Working God's Mischief

by Glen Cook

  The boy attacked food and drink alike, but between mouthfuls he named Arnhanders known to have fallen. The list sounded like a roll call of Arnhand’s peerage.

  “No prisoners,” the boy said again. And, “The Widow’s ambush was ingenious. They didn’t suspect anything till we started killing them. They were all piled up at the ford. They were following a game trail, trying to get behind us so they could cut us off from the Connec. But the Widow knew their plan. She always knows what they’ll try to do. So she had us there waiting, hiding. We discharged four falcons into their horses. They probably lost three hundred men just in the stampede. Meantime, every man who could bend a bow or span an arbalest laid missiles into the confusion. Even the proudest knights. There isn’t a man amongst the Vindicated who will do aught but what the Widow orders.”

  Brother Candle asked, “How large was this Arnhander force?” It would have grown in the boy’s mind, he was sure, but he knew it would have been sizable if it had included that many important men.

  “You will think me a liar but at least a thousand by actual count.”

  Bernardin said, “The Commander of the Righteous slaughtered a vastly superior force at the Shades without the advantages the boy mentions, using falcons.”

  Socia asked, “How many were you? How many falcons did you have? And where did you get them?”

  “There were three hundred eighty-six of us. We had four falcons taken from the castle at Artridge.”

  Brother Candle said, “I’m lost. Where is Artridge? When did Kedle capture it?”

  Socia shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not allowed to go see her anymore.”

  Bernardin said, “There is more. The critical more.”

  Brother Candle realized that this was the point where the boy would pass on the dread word that he had ridden so long and hard to deliver.

  Socia said, “Aaron, you came to tell us what else?”

  “We killed more than a thousand. By honest, actual count. We lost only thirty-seven of our own.”

  “Aaron!”

  “They captured the Widow, Countess!” The boy burst into tears. “There was snow on the ground. All the blood and trampling around turned the earth to mud. She led the attack on the last Arnhanders. There weren’t a hundred who hadn’t fallen or fled. Her horse slipped in the mud. She didn’t jump free. The horse fell on her. It crushed her leg. The man leading the Arnhanders then was Stephan of Bley, a really big man. He grabbed the Widow and threw her across the neck of his horse, then galloped off. He outran us. He’s holed up in the castle at Arngrere with survivors from the battle. He’s threatening to have his revenge on her.”

  Bernardin grumbled, “The Society must be salivating over the opportunity to put her on trial.”

  Brother Candle nodded. That would make a great show.

  Aaron went on. “He has been warned that if he harms her, not just he will pay a cruel price but all those of his blood will as well.”

  Brother Candle could not speak. He had been expecting this forever. He had schooled himself to bear it. But the shock was still fierce, as it was when a long-suffering parent finally surrendered to the Will of the Night.

  Socia said, “Bernardin, start putting together an expedition…”

  “No.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “That would be pointless. This drama will play out long before we can influence it. It may have done so already. Aaron d’Fitac, how long did it take you to get here?”

  “Six days, and some. I came as fast as I could.”

  “You see, Countess? A week already. How long to assemble a force, arm and victual it, and get it to Arngrere? How long for the witch of Menand to put together a force to welcome us? Kedle’s whole campaign has depended on her not being where she was expected.”

  After her initial emotional response subsided, Socia saw the truth in what Bernardin said. Still, “But I can’t sit here and do nothing.”

  “Not only can you, you must. For the sake of Antieux and the Connec.”

  “What?”

  That was an odd thing to say. Brother Candle heard it but was too focused on Kedle’s predicament to concern himself.

  The old man felt a fierce, shooting pain in his right temple. For a moment he feared this was the end. That his allotted time had run out. That the Good God had chosen to spin his ever-lapsing Perfect round the Wheel of Life again. He gasped out, “Socia, this is exactly where I’ve been warning you that we were headed.”

  “Yes. Enjoy your vindication. Aaron, is there anything more? Can you break my heart one more time? No? Then go somewhere. Sleep. For a week if that’s what you need. Escamerole. Come out of there. Have you been spying?”

