by Glen Cook
“I shall begin by failing to hurry back. How is thy leg?”
“It hurts like hell. What do you think?”
“Take something. Thee needs be less bitchy.”
Kedle growled.
“At least thee will heal aright if thee doth take care not to stress it. Doth thee take care?”
“I try. There are limits.” Both true.
Headstrong and fierce though she was, Kedle Richeut would listen to experts, unlike her friend Socia.
In that, even Kedle missed Count Raymone. Only Raymone could rein Socia in.
Lady Hope faced the Widow’s nearest lifeguard. “Hast she behaved herself?”
That grizzled peasant, missing several front teeth, grinned. “She has, Lady. Them boys what the Countess left behind nag her all the time. They won’t hear a word if’n it’s somethin’ agin what the Countess told them.”
Kedle met Hope’s gaze. “I do what I must. I want to ride again. I want to walk and run. It’s frustrating but I’ll wait till somebody who knows better than me says I’m ready.”
“Thee be a true treasure, love. I will see our Imperial friends, now. We don’t want them getting impatient.”
Kedle watched the Instrumentality go. What was it like to be a god? Hope had a distinct hitch in her gait from that bit of godshot. Instrumentalities were not immortal in an absolute sense. Nor did Hope appear powerful in the thunderous, psychotically destructive style of gods spawned amongst the Wells of Ihrian.
On the other hand, she could be seen and touched.
Kedle blushed.
Lady Hope paused behind the artillery tormenting the watchtower. She made a hand gesture as the next missile struck. Tons of stone tumbled, exposing interiors on three levels. A shout went up. Men rushed forward.
* * *
Four men came out as Aldi approached the Righteous. The new two reeked of perversion. “Huh?” That boy was much older than he looked. Older than any of his companions, in fact.
He had been twisted into something wicked, yet innocence remained. He had been forged as a tool of evil but had not become evil himself. Interesting.
Aldi focused on the tall, pretty one, Anselin, the king to be. His confidence waned as she approached. He had been warned. As his contemporaries all did, he had refused to believe.
He felt the weight of her presence now.
Should she become irresistible Aldi and make Anselin over as the vigorous heterosexual his mother wanted him to be?
No. There were witnesses, mortal and divine. The latter would not approve.
Pella announced, “Anselin wishes to speak for himself.”
“And the princess?”
Pella did not react.
Did he not know? Unlikely. So, he did not care.
“Never mind. The Vindicated have captured Anne of Menand and several men close to her, including Henri of Mariscot and the fallen priest, Serenity.” She would deal in facts, not emotions.
Pella said, “The King wants to know your intentions toward your prisoners.”
“He is no king. He is a man who would be king. I hope that he becomes king. I hear much good of him. But he is spawn of Anne. That will weigh against him.”
“Madam, I am her son but I am not her.”
“Then there is hope. Then thou shouldst not be troubled by how we handle our prisoners.”
Anselin inclined his head slightly. “I might face uncomfortable questions if I let you treat my mother the way I expect you want.”
“I care not. The Widow and the millions of the Connec who suffered because of thy mother do. No humiliation or degradation will seem sufficient to them.”
“Take the deposed Patriarch.”
“We shall, though he means little to anyone outside Antieux.” That tickled the strange catamite. He snickered.
“Then we have a problem,” said the future king.
“Thou mayest.” She did not turn that into a challenge.
“Are you what they tell me you are?”
“I am that and a great deal more. Nor am I alone.” The ring of swords unsheathing sounded behind her, where nothing but open ground could be seen.
So. The old women were out there.
“How about this?” Anselin asked. “Take Anne for a year. Use her as you will, but keep her alive. Return her after the year is over. By then she should be disinclined to leave the nunnery where I put her.”
Aldi was surprised. That was an astute offer.
Anselin continued, “I would claim Henri d’Mariscot and my mother’s henchmen—excepting the guerrilla Patriarch.”
Pella said, “I want to entertain Bronte Doneto for a while. How about you, Armand?”
Aldi glanced at Hagen Brokke. Brokke smiled and winked.
Pella continued, “All we Righteous want from Anne of Menand is that she stop running Arnhand.”
Aldi looked the boy in the eye, handed off the wink. The kid had promise, maybe because he had adopted the right father.
“This will work. I need not consult the Widow.” Though Kedle would complain because she could not kill Anne.
Anselin smiled smugly.
The catamite did the same, but more so. Aldi suspected the little devil might be on his way to becoming the true master in Arnhand.
Pella looked like he had conquered the world.
These beings saw everything from briefer perspectives.
The captain of the Righteous detachment seemed satisfied, too.
Aldi said, “I will go make sure our prizes survive being captured.”
Turning, she spotted the Bastard watching from hiding.
27. Alten Weinberg: Gathering
Hecht summoned his staff. “What’s happened?”
De Bos asked, “What brings that on?”
“I suddenly felt like something big was shaking.”
“We haven’t heard of anything.” Suspiciously intent.
Hecht had to face the fact that he made his men uncomfortable. “Then let’s just get back to work.”
