by Glen Cook
“That sounds just plain totally alluring,” Ghort said.
Else scowled. He was in that cleft between Else Tage and Piper Hecht. “Can you tell what the Brotherhood has managed to do?”
“No. Sit down and be quiet.” Time passed. Else napped. A hand shook him. He found Ghort and Doneto looming over him.
Doneto murmured, “The Pramans have shaken the Brotherhood. They kept hold of their prisoners. They’ll arrive soon. There’s less celebration, now. They got hurt, badly. As you might expect, seeing they had to break through a band hand-picked by Grade Drocker.”
Pinkus Ghort asked, “How many people do we need to rescue?” Doneto ignored him. Else asked, “How many of them were there?” He recalled seeing about twenty pass the wine-pressing house. Still, Doneto said nothing. Else prodded. “Is it a secret, Your Grace?”
“I don’t know,” Doneto snapped. “There should be seven prisoners. Most all wounded.”
That made sense. The Braunsknechts would not give up without a fight “Now we’re getting somewhere,” Else said. “What else? We’re going to be in a fight in a while. What you hold back might get us all killed.”
Scowling, dejected at having to share any knowledge with anyone, Doneto replied, “There were nineteen men with Lothar. Two were his servants. Two were priests. Two were Brotherhood of War. Ten were Braunsknechts. The rest were more mysterious. Though we saw them in Plemenza.”
“Ferris Renfrow. Of course. The Emperor’s head spy. He was under foot a lot when we were getting ready for this squabble.”
“Yes. I don’t think he’s one of the captives.” The Sha-lug who captured Lothar, Else believed, deserved the greatest honor.
Else asked, “Do you know anything that might be useful now?” His tone informed the whole band that he was straining to remain patient “Reminding you, what you don’t say could get you dead with the rest of us.”
Doneto said, “They’re sending out more of their best men to cover the raiders. For their trouble they’re getting Lothar, a priest who made no effort to avoid capture, two half-dead brothers from the cult of war, and several Braunsknechts in equally bad shape, still alive only because those in charge want to interrogate them.”
Doneto intoned, “Tell me about that building there. Two up and across the street It feels empty.”
“It should be,” Else said. “It was the Dainshau temple and exchange. They abandoned it after the Unbelievers arrived.”
“Do you know every building in the city, Hecht?”
“Only the ones that the refugees said were important.”
“Suppose some of us occupy that building and the rest stay here. The ones over there hit first. Then those of us here snatch Lothar once the Pramans start to react there. They’ll be feeling safe and relaxed. We can hit and get.”
Else was not pleased. But he was no Grade Drocker. He could not tell a Principaté to shut up and get out of the way. “Pinkus, you’d better warn the reserves to be ready.”
“That’s their job, Pipe. They’re on it now.”
Else asked Doneto, “Can you tell, is that building really empty? There have been a lot of cold, snowy nights since the Dainshaukin fled.”
“Go check,” Doneto suggested. “If nobody cuts your throat, it’s safe.” Else did exactly that. But alone. He could pass himself off as a Dreangerean for as long as it took to become invisible again. The Dainshau structure had not remained empty. Soldiers had moved in but were not at home now. But, as Else was about to summon reinforcements, the Pramans with the Imperial prisoners appeared. Else muttered, “Pinkus, I hope you have smarts enough to manage.” Of course he did. A better question might be, would Doneto refrain from interfering?
The Pramans were not alert. And why should they be, deep inside their own stronghold, when they were now confident of their ultimate victory? They were hurrying, in no formation, cracking the dark jokes men make after they have stuck a thumb in Death’s eye and gotten away. The first dozen wore Lucidian helmets and rags that had started out as the uniform clothing of Indala al-Sul Halaladin’s home cavalry. Next came the prisoners, in the care of Mafti al-Araj el-Arak’s lifeguards. Eight or nine Sha-lug brought up the rear.
