* * *
Master of the Commandery Madouc of Hoeles was relentless. He strengthened and contracted his blockade round Tel Moussa. Nassim fought back, brilliantly. He won most of their skirmishes, but every triumph cost. He could not afford losses.
Somebody loved Madouc of Hoeles. New fighters reached Gherig regularly, always men who knew their trade.
The quality of Nassim’s replacements kept falling. Az remarked that by next year only those already missing eyes and limbs would be sent out.
The Mountain began to suspect the existence of a conspiracy to ruin his reputation. His men demurred. They believed an even more sinister hoax was afoot. They thought the Great Shake’s family was using Tel Moussa to winnow the manhood of Qasr al-Zed. The stupid, the weak, the lame, and the dangerously self-destructive fanatics were being eliminated so they would not cause problems later. Only the clever, the swift, the strong, and the skilled would survive to resist the new crusade. Only they would be there to face the sons of Tsistimed the Golden when that half-Instrumentality resumed his eastern predations.
Nassim refused to see his world through that dark a glass. Only one man living was capable of a wickedness that foul. He was holed up in the heart of the Idiam.
No strongman was so strong that he could hang on if he deliberately wasted the lives of his subjects’ sons.
The tribes would rebel.
Az demanded, “What do we do? Plot or no plot, our situation is real. We’re at the tip of the spear, nose to nose with Gherig.”
“You have been preparing to deal with Gherig since last summer.”
Az’s eyes widened. “You think it’s time? So soon?”
“I had hoped to hold off till the crusaders come. But they’ve been pushing us too hard. If we do nothing we’ll be dead before summer.”
“That’s true, General. And our smugglers might give themselves away. Or they might figure out what we’re really having them do.”
Nassim grunted. That had worried him from the beginning.
His knees had begun to ache more than usual. “You do have a true agent inside there, now, don’t you?”
“I have two. Neither knows about the other. One is responsible for our plot. The other just spies. The new order did bring a weakness with it. They aren’t as clever as Black Rogert at protecting themselves from spies. They disdain Rogert’s obvious paranoia.”
“Could it be that they don’t care?”
“They’re righteously sure of themselves.”
“Where does the plan stand?”
“I found an educated local, dedicated to God. A carpenter. They know him up there. He worked there when Black Rogert was there before. He isn’t allowed to come and go as freely as I’d like but he has recruited several people who do commute daily.”
“The plan of execution is in place?”
“My carpenter receives regular meals from his mother. The crusaders won’t prepare meals that fit our dietary laws. When the right meal reaches our man he’ll know it’s time. It’s up to him to execute in the manner he expects will be most effective.”
One of Az’s pet peeves was management from a distance, by people who had no clue about local conditions.
The Mountain said, “See that he gets his special meal. Then have everyone here get ready to exploit the confusion.” Pain shot through his flesh, more irksome than anything. “I miss having Black Rogert in charge.”
“He was wicked and lucky but he wasn’t that competent, was he?”
* * *
The Brotherhood of War fighters pushed up close to the tower gate, daring the Mountain’s falconeers to waste powder and shot. Alizarin undertook experiments to determine whether the crusaders were getting supernatural help.
Az thought they might be, at some trivial level, but did not know it. “The Special Office operators haven’t noticed, but they’re here to winkle out the Night’s friends in Rogert’s gang and to handle us if we unleash any foul eastern sorcery.”
Nassim said, “Let them come. Fire the lightest falcon first. If you hit someone, touch off the big one. Then scream and yell about idiots wasting firepowder when we’re almost out.”
Done.
Next morning saw the final test, when infidels sneaking toward Tel Moussa ran into three falcons that had been slipped out and positioned during the night.
Gherig suffered a dozen casualties. Elated, the Mountain sent his horsemen to harass the foreigners the rest of that day.
He now knew his enemies understood his language and knew they were not using the Night to scout. And he knew they did not expect him to risk his precious falcons.
He had grown fond of those. He meant to use them any chance he had.
* * *
Az’s efforts as a spymaster came to fruition that night.
Nassim had fallen asleep watching the stars. Thunder in the west wakened him. He was confused for a moment, able to think only of his cold-sensitive joints. Two more rumbles sounded. Tel Moussa shivered.
There were no clouds in the direction of the White Sea-except where Gherig stood.
Alizarin got his aching knees beneath him, stood up just in time to see a flash backlight Gherig’s battlements.
“Oh.” This was what he had asked for. He had not expected the explosions at night. Maybe more damage would be done at night. Most of the garrison would be in their quarters. Casualties might be brutal.
A rumble reached Tel Moussa. The earth trembled slightly.
Then came another explosion. The fifth. Amazing! How much firepowder had Az gotten in there?
He got the chance to ask as a sleepy, boggled Master of Ghosts joined him. Several fires burned in the crusader fortress.
Az said, “I don’t know. Between six hundred and a thousand pounds.”
“You’re kidding. I was hoping for twenty-five, critically placed.”
“It was all in Abu’s hands. I don’t know his methods.”
“Abu? You’re kidding.”
“Suitable, eh?”
The sound and shock of the fifth explosion arrived.
Abu meant servant. Or slave. And Nassim suspected the agent’s full name would be Servant of God. “That much powder, properly placed and packed…”
A sixth explosion dwarfed the others. Flames flew up a hundred feet, illuminating roiling smoke that climbed a thousand more. Flaming wreckage arced a half mile into the desert.
The sound arrived. The long, fierce roll staggered Nassim. He had troubled breathing for a moment.
The shock wave came right behind. It shook Tel Moussa to its foundations. Nassim felt rather than heard the creaks and groans of stones moving on stones. Over there, in Gherig, little explosions popped off in the aftermath of the big one.
The footing shifted slightly beneath the Mountain. “What the hell was that? No way you got that much powder into Gherig.”
Bug-eyed, Az shook his head. “That went better than in my wildest fantasy.”
There was a seventh explosion, out in the barbican of Gherig. It seemed puny.
Nasty fires burned over there, now. The Brotherhood of War was suffering tonight.
Nassim wanted to wave his arms and shout God’s praises. This should be a time of jubilation.
Unfortunately, the squeak, creak, and groan in the masonry had not subsided after the last shock.
“Az, we may have a problem.”
“General, you may be right.”
“Get everybody out, carrying whatever they can. Just in case.” He could not imagine the fortress collapsing but did not want to lose anyone if it did. “Horses and tack, first priority. Then falcons and powder. Then whatever else you can save. Move it.”
There was every chance he would be embarrassed when the sun came up on a tower still standing. But his people would be alive to sneer.
The Mountain was at the assembly point beside the Shamramdi road when Tel Moussa surrendered to the blandishments of gravity.
Nassim was pleased that neither man nor animal had been caught in the collapse. Nor had any falcon, keg of firepowder, or favored possession of any man.