Glen Cook: Working God's Mischief

The ascendant missed his tone. He nodded. “The last two. One god, one goddess. But she’s Red Hammer’s mother.”

Februaren said, “I’m thinking we have more trouble than you’ve let on, friend Asgrimmur.”

“What do you mean?”

“That this can’t be on the up-and-up. You supposedly trapped all of the Old Gods here, except Ordnan and Arlensul. Right?”

Silence overran the chamber, the Great Sky Fortress, the Realm of the Gods. Cloven Februaren had used a name never to be spoken by mortal men.

Asgrimmur started shaking. “Aaron’s Balls, old man! Have a care!”

“Why? He’s gone. Less than the whisper of a ghost. Right?”

“Names have vast power.”

“A root theorem of magic. So. How about you share some names that we might not find on the roster of Instrumentalities we’re bringing back here,” said Februaren.

“I don’t understand.”

“I doubt that. This old man didn’t spend all his time with Iron Eyes swapping tall tales and seeing who could drink the most dwarf beer.”

Heris was behind Asgrimmur now, and distinctly unhappy. “What’s the story, Double Great?”

“An old one, maybe. But I’m not quite ready to say we’ve been hornswoggled.”

“Double Great!”

“All right! There are problems with our situation. Anomalies.”

“Such as?” Heris asked.

“I got Iron Eyes to tell me what he could about the Old Ones. Now I’m raising questions. There are whole platoons of gods and goddesses who didn’t get stuck inside Asgrimmur’s pocket reality. Assuming twelve really is how many were trapped here. Which is what the Aelen Kofer claim.”

Asgrimmur slumped. “It’s true. I should’ve seen it. But it’s also true that these twelve are all who were here when I locked them up. I’m thinking now, maybe, thanks to Korban’s father. He was here, I think. My memories aren’t very clear.”

Februaren said, “I’ve studied this mythology, Asgrimmur. There are problems with your story.”

“There are inconsistencies in every faith, old man. We blind ourselves willfully. What’s your particular problem?” The ascendant grew more disturbed as the old sorcerer prodded.

“The Trickster.”

“Uh … and?”

“The tale of the Old Ones is a long one. It’s convoluted and filled with the aforementioned inconsistencies. They defeated the primal Instrumentalities, Kharoulke, Vrislakis, and their kin. But the Gray Walker wasn’t top Shining One back then. He had a father and a grandfather. He had some brothers. It took them all to make the middle world and create people. Zyr was around before most of the Old Ones. He may have been a friend of Ordnan’s grandfather. The dwarves say he was a more important god, way back.

“Then there was the War Between the Gods. The Old Gods against the Raneul. The Shining Ones won but the Raneul weren’t destroyed. Some moved in here and became Shining Ones themselves. The rest are around somewhere. Likewise, a whole raft of missing original Old Ones. And, after that, there’s still the Trickster matter.”

Asgrimmur drew a long, deep breath, released it in a long, loud sigh.

“Knowing all that, then, you no doubt know that the missing Instrumentalities are to be found in Eucereme.”

“I don’t know that name. It isn’t one Iron Eyes ever used.”

“We talk about the Nine Worlds but the only ones we’ve dealt with are this one, the middle world, and that of the Aelen Kofer. Your missing gods and goddesses are probably hiding in the world of the Raneul, where they won’t have to deal with Godslayers.”

That was an answer, of a sort, but not one that satisfied, there being a normal human inclination to expect secret meanings, motives, and movers.

Heris said, “Double Great, this is all interesting as hell but how about we finish the job we’ve got?”

“Good idea. But first let’s make sure it doesn’t finish us. Asgrimmur. About the Trickster.”

“What about him?”

“He is in there, right?”

“Yes.”

“How does that work? I thought he’d been thrown out of the Realm of the Gods because of tricks he played on the other Old Ones.”

“I don’t know. He probably talked his way back in once the All-Father went down.”

“Double Great. However he got here, he’s here. Deal with that.”

“I’m trying. I think it might be useful to know why he came back.”

“He came back because he thought he could score with the Gray Walker out of the way. You want to poke and pry and figure things out, see if the Trickster didn’t set Ordnan up somehow. But do it on your own time.”

Cloven Februaren looked at Hecht. “I think the success with Kharoulke has gone to her head.”

Hecht did not smile. He was tired and worried and wanted out of this suburb of the Pit. “Let’s finish up so we can get out and go home.”

“You, too? All right. I blame it on Grade Drocker, her father. But don’t worry about outside. Time goes slower out there. They aren’t missing you, yet.”

So now the old man was poking him with a stick.

Hecht refused to play.

Still arguing, Heris and Februaren, with Ferris Renfrow behind, made another round of everything up front, looking for possible problems.

“Asgrimmur?” Heris called. “You ready?”

“Sorry. Woolgathering, I guess.”

He had gone thoughtful the moment Heris suggested that the Trickster might have had something to do with the Gray Walker’s misfortunes.

Hecht watched closely as the ascendant established a dialog with the last two Old Ones. He wished there were a way to gauge how potent the ghosts within the man really were.

For a month frenetic preparations alternated with boredom at the watch fortress atop Tel Moussa. The Mountain, General Nassim Alizarin, had grown thoroughly frustrated. God Himself must be testing him.

His patience was gone. His faith had grown weak.

Alizarin spent his days in the parapet of the highest tower, enduring the hot winds off the Idiam. His men had installed a canopy to provide shade while their old general wrestled his ghosts and conscience.

Nassim Alizarin had been a great champion and commander of the Sha-lug, the mighty slave soldiers of Dreanger. None had stood higher save the Marshall, Gordimer the Lion. Then, for no reason ever made clear, Gordimer had permitted the murder of Nassim’s son Hagid. Nassim rebelled. So he was here, now, a tool of Dreanger’s enemies.

Alizarin now understood that the Marshall’s part in the murder had consisted of omission and indifference. Lost in the distractions that came with power, Gordimer had become an unwitting puppet of the sorcerer er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen.

The Rascal had ordered Hagid killed. That debt had yet to be repaid.

Meantime, the Mountain served the kaifs of Qasr al-Zed. He had hoped to gather other disgruntled Sha-lug to oust Gordimer and er-Rashal.

As an ally of Qasr al-Zed, Alizarin had been effective; as an agent for change in Dreanger, not so much.

His current task was to control traffic between Lucidia and the Holy Lands so the crusaders would gain no clear picture of what was developing in the Realm of Peace.

Indala al-Sul Halaladin, with most of the might of Qasr al-Zed, had launched the Grand Campaign into Dreanger, to unite the kaifate of al-Minphet with that of Qasr al-Zed so he could turn their combined strength against the infidel in the Holy Lands.

Indala had suffered severe losses while achieving dramatic successes. He had captured al-Qarn. He had taken possession of Kaif Kaseem al-Bakr. He controlled most of the shrines of al-Minphet. But he had not yet humbled Gordimer the Lion, nor had he eliminated er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen. The Marshall was maneuvering west of the River Shirne, trying to initiate an encounter that would honor his particular advantages.