we're sorcerers."
This was news to Else. He knew of the Brotherhood of War only as a band of
ferocious warriors. "And? Have you turned on your own kind?"
Gentle gasps told him that a few of his companions did harbor some such
suspicion.
"There are weeds in the gardens of the Lord. We face an age of renewed crusade.
The steel must be tempered. We face formidable enemies in Indala al-Sul
Halaladin and Gordimer the Lion. The battalions of the Lord will have no place
in them for doubters or the faint of heart."
Some things were the same on both sides, Else reflected. "How about the worn out
and exhausted who don't have anything left to give to kings and warlords who
care more about their own glory and fortunes than they do about reclaiming the
Wells of Ihrian7"
"God and the Patriarch willing, that won't be a problem, next crusade."
"Enough," the old brother said. "He hasn't seen the Holy Lands yet," he told
Else.
Apparently, the younger man had said something he should not have. Would
extraordinary measures be taken to arm a new crusade with competent, motivated,
true-believer commanders? That was not good. Arnhanders were formidable
fighters. Only the pettiness and incompetence of their captains assured the
failure of their efforts.
ELSE STARED AT THE CEILING IN THE DARK. THE PORK CHURNED in his guts. Somewhere
nearby someone used a woman with great vigor, with her enthusiastic
participation. He paid little attention.
He had collected important intelligence already. The next crusade might be
better organized and led. And the new Brothen Patriarch expected to pick and
choose his commanders.
Else's thoughts drifted to the company he had taken to Andesqueluz. They should
be home, now. He hoped they had been well rewarded.
He drifted on to the puzzle of the slain bogon.
Who conjured it? No friend, certainly. Someone who did not want the mummies to
reach er-Rashal? That made sense. Assuming those brittle old sticks could be put
to major sorcerous use.
In theory, the mysterious enemy could be any sorcerer aware of what er-Rashal
was planning. Which, certainly, was nothing urgent. Or he would not be cruising
the Mother Sea just to check on one spy's progress.
That deserved reflection, too.
There was a soft tap at his door. He did not respond. That would be another
house whore offering her services. Or maybe a boy, since he had refused two
women already.
NAHLIK SAT DRINKING WINE ACROSS FROM ELSE. ELSE CONfined himself to coffee. It
would take him a while to wean himself from dietary law.
Nahlik had succeed a long time ago.
Two more men shared their table in a sailors' dive known as the Rusted Lantern.
Mallin had come in with Nahlik. The other man was a stranger. He had been there
when Else arrived, unconscious in a pool of his own vomit. Customers took what
seats they could, though that settled them in the company of strangers.
Mallin said, "We'd better talk before they throw this one out so they can fill
the seat with a paying customer."
Else grunted. "Nahlik, you were on the mark when you said don't take anything
embarrassing ashore. Somebody went through my stuff last night. While I was at
supper."
"Probably just looking for something to steal," Mallin said. "But you'd a' heard
about it if you had anything that didn't fit."
Nahlik said, "You were followed here. By that scrawny, stringy-haired character
bellying up over there. He's too busy getting himself on the outside of a few
quarts of wine to keep a close watch on you."
Else quickly related what he had heard last night and what that might mean in
terms of the character of the new Patriarch.
Mallin opined, "He's just coming in overconfident. They all are at first. Then
they find out how powerless they really are."
"This one has a different feel, even from here."
Nahlik said, "We don't know you anymore."
A big, sturdily built brute was talking to the stringy-haired character. Neither
looked at Else but he knew they
This was news to Else. He knew of the Brotherhood of War only as a band of
ferocious warriors. "And? Have you turned on your own kind?"
Gentle gasps told him that a few of his companions did harbor some such
suspicion.
"There are weeds in the gardens of the Lord. We face an age of renewed crusade.
The steel must be tempered. We face formidable enemies in Indala al-Sul
Halaladin and Gordimer the Lion. The battalions of the Lord will have no place
in them for doubters or the faint of heart."
Some things were the same on both sides, Else reflected. "How about the worn out
and exhausted who don't have anything left to give to kings and warlords who
care more about their own glory and fortunes than they do about reclaiming the
Wells of Ihrian7"
"God and the Patriarch willing, that won't be a problem, next crusade."
"Enough," the old brother said. "He hasn't seen the Holy Lands yet," he told
Else.
Apparently, the younger man had said something he should not have. Would
extraordinary measures be taken to arm a new crusade with competent, motivated,
true-believer commanders? That was not good. Arnhanders were formidable
fighters. Only the pettiness and incompetence of their captains assured the
failure of their efforts.
ELSE STARED AT THE CEILING IN THE DARK. THE PORK CHURNED in his guts. Somewhere
nearby someone used a woman with great vigor, with her enthusiastic
participation. He paid little attention.
He had collected important intelligence already. The next crusade might be
better organized and led. And the new Brothen Patriarch expected to pick and
choose his commanders.
Else's thoughts drifted to the company he had taken to Andesqueluz. They should
be home, now. He hoped they had been well rewarded.
He drifted on to the puzzle of the slain bogon.
Who conjured it? No friend, certainly. Someone who did not want the mummies to
reach er-Rashal? That made sense. Assuming those brittle old sticks could be put
to major sorcerous use.
In theory, the mysterious enemy could be any sorcerer aware of what er-Rashal
was planning. Which, certainly, was nothing urgent. Or he would not be cruising
the Mother Sea just to check on one spy's progress.
That deserved reflection, too.
There was a soft tap at his door. He did not respond. That would be another
house whore offering her services. Or maybe a boy, since he had refused two
women already.
NAHLIK SAT DRINKING WINE ACROSS FROM ELSE. ELSE CONfined himself to coffee. It
would take him a while to wean himself from dietary law.
Nahlik had succeed a long time ago.
Two more men shared their table in a sailors' dive known as the Rusted Lantern.
Mallin had come in with Nahlik. The other man was a stranger. He had been there
when Else arrived, unconscious in a pool of his own vomit. Customers took what
seats they could, though that settled them in the company of strangers.
Mallin said, "We'd better talk before they throw this one out so they can fill
the seat with a paying customer."
Else grunted. "Nahlik, you were on the mark when you said don't take anything
embarrassing ashore. Somebody went through my stuff last night. While I was at
supper."
"Probably just looking for something to steal," Mallin said. "But you'd a' heard
about it if you had anything that didn't fit."
Nahlik said, "You were followed here. By that scrawny, stringy-haired character
bellying up over there. He's too busy getting himself on the outside of a few
quarts of wine to keep a close watch on you."
Else quickly related what he had heard last night and what that might mean in
terms of the character of the new Patriarch.
Mallin opined, "He's just coming in overconfident. They all are at first. Then
they find out how powerless they really are."
"This one has a different feel, even from here."
Nahlik said, "We don't know you anymore."
A big, sturdily built brute was talking to the stringy-haired character. Neither
looked at Else but he knew they
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