  “No, Countess.” Face red, Kedle’s cousin slipped into the room. “And it please you, I just wanted word of my kin.” She was shaking. She did not like being the center of attention.

  “So now you’ve had word. Grim as it is. Show Aaron somewhere to lie down, then come to my apartment. Bring Guillemette. And don’t breathe a word about what you’ve heard. Understand?”

  “I do, Lady.”

  “Master? The same for you. If you go jogging off to tell the Archimbaults I’ll have Bernardin cut your tongue out. Clear?”

  “Clear.” He exchanged glances with Amberchelle. Bernardin shrugged.

  Socia said, “You two go get some sleep, too. You’ll need to be rested, clear of eye and mind, and ready for war in the morning.” She rose and stalked off, pulling an emotional vacuum along with her.

  Brother Candle considered Bernardin momentarily. “There was something else we needed to hear about, wasn’t there?”

  “She didn’t give me a chance to bring it up. It won’t be official till the Queen’s deputies get here from Khaurene but I had a secret warning from one of Isabeth’s agents. So we would be ready when the delegation arrives.”

  Brother Candle said, “What?” He had no idea.

  “Isabeth is going to do what we thought she never would. She’s going to confirm Count Raymone as her brother’s heir as Duke of Khaurene.”

  “But he’s dead.”

  “Despite the fact that he’s dead.”

  “Meaning Lumiere…”

  “Exactly. Because Lumiere has a strong mother. Because his strong mother has a terrible friend. The Connec is unlikely to become subservient to Arnhand with those two guarding Lumiere’s interests.”

  “But…”

  “I’ve known since yesterday. I was sworn not to tell Socia. The Navayans want to tell her themselves. But then that boy rode in.”

  “Interesting times,” Brother Candle said. “Better go tell the lad not to spread his news. The Navayans could change their minds.”

  “Terrible times. Cruel times. I’ll talk to the boy right now.”

  * * *

  Socia explained the entire situation to Guillemette and Escamerole, including her entanglement with the Night. She was in a rush. “This is what we’re going to do.” She answered questions while they proceeded.

  Socia meant to sneak out of Antieux, avoiding the eagle demon. She and Guillemette were of a size and coloring. Guillemette would pretend to be Socia. She needed only lay low, being seen only from a distance, while the actual Socia was away.

  The hard part was getting Escamerole fully engaged. Escamerole grew more timid by the day. She was afraid to leave the citadel. “If you can change shape you don’t need me. You can be me.”

  “I need you to manage Kedle’s family, Escamerole. They have to be part of this. And I need them to keep quiet. If I tried to be you they’d know better first time I opened my mouth. So I’ll be Guillemette and you’ll do all the talking. By the time they realize that I’m not really Guillemette, they’ll be caught up in the plan.”

  “It’ll do you good to get out of here,” Guillemette told Escamerole.

  Escamerole sulked but gave in. “Tomorrow. I don’t want to go out there tonight.”

  “It’s perfectly safe,” Socia said. “But I could have W
illing Davids escort us.” Willing Davids was a handsome young man-at-arms related to Bernardin Amberchelle. Socia had noted that Escamerole became misty and even more timid when Willing was around.

  Guillemette said, “Not fair, Countess.”

  “No. You’re right. I’m sorry, Escamerole. That was almost cruel.”

  The shy girl said, “We weren’t all brought up amongst teams of brawling brothers out at the edge of beyond.”

  “Well said. Well done. Only one thing left to do. Guillemette, get undressed.”

  Socia was shaky before that part was over but once it was she had become Guillemette’s mirror twin, wearing the girl’s clothing.

  * * *

  Socia stopped Escamerole outside the entrance to the house occupied by the Archimbaults and other refugees from Khaurene. “Now is when you need to be strongest. Stand up to their bullying. For Kedle’s sake.”

  “For Kedle’s sake.” Said with quavering voice.

  Socia rolled her eyes and hoped the mouse would hold out at least until she made her getaway.

