columns: the scurrying insects around the ebon block that was the “Weapon”; the dark squares beyond that were phalanxes of marching soldiers, arms and legs flashing in jerky unison; the hordes of camp followers; the Chlen — carts laden with arms and supplies and waterskins; and the smaller bodies of scouts and stragglers and local tribesmen, all the way to the horizon; all rolling inexorably on toward Khirgar as the sea-tide rolls up onto the sand.
The central column, that containing the “Weapon,” had halted. No one yet knew why. The flanking contingents continued to trudge on by, and clusters of officers and aides and General Ssa Qayel’s elite guardsmen leaned down from the Sakbe road parapets to see.
The ponderous wagon that bore the “Weapon” now stood immobile in the drifting dust, surrounded by swarms of soldiers, Chlen- handlers, and hangers-on. The subaltern who had clambered up to the third tier of the Sakbe road to fetch Lord Fu Shi’i shouted, mopped the sweat from his brow, and waved his pennoned lance, but the crowd only milled about, muttered, and gawked. Their numbers grew by the moment.
Lord Fu Shi’i pushed aside the flap of thick cloth that concealed the entrance to the little chamber within the “Weapon” and came out to stand upon the little platform at the rear of the great cart. His expression was bland and pleasant as always, but lines of strain showed around his clean-shaven mouth, and his eyes were cold and furious.
The officer behind him in the passage held a comer of his mantle over his nose. He said, “Lord, the damage? Shall we summon General Ssa Qayel and Lady Mmir? The army-’ ’
“Not yet. Go away. Leave me to assess the matter.-Yes, halt the legions, bivouac here for the night, and get rid of these people.”
“There is no water here, Lord. We had planned to reach the village of Tnektla by sundown.”
“Sink the village of Tnektla into the sand! Do as I say. And send me the scribe Truvarsh. A report must go this very day to Baron Aid in Ke’er.”
The man sketched a tired salute and climbed down the ladder into the crowd. His emerald crest renamed visible above the cylindrical helmets of the troopers for a time, like a beetle surrounded by a horde of Drz'-ants. Lord Fu Shi’i stared after him, then went back within.
The damage was certainly done. It was far more serious than the legion captain could have suspected. Beyond the still-smoky outer corridor, in the control chamber that lay within the heart of the “Weapon,’ were five heaps of grey-white putrescence, puddles of thick mucus, and a smell that made Lord Fu Shi’i gasp. Worse, however, were the silence and the darkness. The soft humming of the “Weapon” had ceased. The banks of little purple lights, so deep in colour that one could hardly say when they were lit, were black and vacant. Some were charred. Sadly, Lord Fu Shi’i touched a slender hand to a lever, as those who had supplied the “Weapon” had instructed. Nothing resulted. “Lord.” It was the scribe, Truvarsh.
“Come within. We summon a conference.”
“Others may see.” The man’s eyes glinted ruby-red in the hot light reflected from the vestibule.
“None dare enter here. And we will not be long.”
The scribe wavered, flickered, and became a furred, longsnouted creature, a Mihalli. It drew forth a translucent sapphire sphere from within its mantle: a “Ball of Immediate Eventuation,” the special other-planar tool of its race. It concentrated.
They stood upon a glassy plain.
The sky was of no colour, the landscape flat and weirdly foreshortened. Myriad pale tendrils, vines of white that bore no fruit and had never known sun or rain, emerged from a single point beyond the horizon to writhe across this plain and disappear here and there into what might have been the ground. Every one of these filaments was withered, shrivelled, curled, and dead.
“Not here,” said Lord Fu Shi’i, a trifle sadly. “Not where ‘Those Who Are Seen and Yet Remain Unseen’ have perished. The vines that bloom as men on other Planes are gone.”
The Mihalli nodded and bent over its globe again.
They stood in the place that was not a place, where little beads of light darted to and fro like fish within a turgid pool. A figure glowed before them, its edges brightening first, then its centre filling in with colour and detail, as dye seeps into a length of fabric. A second appeared.
