Chapter 7

Qannadi sat late in his private chambers. He was alone, his wives and concubines doomed to disappointment, for none would be chosen this night. Dispatches had arrived by courier from the south, and the Amir had informed his staff that he was not to be disturbed.

By the light of an oil lamp burning brightly on his desk, Qannadi read the reports of his spies and double agents—men he had planted in the governments of the cities of Bas who were working for their overthrow from the inside. Studying these, he compared them to the reports of his field commanders, occasionally nodding to himself in satisfaction.

The ripples created by the rock thrown at the nomads were still spreading across the pond. Qannadi had made certain his agents proclaimed publicly that the Amir had done as a tremendous favor by ridding them of the spear that had long been pointed at their throats. Never mind that centuries had passed since the nomads had attacked Bas and that the attack had come at a time when the newly arising cities were seen as a distinct threat to the nomads and their way of life. So devastating had been the battles fought then that they lived in legend and song, and it took only the mention of the fearsome spahis—the cruel desert riders in their black robes and black masks—to drain the blood from the plump cheeks many a Senator.

Governed by democratic rule that permitted all men of property (excluding women, slaves, laborers, soldiers, and foreigners) to have an equal vote, the people of Bas had lived in relative peace for many years. Once they had established their citystates, they devoted themselves to their favorite occupation—politics. Their God, Uevin—whose three precepts were Law, Patience, and Reality—delighted in all that was new and modern, despising anything that was old or outdated. His was a materialistic outlook on life. What counted was the here and now—that which could be seen and that which could be touched. The people of Bas insisted on having every moment of their lives controlled, and there existed so many ordnances and laws in their cities that walking on the wrong side of the road on an oddnumbered calendar day could land one in prison for a month. The great joy in their lives was to crowd the Senate chambers and listen by the hour to endless harangues over trivial points in their numerous constitutions.

Uevin’s followers’ second greatest joy was to create marvels of modern technology to enable them to better the quality of their lives in this world. Huge aqueducts crisscrossed their cities, either bringing water into the homes or carrying waste away from them. Their buildings were massive, and of modern design with no frivolous adornments, filled with mechanical devices of every conceivable shape and description. They had developed new methods of farmingterracing the land, using irrigation, rotating crops to rest the soil. They invented new ways to mine gold and silver and, so it was rumored, had even discovered a black rock that burned.

Though the majority of people in Bas believed in Uevin, they considered themselves enlightened, and encouraged believers in other Gods to settle in their cities (mostly, it was believed, for the sake of the debates it stirred up). Followers of both Kharmani and Benario were numerous in Bas, and an occasional temple could be found to Zhakrin and Mimrim and Quar. Life was good in Bas. The people exported their crops, their technological devices, their ores and metals, and were generally well off. Their faith in Uevin had never wavered.

Until now.

In determining how his immortals should best serve both himself and his followers, Uevin rejected the notion of djinn and angels that were used by other Gods and Goddesses. He designed a more modern system, one that could be completely controlled and was not subject to the whim of changeable humans. Delineating his immortals as “minor dieties,” he put each in charge of one specific area of human life. There was a God of War, a Goddess of Love, a God of Justice, a Goddess of Home and Family, a Goddess of Crops and Farming, a God of Finance, and so forth. Small temples were built wherein each of these minor dieties and their human priests and priestesses dwelt. Whenever a human had a problem, he or she knew exactly what deity to consult.

This worked well until, one by one, Uevin’s immortals began to disappear.

First to vanish had been the Goddess of Crops and Farming. Her priestesses went to her one day with a question and did not hear her voice in response. A drought struck. The wells ran dry. The water in the lakes and ponds dwindled. Crops withered and died in the fields. Uevin ordered the God of Justice to salvage the desperate situation, but his God of Justice was nowhere to be found. The system of government fell apart. Corruption was rife, the people lost faith in their Senators and threw them out of office. At this critical juncture, Uevin lost his God of War. Soldiers deserted or rioted in the streets, demanding more pay and better treatment. With the God of War went the Goddess of Love. Marriages fell apart, neighbor turned against neighbor, entire families split into quarreling factions.

