Nassim looked to the northwest. “This could be a situation made for Rogert du Tancret.”
“If Berismond is seen as indecisive or weak. And how can he not be with Clothilde manipulating him?”
“Al-Adil hinted that something might happen to Black Rogert.”
“That’s always a possibility. For any of us. An assassin could get in here, too. But du Tancret has a phenomenal sense for personal danger. The love of the Night, perhaps. Don’t base any strategy on the assumption that assassins will push him aside.”
“Just thinking out loud. It’s not my problem. We have enough to keep us busy here.”
Nassim went downstairs, thinking about Azim al-Adil. Young Az had found a way into his heart. He would be devastated if the boy followed Hagid and Ambel into the dark.
Indala had asked if Ambel’s end had left him a broken tool. Broken, not. But there were cracks.
The Sha-lug Mohkam approached Nassim as he approached his own quarters. He whispered, “There’s a letter came from Akir. He’s succeeded in buying twelve hundred pounds of firepowder. It will come by ship to Shartelle. We need to have people there to meet it. The Deves also offered a battery of six four-pounder falcons at six hundred eighty Aparionese ducats apiece if we take the set.”
“That’s cheap. What’s wrong with them?”
“They’re obsolete out there. Akir says they’ve survived repeated test firings, though.”
“If that’s what we can get. We can adapt. Why so generous with the firepowder?”
“Akir says they’ve found a way to produce it in quantity, less expensively.”
“Then the face of war will change.”
Mohkam shrugged. He was not one to care.
“Thank you,” Nassim said. “I need to rest, now.”
32. Tsistimed and the Chosen
There was no forgiveness in Tsistimed the Golden. And he was methodical about eliminating enemies. His biggest challenge in generations were the Chosen and their weird companions. No other enemy had come after him in more than a century. Others were content to wait for their doom to find them.
Ghargarlicea would enjoy a respite while he exterminated the threat from always-winter.
The Hu’n-tai At moved with the spring melt. They pursued the retreating freeze, guided by Chosen who had deserted their foul winter god.
It was not a war with much conflict. There was little left to find, other than starved bodies frozen alongside roads leading toward friendlier climes. Before summer’s peak the great lord of the steppe knew the Chosen would be no further threat.
No living humans remained north of lands Tsistimed ruled. He could shift ambition to the Ghargarlicean Empire, though that conquest would not now go as quickly as he would like.
The Hu’n-tai At needed time to regain strength. That could take decades.
Tsistimed was not pleased.
The wells of power continued to wane. He would not survive them by long.
Their power, and that of the Night, sustained him. While they went on, Tsistimed the Golden went on. When they failed, Tsistimed the Golden would die. 33. Realm of the Gods: Great Sky Fortress Korban Iron Eyes and his troop followed their own path back to the Realm of the Gods. When Heris and Cloven Februaren arrived with the Bastard, Heris blurted, “Shee-it, Double Great! They beat us! I’m going to crack some heads! They screwed us, taking all damned winter to get down there to that damned castle.”
“Not really. Be calm. They can’t walk across to our world wherever they want. They have to go there on foot first, from an entry point they already know.”
“Like me with the Construct when I first started.”
“Like that. But, remember, time passes differently here.”
That might be. Iron Eyes had not taken advantage of the differential to clean himself up.
Heris recognized the ascendant instantly-though, in retrospect, that was no prodigy. He was the only unfamiliar non-dwarf. And, even in Asgrimmur Grimmsson form, he radiated a powerful presence. More so while he studied the Bastard, son and grandson of the fragmentary Instrumentalities inside him.
The Bastard did not react to the ascendant. The Bastard was unhappy. Bizarre myth had caught him up, had kidnapped him, and he could do nothing about it.
When the ascendant drew near, though, the Bastard jumped as though pricked.
“He believes it now,” Februaren said.
The Bastard’s gaze rose to the Great Sky Fortress and restored rainbow bridge. “It’s real.”
Februaren responded, “It’s all real. Whatever your beliefs.”
“I believe in Ferris Renfrow. Nothing more.”
Heris asked, “Not even the New Brothen Empire?”
While Februaren said, “Then Ferris Renfrow is true inside the Night, too. Let’s adjourn to the tavern. We’ll get comfortable. Jarneyn and Svavar can fill you in on your family history.”
The ascendant growled. He insisted on leaving Svavar behind.
Februaren had provoked him deliberately, to keep the shattered souls inside from exerting too much influence.
Gallons of excellent Aelen Kofer beer passed through the principals while the Bastard learned. He had heard various stories about Arlensul and Gedanke but insisted that never had he suspected a personal connection. He had bought into the Chaldarean worldview. That old stuff was rustic folklore and discredited mythology.
“Never?” Heris asked, incredulous.
“Not once. It’s too outrageous. And heretical. And when I was young, every charlatan with any magical talent claimed he was the spawn of Arlensul. The most convincing ended up being murdered by the Church.”
“You didn’t suspect even after you knew you had all your power?” Heris had made herself lead interrogator. She had not downed as much beer as the males. And she was intrigued by Renfrow.
“Why would I? Did Februaren think he was the Bastard?”
“Well, he is. For sure. You should try working for him.”
Februaren wasted no time being amused. “Heris!”
The Bastard said, “I suspected a lot of things. That I might be the get of discredited gods wasn’t one of them. Understand?”
The Ninth Unknown swatted Heris on the behind. “Be quiet. We’re trying to save a world, here.”
“You’d better get ready to do it on crutches.”
“Runs in the family,” Februaren told the others. “Her brother…”
Heris interrupted, “I can save the world by myself, no Bastard necessary. Give me a falcon, a ton of firepowder, and two hundred pounds of silver-plated beads. The damned thing just lies there.” She gave Februaren a glare meant to remind him that her brother had no part in this. Especially considering the other hat the Bastard wore.
Februaren nodded, asked, “When did you last visit?”
“Ah. You could be right. It’s been a while. But that option is there and doesn’t require all this stuff with other worlds, lost gods, and cranky mythical people.”
“Watch your tongue, cutie,” Iron Eyes gurgled.
“There is something to be said for solving a problem by hitting it with a really big hammer. Still, let’s focus on what we’re doing here.”
The Bastard drained a flagon. Heris said, “Right there is proof that he’s a supernatural. I’d be destroyed by what he’s put away already. But he isn’t showing a sign.”
Not quite true, but close.
The Bastard said, “I might be what you claim. I can’t figure out how to make it not true. That being the case, let’s get down to the mystical business and get it done. I have obligations back in the real world. People get into mischief when I’m not there.”
Februaren conceded, “An excellent point. I haven’t checked my own folks in much too long. Svavar…”
“Last chance to get it right, old man. Not Svavar. Asgrimmur, if you have to, but not Svavar.”