by Glen Cook
Hecht let go her hand while she fired the time candle, then slid the hand across her shoulder. She leaned against him, seeming much smaller than the Empress Helspeth Ege. He said, “We choose to let the world define love for us.”
Helspeth sighed.
Hecht was not in the grip of any physical need tonight, nor was she. The moment felt almost exactly right, except for Helspeth suffering those little moments when she trembled as though feeling a chill. Each such moment ended with her trying to burrow closer.
In time, she confessed, “I am with child.” She said it in a tiny voice, into his chest, to his heart, but never did he mistake what she said, nor was he completely surprised.
His mind did race. It had to have happened before he left Alten Weinberg. Had to have for her to be so certain now. It would not be long before it began to show. Not long before it became the scandal of the decade. “I’m sorry, beloved. I am so sorry. I have ruined you.”
She did not disagree.
He promised, “I will not fail you. I will do whatever needs to be done.”
“I know. I know. I’ve had a long time to worry. A long time to lose a lot of sleep. A long time to dread all the ways you might respond to the news. I imagined some ugly possibilities. But, right now, you sound like I hoped you would.”
Hecht sighed. She was not wholly pleased because he accepted the Will of God without demur? “I’m not surprised. It’s not something that I expected to happen but I have considered the possibility. There were so many times when we just gave ourselves up to the flame.”
“I can still save the Enterprise. I can still make sure that Katrin is remembered for what she bequeathed the world.”
“What?”
“I can name Algres Drear as the father.”
“You will not.”
“The court will accept that. He was always close. They gossiped about him. And he won’t deny it.”
“That will not happen. I will not have Drear ruined for my sake.”
“Piper, I can’t play the virgin birth card. That only works when it happens two thousand years ago.”
For a moment an exultant Katrin shone in his mind’s eye, overjoyed. Wherever her soul resided, it would be jubilant if it was aware. This would be God’s judgment …
Hecht was startled. People really did put those kinds of black, petty motives into the hearts of their gods. But why would God—or any god—concern Himself, or Herself, with such trivia? There was a universe to be managed. Even gods as small as the Shining Ones cared little about what mortals did to one another in their beds unless they were part of the action.
“Piper, I can’t stand it when you just wander off inside yourself like that!” Helspeth’s hard voice dragged him back, shaky. “Why would you do that?” she demanded. “You make me feel … Stop it. Just stop it!”
It had been a long time. He had been another man with another name, with another woman in a dramatically different culture, where no man was much exposed to his woman while she carried a child, but he did recall that there could be emotional storms, often from no apparent cause. “I don’t do it intentionally. I don’t know I’m doing it. And I don’t know why I do it. It started after that assassination attempt that almost succeeded. The old man who turns up out of nowhere thinks it’s because I came so close to dying that I left my body briefly, then never got a firm grip on it again after I came back.”
Cloven Februaren had, indeed, so speculated but he did not believe it. Neither did Hecht. There would be another answer.
Helspeth did not want to quarrel. She leaned in again, pressing close. “What are we going to do?”
He had no idea beyond letting the tide of tomorrow come and go, coping as it surged. “There are no challenges we can’t handle. You’ve already shown that you’re strong enough to face anything.”
“I hope you’re right. But it’s going to be difficult.”
Oh, it would be, on levels both personal and political.
He held Helspeth as tightly as she held him.
* * *
Hourli asked, “Have you formed any plans?”
Hecht was startled. The Shining Ones, even Hourli, seldom just dropped in, especially while he was in bed. “About what?” It sounded like she meant something specific. There were a thousand considerations in search of a plan.
“You know your lover’s situation, now. She finally found the courage to tell you.”
“You knew?”
“We knew seconds after it quickened. You’re never alone. Fastthal and Sprenghul stay on you like those idiot ravens used to stay on Ordnan’s shoulders. I wonder what ever became of them?”
“Asgrimmur probably knows.” Becoming distracted that easily. “Damn! And damn again. I hope you found us entertaining.”
“Only in a somewhat poignant sense. You did show enthusiasm.”
He refused to ask what she meant. He had a notion that he would not understand her explanation. “Damn for the third time. Now that will be in the back of my head every time I’m alone with…”
“Middle-worlders are never alone. There are watchers always.”
He offered a skeptical look in response.
“All right. Often may fit better than always. But liaisons remain secret only because the Night doesn’t find them worth gossiping about.”
“Was there a point to you showing up before I’ve gotten my feet on the floor?”
“I do want to know if there is a plan.”
“Really?”
“Truly. We should know what part you want us to play so we can prepare ourselves.”
He began readying himself to face the day, noting, without paying intimate heed, that the morning felt like those times when he was with Helspeth and the time candle was burning.
He had done no thinking. The fatalism ingrained during boyhood had taken over. What would be would be what God Willed. He could only wiggle and whine in a doomed effort to thwart the Almighty.
Startled thought.
He was in the presence of a god. This god shaped his world directly, every day, and did so visibly. He did not have to ascribe anything to her. She talked to him. He did not have to subscribe to the existence of a fathomless Will or Plan.
