The Tyranny of the Night

by Glen Cook

  Else asked, “Titus, what do you think about that?”

  “He’s right. Calzir’s Devedians are scared. Devedians everywhere are scared. It’s part of being a Deve.”

  “I’m in no position to reassure anyone.”

  “You don’t concern them much, sir.”

  The Devedian community had given him no cause for disappointment. Though their efficiency at pulling things together stirred old, deep suspicions. Was there any truth in those old tales of secret Devedian brotherhoods out to control the world surreptitiously?

  Gledius Stewpo always mocked that notion. He could spark off scores of plausible arguments against it, but there were times when one had to wonder. As, say, when one found Deves armed with firepowder weapons capable of bringing down the most powerful sorcerer.

  “Don’t be silly,” Stewpo told Else. “If we had a quarter of the power those stories claim we’d never suffer the kind of crap that happened in Sonsa.”

  “Uhm?” Else grunted.

  “Whenever you bump noses with the notion that Deves are the secret masters, ask yourself why all the Deves you know live the way they do when everybody else lives the way they do.”

  Else confessed, “I don’t care about the religious business. I don’t care who believes what as long as the job gets done.”

  Stewpo grinned. He lacked a front tooth, on top. A bit more hair, Else thought, and the dwarf would bear a striking resemblance to a creature out of a tale where runt folk spun straw into gold.

  Stewpo’s whole race hailed from a land where fairy tales reigned, though.

  “No secret overlords,” Stewpo promised. “If every Devedian agreed that that was the best idea since the Creator declared us His Chosen People, it would fall apart as soon as you pulled four Devedians together to make it happen. You think pettiness, vanity, and envy are exclusive to your world? Try being part of the Devedian underclass. Where every carat of status is jealously nurtured — and becomes a target for anybody who thinks he can profit if you lose.”

  Else nodded. He could pretend to believe anything “Titus. The companies have to move south. Now. Advise your correspondents. Gledius. I know you don’t speak for Brothe’s Deves. But you’re the big bull Deve who’s here right now. Is there going to be a Devedian company or not?” For weeks the Deves had muttered about adding a company of their own to the city regiment. But their leaders never seemed quite sure what they wanted. Nor was Else sure that the Patriarch and his henchmen would permit it. Though it was common knowledge that King Peter’s combined Navayan and Connecten force including not only Chaldarean heretics but Devedians and Pramans, with the latter more numerous than right-thinking pro-Brothen Episcopals.

  “There will be a small force of specialists. Men with the technical skills to help you solve your special problems.”

  Else supposed that meant clerks and accountants whose most important function would be to serve as the conscience of the regiment.

  ***

  THE SUMMONS WAS SO LONG COMING THAT ELSE HOPED HE WAS being overlooked. A dozen companies had gone south, headed for an encampment near the border town Pateni Persus. One of those companies was Bruglioni. Two hundred strong, it included a dozen actual members of the family. The Arniena force, commanded by Rogoz Sayag, was as large. The well-armed Devedian contingent, gone early to blaze the way, numbered more than three hundred. Quite a lot of specialists.

  Eight Principatés sat behind a long table. Else recognized them all. One represented each of the Five Families. Principaté Doneto undoubtedly stood in for his cousin. A senile octogenarian did nothing but make strange noises and drool while a thirtyish bishop read his mind and spoke for him. Finally, there was Principaté Barendt from Smoogen in the New Brothen Empire. Hansel’s man.

  The Madisetti Principaté was blunt. “What do you think you’re doing, General Hecht?”

  Else stifled impulse. After all, he had just been promoted. In one man’s mind. “Could you be specific, Your Grace? I was hired to train and command a regiment that the City would place at the Holy Father’s disposal. I’ve done that The Holy Father has often said that he wants Calzir’s punishment begun. First, it was before the harvest. Now it’s before winter. But we’re still here, far from Alameddine and the Vaillarentiglia Mountains, while the Five Families squabble over loot that’s still in Calziran hands.”

  To Else’s astonishment Grade Drocker made a surprise appearance while he spoke. Drocker interjected, “Presenting this sort with the accomplished fact is the only way things get done, Hecht. Listen up, Your Graces. I have a message.” Drocker sounded far stronger than he had in more than a year.

