by Glen Cook
“He’s a super something,” Heris interjected. “The common variety of which is found on the road behind a cattle drive.”
Whereupon Februaren suggested, “Asgrimmur, you need to put a smile on that woman’s face.”
“Please!” Hecht snapped. “No vulgarity. Master Hauf, if you will?”
“Madouc is now Master of the Commandery at a fortress called Gherig. You know it?”
“The name came up during planning. A stout fortress, from all reports.”
“It is. But less so in the age of the falcon and firepowder. A renegade Sha-lug named Nassim Alizarin wrecked part of it by igniting smuggled firepowder that set off Gherig’s own secret store.”
Nassim Alizarin. There was a name out of yesteryear.
“The point is, the Dreangerean sorcerer er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen fled north through the Holy Lands after Indala defeated Gordimer. He’s hiding in the Idiam, in the haunted city Andesqueluz, and is trying to resurrect an Instrumentality known as Asher.”
Hecht said, “I don’t know the geography or mythology but it sounds like he’s up to the same mischief he was into in the Connec and on Artecipea.” He glanced at Hourli. She shrugged.
Hauf said, “Asher was a primal Instrumentality of the region. Typically, all blood and thunder. He could be the father of the God of the Dainshaukin.”
“Wow. That’s scary.”
“Madouc is concerned. So am I. You may have to deal with other players once you get there.”
Hecht glanced at Hourli again. “It’s always that way. Nothing is ever straightforward and simple.” The Shining One had nothing to contribute. “Is that really what you wanted to see me about?”
“Mostly.”
Hecht wanted to find out how Hauf had been alerted to his presence in Brothe. But that was a task better left to the Shining Ones.
“So. I’m glad Madouc is doing well. Master of the Commandery? Who died?”
“The Brotherhood created a new commandery in order to keep a villain named Rogert du Tancret from having the final say at Gherig.”
“We squabbled all the time when Madouc was my chief lifeguard. He took his work dead serious and there was no flex in him.”
“I wish the Brotherhood had a thousand more like him.”
“Pity the world.”
Hauf smiled weakly. “One thing further. In the nature of a personal favor. Take Redfearn Bechter’s effects with you. They’re yours, by bequest, but the Brotherhood hopes you will honor one of its greatest by allowing his few things to be laid down in the soil of the lands to which he dedicated his early life.”
“That seems reasonable.” Hecht flushed slightly. Bechter’s little chest was somewhere in the baggage that followed him around but he had not thought of it in months. He had given up trying to solve the puzzle or message the chest represented.
Hauf flashed a squinty look of appraisal, suspecting that Hecht had forgotten. “Thank you. In time, success permitting, we’ll move his bones to the Holy Lands, too.”
The exchange baffled the others. Hecht said, “I wish we could talk more. Bechter was dear to me but I never got to know him well.”
“He was one of the few who survived the Well of Days. That was so harsh the Brotherhood sent the survivors west. They were oppressed by guilt because they had survived. They were unlikely to stand up to another hard fight.”
Redfearn Bechter never showed any weakness while serving the Captain-General. But he had not been called on to face Indala al-Sul Halaladin, either.
Hecht said, “We need to be sociable.” He announced, “We’re discussing a mutual friend, Redfearn Bechter, who was with me during the Connecten campaigns.”
That helped. Some. Some recalled the sergeant.
Hecht told Hauf, “I hope I run into Madouc early. He should be able to tell me everything I need…”
Hourli’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. Hecht understood that she wanted a private moment. “I need to step out for some air. I’ll be right back.” He followed Hourli.
A breeze had come up. It had turned cold. Dust and trash hurtled around. “Going to rain,” the Instrumentality said. “Maybe hard.”
“Maybe. What is it?”
“The soldier priest knew you were here because he has a brace of sorcerers hidden in his fortress. They couldn’t tell how you arrived but they knew you had, within minutes.”
“Sorcerers? Not good for a man in his position.”
“His intentions are pure.”
“Aren’t they always?”
“The Night twists men who use it to their own ends.”
“Personal warning?”
“If it fits. There is another matter. The eternal monster beneath the city has arisen again. We annihilated it but it won’t stay annihilated. The people of Brothe must have their diabolical duke of darkness.”
“That’s good. Thank you.”
“You’re wasting time here. Go back to Alten Weinberg.”
Hecht glared, yet saw nothing to suggest that she meant more than what she said.
“You’re right. This was an emotional pilgrimage. It may not have been necessary.”
“We should get back inside.”
“Right again.”
“I’m a goddess. I’m always right.”
“In your own mind.” He rejoined the company thinking he was sadly underutilizing his supernatural allies.
He announced, “People, this has been as much a farewell as a celebration for me. I don’t feel good about my prospects. I do expect the Enterprise to achieve great things. It will shape the world in countless ways, some of them unexpected. But … I do have that bad feeling. Now … it’s time to say good-bye. Noë, don’t cry. Titus will come through fine, probably sainted.”
Hecht gathered his flock. Consent did the same, though baffled. He whispered, “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure. It’s a feeling. We may have committed more than the obvious error by making a sentimental visit.”