Something dark and noisome rose from the cobblestones in front of the Lucidians. The stench made Else want to retch. Then Ghort struck from the downhill side. The Lucidians and Calzirans panicked. The Sha-lug were less affected. Even so, Else was embarrassed by their feeble resistance.
Ghort reclaimed the prisoners with little effort.
Many of the fleeing Pramans ran into the building whence Else was watching.
A second stinking shadow hoisted itself up in the gap between the Pramans and Ghort’s raiders.
Else had no opportunity to get away. He dove into a shadowy corner, burrowed into a pile of junk and equipment needing repair, pulled some rags up to cover his face, and fought to control his breathing.
It had been a long time since he had heard his own language spoken. It took several minutes to get back into it.
There were twenty angry men within fifteen feet. Some cursed. Some threw things. Some wanted to counterattack right now, never mind that they had no idea what they faced. Never mind that they were so exhausted that they could barely stand.
A hand passed through Else’s limited field of vision. It grabbed a broken saddle from near his hidden feet, flipped it onto its side. A man sat down. He panted, having trouble breathing. He slumped in defeat and a despair beneath which lay anger like molten stone. The man believed he had been misused, wasted, possibly even betrayed.
The twenty were a mixture of Lucidians, Calzirans, and Sha-lug. They went out again after a few minutes. The man seated on the saddle did not join them. Those who spoke to him received only grunts in response.
This was the man in charge, Else realized. And he was hurt. He did try to follow the others but did not have the strength.
Else slapped a hand across the wounded man’s mouth as he came out of hiding. He would do no harm if he could help it. Then he gasped. “Bone?”
The wounded man looked at Else like he had met his own ghost. Else turned. “Bone? That is you, isn’t it?”
“Captain Tage? But you’re dead. For more than a year.”
“Hunh. I hadn’t heard. When did this happen?”
“They said you were killed by an infidel sorcerer the day you landed in Firaldia.”
“They did? Interesting.” Inasmuch as he had been sending reports until the city regiment left Brothe. “Who would that ‘they’ be?”
“Er-Rashal, Captain. He told everybody. The Marshall was seriously disappointed, mostly because he didn’t get more use out of you. He wasn’t sorry you were dead.”
Else’s deepest, most secret suspicions seemed confirmed. “Is that our company out there?”
“What’s left. And some Lucidians and natives we’ve been working with. Captain, I’m pretty sure we’re here to get wiped out. We get all the worst jobs. We keep losing men. We left Az out there somewhere this time.”
“I don’t want anyone to know I survived. Not yet. The third sorcerer. The mystery man. That would be er-Rashal himself. Right?”
“Uh... Yes. But how could you know?”
“You know. And probably shouldn’t. Right? Bone, we know almost everything there is to know, over there. We have copies of the pay lists of the Calziran companies.”
“The Deves.”
“They aren’t happy about how they were treated here.”
“You said ‘we.’ Who are you now, Captain?”
“Still Else Tage. Your Captain. I was given an assignment. I’m living it. I’ve had tremendous success, news of which apparently hasn’t gotten back to al-Qarn.” Else shielded Bone from details the man might be tempted to pass along.
“Bone, I have no idea what er-Rashal is up to. He’s managed to waste Dreanger’s fleet and a lot of Sha-lug. He isn’t going to win here. He seems blind to the real situation. Do us both a favor. Get out before he ge
ts you killed. Get out and carry the word back to al-Qarn.”
Bone looked distinctly uncomfortable. Pained in his heart and flesh. “Can’t, Captain. We swore the oath. We all did, back when we thought this would stop the crusaders from coming.”
Else did not argue. This kind of commitment might seem foolhardy but it was critical to Sha-lug. “Will his death release you?”
“Yes.” Else rested a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. “Don’t chase us tonight, Bone. Don’t make us kill you when we come back. I’m leaving, now. Forget you saw me.”
