CHAPTER THREE

Margalit, the Outlands

B a’al’uz had been traveling north for many weeks. It had been tiresome, difficult, and very often dangerous, but he had enjoyed every moment of it. He’d never traveled beyond the borders of the Tyranny previously, and he found the exposure to different cultures and peoples exhilarating and rewarding.

He despised everyone he met, of course, but that only added to the serenity of his own world and to his belief that there were very few people in the world worth truly caring about. Late one night, lying wrapped in his blanket in the extreme northern reaches of the Salamaan Pass, watching crisp stars weaving their majesty through the sky, Ba’al’uz had a moment of absolute revelation: the lives of men and women were worthless. There was only himself, and Kanubai waiting inside DarkGlass Mountain, and the future that mattered.

Kanubai continued to whisper in his mind throughout the journey. He also whispered in the minds of the eight men Ba’al’uz traveled with, although never as clearly as in Ba’al’uz’ mind.

The Eight were receptive. Ba’al’uz had, after all, chosen well in his companions. To augment Kanubai’s whisperings, Ba’al’uz related to the men the powers and riches that could be theirs if they allied themselves with the powerful Kanubai.

Better allied with him, Ba’al’uz argued, than set against him.

The Eight agreed. Their lives were as nothing under Isaiah. Kanubai clearly promised better.

Ba’al’uz said to the Eight that an army would be theirs for the taking if they pledged Kanubai their loyalty, and with that army they would control the world.

“Kanubai,” said Ba’al’uz, “wishes me to be his general and you his captains.”

The Eight looked at him long and hard at that, but they agreed.

Better to be allied with He Who Approached, and his captains, than die as his enemy.

“There is nothing in this world but Kanubai,” said Ba’al’uz one night, and the Eight nodded in complete agreeance.

“Everything,” said Ba’al’uz, “must be subsumed to him.”

“Everything,” murmured the Eight.

“Including us,” said Ba’al’uz.

There was a small hesitation. “Including us,” the Eight eventually muttered.

“Although we, naturally, shall enjoy great rewards and privileges for our work on his behalf.”

“Naturally,” the Eight agreed, no hesitation this time.

“He needs to feed,” said Ba’al’uz.

“Yes,” said the Eight.

“It has been a very long time since he has fed.”

“Of course.”

“If we show Kanubai our devotion in this small matter,” said Ba’al’uz, “then I am certain he shall be grateful.”

Subsequently, on their passage northward through Adab and then through the Outlands toward Margalit, Ba’al’uz and the Eight, periodically, and very, very carefully and quietly, embarked on a campaign of murder. Not very much; just a life here and there and none who would be missed too greatly. These lives they offered to Kanubai, and to DarkGlass Mountain itself. Whenever possible, Ba’al’uz and the Eight gathered about the dying victim, watching the light fade from his or her eyes, sensing that far, far away, Kanubai grew stronger for the food.

Besides, the odd murder here and there was good practice for what lay ahead.

At night, Kanubai whispered ever more clearly in Ba’al’uz’ mind, and told him of an object he wanted.

Very badly.

The object, as strange as it seemed, was sure to cast Isaiah down into the bleakness of the abyss that Kanubai would shortly vacate. Delighted by the prospect, Ba’al’uz agreed to fetch the object once his business in the north was concluded.

Whatever loyalty he’d once owed Isaiah (not much, in any case) was now long gone.

Ba’al’uz was Kanubai’s, through and through.

After many weeks of travel Ba’al’uz and the Eight arrived at Margalit. Here, once they were fed and settled and bathed and had enjoyed a few good nights of sleep in comfortable beds, they would embark on the initial stages of creating the chaos needed to pave the way for Isaiah’s and Lister’s invasion. The only reason they continued to act as Isaiah and Lister expected them to was because their purpose suited Kanubai as much as it suited Isaiah and Lister. It was for Kanubai’s sake that Ba’al’uz and his Eight continued on with the plan.

But first, definitely, a bit of rest and recreation. A murder would have been vastly enjoyable, but Ba’al’uz was circumspect within Margalit. There was just one man they wanted to murder here, and that not for a few days; no point risking discovery for the sake of a moment or two of extra enjoyment. So, instead of hunting out a victim, the group took themselves off to a local tavern, where Ba’al’uz expected to derive abundant pleasure from a goodly intake of alcohol, and perhaps as much again from observing the Outlanders at recreation, which Ba’al’uz felt sure would further bolster his own sense of superiority.

Instead, he discovered something vastly more interesting.

Ba’al’uz and his companions did not wish to advertise their true origins, so they were dressed in the manner of Adab, and speaking with Adabian accents, which the power of Kanubai (which now infused all of them, if the Eight to a lesser extent than Ba’al’uz) allowed them to assume flawlessly.

