed to send these men.”
“Interesting,” Alizarin mused. “His own kind want him leashed.”
“The captain of this new band is supposed to be humorless but capable. I couldn’t learn much about him except that he is here at the express will of the masters of the order, coming from the Castella Anjela dolla Picolena itself.”
“Uhm? Then some of his followers might be Special Office. Meaning he really is here to wrangle Black Rogert, not to deal with us pesky bandits.”
“If the Special Office is involved they must suspect du Tancret of trafficking with the Night.”
“There was a rumor about him having a pet sorcerer.” No one ever found any evidence to sustain it, though.
The world wanted to believe the worst of Rogert du Tancret.
The Mountain said, “You will, of course, find out everything you can about these new men.”
* * *
Four days later Tel Moussa received welcome company. Azim al-Adil ed-Din stopped in while on his way home from Dreanger. Young Az was popular with the garrison and had won a place in the old general’s heart.
Young Az told Nassim, “I’ll stay tonight. I have dispatches for the kaif and those drones in Shamramdi.”
“Five minutes is a blessing.”
“I’ve brought two things for you, Uncle,” using that word as an endearment. “Gifts from my granduncle. Though we should review them in private.”
“Let’s go up and watch the stars.”
The sun had not yet set and the heat had not broken but Nassim did not mind. He needed more warmth these days. And the parapet could be as private as he liked.
He settled in the shade, into a western-style wooden chair. It was hard to get up from the cross-legged position these days. The wood was hot. The polite young warrior awaited an invitation to settle, despite his status.
Nassim observed, “These gifts must not be so large if you can carry them in your purse.”
The boy folded his hands in his lap and stared at them for several seconds. “Before the gifts, the warning. The wicked sorcerer of al-Qarn survived the fighting. He eluded the hunters. He’s headed this way, but not openly. Indala offered a large bounty. Some who tried to catch him ended up dead. Nastily. But the prize is big. All the tribes will try to claim it.”
“We heard rumors that he was headed north.”
“It’s a fact. We don’t know why. The clerks he left behind say he blames you for Indala’s success.”
“Which sounded painfully expensive. What good unification if no one survives to battle the true enemy? If the Sha-lug continue fighting…”
“Which brings me to the gifts.” The boy produced a twist of long blond hair.
Nassim stared, understood, refused.
“You aren’t pleased?”
“Truthfully? No. Gordimer was Marshall of the Sha-lug. You would have to be Sha-lug to understand what that means and what I feel. Better information concerning er-Rashal’s whereabouts would be a finer gift.”
“Then my second gift won’t be welcome, either.”
“Far from it if it’s what I expect.”
“Yes?”
“Indala never understood what it means to be Sha-lug.”
“No one who isn’t Sha-lug does, apparently. The other gift would be the post of Marshall.”
“As I feared. He had me stashed away so he could make me his puppet once he achieved his ambitions in Dreanger.”
“And?”
“I am content to be here. We have been enjoying some success. We expect more. I’ll stick with this little war until he relieves me.”
Young Az admitted, “He won’t be pleased, though probably not surprised. I expect he’ll accept your decision.”
“Sha-lug Marshalls aren’t chosen from outside. They’re elevated by the men they command.”
In reality they were elected by senior officers and masters of the training schools, choosing from among themselves.
“I won’t try to convince you, General. You have to be who you have to be. So. Now. How has it been, having Black Rogert back?”
“Miserable. For everyone. Though it could be worse. He’s injured and the Brotherhood of War have sent men to keep him under control.” The subject occupied them, and kept Nassim from worrying about Indala’s reaction to his refusal. The Great Shake could be fierce when thwarted.
* * *
“The kid didn’t ride out happy,” Old Az said in the morning, beside the Mountain in the parapet. The general watched the dust raised by Young Az’s band move northeastward. “What did you do?”
“I wouldn’t let Indala make me his tame Marshall.”
“Ah. We did see that coming.”
“It seemed obvious.”
“You really won’t take the post?”
“Not from Indala. It isn’t his to bestow.”
Old Az chuckled. “I see. If the commanders of the battalions and masters of the schools call, Nassim Alizarin will be right there.”
Nassim dissembled. “They’ve forgotten Nassim Alizarin. In any case, that call would place a wild strain on our loyalties.”