  Else considered the Brotherhood sorcerer warily. He had not known that Drocker was in town. The Brotherhood kept its secrets well.

  Drocker continued, “I came back to find out why the delays continue. It isn’t a journey I fancied. I have little stamina anymore. It’s past time to begin, gentlemen. The Connecten and Direcian forces have established themselves on Shippen. Hunger flirts with mainland Calzir already. The strategy originally approved by the Holy Father is working perfectly. He has expressed frustration, though, because the next step continues to be delayed. The key group of soldiers remain tied up here.”

  Drocker glowered. He dared. The Collegium dreaded him. Everyone feared the Brotherhood of War. Most especially, they feared the displeasure of the Special Office. Not even the Patriarch himself could compel the Brotherhood of War.

  “Colonel Hecht, I commend your initiative.” There went the promotion. And here came several new enemies. “His Holiness has bid me take control of the City Regiment, heeding advice from none but its appointed commander.” Drocker’s battered features dared defiance as he surveyed the Principatés.

  The Special Office would turn on the Collegium someday.

  The extinction of sorcery was the fountainhead mission of the Special Office. Drocker said, “The Patriarch has decided that all forces raised for the Calziran Crusade will move to Alameddine now. He told me to deal with obstructionism however I see fit.”

  Someone tried to raise the point that the city regiment was not a Patriarchal force. Contradicting its specific charter.

  Grade Drocker said nothing. His ruined face, intense and cold, was sufficient to close debate. That was real power. More power than Else would have guessed that Drocker possessed.

  ***

  ELSE REACHED THE PATENI PERSUS ENCAMPMENT ON A DAY reported to be unnaturally cold for Alameddine. Snowflakes flashed amongst the drops of misty rain. Snow and ice had begun to accumulate on the peaks of the Vaillarentiglia Mountains for the first time in centuries. Else did not care. He was miserable enough right where he was. He had ridden all day under conditions that had worsened by the minute.

  Perhaps what they said about winter in Calzir was no exaggeration.

  Else was not eager for a campaign in this, which could only get uglier. But Hansel, Sublime, and Drocker all were eager to follow up on King Peter’s successes on Shippen. The weather did not trouble them.

  The last few hundred of the city regiment accompanied Else. If Pinkus Ghort had done his job, those in camp already would be ready to move on south.

  “They finally ran your ass out of Brothe, eh?” Ghort asked when Else arrived, though he saved the familiarity till they were in private. He had set up the regimental headquarters inside a deserted church.

  “Drocker came to town. He made them turn me loose. They’re mad as hornets, too. But they’re mad at Drocker.”

  “And that won’t do them no fucking good, right?”

  “Not even a little. What kind of shape are we in?”

  “You won’t be unhappy with the troops. Some of the officers, though... My heart wouldn’t break if some kind of plague came along that only kills incompetents.”

  “Take it up with God. Because you won’t get help from any earthly power. I tried three times, with three different gangs of power brokers. I might as well have been speaking Lindrehr from back home. They d
on’t comprehend merit or competence.... Come on. I’m serious. What shape are we in? We’re going to move real soon, now.”

  “They told you any more about what they want us to do?”

  “Everything. I mean, we have to do everything. Like overrun everything west of al-Khazen. While keeping the folks in al-Khazen fixed until the rest of the country has been mopped up. Do we have a movement plan?”

  “Thanks to the Deves. They’re bringing in some great info. You got something on them?”

  “I promised them we’d treat them right. And their Calziran cousins, too. That shouldn’t be hard. Should it?” Ghort shifted uneasily. “I don’t know.” Ghort’s orderly poked his head into the room. “Captain, there’re some Deves out here who say they have to see you and the colonel right now.”

  Ghort grumbled, “Presumptuous assholes. Tell them...”

  Else said, “Hang on. I was going to send for them, anyway.”

  “Bring them in, Colon.” Else asked, “How are Bo and Just Plain Joe getting on?”