  Maybe she should do it right here, in the street, by the light of the moon, and let Escamerole collect her clothing. That would be easier than dealing with Kedle’s parents.

  Maybe. But Socia had to come back once she had done this. Whatever this turned out to be. She was not sure. Something told her she had to help Kedle and had to do it without attracting the attention of that demon out there.

  Escamerole found her courage first. “We’d best get on with it. If you’re going to get there before it gets light out.”

  “We had best, hadn’t we?”

  Kedle’s family surprised Socia. Her worries were all for naught. Escamerole did not hold up but neither did Kedle’s mother or father waste time on argument or recrimination. They remained true Seekers. They loved their only surviving child. They were prepared to play their part with few questions and no disputation.

  The Archimbault home had a hatch accessing its roof, a common feature in the Connec. During summer people slept on the cooler roofs.

  Roofs were not much visited during the winter, however.

  The Archimbaults wanted to see Socia off. Escamerole discouraged them. “She has to undress before she changes.”

  To which Madame Archimbault said, “Oh, my!” while Raulet said nothing—though there might have been a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

  Socia said, “I won’t waste time. I’ll be back before things fall apart.” She was confident she could make everything right.

  The Archimbaults offered blessings on her, then withdrew. Socia readied herself. Her bag included not only clothing but the changing crystal. She anticipated having to make several shifts at the other end. Also, she wore the demon’s forgotten necklace. She had no reason to expect it to be useful but wearing it did seem right.

  “Ready?” Escamerole asked, teeth chattering.

  “Ready. And be brave, little sparrow. Whatever happens, be brave. And make sure this door doesn’t get locked.”

  The chill felt extra bitter because a big part of Socia did not want to be out in it, in pursuit of this insanity. She quashed that timorous voice, made the change, took wing. She stayed low to avoid being silhouetted against the sky, though there was a heavy overcast. She thought it might snow. Only the timid girl marked her departure.

  * * *

  Aaron d’Fitac’s report had been clear enough to bring Socia to the site of Kedle’s amazing success at Vetercus. Just follow the Dechear north to its tributary the Nar, then that into its hilly watershed southeast of Salpeno, and look for a creek … The last few miles were the easiest. Her bird senses picked up the stench.

  She settled into a huge dead tree standing alone, overlooking the killing ground. The branch creaked but held. She kept her form. She was tired to the bone. She had flown for eight hours, often into the wind.

  False dawn’s light showed most of the corpses cleared away. The Vindicated had cared for their own. Fallen Arnhanders had been recovered by friends and family—excepting those who had no one who cared enough to come looking.

  There were plenty of those sad ones still down there.

  Socia imposed Aaron d’Fitac’s report upon the field. But to what point? Those events were more than a week old. Events had moved on.

  She had to find the castle Arngrere, now.

  She readied herself to take wing.

  “Prithee, wouldst hold a moment?”

  Socia gripped her perch tightly, turned her head slowly. Behind her, seated with knees under her chin, on a branch incapable of bearing her weight, sat the Instrumentality who had given her the crystal. She wore archaic clothing. Her hair was in a single braid wrapped around her crown.

  Socia changed her head to something vaguely human, baby size, and squeaked, “Why don’t you talk like a normal person? And what the hell are you, anyway?”

  That earned a wan smile. The Instrumentality stood up on her precarious perch, balanced on one foot, grinned, rose onto tiptoe, indulged in a pirouette. “I be the answer to what thee needs do to save thy headstrong friend.” Her gaze caught on the necklace Socia wore. Her eyes grew larger and troubled, but only for a moment.

  “I’m listening.”

  The Instrumentality smirked.

  Socia revealed a neutral expression though her thoughts were not charitable.

  “Thy Kedle doth be a genius at making use of what she receiveth but she doth be impulsive.” The Instrumentality’s pronunciations and rhythms remained odd. Her gaze kept drifting to the necklace.

  Socia nodded. “That’s why she’s a prisoner.”

  “Didst thou bring a plan?”

