Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,52

the antiquities of Dreanger. No. They weren’t defiled. Not even Rogert du Tancret would dare that with any but slaves and pleasure women. But the girls were among those ‘guests’ he forced to dine in Gherig, then served using lepers.”

“I sense a particular interest on your part, young Az.”

“One of the girls, Needa, could be my betrothed.” In answer to the general’s lifted eyebrow, “The relationship is remote. Indala and Ibid had different mothers.”

The old man nodded. The children would be sufficiently distant to marry.

“What do you require of me?”

“The beast dared that insult only because my illustrious relative was preoccupied with Tsistimed. But now the Hu’n-tai At have turned their faces. Indala would like to seize the moment to punish du Tancret. Permanently.”

“Again, what do you require of me?”

“That you insert a spy into Gherig. Some of your followers have visited the west. They should be able to play Gisela Frakier well enough to fool the Arnhanders.”

“Sad hope,” the Mountain said. “I’ve tried. Twice. Both men were caught. And thrown from the wall. A gesture of contempt. As though they were trash, not worth torture or ransom. One man, abd Ador, survived. You can talk to him. He’s had nothing but time to think about what went wrong.”

“The paralyzed man in the wheeled chair downstairs?”

“Him.”

“Why do you keep him?”

“He hasn’t asked to die. He isn’t ready for Paradise.”

The youth’s eyes narrowed. A preference for pain and incapacity over Paradise suggested a feeble level of faith.

The boy was brilliant. Well educated. But he needed seasoning in the world outside palace walls.

“It’s his choice, youngster. We’re Sha-lug, not some rabble turned out of a prison that won’t wait for the wounded to die to bury them.”

The boy inclined his head slightly, conceding the point.

Alizarin said, “There may be a way to get inside Gherig that hasn’t occurred to us. I’ll find it. Betimes, your illustrious relative might try to lure Rogert out and destroy him.”

“Such plans are being considered, General. But the Arnhanders aren’t fools. Gherig sits on the frontier of the Holy Lands, surrounded by princes and principalities, tribes and chieftains, towns and townsmen, any of whom is likely to betray any of the others, or us, for a fistful of copper. And never suffer a pang of conscience.”

“The alternative would be to isolate the fortress.”

“Harder on the Faithful than the Unbeliever. Gherig can withstand a prolonged, determined siege.”

“I understand. I don’t mean a siege. Instead, just deploy raiders. Cut Gherig off. Attack anyone going in or coming out. Lay on the occasional small sorcery to worsen the misery of servants, soldiers, and merchants who are inside and have to watch the rest of the world go on.”

“I see. Shield the world from Rogert du Tancret by caging him. With people who will come to realize that the only way to change their fortunes is by stepping over his corpse.”

“Exactly.”

“Not particularly satisfying. But it might appeal to my uncle’s sense of humor.”

A soldier, Hawfik, interrupted, “Pardon me, General. Riders are approaching. They’re from Dreanger. The Master of Ghosts says it’s time to be wary.”

“Az? But …” But old Az was no longer in the chamber, lurking at the edge of awareness. “This could be trouble, young Az. We’ve been expecting the Rascal to try to silence us, now he’s back in favor.”

Alizarin had been awaiting a counterstroke since the fall of Rudenes Schneidel. It had taken time because the Rascal had had to worm his way back into the Lion’s good graces.

The boy waited quietly. Alizarin suggested, “Stay here. Make yourself known quickly if we fail to defend ourselves. Er-Rashal won’t want to offend Indala.”

“Er-Rashal offends my uncle by existing. I won’t hide from his lackeys.”

Quick, the general thought. The boy recognizing that the Rascal would not waste his own time on an upstart rebel.

Al-Adil asked, “How does your Master of Ghosts recognize trouble from so far off?”

“Az is a very minor sorcerer. But quite good within his abilities.” Enough said. Indala’s loathing for sorcery was well known, and shared by his associates. “He knows.”

Alizarin went to the small balcony overhanging the tower gate. The tower itself was just a few feet wider than the gate itself on that face. It formed a widening wedge behind, climbing Tel Moussa. There was a six-foot dry moat in front of the gate with a bridge that could be taken up and dragged inside. Alizarin had yet to see that done. Behind the gate, the way rose steeply. Any attacker who broke through