Paludan Bruglioni and Addam Hauf seemed thoroughly confused.
Hourli closed in on Bruglioni. She did not identify herself. She spoke softly and quickly, delivering information the Patriarch could use to consolidate his hold on the Church.
Then she told Hauf, “So long as you keep your hidden sorcerers the darkness beneath Brothe will return to life again and again.”
The Master of the Commandery wanted to ask questions. He chewed on air. Hourli walked out. Hauf went after her. He found no sign outside that she had been anything but a shard of imagination.
He did glimpse a winged thing atop a triumphal column where no figure ought to be.
* * *
The drama had Anna in tears. Noë and her brood had been taken home. Heris and the girls, and Cloven Februaren, crowded around Piper and Titus. Those two faced one another, by Titus’s choice. Piper tried to break the tension with an uncharacteristic wisecrack.
The human ball rotated out of existence. Air whooshed in to replace it.
Anna wondered if she would ever see Piper again.
* * *
Hecht wakened confused and groggy. He did not know where he was and was not entirely sure who. He was alone but that lasted only moments.
Rivademar Vircondelet shoved into the room. A team followed. One man carried a tray with bread, tea, and soup. A barber and a tailor followed. Two boys lugged a big copper tub. Other boys carried a carpet for the tub to stand on. Yet another carried towels, soap, and fragrances.
Vircondelet said, “Lieutenant Consent said you were ill.”
Hecht heard an unspoken, wary, “Again.”
“Bathwater should get here about the time you finish eating.”
Hecht punched himself on the side of the head. “I had the most bizarre dream. It seemed so real.”
“Yes?” With genuine interest.
“It was one of those ones that you know can’t be true but is still so strong you can’t ever quite convince yourself that it wasn’t.”
“Never had one of those. Except when I was four or five I dreamed there were two moons. I argued with my parents about it for days.”
“How long?” Hecht asked. “I mean, this.”
“Six hours since Consent said there was something wrong. You were running a fever. You talked but you didn’t make sense.”
“Where is Titus?”
“Getting ready to travel. It’ll be sunrise in an hour. You wanted to hit the road today.”
“Don’t look like that’s going to happen.” He felt drained. The confusion would not go away. He rubbed his forehead and scalp with his left hand. “Titus makes mountains out of molehills.”
“You’re not sick?”
“I’m just bone tired. Let’s get on with this. Maybe we can move out today.”
“The Empress wants to see you.”
“Oh. Sure. So much for heading out today.”
* * *
Helspeth was not pleased. “Have I grown tedious already, Lord Arnmigal?”
Lady Hilda’s expression was strained. She did not flirt when she brought coffee.
They three were alone in the quiet room.
“Your Grace?”
“You haven’t been to evening prayers since you came back.”
He had not. And had not thought of it, either. “I was unconscious.” Would she be unreasonable?
“I know. You went off somewhere with Titus Consent and those … beings. Did they turn you into a eunuch?”
“I was sick.”
Daedel tried to help. “Lord Arnmigal must be dreadfully tired, Helspeth.”
“But able to consort with devils.”
Logic would be wasted. Helspeth felt neglected. That was that.
Lady Hilda topped Helspeth’s cup. From behind the Empress she moved her lips exaggeratedly, warning him against defending himself.
He did not. He was interested only in sleep.
That concerned him. Being ready to nap at any moment was outside his experience. Nor could he get useful advice from his people. Nobody had any idea what was happening.
Hourli said bear with it, sleep when he felt like it, and time would cure it.
Helspeth fixed him with a fierce gaze. “I won’t be discarded like some camp-following trollop.”
Again Daedel signed for silent suffering. She tipped a hand, suggesting he sip his coffee.
It was a way to temporize.
He worked it out. Helspeth was scared. Change was in the wind. He would be gone a long time. She would be without the shield of the Righteous. Maybe she tasted his premonition, too. And he was doing nothing to still her fears. His excuses, however valid, carried little emotional weight.
“I have delayed departure a day already. I will join you tonight.”
That, of course, threatened to set her off again. If he was going to show up only because she nagged him …
Lady Hilda whispered something Hecht could not hear. Helspeth stopped being contrary.
* * *
“What did she want?” Titus asked, worried about last-minute meddling.
“She was upset because I didn’t report in and didn’t go to chapel. She knew we’d been away.”
“Then somebody has been talking about things he shouldn’t.”
“Maybe. It doesn’t matter, now. We’ll be on the road. We won’t have to answer to anyone but ourselves.”
“God might quibble. Otherwise, I’m looking forward. Tomorrow for sure, right? The baggage is already moving.”
“As soon as there’s light.”
* * *
Helspeth was especially demanding. And she wanted to pray, too. Hecht suspected she was moved more by despair than desire.
* * *
Titus said, “That took a while.”
Hecht hid the time candle. “She wouldn’t stop talking. I couldn’t just walk away.”
“I’ll find you a ride so you can sleep as we go. Oh. Pella and Brokke showed up.”
“Really? They’re finally done out there?”
“Anselin finally felt comfortable. And neither Hagen nor the boy want to be left behind.” Brokke was scheduled to stay in Alten Weinberg, though.
“Anna will cut me if I let Pella come.” Hecht headed for his quarters, eager to see the boy and hear his stories.
Anna would have to deal. The boy was old enough.
* * *
Helspeth and her ladies came out to watch the Commander of the Righteous depart. It was a cold, damp day, not unusual this spring. Some less venturesome staffers whined about the possibility of snow.
Once the party left Franz-Benneroust Plaza Lord Arnmigal deserted his mount for a place in the vehicle Titus had prepared. Consent called it a coach but the level of luxury was substantially lower. The vehicle was actually a wagon with a mattress tucked in amongst onion sacks and wooden boxes.
Hecht did not care. It took only moments to fall asleep. He slept all day and still had no trouble sleeping that night.
Some staffers were not happy about having to camp out. They wanted to hop from inn to inn. Lord Arnmigal wanted everyone hardened now. Neither the Pramans nor the Holy Lands would be considerate of their comfort.
There were no serious problems. His staff handled routine well. They needed no close direction. And just as well. Ten days out of Alten Weinberg Hecht was sleeping twenty hours a day.
Which suited his people fine. They never knew which Lord Arnmigal they would get when he was awake.
Sometimes he was the Piper Hecht they had known for years. Often, though, he was cold, remote, intolerant of error or imperfection. In that character he seemed clairvoyant, too. He knew what had to be done before it needed doing. That created efficiencies but also worried men already troubled by the oddities of their commander.
After those ten days, though, Piper Hecht began sleeping less.
He met the King of Hovacol on the bridge that had featured in their first encounter. He told Stain, “You’ve had it all from the Empress already but I wanted to deliver my own appeal. Helspeth and I want you to lead the next wave into the Holy Lands. We had to turn away thousands this time.”
Stain was no longer belligerent. He was not looking for a fight, even sanctioned by the Church. He accepted the role reluctantly.
“Hourli, I want to see you,” Hecht told the air once he returned to his wagon, exhausted. Stain had kept him up for hours.
The Instrumentality materialized. She planted her behind on a box. “Yes?”
“Stain was different today. Why?”
“The supernatural wasn’t involved anymore.”
“I like your style. You’re straightforward.”
“All salesmanship, Commander of the Righteous. Most mortals hate the gods because of our disdain for clarity. We will avoid ambiguity where we can—though that will irk some clients, too.”
She might be trying to irk him now, on some level.
She continued, “Stain was possessed by a regional Instrumentality that might have been a deity in pagan times.”
“One that took off after mixing it up with me?”
“Apparently, Godslayer.”
“My life keeps getting stranger.”
“Should I resent that?”
“See things from my perspective.”
“I do try. And I do so, better than you suspect.”
“Is it likely to be a nuisance?”
“It’s damaged, hiding, hoping to be forgotten.”
“No longer a threat, then.” Hecht found himself not caring already.
“No.”
He was done, then. He was ready to sleep. But Hourli had something on her mind and wanted to be coaxed.
He asked, “Is it important?”
“Judge for yourself.”
“So?”
“Despite observing your rules of the march your advance columns are meeting resistance in the Antal hinterland, not just from Pramans. Eastern Rite and Antast Chaldareans have been belligerent without genuine provocation. That
has not served them well. Your lieutenants smash resistance where they meet it because of the remarkable intelligence they enjoy.”
“Attempt to elicit a compliment duly noted.”
“Thank you, Commander of the Righteous. The work is more difficult than you think. We are now operating at our extreme limits, well beyond our range in olden times.”
“Really? I thought you were feasting at the Wells of Ihrian.”
“You did?” Her expression betrayed real disbelief. “Where did you get that idea? No. Of course not. Much as we would love to streak in and feed till we’re too fat to move, we can range only so far ahead of our nearest believers, with that distance dwindling as we as we get farther from the Realm of the Gods. To actually reach one of the Wells we may require the assistance of the Bastard, the ascendant, and your whole family. Once we do get to a Well, though, we’ll get healthy fast.”
Hecht questioned none of that. It made sense despite confusing him when he considered specifics.
Almost sad, though, that the Old Ones were dependent on the belief of people who followed other religions.
“Your situation will improve as I get closer myself?”
“You in particular, yes. In a reverse exponential sort of way.”
“Which means?”
“Each ten miles closer you move will advance our reach by two or three miles.”
“I see.” No wonder the Old Ones made themselves useful. “I should be traveling faster, then.” Though he was gaining on the big mobs quickly. His group had more flexibility.
“That would be good. A situation is developing on the eastern route.”
Once across the Antal Land Bridges the Enterprise main body split to follow three separate routes through the central mountains, easing the strain on local populations. The easternmost route passed through small Praman states nomad tribes had hacked out of the Eastern Empire. That force would emerge from the mountains to threaten northern Qasr al-Zed and Shamramdi.
“What is it?”
“There’s the rub. We don’t know, exactly. We can’t quite get that far. We think the regional princes are gathering a host. They might outnumber us substantially. The ground is not well suited to western-style warfare, nor can the Shining Ones get there to help.”