  “I can’t keep talking this way. But if I change I’ll freeze.”

  “Thou wouldst betray thy treasures as well. Follow.” The girl giggled, became a raven in a wink, took wing, headed west. Socia followed. There was light enough to see the unremembered dead and a few scavengers belatedly trying to find anything else worth taking from fallen plundered for a week already.

  The entire countryside would hear about the giant birds by nightfall.

  The Instrumentality planed down over the western edge of the wood, landed in front of a woodcutter’s shack. Socia settled beside her. The place was abandoned but had not been so for long. The tenant had chosen not to be discovered in an area where wholesale murder was being done.

  Socia changed. “Oh, Aaron’s Sacred Ass, it’s cold.”

  “Clothe thyself. I will start a fire, then find thee something warmer.”

  “Who are you? What are you? Why must you interfere in our lives?”

  “Some call me Dawn, some, Hope. I be the dawn destined to rise beyond the Twilight.”

  That made no sense. “What is this twilight?”

  The Instrumentality got a fire blazing with magical swiftness. “Twilight is this age. The one in which thou livest. The time when the gods themselves may be slain. Old Ones have fallen in thy own land. Great Old Ones, from the time before time, are dying at the hands of my kin. I, with my brother who is lost, will be the bridge into the time that is coming.”

  “Now tell me a story that makes sense.” Shivering despite the fire.

  “As thou wist.”

  * * *

  Dawn expanded her tale in snatches, betimes skipping in and out to steal clothing. Socia stayed close to the fire. In fits and starts the Instrumentality got Socia to explain what she hoped to accomplish.

  Dawn said, “Thy ability to change is thy sharpest tool, aye, but thee needs must plan, not just charge and rely on confusion.”

  The Instrumentality vanished. She wanted to develop a specific inventory of clothing. She explained, “A common look, so thou may shift face whilst none do look.”

  Socia grunted. The child-goddess was thinking more deeply than she.

  “Thou hast no mind for the cunning, methinks. Thou art infatuated with the direct. Thou preferest to assail the object of thy frustration till it dost break. Would it not confuse thy enemies m
ore if his captains kept appearing and disappearing with confusing and contradictory orders?”

  Socia shut her eyes. She wished Brother Candle were here to advise her—and to tell her what she was learning about the Instrumentality. “Better still if those captains appeared unexpectedly and stuck knives in their comrades’ livers.”

  “Ah. Thou art truly the soul sister of the Widow.”

  “I’m pragmatic. I go with what works. The opinions of moral scorekeepers mean nothing. The men I may kill would send me to the stake if they could.”

  “Let us begin. Arngrere is four miles west. Thou shouldst consult the Widow’s captains. Thou couldst end this with a single bold stroke.”

  “I could. But that’s not the way I’m doing it.”

  “Pardon?”

  “They’ll waste time fussing over me. Then they’ll waste time planning, mainly to keep me far from danger. Which will void my strength and purpose.”

  “But…”

  “I’ll go straight in. I’ll cause chaos and confusion. I’ll open a gate somehow. You will alert the Vindicated to their opportunity.”

  The Instrumentality stared, peeved. She did not have control. But she did not argue.

  “We’ll stay here, keep warm, and move after dark.”

  “Unless the smoke from yon fire doth attract attention.”

  Socia asked, “Are there more like you? Your brother is in prison?”

  “He is trapped in another world. Eucereme. The Aelen Kofer have sealed the gateways between the worlds. He is a prisoner in that sense. We will find a means of opening the way.”

  “We? There are more like you, then.”

  “There are other Shining Ones. None like me.”

  “Would one have a crippled right hand?”

  “Uh…? No. Zyr lost his sword hand, long ago. But he did not escape the Realm of the Gods.”

  Socia understood none of that and was disinclined to find out what it meant. She wanted to talk about the giant eagle. She did note that Dawn’s speech seemed slightly less archaic. For the moment.

  Dawn sighed. Despite the fire her breath clouded briefly.

  “You do have some idea of what I’m talking about.”