whenever Arnhand became preoccupied elsewhere.
Helspeth asked, “What will King Brill do?”
Santerin was always at war with Arnhand. The kings of Santerin seldom disdained an opportunity to raid and capture towns should the generally feeble central Arnhander authority turn its back.
Katrin welcomed the interjection. “Renfrow?”
“I can’t say for sure. I haven’t heard from my sources. But King Brill should do what Santerin’s kings always have. Though Anne of Menand, being smarter than the last dozen Arnhander kings put together, might have made arrangements ahead of time.” Renfrow gave the Empress a sharp look. As though to suggest that crusades were not to be undertaken on a pious whim.
“How would she do that?”
“King Brill hungers for more titles and territories. She could relax Arnhand’s claims to some of the more fractious border counties till she feels strong enough to take them back.”
Katrin stepped down from her high seat. She walked among the Councilors, and around them. Her father shone in her then. That made the old men uncomfortable. “Have we heard anything from Salpeno? Officially? Or has someone forgotten to inform the Empress?”
Renfrow said, “Your Grace, if I might?”
“Go ahead.”
“Strong as she is herself, Anne can’t conceive of a strong woman. She’ll need her nose bloodied before she considers the Empire worth her worry.”
“Is that so? Lord Admiral. Grand Duke. You two are always spoiling for a fight. Arrange for demonstrations along the frontier.”
Helspeth asked, “Should we undermine Anne’s effort in the Connec? She’ll be more of a threat if she gains the strength and wealth available there.”
Katrin asked, “Renfrow? Any thoughts?”
“No. Except to note that no good for the Empire will arise from any success Anne might enjoy. Also, we have to consider the fact that there’s another unhappy truth out there. The physical world is changing.”
“Meaning?”
“The winters are getting longer. Seas are getting shallower. The far north is going under the ice, fast. Permanent snows in the Jagos and other high ranges are several times more vast than just ten years ago. The wells of power, everywhere, keep getting weaker. Meanwhile, old evils, Instrumentalities from the Time Before Time, have begun to ooze back into the world.”
“No big revelation there, Renfrow. Why bring it up?”
“Because it’s going to get worse. While we stay focused on war and politics as usual. You’re looking to try another crusade into the Holy Lands…” The spymaster stopped before he said something risky.
Johannes Blackboots had allowed Renfrow the freedom of a court jester. Johannes had found his forthright observations useful.
Katrin Ege was more traditional. She preferred to be told what she wanted to hear. But she had not lost all affection for the truth. She might not like what she heard but she could cope with it. So far.
Helspeth did not expect that to last much longer.
Katrin’s connection to bitter reality frayed by the hour.
Ferris Renfrow bowed and began to retreat from the presence, one step at a time.
Helspeth watched. He was not afraid. He just wanted to go away. He had delivered his information. He had tried to make a point. No one cared. Now there was work to be done elsewhere.
Helspeth understood. And could not care herself. She could focus only on the fact that the Captain-General would soon be caught in a political pinch.
11. Tel Moussa: A New God Talks
Back to Father One bronze falcon lay hidden in the tower at Tel Moussa, its existence known only to Nassim Alizarin and two cronies. The Mountain had hired it made-the tube only-by a renowned Dainshau founder in Haeti, a city in Rh?nish territory. It was smaller than falcons elsewhere. This Dainshau cast the weapon believing it to be something intended for use in a Devedian temple.
The Mountain had mounted the falcon on a goat cart. Everything Nassim knew about its use he had learned during the campaign against Rudenes Schneidel, by watching his Unbeliever allies. The firepowder-what precious little he possessed-had been purloined from Sha-lug stores in al-Qarn by sympathizers and smuggled north an ounce or two at a time.
Alizarin had powder and shot enough for a dozen discharges. He did not try to accumulate more. He was sure his weapon would not survive that many firing cycles. Bronze was not the best metal for casting falcons. Brass was better, iron best. But only the Deves out west had mastered casting iron tubes that cooled without developing fatal flaws. Gossip out of al-Qarn said the stubbornness of the iron had been a greater irritant to er-Rashal al- Dhulquarnen than all his failures in the west.
Which adventures he had sold to Gordimer the Lion as preemptive machinations meant to cripple the west’s ability to launch fresh incursions into the Holy Lands. Or, as the Marshal so feared, against Dreanger itself.
The Rascal was back in al-Qarn, momentarily rehabilitated. The Lion needed the sorcerer more than he abhorred the man.
Each year left Gordimer more frightened of the future. The prophecy concerning his doom came nearer fruition every day.
It might be a blessing to the Sha-lug, Dreanger, and the kaifate of al-Minphet, all, if someone were to slip the Marshal a taste of poison.
Nassim Alizarin set little store by omens or prophecies. Nor had he been inclined to be God’s most faithful servant since his son’s murder.
The Mountain stared at his half-eaten meal. Was there any point to going on? Looking back, it seemed his very soul had been invested in Hagid.
El-Azer er-Selim interrupted, “Riders on the Shamramdi road. Coming our way.”
“Meaning we’re about to be blessed with demands from our lords.”
Az bowed slightly, said no more. Garrison duty at Tel Moussa was not difficult. Its one great demand was patience. But the Mountain treated every message from the Lucidian capital as an imposition. Though he never failed to do as he was asked, nor did he not do it well.
“Young Az!” Alizarin said, pleased to see Azim al-Adil again. “Old Az didn’t tell me it was you.”
The Master of Ghosts said, “Old Az doesn’t see that well anymore.”
The boy said, “My pleasure, I assure you.” He launched into flowery flattery, a sure sign he had been taught well at his granduncle’s court.
The Mountain said, “I’m getting old, boy. I may not last through all this. Have your companions been seen to?”
“They won’t want much. We’ll head back as soon as you and I finish talking.”
“My lord! You mustn’t subject yourself…”
“I must. We all must. Something dramatic is happening with the Hu’n-tai At. Some unknown force attacked Skutgularut. Left it in ruins. Tsistimed is calling in all his sons and grandsons and their armies. There’ll be a huge event of some sort.”
“Maybe the old man will beat his brains out against whoever did it. What does it mean to us?”
“To you, very little. To Indala al-Sul Halaladin it means tribes on the periphery of the kaifate will feel more comfortable about defying the central authority. Few of their chieftains can think ahead far enough to understand that they’ll need protection again next summer.”
“I see.” Governance was difficult when communications seldom exceeded the speed of a galloping horse. “Again, what part am I to play?”
“My illustrious relative begs your assistance in an entirely different matter. The beast du Tancret has