Hourli observed, “You have had a thought.”
“Not a practical one, I expect, but possibly useful.”
His apostasy, grown deviously since his betrayal by the Rascal and the Lion, had passed a tipping point. He muttered, “I shall have no other gods before me.” Then, puzzled, “Before you?”
Hourli asked, “What?”
“I have lost my connection to the divine.”
She burst out laughing. “Oh! Darling! I doubt that very much!”
“Huh?”
“You were thinking in some direction other than what the God of the Pramans and God of the Chaldareans would like. They have pushed you away. You’re stuck with leftovers from a time of barbarism, obsoletes without the decency to pack it in and fade away. Not so? You were about to suffer an epiphany.”
“Now you mock me,” Lord Arnmigal grumbled.
“Sometimes it’s fun to mess with you.”
He frowned, glared. One hardship of dealing with the Shining Ones was that there was subtext to everything they said. Hourli especially operated on multiple levels. “You’re not going to seduce me again?” she said.
“Oh! What? No. Not me.” Again? What? The idea never occurred to him. Who was she talking to?
“That was backwards, darling. I’m the bad girl of the tale.”
“What are you talking about?” Was he whining? That sounded like whining.
“No worry. When I decide it’s time you’ll be a dried-out husk before you know you’ve been asked.”
He shuddered. What the hell was she doing? He had more trouble than he could handle already.
Then Hourli laughed. “What a face! Come on. What were you thinking?”
He needed a moment to recall that they had been talking about Helspeth before
she decided to rattle him. Helspeth? Helspeth! Who was with child. His child. “I was thinking we should create another Helspeth. One who can be seen not being pregnant while the real Empress stays out of sight.”
Hourli considered him intently for some time. “Are you sure?”
“No. I want to save her the … But she might not … I’d have to find out what she wants to do.”
“You do realize that that is begging for cosmic complications?”
For problems he could not imagine right now because worry was crippling his reason? Cosmic? Hyperbole or fact? “I’ll manufacture a way for you, me, and Helspeth to discuss this.”
“Good. Listen to her when we do. Hear what she says. We don’t want to repeat mistakes already made before.”
What did that mean? She was not talking about Helspeth’s situation.
* * *
Helspeth’s news almost completely distracted Lord Arnmigal. Details slipped past him. He failed to define assignments adequately when the Shining Ones went off to handle shadowy particulars. He did not monitor his captains adequately. The Shining Ones did not come volunteering for work. They basked in whichever Well of Ihrian seemed sweetest, growing supernaturally fat. Captains had to guess at the Commander’s intent when acting.
“Where is Pella?” Lord Arnmigal demanded of his lifeguards one morning. He could not find the boy. “I have a job for him.”
Titus materialized. “Sorry, Boss. He went off to help deal with the Dreangereans. They’ve stopped moving again. Sheaf says Iresh is waiting for his siege train, now.”
Lord Arnmigal shook his head. “Why? All he had to do was attack while we were busy everywhere else.”
“Plenty of strange stuff going on in this war, Boss. Him not wanting to take risks hardly seems odd. Anyway, how could he know that we’re all tied up everywhere? He doesn’t have our intelligence resources.”
“You’re right. Send somebody to drag the boy back.”
“Sure. What did you want him to do?”
“I was going to put him in charge of the falcons harassing the Dreangereans. But now he’ll take an entry-level job in the grave and latrine excavation trade. He needs to learn to take orders.”
“Harsh.” Titus laughed. “I had a note from the Empress. She wants to see you after midday devotions. She did not sound like a woman who is enchanted with Lord Arnmigal.”
“Sometimes I don’t have sense enough not to say things that people don’t want to hear. Plus, I think she thinks she should get more attention than she does. She could have had plenty if she’d just stayed home. Us smelly men down here are too busy with our war.”
“Have you had any midnight visitors lately?”
The shift evaded Hecht briefly. His conscience squealed. “You have, then?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I wondered if Heris or your girls had visited. I’m worried about Noë and the boys.”
“No. Either they’re preoccupied or we’re too far away. I worry about Anna, too.”
Despite all, that was true. Anna Mozilla did own a firm place in his heart.
Hecht said, “If any of them turn up I’ll ask for a report.”
39. Shamramdi: The Godstalkers
Young Az came to the house where the Mountain and his men were enjoying the siege of Shamramdi. He was pale and grim. He had lost weight. He had been wounded twice during sorties against an enemy who was always ready.
Nassim Alizarin said, “I hope you feel better than you look, Nephew.”
“I doubt that, Uncle.”
“Then why are you out of bed?”
“Indala couldn’t come. His own health remains poor.”
Rumor suggested that the Great Shake was dying, or was suffering from slow poisoning. Or Unbeliever sorcery was sucking his life and soul.
Nassim had not seen Indala for weeks. He suspected that age alone would explain the Great Shake’s indisposition.
“Not heartening news, Nephew. But you have darker matters on your mind.”
“Complications, certainly. My great-uncle wishes to offer his apologies for not having been more supportive of your effort to crush the Dreangerean sorcerer.”