Clej Sedlakova said, “I want to start rejecting petitions to join the Enterprise. We can’t support any more troops traveling overland. Some could go by sea but they might get there first.”
“And cause problems?”
“Probably. How about we split off a section to set up a wave for next year?”
“That won’t sit well with people who want to go down in history.”
“If you found a respected leader willing to take charge?”
“Got a candidate in mind?”
“Brill of Santerin.”
Hecht said, “That might work.”
Sedlakova asked, “Or Stain of Hovacol? The honor might ease the sting out there.”
“An even better suggestion. Keckler?” A lifeguard wanted his attention.
“It’s Ferris Renfrow, sir. He wants to see you.”
* * *
“Yesterday at dawn,” Renfrow said. “The Widow attacked Anne of Menand at Mestlé.”
“Really? Hilda Daedel’s brother has an estate out there. He said Anne was scheming to keep Anselin from becoming king.”
“That why you sent such a big escort?”
“I thought she might ambush him.”
“That didn’t happen.” Renfrow reported what he had seen.
“Pella did the talking? I’ll be damned.”
“Then he and the catamite beat Serenity half to death.”
“Osa Stile? Your special agent?”
“Not anymore. Not since he hooked up with Muniero Delari.”
“And then you came back here?”
“Not directly. If you want more you’ll have to ask your special sources. They were there, too.”
Hecht rubbed his temples. “If I can find them.” The Bastard shook his head, said nothing.
“Tell me, are the Shining Ones desanctifying the churches?”
“Probably. You could say that they’re eating God.”
“That’s repulsive.”
“Co
mmander, they have survival imperatives, too. They’re up against a doomsday deadline. Eavijne’s apples aren’t good enough. They have to reach Eucereme or go extinct. The Aelen Kofer won’t help voluntarily. And the only power wells they can reach are weak. They can get stronger only by taking the strength of other Instrumentalities. They can’t tap the Wells of Ihrian till you take them there. Meantime, the scraps of God in the churches are easily exploited.”
“This Twilight and Rebirth are more complicated than the myths make them appear.”
“The mythic process got fucked when Ordnan read the Godslayer thing wrong.”
“Maybe it goes back to Arlensul and Gedanke.”
“Not a comfortable subject, but quite possibly true. I have to go.”
“Do visit Helspeth occasionally. You help keep her emotionally grounded.”
Renfrow responded with a suggestion of a nod.
Hecht sent for Carava de Bos. “I need to see one of my new intelligence people. Can you find any of them?”
“The pretty, shy one.”
“Who?”
“Evie. The quiet one. The garden freak with her head in the clouds.”
Evie? Interesting. “She’ll do.”
* * *
The Commander of the Righteous was about to leave for his prayer meeting when the Shining One walked out of a wall. He had not dealt with Eavijne before. As de Bos had noted, she was shy.
She kept her eyes downcast. “I talked to Aldi. The Bastard’s report was correct.”
“I see. How goes the new orchard?”
“Not well. The magic here is too weak. We must reach Eucereme.”
Hecht was surprised. He felt disappointed himself.
Eavijne walked back into the wall before he could ask his next question. But he knew the answer.
Yes. “Evie” had sported with Carava de Bos. And, likely, Vircondelet, too. Toying with mortals was what Shining Ones did. Even shy girl Shining Ones.
He shuddered, though. He liked both men. He would not want either to become this century’s Gedanke.
Eavijne was, for Aaron’s sake, a fertility goddess!
He would chide Hourli—if she ever turned up.
* * *
Hecht grumbled, “Be careful what you wish for.” He had just collected his time candle when Cloven Februaren turned sideways, dropped an inch, and began cursing a twisted ankle.
“You need to see me?”
“Your timing is abominable, but I do.” He removed his coat, rolled up his left sleeve, extended his wrist. “Do something about this.”
“Whoa! That’s ugly. Does it itch? Never mind. Stupid question.” Februaren bent, sniffed. “It hasn’t gone bad, more is the wonder. How long has this been going on?”
“Since we got back from the Realm of the Gods.”
“Oh. Right. Sit. Let’s think.”
Hecht thought about the woman who was waiting. She would not be happy, but she did know that events could keep him away. Something had kept her once.
He sat. On a hard chair. Impatiently.
The wonder of Helspeth had not worn off.
Februaren pulled another chair close, studied wrist and amulet. “Everything looks like it’s working the way it should, Piper. You’re itching because an Instrumentality is close by. If that has gone on for months the Instrumentality obviously must not be malicious.”
“Got to be the Choosers, then. My supernatural lifeguards. I’d ask them to back off but I don’t know how to talk to them. The one time they did turn up was in Hovacol. I didn’t know I was summoning them, then. That was pure instinct.”
“Whatever, we have to take the amulet off so this can heal.”
“Thank you.” With depthless sarcasm.
“I couldn’t get here sooner. My time is as full as yours is.”
“Is that true for my sister and daughters, too?”
“Yes. For Heris in particular. Though the family has the impression that you’re fed up with our pestering.”
“The occasional pester would be nice.”
“But only when it’s convenient for you.”