They arrived at the tavern fairly early, and thus were able to find comfortable seating at the rear, where they would not be crowded and which was also conveniently close to the dispensing tap for the ale. The tavern keeper served them himself, then asked if they minded if he sat down with them for five or ten minutes to rest his aching legs and to share a glass of ale, and to gossip, which Ba’al’uz was soon to discover was the tavern keeper’s primary reason for existence.

For a while the nine Isembaardians sat and drank as the tavern keeper chatted. There seemed to be no stopping him. They learned who was sleeping with whom within the entire Outlands; they discovered who had hobbled the favorite at the recent festive race meeting; they were quietly astounded to realize that Outlanders rather liked to expose their bottoms to people as a gesture of great rudeness.

“When the arses start flashing in here,” the tavern keeper said, a righteous frown on his face, “then that’s the time I start knocking heads together.”

“Uh huh,” said Ba’al’uz, incapable of further comment.

“It gets even worse when they add a fart or two to the insult,” said the tavern keeper.

Ba’al’uz paused with his glass partway to his lips, appalled. By the great Kanubai, did any race more deserve to be completely overrun and obliterated than the Outlanders?

The tavern keeper sighed, despondent at the outrages he had to police. “I am just grateful that when the Lady Ishbel Brunelle stayed two houses down she did not think to visit my humble establishment. I cannot imagine what she would have thought had someone pushed his hairy arse into her face.”

Brunelle? Brunelle?

Ba’al’uz froze. That had been Kanubai, whispering frantically in his mind. He looked at his companions.

Without exception, they were all staring at the innkeeper in disgust. None of them had heard Kanubai’s whisper.

The tavern keeper sniffed, wiping his nose with a corner of his apron. “Not that any of the high and mighty Brunelle family would ever visit with me.”

“The Brunelle family?” Ba’al’uz said. Kanubai was still whispering madly in his head, now formless words of which Ba’al’uz could make neither head nor tail.

What he did know, though, was that this woman was of great interest to Kanubai.

The tavern keeper nodded. “Yes. The Brunelle family. Own most of Margalit, if you ask me, and I’ve heard they control vast fortunes in the Central Kingdoms as well. Ishbel was the surviving child of a terrible time. Plague took her entire family…”

As he continued prattling on about Ishbel’s life story, one part of Ba’al’uz’ mind was taking in everything the innkeeper said, while another part was trying to work out how he could use this information to further his cause with Kanubai.

“Someone took her in, don’t know who,” the innkeeper was saying, “but lo and behold she turned up at Baron Lixel’s residence a couple of months ago…that’s the big graywood house three down…had a really nice veranda put on it two years ago. If ever you need a good builder I can thoroughly recommend—”

“Ishbel Brunelle,” said Ba’al’uz, desperately trying to return the conversation to the matter at hand.

The very, very important matter at hand.

“Ishbel—is she still in residence?” Ba’al’uz added.

The tavern keeper shook his head. “Left weeks ago, with Lixel and his entire entourage. Heard she’s off to marry some high and mighty prince of the west.” He shrugged. “Why she couldn’t have picked a nice boy from her hometown, I don’t know.”

Possibly she didn’t appreciate the flashing arses, thought Ba’al’uz. Didn’t want them with her soup at supper.

Again he glanced about at his companions. They all watched him carefully, intuiting he’d experienced some kind of revelation at the name of the woman.

“Who?” said Ba’al’uz. “Which prince?”

“The Escatorian king. Maximilian. Lixel is his ambassador to the Outlands.”

“She’s gone to Escator?” Ba’al’uz said.

“To Pelemere, I think. Then on to Kyros. Leisurely journey. Maximilian is meeting her in Pelemere, and they’re taking their time in getting back to Escator. Having a good honeymoon, I expect. Making happy friends with all the kings along the way in case Maximilian needs to borrow money later.”

“You seem to know a great deal about their plans,” said one of the Eight.

The tavern keeper shrugged. “I know a great deal about everything, don’t I? But one of Lixel’s men used to come in here and drink and gossip. That’s how I know.”

That night Ba’al’uz sat and meditated, opening his mind to Kanubai.

The whispers came, very faintly at first, but they gained in strength as the night wore on.

There was much incoherent muttering, but there were several concepts that stood out.

One was Kanubai’s continual reference to Elcho Falling, which Ba’al’uz still did not understand.

The next was the name of Ishbel Brunelle, whispered over and over, which told Ba’al’uz that she was very important to Kanubai.

The third was more emotion and image than word, but Ba’al’uz understood it perfectly.

Sacrifice.