Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,69

than completely victorious. His very soul shrieked, go forward! Compel that thing to his will! But he had not become Emperor of all Men by letting his ego lead him into choices unsuitable to a longer view.

A general observed, “If we choose to go raise another army we ought to do so soon. The god has noticed us.”

The tower of darkness was miles away but had stopped. The warlords sensed it feeling the world around it, trying to locate them. They were hidden by the most potent sorceries available, but this thing …

Something happened.

Something changed.

The Instrumentality coalesced. It hardened. It took shape. That shape seemed indecisive, though. One moment it resembled a man two hundred feet tall but far too squat and wide, the next it was a toad on its hind legs. Then it became something very wide, with vast wings of shadow. Color could not be discerned.

A great tongue darted down, pulled back with a struggling man whose allegiance could not be determined at that distance. The Instrumentality’s eyes fixed on the mound where the lords of the Hu’n-tai At had gathered. But maybe they did not see. For the god seemed distracted. Its tongue acted again, without apparent conscious direction, as the Instrumentality fed absentmindedly.

It rose from its toad slouch into its tallest manshape, turned, leaned westward. Tsistimed sensed an immediate change in the flow of battle. The Chosen were no longer getting help from their grim patron.

The Instrumentality leaned a little farther, took a tentative step. It sniffed the air. Then it loosed a great groaning excited rumble, shook all over, and began walking, the battle forgotten. It headed west.

Cries of despair rose from the jungle of shattered stone, the Chosen bewailing their abandonment.

They fought. The many-fingered monsters fought. Mourning would blanket the continent. Never had so many Hu’n-tai At fallen in one battle. Never had so many fallen in one generation.

Kharoulke the Windwalker strode steadily westward.

14. The Lucidian Frontier: Skirmishes

Nassim Alizarin’s raiders never neared Gherig closer than two miles. They engaged the crusaders only when there was no alternative. They intercepted couriers. They forced caravans to choose more difficult routes. And they made mock of Black Rogert. The strategy was transparent. And warmed the heart of Indala al-Sul Halaladin in far Shamramdi.

Young Az had brought several hundred warriors to support the Mountain’s efforts. The boy had firm instructions about bowing to the wisdom of the veteran. Indala remembered Nassim Alizarin as an enemy. He considered the Mountain his equal. Nassim’s Sha-lug had routed a larger force of Lucidians, long ago, during one of the periodic collisions between Lucidia and Dreanger. Only one other could claim to have bested Indala on the battlefield: Gordimer the Lion.

The boy showed his character. He accepted his relative’s directives. He did tell Nassim, “It grates. If I were any of my brothers or cousins, I’d ignore Indala. They do, too often, despite his having shown no reluctance to discipline his own blood.”

Nassim thought about his murdered son. Hagid would be about this age. Without as much promise. “You remind me too much of my son. I’ll probably be too soft to teach you what you need to learn.”

Old general and youth were astride horses, in the shadow of a rock spire in the dun badlands, observing Gherig. Smoke signals were rising there. No knowing what that meant. But they suggested a season to be wary.

Rogert du Tancret might be angry enough to move against Tel Moussa.

Young Az asked, “Were you too soft with your son?”

“Possibly the opposite. He was desperate to prove himself. That got him killed.” Nassim did not share the details. He would not, other than to reiterate his indictments of Gordimer and the sorcerer er-Rashal. He did not want to explain why the boy had gone to Brothe.

Captain Tage could not possibly maintain his charade indefinitely. But he would not be betrayed by the Mountain. Nassim Alizarin owed that man a debt of honor. He could repay it no other way.

He grumbled, “It’s a complicated world.”

“Certainly one where few men see past the sunset.”

“Eh?”

“Nobody thinks beyond the moment. Especially those who serve God. They just don’t get the concept of consequences.”

Nassim grunted. That was true, though more characteristic of Lucidia than Dreanger. The kaifate of Qasr al-Zed was, before all else, tribal. The kaifate of al-Minphet was more unified, with the Sha-lug there to enforce the will of the Marshal and Kaif.

He supposed the western kaifate was more like the Lucidian than the Dreangerean. A continuous dance