forth.
In the main, they scavenged the gaunt corpses of fallen Chosen.
Of the other four, two were Krepnights, the Elect. Feeble imitations of the original. The big one stood four feet tall. The other barely topped two. Both had the look of work hastily done by an exhausted artisan.
Like the mad priests, they tried to protect their creator.
Two more madmen roamed the shingle. They were not the Windwalker’s friends. They wanted to murder the god. They did not know how to manage it but they had perfect faith that it could be done.
They were more cunning than the Windwalker’s protectors, whom they had been picking off and eating almost from the moment Kharoulke dragged himself out of the water.
Once a woman came who tried to show them how to realize their ambitions. They attacked her. She did not speak their language so, clearly, could not be trusted.
She hurt them both and went away.
They saw her again, occasionally, never up close. She must be some powerful Instrumentality. She appeared when so inclined and vanished the same. Her visits always marked the start of a setback for the Windwalker. Most visits produced explosions and clouds of noxious brimstone smoke.
Yet Kharoulke kept recovering.
Divine healing went slowly with the wells of power going silent. Kharoulke’s progress suffered frequent setbacks. But the trend was definite.
And Kharoulke was timeless. The pesky mortals could try as hard as they liked. They would fade. They would die. One day, one century, Kharoulke the Windwalker would rise from the shingle as he had risen from the prison where his supplanters had bound him. He would reclaim his frozen realm.
His pain was exquisitely terrible, and without respite.
Kharoulke managed it by fantasizing about himself in the future middle world, exacting his revenge. The dream was much like the real thing would be. Sometimes he lost his way in time and thought he was there already. But his condition did join him to the moment more tightly than usual for an Instrumentality of his magnitude.
Vaguely, he sensed the surface of the nearby ice start to slicken and run.
Now a season of warmth would add to his miseries.
27. The Holy Lands: Fierce New Blood
The Mountain and Azim al-Adil had their first serious encounter with the new castellan of Gherig, at Indala’s suggestion, as spring began to threaten the Holy Lands. Indala wanted to test the Arnhander prince, who was little older than Azim.
Reports said Black Rogert’s successor was businesslike. He was better liked than du Tancret but considered cold and aloof. How he would handle combat remained a mystery. He had gone to Los Naves de los Fantas with his brother but had not been allowed to join the fighting, being thought too young.
In the event, Anselin of Menand proved as valiant and fierce an opponent as any warrior could want. Azim al-Adil and Nassim Alizarin avoided death in addition to humiliation only by being equipped with the faster horses.
The Praman infantry suffered. Those who survived did so by fleeing into terrain where their less numerous enemy dared not follow.
Having learned what he wanted to know, Indala sent reinforcements and orders to harass Gherig relentlessly. No traffic was to move westward out of Lucidia till he led the way himself, at the head of all the armies of Qasr al- Zed.
Azim admitted that there was a scheme afoot but he could not share details. He knew nothing. He had not been invited into Indala’s confidence.
Rogert du Tancret gathered his cronies in Vantrad. They laid wicked plans. Black Rogert made no effort to hide his ambition, which was to usurp the Holy Diadem, the supposed Crown of Aaron, which went to the kings of Vantrad. The Diadem, nominally, elevated Vantrad’s kings to lordship over the princes and counts of all the Crusader states.
King Berismond was fourteen, plagued by congenital infirmities, chronic diseases, and a marriage made out of political convenience. He always wore gloves and a veil. Clothilde, his queen, was twice his age. Her family had connections with the du Tancrets going back to the home countries. Clothilde had no objection to replacing her mostly useless, heirless, third husband with a fourth who had proven himself a real man.
The lords and knights of the Crusader states had strong feelings about Rogert du Tancret, and about honor. Individual interpretations led men to choose, to stand with Black Rogert or against him. Armed dispute seemed likely.
Both parties began wooing Gisela Frakier, du Tancret’s with less success. Some people did remember from one day to the next.
In Shamramdi Indala al-Sul Halaladin put in long hours rehearsing provocateurs who would try to get a deadly squabble started.
Nassim Alizarin underestimated Anselin of Menand just once. Thereafter he made the Prince’s life a hell on earth. Indala gave him the tools. He kept them sharp and used them often. 28. The Ninth Unknown: Castle in the Wilderness Pure misery. Misery rendered down, concentrated, coagulated, then force-fed to those experiencing it. Thus did Cloven Februaren think of his recent life. In a namby-pamby sort of way.
The decision to bring the Aelen Kofer to the fortress of the Bastard started the misery. That misery had not yet ended. That fortress had not yet been attained.
The Aelen Kofer could not be touched by the Construct. They could make no contact whatsoever with its powers. Neither Heris nor the Ninth Unknown had the strength to move the smallest, lightest dwarf using the Construct. They had to be sailed from the Realm of the Gods to the mainland. Then they had to walk. The sailing part took many trips over two weeks. The weather was that foul.
Iron Eyes insisted that his entire following make the winter trek. He feared the new middle world.
Cloven Februaren was expected to provide supplies.
He had no problem with the essential concept. It was winter. There was little to be had out there, by theft, hunting, foraging, or purchase. Most of which options would bring the Aelen Kofer to the attention of middle- worlders. Iron Eyes did not want to be noticed.
Cloven Februaren had a problem with the execution. The work involved was overwhelming. Supplies in quantity could be obtained unnoticed only in Brothe. Then they had to be transferred out to where the dwarf company labored across the icy landscape. Which going proved murderous early on.
Cloven Februaren and Heris put in eighteen-hour days just to keep the Aelen Kofer from starving.
It was a long journey and dwarves were hearty eaters. Weather never stopped being an evil challenge.
On the other hand, the Night was no trouble at all. The minor Instrumentalities seemed thoroughly dedicated to shunning the Aelen Kofer.
Dwarves were slow travelers. And reluctant, quarrelsome travelers. Some days the band did not move at all. Which left the Ninth Unknown thoroughly frustrated as well as exhausted.
Further complications arose once they reached lands where middle-worlders still lived.
Iron Eyes wanted to remain mythological. Forever, if possible.
Though the dwarves formed a sizable company, remaining unnoticed was not difficult at first. But that did take increasingly careful scouting. Which, of course, further slowed progress.
Februaren held off exhaustion long enough to get a meal inside himself. Iron Eyes intruded. “This would be easier if the Old Ones were still in charge. We could ramble around wherever we wanted and the folks would be eager to help.”
“Too bad they’re all sealed up, then. We could bust them out, easy, if they just weren’t all locked up.”
“You’ve got a sour attitude on you lately, you know that?”
“I expect it’s because of the company I keep.”