At this critical juncture, Quar’s followers lifted their voices. Look to the north, they said. Look to the city of Kich and see how well the people are living. Look to the rich and powerful city of Khandar. See her Emperor and how he brings peace and prosperity to the people. See the Amir of Quar, who has saved you from the savage nomads. Discard your useless beliefs, for your God has betrayed you. Turn to Quar.

Many of Uevin’s followers did just that, and Quar took care to see to it that those who came to worship at his temples were blessed in all their endeavors. Rain fell on their fields. Their children were polite and did well in school. Their gold mines were prosperous. Their machines worked. Consequently they were elected to the Senate. They began to gain control of the armies.

Uevin attempted to fight back, but without his immortals he was losing the faith of his people and therefore growing weaker and weaker.

The Amir knew little and cared less about the war in heaven. That was the province of the Imam. Qannadi cared about the reports of a Bas general assassinated by undisciplined soldiers, a Governor deposed by the Senate, a student riot. Reading the missives of his spies, Qannadi deemed that the time was at hand to march south. Like rotten fruit, the citystates of Bas were ready to fall into his hand.

A knock at the door disturbed his thoughts.

Annoyed, Qannadi looked up from his reading. “I left orders not to be bothered.”

“It is Hasid, General,” came a rasping voice.

“Enter,” said the Amir immediately.

The door opened. Qannadi could see his bodyguard on the other side and behind him an old man. Dressed in dirty rags, his body gnarled and twisted as a carob tree, there was a dignity and pride in the old man’s bearing and his upright stance that marked him a soldier. The bodyguard stood aside to let the old man pass, then shut the door again immediately. The Amir heard the sentry’s boots thud on the floor as he once more took up his position outside the door.

“What is it, Hasid? The young man—”

“I think you should send for him, O King.” Hasid stumbled over the unfamiliar royal appellation.

“We have known each other long enough to dispense with formalities, my friend. Why should I send for the young man now?” Qannadi glanced at a candle marked off in hours whose slowburning flame kept track of the time. It was well past the midhour of darkness.

“It must be tonight!” said the old soldier. ‘“There will be no tomorrow for Achmed.”

“What happened?” Frowning, the Amir laid the dispatch down on the desk and gave Hasid his complete attention.

“This noon, the young man lost control. He shouted out to the crowd at the gates his intention of joining your army.”

“And?”

“There was a riot, General. I am surprised you didn’t hear about it.”

“That fat fool who runs the prison never reports to me. He is terrified that I will lock him in one of his own cells. He is right, but all in due time. Continue.”

“The guards put the riot down, dragging off the other nomads, beating them and locking them in their cells. But not before Achmed’s tribesmen had nearly killed him.”

Startled to feel a pang of fear, like the thrust of cold iron through his bowels, Qannadi rose to his feet. “Is he all right?”

“I don’t know, sir. I couldn’t find out.” Hasid shook his head.

“Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” The Amir slammed his fist on the table, sloshing the oil in the lamp over the dispatches.

“If I am to remain valuable to you,” the old soldier said shrewdly, “then I must keep up my appearance as an ordinary prisoner. I dared not leave until the guards had drunk themselves into their usual nightly stupor. I think the young man is still alive. I went to his cell and I could hear his breathing, but it is very rapid and shallow.”

Buckling on his sword, Qannadi flung open the door. “I want an escort of twenty men, mounted and ready to ride within five minutes,” he said to the sentry.

Saluting, the guard turned and ran to a balcony overlooking the soldiers’ quarters. His voice rang out through the night, and within moments the Amir heard the clatter and clamor below that told him his orders were being obeyed with alacrity.

“Wait here,” the Amir told the old soldier. “I have further need of you, but not in that prison.”

Hasid saluted, but his king was already out of the room.