Else darted out of the temple. There was action around Waterhouse Four but the big racket was somewhere else, off to the east
Else caught snatches before he clambered down into the cistern of Waterhouse Two. Braunsknechts had seized a gate. Imperial troops were in the city.
Else’s escape attempt ended quickly. Scores of Pramans had gotten into the drainage system through Waterhouse Four, chasing the raiders. Else stayed where he was, hoping to go unnoticed, wishing he wore less distinctively Chaldarean clothing.
34. Stalkers’ Hour
Only Arlensul’s encouragement kept Svavar going. He was ready to put this whole mad world behind. People by the hundred were dying over religious differences he found incomprehensible.
Shagot only added to his misery. Grim seemed incapable of not attracting attention when he was awake. Though that problem did ease once Imperial forces settled east of al-Khazen, content to outwait their remaining enemies.
Shagot was frustrated when he was awake. The Old Ones could not locate or identify the Godslayer, though they were sure he was, probably, in the camp of the Emperor’s Episcopal allies.
Shagot was little more than a draug, one of the walking dead from the legends of lands now lost beneath the ice. Svavar used his brother as a device to endear his band to Vondera Koterba and the Emperor.
Arlensul always warned Svavar when enemy patrols were nearby. If Shagot was awake, they would go kill some and take prisoners. Eventually, the enemy stayed away. But powerful incursions of another sort began to occur after dark.
The rumors were true. There were powerful sorcerers in the city. And the Emperor had not equipped himself to deal with them. The Imperials were being lured to their destruction. Arlensul planted that notion in Svavar’s head. He could not keep that to himself. He told Grim and the rest of their dwindling band.
One by one, the men who had come when they followed the Emperor found an excuse to fade away. Soon there would be none left who could not imagine a better life.
Svavar and Shagot had been noticed up and down the Imperial chain of command. They were too strange and too effective to be overlooked.
Neither Svavar nor Shagot had any experience of sedentary warfare. They did not like it. Shagot wanted to drop everything to go hunt the Godslayer.
“We need to know where he is, first,” Svavar argued. “What happens if we’re wandering around these hills, hunting him, and you fall asleep? I can’t protect you by myself. These soldiers won’t help us hunt. They don’t care. But we’re better off here, where misfortune is less likely to find us, till we know where to find our man.”
***
A MESSENGER FROM VONDERA KOTERBA CAME TO THE Grimrnssons’ shelter. He asked Svavar, “Is your brother awake? The Emperor may need your special skills. It’s possible the crown prince has been captured by the Pramans.”
“I’ll try to waken him,” Svavar promised. “How much time do we have?”
“I’m just alerting you.” Events began to move soon afterward. Another messenger instructed them to join a force assembling outside the castle where the Emperor and his court had come to rest. Shagot was disinclined to respond.
Arlensul appeared in the doorway, bent because she was too tall. “He will be there.”
Svavar believed her. When a goddess told you something you wanted badly to hear, you believed.
“Come on, Grim. We’re there. Our man is going to be at the other end of this. Come on. Get up. It’s time.” Shagot responded sluggishly, groggily. He heard but did not believe. He had had no word from the Old Ones. When they reached the assembly point it seemed the whole army was on the move. A delegation to the Episcopals that included the crown prince had been overrun by Praman commandos during the night. Details were scant. Most of the party were believed dead, with just a handful captured.
A long column filed through the cold morning and snow, following a route marked by pioneers. Svavar and Shagot were assigned to the vanguard. They would not be cowed by the dark.
The lead troops were Hansel’s best. Their progress was quieter than seemed possible, but slow. Svavar told Shagot, “Those people won’t be surprised. We’re headed for a trap.”
Shagot grunted. It seemed likely. It seemed so probable, in fact, that Johannes ought not to be falling for it. Maybe the Emperor knew something no one else did. The commanders called a halt during the afternoon. Distant fighting could be heard. The crown prince’s captors making a fighting retreat, Svavar presumed. But who was harrying them?