  “Believe it or not, they both turned competent on us. Bo makes a good noncom. Bo knows all the scams and angles and heads them off before they start to smell. And Joe is a wizard with animals. He isn’t the guy in charge but he’s the one who makes things work. The critters stay healthy and fed.”

  “Good. I’ve always thought that everybody has at least one special talent. An officer needs to figure out what, nurture it, and... Hello.”

  There were five Deves. Else knew Gledius Stewpo, Shire Spereo, and Titus Consent. The others wore odd clothing and were damp, dirty, and darker than the Brothen Deves. Titus Consent said, “Our apologies for disturbing you before you’ve gotten settled, Colonel, but there’s important news from al-Khazen.”

  So the dusky Deves would be Calziran. “How bad is it, Titus?”

  “Not bad at all. Since we’re now forewarned.”

  “Well?”

  “The sorcerers who ran the pirate campaign have established themselves in al-Khazen. They believe they’ve done so without being noticed. They’re planning a major ambush. They want to lure the Brotherhood into a trap where they can get Grade Drocker. Along with lots of his soldiers.”

  Else was impressed. Someone must have been present during a planning session.

  “Speak not the Name of the Demon,” Ghort muttered, retailing an adage known in all lands touched by the Instrumentalities of the Night. Meaning in all the lands of the unfrozen earth. Ghort muttered with cause. A voice said, “I hear my name.” Drocker oozed into the room, on crutches. No expression shown on the ruin of his face.

  Else said, “I’ve just learned that Starkden and Masant al-Seyhan have moved into al-Khazen. They hope to lure us into a trap.” He told Consent, “Go ahead.”

  “There’s more to it than that.”

  “Of course. Go ahead.” He hoped Consent did not think he could play games with Drocker.

  “Starkden and Masant al-Seyhan won’t be the only Masters of Ghosts involved. There’s another. Our people can’t get close, though. We know he exists only by implication. Because there are places no one is allowed to enter.”

  One of the Calziran Deves said something. Else could not penetrate the dialect. Consent interpreted. “The wizard that nobody sees is...” Pause. “... one of the foreigners from overseas.” Pause. “He came disguised as a foreign soldier.” Pause. “Mostly Lucidians came to al-Khazen. But also a few engineers and soldiers came from Dreanger.”

  Drocker demanded, “Do I know you, dwarf?”

  Gledius Stewpo had been easing his way into deeper shadow. “I don’t think so, sir.” Stewpo laid on an accent Else had not heard before. There was nothing of Sonsa in his voice.

  “Perhaps. Yet... it seems I ought to. Never mind. This is interesting. I’m curious. Why did they think they could keep that a secret?” Drocker eyed the Calziran Deves intend, barely controlling his abiding distrust.

  Consent posed a question in dialect. The spies responded. He translated, “The foreign Pramans don’t believe any Calziran would betray them to the Patriarch. They made examples of several warlords who offered to acknowledge the Emperor.”

  That got right up Sublime’s nose. Nobody, anywhere, offered allegiance to the Patriarchy. Which was the case in Direcia and parts of the Connec where Pramans accommodated themselves to Chaldarean rulers.

  Consent continued to translate. “There is also a sorcery on al-Khazen that conceals most of the foreign Pramans.” Else suspected that there was something missing from that explanation. Consent added, “But you can’t conceal forever that which lashes out unpredictably. Nor that which has to eat, especially in these times.”

  Drocker asked, “What are these men doing here if this sorcerer is so powerful?”

  Else got a glimmer of what was bothering Drocker. This could turn deadly in seconds.

  Consent understood. “These two can come and go because they’re agents of the Mafti of al-Khazen. The Mafti believes they’re gathering information from Devedian communities in Chaldarean Firaldia.” Beads of sweat stood out on the young man’s brow.

  “Ah,” Drocker said. “I see.”

  Drocker controlled his hatred, perhaps because Consent was so direct.

  “I see,” the sorcerer said again. “And how will you convince me that they’re betraying their Mafti to us instead of betraying us to the Mafti?” Everyone understood that lives were at stake.

  Titus Consent was little more than a boy but he found the right answer. “It’s a matter of racial interest, sir. A blind man — pardon...”