Yes. He did resent people dropping in at their convenience rather than his. Just now Februaren was keeping him from seeing Helspeth.
“Let’s take a chance on the dedication of your guardian angels. Have Asgrimmur ask the Shining Ones how they can protect you without driving you crazy.”
“I used to worry that I’d have them underfoot all the time. Now I’m irked because I don’t. I have no idea what they’re up to, except that one is in Arnhand with that Connecten madwoman called the Widow.”
“Must be hell to work with beings whose attitudes are so much like your own.” The old man grinned.
“You think there’s a life lesson to be learned?”
“Lesson or no, you see the point.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. But I really would like to be kept informed.”
“You want to send a message to Anna or the girls?” The old man tinkered with Hecht’s amulet as he talked. “You don’t see Vali or Lila because Muno has them on a crash education course. They’re too damned tired to come aggravate their daddy.”
“So it’s not about me being surly because they come whenever they feel like it?”
“Oh, it’s that, too, of course. You do put on the attitude. About Muno, though. He’s determined to include them in the deal when Heris takes over as the Twelfth Unknown.”
The itching in Hecht’s wrist went away. “Damn! That feels so good.”
“Maybe you won’t be so nasty, now. Anything for Anna?”
“Let me write a note. How is she?”
“Well enough. Forted up in her house. Comes out for the occasional command performance at Muno’s townhouse. She’s happy, considering her circumstances.”
“Circumstances?”
“Her man is hundreds of miles away and not particularly interested in visiting. How is the wrist, now? All right?”
“It’s wonderful.”
“Keep using the ointment. I’ll take that.” He snagged the note to Anna, turned sideways, and was gone.
The Commander of the Righteous did not get to St. Miniver, Martyr, chapel that night.
* * *
Hecht was studying maps prepared by the Shining Ones. They were wondrously detailed and generously annotated. Any commander would have been thrilled. He was unhappy only because the Instrumentalities continued to duck him.
Asgrimmur arrived. “You want to see me?”
“Occasionally, yes.” Hecht glanced at his wrist. It was healing nicely. “In fact, frequently, lately. You’ve let your personal appearance slide.”
“Indeed?”
“Why is whatever is happening in Antieux more important than our preparations here? Why is a skirmish in the Roessen more important?”
“The old girls have been carrying tales.”
“No. I can’t find them, either. They do, however, generate the occasional useful report. In your case I’ve started to think our arrangement is a waste. There’s been no payoff for me.”
“I follow my conscience.”
Odd answer. “What does it say about keeping your word?”
Grimmsson shrugged.
“Come with me. We can’t talk here.”
A half minute later Hecht shut the door of a quiet room.
“I know about your travels from the Bastard. I see the Shining Ones less than I see you. I can’t get hold of them.”
Grimmsson looked baffled. “Why not? You could see Fastthal or Sprenghul any time you want and a summons to Hourli will get her here in less than an hour.” Grimmsson stopped. He stared. “Are you having memory problems?”
“Sometimes. What do you know about that?”
“I’m marveling that you would handicap yourself by forgetting that you can summon any Shining One you want any time you want, Hourlr excepted.”
“All right. I’m a virgin. I have no clue. I’m worse than a virgin. I’m a dimwit four-year-old. Tell
me what to do.”
“Commander, just say, ‘Hourli, it is necessary that I speak with you.’ Using that formula. Add the time and place and what guise she should wear if you think that’s necessary.”
That seemed awfully simple.
“Write it down. Right now. Make notes of where you put the information. You’ve been told all this before. The formula will work for your guardians, too, though you might not like what you see when they arrive. They’re slower to manage their aspects.”
“And you?”
“I’ll respond to the formula, too, though almost certainly not as fast as the Lord High Duke of Arnmigal might like.”
“I’m a Grand Duke, not a Lord High Duke. So. Sprenghul. I need to see you. Right here, right now. No excuses.”
“You messed it up already. Write it down! It has to be exact, and by will, so impossible things don’t turn up during a casual conversation. And you can’t summon the Shining Ones from inside a quiet room.”
“Yeah. Stupid me.” He had paper and quill, now. “The exact formula, then.” He wrote.
Asgrimmur said, “There have been unconscionable oversights in your supernatural education.”
“What supernatural education?”
“With the Unknowns in your family? You may have the talent of a stone yourself but you should have some idea how things work.”
“They never took time to teach me.”
“You sure it was them who didn’t take time?”
“You’re right. I always found an excuse.”
“Suppose Sprenghul heard your summons? If you’d gotten it right? When this isn’t your house to destroy?”
“She’d really…”
“She would. The Choosers aren’t smart. Arlensul was brighter than the other two put together but she was still dim enough to get herself knocked up by a mortal.”
Hecht turned toward the door.
“Hold up. Sprenghul did stir some. You named her name. You may hear about apparitions and unusual activities out there.”
“Conjuring plausible explanations seems to be where I excel. Poor Destiny. She rode the wrong chariot this time.”
“What?”
“Nothing goes the way it should around me. My story is all about things that don’t work out according to someone else’s plan.”