The Emperor’s scouts reported. Svavar was near enough to eavesdrop.
The crown prince was alive and unharmed. The same could not be said for most of his party. Johannes seemed more interested in the fate of Ferris Renfrow than in that of his son. But Johannes knew his son was all right. The summons came to Svavar rather than Shagot. Johannes addressed him directly. “Soultaken, do you understand my situation?”
“I do.” He experienced the thing that made Johannes Ege so much more than a little man who had lucked into a great deal of power. Hansel made people feel that they were fellow conspirators.
The Emperor asked, “You understand what they want to do to us? That they hope I’ll charge into a trap?”
“I see that. And I see you giving them what they want.”
“Not quite.”
“There’s a huge accumulation of dark power behind those walls. The Tyranny of the Night is complete, though the fighters probably don’t know.”
“Complete? I doubt that. However. Those forces are unaware of you and your brother.”
Svavar waited, calm and fearless. He felt the proximity of Arlensul. She lent him courage and confidence.
“I understand what you are. You serve the Instrumentalities of the Night. You’re here to accomplish a particular task. It has little to do with the ambitions of those holding al-Khazen.”
Svavar did not respond.
“If you help me here, now, I’ll throw the weight of the Empire behind you in your mission.” Svavar felt Arlensul would want him to agree. “We’ll help, then. In exchange. We won’t tolerate...”
“Johannes Ege never.... Enough. I need entry into that city. And someone who can distract the powers there while I do what I have to do.”
Svavar cocked his head, listening. Arlensul encouraged him. “We can do what you want done.”
Whatever the denizens of the city planned, whatever engines of despair lurked behind those walls, a Chooser of the Slain was no part of their calculations.
***
THE DAUGHTER OF THE GRAY WALKER WAS CLEARLY VISIBLE for half a minute. Imperial soldiers saw her. Praman soldiers saw her. Mute wood and stone beheld her. Svavar worried that far powers in the Great Sky Fortress might mark her presence as well. Shagot might see her. But he had to trust her. Over the months he had become her ally completely.
Shagot remained unaware of her.
The event at el-Khazen’s eastern portal was so violent that not only did the gates cease to be a barrier, the entire barbican and fifteen yards of wall to either hand collapsed. Imperial troops rushed into al-Khazen, encouraged by the Emperor to obliterate anyone and anything not Crown Prince Lothar.
Svavar and Shagot were first to enter the city, Shagot holding that demon head in front of him. Howling devil faces swarmed them — and fled away, repelled by Arlensul. The fury of the assault increased. Svavar was impressed. The sorcerers here were truly terrible. He was fortu
nate to have a Chooser of the Slain for a guardian angel.
He nudged Shagot whenever a course change became necessary. He was surprised that they did not need to head for the citadel. Not after they covered the first quarter mile.
The Grimmsson brothers fought inside a bubble of invincibility. That did not extend far. Outside it the battle was harsh. It was dark out there. The onslaught of the Night was terrible. The Imperials remained steadfast only because of the power of the soultaken.
As blood flowed, Shagot became more awake and alert and connected to the Great Sky Fortress. Where, Svavar guessed, the Old Ones were becoming more awake and alert and connected themselves.
Shagot carved up three Pramans in a blur of haunted bronze. Done, he asked, “What’s going on, Little Brother?”
“We’re helping Johannes get his son back from the Pramans.” The Emperor was a short distance away, rising boldly above the chaos on his charger, Warspite. “After which he’ll devote all his power to helping us find our man.”
Shagot seemed doubtful. But his connection with the Great Sky Fortress was strong, now. “This way. He was here not long ago. He went this way.”
Wow, Svavar thought. He looked for Arlensul, did not see her but suspected that she was the force stemming the tide of darkness rolling down from the citadel.
The Praman soldiers fled. Their dark sorcery was less powerful than that attacking them. