by Glen Cook
“In which case the Enterprise of Peace and Faith is doomed.”
That was not what Hecht meant. “Possibly. But it will be an interesting venture, even so.”
“Even so. Are you done with me, Commander?”
“For the moment. But I want to make my point again. I want to be able to ask questions.”
“No problem. Just ask the right questions, in the right place, at the right time.”
“Meaning?”
“Don’t demand trivia or information you could develop yourself if you weren’t lazy. Or that has nothing to do with the Great Work. Don’t call the Shining Ones out in public. A meeting should be necessary, not just because you’re feeling left out or because you want to remind everybody that you’re the guy in charge. The Shining Ones are giving you the information you need to make your crusade work. They do so in a timely manner. Where they are or what they’re doing otherwise is of no import to you or to the Enterprise. The fact that you want to know something has little bearing on your need to know it.”
“I don’t get to decide my needs?”
“No. All the stamping and roaring in the world won’t change that, though I do think that you could make yourself obnoxious enough to chase Hourli away altogether, despite her crush.”
Hecht heard that as a cautionary suggestion, not a real threat. “I have no problem with their work. I just want to know what they’re doing. And why.”
“Are your ears full of shit? What did I just tell you? How will knowing those things help you with the Enterprise?”
They would not. Of course.
“Go, Asgrimmur. And, please, when you come round again, try to be clean and neat. I demand that from everyone.”
“As you will.”
Hecht went back to his maps. He had wasted the interview. It was true, though, that what he wanted to know was not material to the success of the Enterprise.
He still wanted to know. He wanted control. He wanted no loose ends. No unpredictable variables. No surprises.
He rubbed his left wrist. That was so much better now.
* * *
The Empress and Lord Arnmigal were reviewing the van of the Enterprise: favored champions the Commander of the Righteous considered least likely to generate enmity toward the crusaders coming along behind.
The spring melt had begun early, as Hourli had predicated. The van would move out in four more days.
Meantime, captains studied maps and the intricate supply system the quartermaster staff had developed. And they paraded.
Lord Arnmigal wished he could ride with the van. His place would be with the main host, wrangling the willful, the selfish, the stubborn, and the stupid.
The Empress, as titular monarch of the western world, had taken an oath from each member of the host. It required obedience to the precepts of a charter from the current Patriarch, and to Lord Arnmigal as Commander of the Righteous. With Church and Grail Throne behind him Hecht had the legal power he needed.
Those who would not take oaths had been sent home under obligation to make fiscal contributions. Nothing was required of anyone who did not ask to participate.
Many wished for a different order but few challenged it. Lord Arnmigal and the daughter of Johannes Blackboots recognized challenges before they developed. Their intelligence was golden. Further, they controlled the artisans of Krulik and Sneigon, who provided tools that made argument a very bad idea.
Since the Shades only blind tortoises refused to admit the power of the new weapons. The Righteous had the best of those and the most talented and innovative falconeers.
Some tried to resist, even so. They came up wriggling in Hourli’s nets. But the gods themselves fail to notice what makes no noise.
Neither the gods nor the most skilled spy can thwart an assassin who shares his thinking with no one, makes no threat, never complains, never seeks allies, and cares nothing about his own continued existence once the needful is done.
Franz-Benneroust Plaza was a sea of glamorous champions honoring a woman whose decisions would shape the next thousand years. Batteries of falcons passed in review. The bird and the weapon had become tutelary emblems of the Enterprise. The crusaders would carry more firepowder than flour to the Holy Lands.
An ammunition wagon drawn by a four-mule team rumbled along near the end of the column. It exploded as it neared the reviewing stand.
It carried a half ton of firepowder made at home by a madman who was not entirely sure of his formula. Most did not explode at all but just flung out in gouts of smoke and gobbets of burning sulfur.
The villain was one Rolf fon Utmeg, bachelor baronet. He had avoided detection by the Shining Ones by relying entirely on himself. He got what he paid for.
He got dead. His mules got dead. Scores of onlookers got burned. Hundreds suffered lung damage. Among the burned was the Empress Helspeth. Likewise, Lord Arnmigal and others on the reviewing stand. But the disaster touched them only for an instant, though shock, shrapnel, and poisonous air should have claimed them all. But a dark curtain fell an instant after the first gust of fire rolled out of the wagon.
Hecht had a fraction of a second to register the appearance of something all fang, claw, and stench of corruption, interposing itself between the explosion and the reviewing stand.
A second horror materialized between the wagon and the parade.
Long screams ripped through Hecht’s mind. Bits of iron from the wagon tormented Fastthal and Sprenghul. Then they vanished.
Poorly made firepowder, burning and bubbling still, fell.
Few in the square failed to see the Choosers. Few failed to understand that they had saved the Empress, Lord Arnmigal, and senior leaders of the Enterprise, as well as the men on parade.
Hacking sulfur smoke, Hecht ordered, “Wrap this up. Captain Drear, get the Empress to her physician.”
Helspeth wept with pain. She had suffered several burns, small but fierce. A blob of sulfur had landed in her hair. Drear had gotten it out before it reached her scalp, getting burnt himself in the process. “Will do, my lord.”
Hecht mentioned guardian angels repeatedly. Unfortunately, those inclined to believe in angels wanted them to be beautiful creatures of light.
Hecht overheard veterans of the Hovacol incursion claim to have seen these same dread angels before.
* * *
Hecht and Helspeth, Ferris Renfrow, Archbishop Brion, Ormo va Still-Patter, the Lord Admiral fon Tyre, and others the Empress had drawn into her circle shared a table in the palace’s biggest quiet room. Hourli and Hourlr accompanied the Grand Duke of Arnmigal. Others could see that those two were siblings but not that they were Instrumentalities.
Renfrow said, “I fail to see any excuse for further excitement. A lone madman tried to … All right. We don’t know what he wanted. To kill the Empress? The Commander of the Righteous? Or did he just think a nasty big bang would scuttle the Enterprise? It doesn’t matter. We survived. He did not. Let’s get on with our work.”
Hecht sipped coffee, flirted with Lady Hilda, and stayed small while Renfrow took the heat—though there was little enough of that. That was all out in the city, where rumors had grown so crazy that only crazy people listened. But Hecht worried that superstitious soldiers would abandon the Enterprise if they decided it was connected with evil Night.
Helspeth said, “There will be no change in plans. The vanguard marches on time. Rolf fon Utmeg was a fever dream. Forget him. Don’t mention him again. We do not have to apologize for surviving. Disdain the distractions. Let the Enterprise unfold. You in particular, Archbishop. The Holy Lands await.”
Archbishop Brion had learned some sharp lessons lately. Foremost was that he could serve his Church best by not irritating his Empress. And he did want to experience the Holy Lands for himself.
Lord Arnmigal smiled across the table, rested a finger familiarly on the back of Daedel’s hand as she poured him an extra coffee.
Most attendees left the meeting puzzled. What ha
d been discussed? What had been decided? Nobody could say for sure.
Again, the Enterprise went forward as the Commander of the Righteous desired.
Or such was the rumor spread by someone who wanted to undermine the baseborn foreign upstart with unholy control over the Empress.
During a hectic four days scribes and secretaries transcribed hundreds of letters. The Empress signed them all. Each was tailored to its addressee. Each listed sins and suggested that Helspeth would not be in a forgiving mind should such behavior persist.
Battle group after battle group headed down the roads and rivers toward the Holy Lands. The Enterprise could no longer be stopped. It was like nothing gone before, in weaponry, planning, or organization. The Righteous staff had determined the optimum means of accomplishing the mission, then had mapped out how best to make it happen.
Lord Arnmigal believed that the worst peril the Enterprise faced was the potential bad behavior of its members. The last crusade, grand as its successes had been, had done more damage to fellow Chaldareans than to Unbelievers. That Enterprise had wasted strength, power, and moral credibility by oppressing those who had cheered its coming.
Hecht was determined that there be no repetition. Unambiguous articles of behavior had been read out to each contingent, in its own language. Hecht knew some would have listened with their fingers crossed. Lords who came with black reputations would have a Righteous liaison close by. The Commander reiterated his attitude daily.
Despite every effort, the Enterprise had serious flaws. Most dangerous of those was the fact that command was not monolithic. The Enterprise was a hosting, not an integrated army. It was a collection of mobs following numerous princes and nobles, each with an inflated opinion of his own worth. For the moment they were headed the same direction, professing the same ambitions.
Hecht could not be everywhere, heading off trouble. He had to count on the Shining Ones.
Titus Consent reminded him, “You have better control than the lords of the last crusade. You did think about what needs to be done. You studied their mistakes. You laid out … Never mind. Relax. Get wasted. Turn it off for a few days.”
“A bit late, isn’t it? The Enterprise is under way.”
“Sure. But we won’t move out, yet.”
Yes. But … Hecht had an idea. It terrified him. But once it occurred he had to pursue it. “Titus. Have breakfast with me tomorrow.”
Consent looked puzzled. “All right. Can I get a hint?”
“No. Now scoot. I need to think.” He retreated to his private quarters, he executed the summons for Hourli. The Shining One was not pleased when she materialized.
“Did I drag you away from something important?”
“From scouting for hazards ahead of the Enterprise.”
“I’ll try not to waste your time. I need messages delivered.”
Hourli seemed mildly impressed. “It’s not much yet, but here you go, starting to act like the man in charge.”
“You’ll handle it?”
“Of course. It’s what we’re here for.” She vanished. She had not smiled once.
Hecht collected his time candle and slipped away to the church of St. Miniver, Martyr.
* * *
Helspeth arrived acting mopey. She was not interested in a passionate encounter. Nor was Hecht. She observed, “You’re glum tonight.”
“I haven’t recovered from the blast.” No one had asked about the miracle of their survival but a lot of speculation was afoot. Good thing the Choosers had gone away fast.
“That and the fact that we’re jumping off into history?”
“There is that, darling. I’m overwhelmed by the magnitude. God Himself may think we’re overreaching.”
“You’re overthinking. You should be stripping me naked, but I’m having the same thoughts. I’m terrified that we’ll stumble into a disaster so huge they’ll mock us till the end of time. I’m scared that my name will become the punch line to a thousand jokes.”
“Helspeth Ege, possibly with her identity slightly disguised, is much more likely to become the subject of a cycle of love songs.”
This relationship was the sort that jongleurs lauded.
The suggestion pleased Helspeth. He snuggled close. Neither spoke for a while. Then Helspeth said, “Hilda says that some courtiers are starting to ask questions.”
“About us?”
“About you and her.”
“Oh.”
“Is that disappointment? It was the impression we were trying to give.”
He laughed without humor. “No. Though that liaison would be easier.”
“Don’t start that stuff.”
“It’s human nature, lover. God made us all want more than we have, no matter what we have or how much of it.”
“God? Or the Adversary?”
“That could be. With all the other devils around, why not the biggest one of all? You’re not the Tempter, are you?” He failed to make that sound like he was joking.
“Why don’t we do what we’re supposed to be doing?”
“Pray?”
“Yes. But let’s not waste our magic candle on it.”
Hecht did pray for the first time in a long time. He felt self-conscious. As luck or a clever Shining One would have it, Archbishop Brion and several ecclesiastical henchmen caught them in the act of the chaste nonevent. And were disappointed. Could it be that Lord Arnmigal and the Empress were more devout when they did not know they had an audience?
The Grand Duke of Arnmigal won a serious victory because of an impulse and a bad mood but never knew it.
* * *
Titus observed, “You’re not yourself this morning.”
Puzzled, Hecht asked, “How so?”
“You look like you got a good night’s sleep.”
“I did. I prayed last night and it seemed the Lord lifted a huge weight off me.”
“What?”
“It came to me while I was in front of the altar. I haven’t been trusting God. I’ve driven myself, and you all, to our limits because I couldn’t trust in Him. He touched me last night. He reminded me that we can’t do this without Him. I built the machine in His name. I should put the machine into His hands.”
Consent stood there with jaw dropped. “You really mean that.”
“Yes.”
“If prayer at Saint Miniver, Martyr, can relax you this much, I need to get over there myself.”
“Too late. You’ll be doing something else. I told de Bos and Vircondelet to cover for you for two days.”
“Two days? Why? Especially now?”
“You and I are going on a wonderful and terrifying journey.”
Cloven Februaren turned sideways and materialized. Consent gaped as the old man hustled away from the center of the room.
Lila and Vali twisted into being where Februaren had been, holding hands. Giggling, they scattered.
Heris appeared. She dropped several inches, cursing. She was not in a good mood. “This better be worth my trouble, little brother.”
Hecht told Consent, “Come over here, Titus. Stand back to back with me. Family?”
Heris asked, “Sure you want to do this, Piper?”
“Want to, no. Need to, yes. Titus needs to. In a few days we’ll be off on a quest that isn’t likely to forgive us. I need to … Titus…”
“You’re so full of shit. Let’s do this, family.”
Heris, the girls, and Cloven Februaren crushed in. Hecht’s last frightened thought was, Darkness always comes, as darkness descended.
28. Khaurene: New Blood
The journey took longer than expected. Brother Candle proved less able to endure the hardships than he had foreseen, though mostly he rode in a wagon. Too, there were delays because people everywhere wanted to see the Countess who was one of the saviors of the province.
The adulation troubled Socia. “The more they applaud me now the more they’ll be disappointed later.”
Brother Candle said, “You
will have a hard time being the legend they need.”
“I don’t want to be a legend.” She met his gaze briefly. “All right. I don’t mind being a legend. I just don’t want to put in the work.”
“Those who take the easy road become the legendary bad lords.”
“You can be so frustrating.”
“I know. I frustrate myself sometimes. But look on the bright side. I won’t be a plague on your house much longer.”
“What? You’ll outlive me. You’re too righteous to die.”
“I did not mention dying. Though even a Perfect must someday stand before the Good God and make his accounting.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s possible that I don’t, either. With this journey beating me down this way, a worse journey would be insane. But I begin to feel the call.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That’s enough for now, darling girl. Before anything else I have to see you through this, then safely through the travails of becoming the guardian of the new Duke. Only after that can I consider what to do to benefit my soul and the Light.”
The company reached Castreresone while the light splashed its walls to the most flattering effect. It was obvious why it was called the White City.
Scaffolding clung to those walls in a dozen places. The Berg and Inconje were being rebuilt. The magnates, encouraged by Queen Isabeth, were being particularly energetic.
The White City was filled with talk about being ready next time Arnhand came.
There was a despairing confidence that the Arnhander threat would never fade.
Thousands came out. Lumiere slept most of the time. Escamerole and Guillemette took turns carrying him so people could see. There was much shouting of blessings and offering of gifts. Brother Candle insisted that Socia accept the latter. They meant a great deal to the givers. She saw innumerable faces excited about the future. Their blessings made it clear that the Widows had the people believing that they no longer must despair over the certain evil in the north.
“That was what I meant about terrible expectations,” Socia told Brother Candle as Castreresone fell behind. “They don’t just want a champion, they want a redeemer. In real life Kedle and I are thugs in skirts.”