“My Lord Prince. Lord Baron.”
“Four of my personal staff are gone. Others are missing,” Prince Dhich’une said curtly. “This means that the priest-boy has won through.”
“So it is. Half a dozen of my people are piles of rotting curds too-not even the Dlaqo — beetles will eat the stuff.” Baron Aid sat down upon the dais that the Mihalli produced before him. He wore no armour but a hunting costume of green leather.
Lord Fu Shi’i shrugged, gracefully. “All of the Goddess’ minions, her He’esa, are severed from our Plane. Without the umbilical cord that sustains them from Her Plane, they perish. The Man of Gold has wrought as its ancient makers intended. We came to the feast tardily and brought too little food.” He carefully forebore from mentioning that this had been the decision of his master.
“Our agents-my Vridekka?” Prince Dhich’une asked.
“We have heard nothing,” Lord Fu Shi’i cupped a hand and turned it over, a sign that any player of Den-den would recognise as one of surrender. “Our Mihalli in Purdimal-gone beyond this Plane, out of reach of contact. All of our people there as well. Some must be dead, others taken.”
The Baron spat a string of crackling oaths in his own fierce northern tongue. “And my ‘Weapon’?”
“Cut off as the He’esa were, master. All of the Goddess’ entrance points are gone, sheared away as a butcher cleaves the head from a Hmelu with his axe. No force penetrates now from Her Plane into ours.”
“Cha! What’s to do?”
Prince Dhich’une said, “Continue to advance the ‘Weapon,’ of course. Who is to know that it-temporarily-no longer functions.”
“All too many know, mighty Prince. Half the army saw the smoke billowing from the door. The officer who entered it to investigate will tell his tale. It will be old gossip by nightfall.
Spies in the camp-Tsolyani, Milumanayani tribesmen, and others- wi ll carry it to Prince Eselne within the six-day.” “Repair it. Restore the access points.” The Baron clenched brawny fists upon his knees.
“That can be done, master. But it will take time to find another path through the Planes Beyond, one that the Man of Gold does not block. Then will come the work of building connections, replacing the key people with the Goddess’ He’esa, as was done before.”
“Do you tell me that it will again take as mamy months- years-as it did to progress this far?” The Baron thundered. He leaped to his feet, and the place that was not a place trembled and quavered. The Mihalli looked over at him in silent reproach.
“We can still defeat the Tsolyani,” Lord Fu Shi’i murmured silkily. “We have the troops, the military skill-your own great skill, Lord-and your high determination.”
“Gull me not, man! It was risky enough with the ‘Weapon,’ but well you know that the Tsolyani have thrice the legions we can muster-older, better trained, more cleverly generalled! Serve me no Ahoggya piss in place of wine!”
Fu Shi’i bowed his sleek head before his master’s wrath. This, too, would pass.
“And what of me?” Dhich’une broke into the brittle silence. “What of our plans-your promise to relieve certain of my siblings of life? Who now will smooth away my opposition in the Kolumejalim? Well you know that I cannot face my half-brothers in all of the tests that comprise the ‘Choosing of Emperors!’ The He'esa were to-”
“The Gods know that you cannot surpass even your silly half-sister, Ma’in Kriithai! Not even if the sole contest were to get yourself successfully sodomised by a Shen!” The Baron paced to and fro. He threw off the fingers Fu Shi’i laid upon his arm. “Go! Resign the ‘Gold!’ Hide in your worm-riddled City of Sarku! Forget the Petal Throne or else learn swordsmanship and agility and those other arts that will be tested! Hire champions-!” He snorted. “Cheat!”
The skull-painted face was unreadable. “I will hear no more, barbarian. Now will I let Eselne and Mirusiya crush you, defeat your puny armies, and skewer you upon a pole, just as General Kettukal’s man Bazhan did to your foolish fish-wife Yilrana! My half-brothers will slay you, and you will weaken them just enough to allow me to come forth again as the heir to my father’s Empire! When you are done chewing upon one another like an arena-pit full of Mnor, I shall be there, Baron, to claim my patrimony.”