  “Go ahead. I know about my eye.”

  “In harsh times Devedians have to make themselves particularly valuable. It’s obvious how this war will end. A Chaldarean triumph is coming. We will work to make that happen more quickly and easily in order to lessen the cost to our people.”

  Drocker nodded. “Good answer.” He started to say something else. A coughing spell took hold.

  Drocker could not end it. “Hecht!” he managed to gasp, the remnants of his face ferociously red. “Deal with these people. Look sharp. Don’t let them skin you. They’ll be singing the same song in the courts of Calzir. And be ready to march.” He hacked all the while, and continued to cough after he left.

  Gledius Stewpo emerged from the shadows. He was pale. He gasped for breath. He wanted to say something but Ghort was still there, not yet finished trying to be too small for a Special Office sorcerer to notice. Stewpo asked, “Did anyone see any blood? He didn’t spit in here, did he?”

  “No,” Else replied. “Why?”

  “There’s an ugly new disease that starts with coughing up blood. It came west along the Silk Road.”

  “Sounded like pneumonia to me,” Ghort said. “You were awful quiet,” Else observed. “I didn’t have anything to say.”

  “That would be a first. You. Dwarf. Drocker got me wondering. Why should I believe that you won’t lead me into a trap?”

  Titus Consent stepped in. “You heard. There’s only one possible outcome for this war. The Emperor and Patriarch will win. Our plan has always been to save our people as much pain as we can. That means establishing ourselves as reliable members of the winning team.” He made sounds that electrified the Calziran Deves.

  They produced maps. Not just one or two but maps by the score. Large-scale maps, small-scale maps, maps reeking intimate detail. Maps that told Else almost everything he wanted to know about the terrain the city regiment had to cross and what it would find as it approached al-Khazen.

  “You happy, Pipe?” Ghort asked, surfacing a couple hours later.

  “I’m ecstatic. It’s my wedding night. Dwarf, this is pure gold. Sorry the paranoia got hold of me, there. Pinkus, we need to get the whole staff onto these. Titus. I understand you have a marching plan for the road south.”

  “There’s a logistical skeleton in place, Colonel. Our circumstances make it hard to do detailed planning.”

  “That’s fine. A skeleton is all we need.�
� Ghort said, “A skeleton is more than we usually have. Pipe, this kid is fucking awesome. Just fucking awesome.”

  “You’re embarrassing him. And tomorrow he’ll ask for more money.” Stewpo interjected, “You plan to stay up all night fiddling with this? Those of us who aren’t well known need to get out of sight. Especially these two. There’s no reason to believe there aren’t other Calziran spies around.”

  “Pinkus, make these guys disappear. And think up a way to explain them if anybody asks.”

  “I’ll keep track of who asks, too.”

  “Good thinking. I’ll be here making love to these maps.” What he wanted desperately, though, was to see if Polo had a bed ready. Titus Consent stayed when Ghort spirited the other Deves away. “I’m staff. Nobody will wonder about me.”

  “You’re awfully confident and competent for someone so young.”

  “I’m a special case. They’ve trained me and brought me along since I was five.”

  “To be some kind of messiah?”

  “Nothing so pretentious. Just somebody who can take charge if Devedian fortunes flop into a cesspool. Which they do with distressing frequency.”

  “I should make suspicious noises. But I’m too tired.” Else wanted no one guessing how abidingly suspicious he was already. Consent observed, “I’m sure Stewpo explained the fallacy underlying that concept.”

  “He did?”

  “He didn’t tell you that Devedians are so ambitious, jealous, petty, and backbiting that the only Deve conspiracy with any hope of success can’t involve more than two people?”

  “That would mean that three of the five of you who were just in here will put the screws to the rest.”

  “It’s more a parable sort of thing.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I do believe your tribe will help me.”

  “You have doubts.”

  “Not doubts, exactly. I know what you’re doing. And why. I can’t condemn you for it. But now I wonder where you fit with the Emperor added to the mix. He’s never shown much animosity toward your people. And he’s a devoted enemy of Sublime. Who hasn’t lost his hope of seeing your race exterminated.”