The Imam of the Lake 1299

"Oh Revered Imam of the Lake, will you renounce your faith in the false tree speaker Mehemet and accept the Horned Christ as your One and Only Saviour?" Alphonse XV, Vicar of the Horned Lord, stood before a large tree, speaking with all the conviction he gave to cardinals or perfecti.

The tree shuddered, branches swaying with laughter, the knotted face on the front of the wood grinning.

"All of you Crucasigneti make me laugh. You have no other way to start a conversation?" The voice was gravelly and mumbled, any voice coming from bark was.

"Imam, will you renounce the false prophet?"

The tree continued laughing.

"You People of Books do not understand the importance of the Tree-Speaker Muhammed. He was a great man, especially for lacking roots. He brought my people their Second Water, the cool, sweet life-giving Faith. Without him, we would be nothing but oasis-wandering nomads. But with Him, well, here I am, rooted outside of man's greatest city."

The city of Orim lay on the horizon, separated from the large Imam and his island by the cool waters of the Orimmo Lake.

"Great good it has done the Asht-al-Deraxt. You treefolks have been driven back, burned out, and reduced to oasis-wandering nomads, all by the cleansing vigils of the Horned One."

The tree closed his eyes, and gave a low grumbling sound. "That would give me reason to damn him, not praise him. Did you come here to argue about my faith, Oh King? You will find not a convert, and if you have come for one, I will bid you away."

"No, no, Revered Imam, I did not come for a convert, even if I hoped to find one." Alphonse smiled, they had been through this all before. The tree smiled back at him, it was their ritual. "I came to ask about the Hada de la sur."

"The fairies of the south? I did not know your dons had made it into the spice trade."

"I did not come for a convert or for jokes, Revered Imam. I came for answers." Alphonse looked about the small island. His men had cleared it of all vagrant and then ferried themselves off to the city. Still, one could not be too careful. "A captain came to me under my Viceroy. My corrupt pox-marked Viceroy, truth be told, and that is why I come to you for questions." Alphonse paused, looking around once again. There was nothing else and no one else on the island. "He brought gold, a very large amount of gold, even with all the lodes struck under the Hillmen's feet and in the Lochaby East. He said there were people- Fairies, Elves, whatever, who lived in the jungles along the Spice Winds. He said they dressed in gold while their children pranced about in silver. Is this true?"

"Hrmmm...." The knotted face tightened, its eyes covered with wood. "I have heard some tales, but my knowing-roots do not go that far afield, Oh King."

"What do you know?" Alphonse's face was pleading.

"I know nothing, but I can tell you something, things my telling-roots have taken up. There are peoples with an abundance of gold in the lands of the South. They are not human, they are not Deraxti, but they are not like the Aelfir either. And with their height it is certain they are not Jewish, not of the B'nai Elohim." The tree gave a large grin, revealing a knotted hole which had been nested in for years. Alphonse laughed as a bird flew from the Imam's opened mouth. "Do your Captain's Hada wear piercings and have writings upon their skin?"

"Yes, he mentioned many unbelievable practices."

"He speaks the truth, so his believability matters not. My people have traded on occasion with these so-called Hada, and always they wear gold or silver upon them. Some even took to writing the Shahada upon their skin, although it was more admiration of the trees involved than affirmation of the Great Tree-Speaker."

"Have they cities of gold in the jungle?" Alphonse's eyes held hunger, beyond what any man should hold for that shiny yellow metal. The Imam's people rejected most material comforts, although was more from their nature as trees than any moral stand.

"They do not build with gold or anything quite so solid. They build mostly with, well...." The tree gave a shudder. "Trees. At least you crucasigneti use stone much of the time. But, anyways, if tales hold true, their numbers bely a city of gold built upon flesh. Tales do not often hold true, so remember that I said this." The hunger in Alphonse's eyes faded for a second.

"Imam, I have long asked you for a price to your services. As your advice will bring me more wealth than I could ever imagine, name it now."

The tree once again knotted his face and closed his eyes. A low rumbling sound came from underneath the bark. "You are now Lord in the East, having inherited it from that Lochaber fool nephew of yours?"

"Yes, Otranto was a fool and a nephew. What do you wish from the Holy Land?"

The tree opened its eyes. "Bring me a rose-maiden of the Eastern Horns. I grow old and tired of this lake, but my roots have grown deep and my bark heavy. I could use a new fragrance here, and my bark and roots could use someone to entwine with. Besides, I think this island could stand a few more trees." The rest of the island was bare, save a few bushes and the lush grass.

"It is done, Imam. I will have my agente see to it immediately."

The tree smiled. "He is a fairy of the East, I am sure."