This was odd. “Has a serpent turned in his hand?”
“A courier bringing dispatches from the coast, across the mountains, was held up by the Ansa while they found a tribesman able to read and write Lucidian. They wanted to send you a message.”
“And then someone here had to make sure I wasn’t getting secret instructions from the crusaders.”
“Not entirely. Some people just can’t not stick their noses in.”
Nassim snorted. The longer he lived the less well he thought of his own kind. “So tell me what it says.”
“How? The letter was meant for you.”
“You aren’t familiar with its contents? Do come on, Nephew.”
“As you will.” Young Az read, but slowly. Nassim had thought him more literate.
He took the letter. The text was not in the florid style he usually saw. It made no effort to proclaim the author’s command of language. The sentences were simple declarative grunts, the words mud bricks only, not an artist’s paint. Nor was the calligraphy artful. That alone might explain young Az’s trouble reading. Too, the writer did not know his Lucidian as well as he might pretend.
“Damn! This is rough. But I think I get it.” Nassim Alizarin certainly had his own difficulties with Lucidian.
“Then explain. If you will be so generous. Because no one who has seen that message understands what it actually means. Most think it’s code. If he says camel, you know he means something particular happened…”
“He is hard to decipher and harder to follow but he is as literal as a poisoned dagger. When he says camel he means camel. This is a desperate warning. The Dreangerean will resurrect Asher soon. The process may be under way already, after the natural delays suffered in getting this out of the Idiam.”
“So. Only my great-uncle truly thought…”
“How long, Azim?” The scribe had not dated his missive—which would not have helped had he done so. The Ansa did not date according to Praman custom.
“It’s been knocking around court for a week. I only heard about it yesterday, when they wanted to know what I thought it meant. If it is a literal warning … Indala will be livid. Several men who think they’re smarter than him are about to find themselves reassigned to obscure towns on a border where they can expect to have to face Tsistimed the Golden.”
“Indala had sense enough to take it for what it is?”
“The smart men shouted him down.”
The Mountain chuckled. “No. The Great Shake might refuse a contest with fools but he wouldn’t abandon a conviction. He might have a favorite nephew stand in for him.”
“Assisted by the man who knows the evil best.”
Nassim smiled. A gap showed in his smile. Another sign of time catching up. Two more teeth had begun to trouble him.
“And what did the Great Shake suggest? Our freedom of action is restricted. Or does he want anything done? If the great evil returns it might fall more heavily on the crusaders than on us.”
“Not so, Uncle. Definitely not so.” Young Az then revealed the fact that Indala had excellent information sources inside the Episcopal Chaldarean world. “Lord Arnmigal, the Commander of the Righteous, was the Brothen Church’s Captain-General before he moved on to the Grail Empire.”
“I know that. I saw him close up on Artecipea, when we were employed by Peter of Navaya. He seemed driven, too. But he understood my need to destroy Rudenes Schneidel personally.”
Though this had not come up before, young Az betrayed no surprise. He did know the story. “You recall his stated purpose for being there?”
“The siege of Arn Bedu. The destruction of Rudenes Schneidel. Of course. We all had personal motives. The strategic reason, though, was to keep Schneidel from resurrecting Seska, the Endless.”
“You destroyed the sor
cerer. The Captain-General destroyed the Endless. He exterminated a gaggle of Schneidel’s revenants in the End of Connec, too. Some think that he killed another revenant earlier, at al-Khazen, during the Calziran Crusade. You were there, too.”
“I was there. I didn’t see that. I do recall an explosion and an earthquake said to have been the result.”
“There are many frightening questions around Lord Arnmigal—including a suggestion that he is a revenant himself. He has lived a mysteriously charmed life. There is little evidence that he even existed before the Church’s first incursion into the End of Connec.”
Nassim did not mention the Sha-lug captain, Else Tage. He tried to look alert and interested, a man learning new and interesting things.
“There is a woman named Heris. Rumor suggests that she was once a household slave in Shartelle. She could be Lord Arnmigal’s natural sister. How that could be possible is beyond me, given their respective backstories. She has, they say, destroyed five revenant prehistoric gods of incredible power and evil. Gods who were originally put to sleep by later devils like Asher and Ashtoreth, who had to have human worship in order to survive.”
This was mostly news to Nassim.
Young Az continued, “Lord Arnmigal and this Heris are known to the Night as the Godslayers. So my great-uncle has been informed by some who supposedly know.” Sort of a wink, then, because good Pramans were forbidden congress with the Night. They should not know the thinking of the demonic Instrumentalities. “Both are closely associated with members of the Episcopal Collegium, one being the natural grandson of another. Those two have acknowledged the Heris woman as their true descendant through a man whose name you will recall: Grade Drocker.”
Startled, Nassim said, “My old enemy!” Then, “I’m confused.” And the more so because he had known Lord Arnmigal as a promising student in the Vibrant Spring School.
“The whole thing is confusing and goes on getting more so. The most powerful man in the west is supposedly a refugee from one of those countries that is now covered by ice. But.”
“Does it matter? We have to deal with the man who is here, whatever his background was.”
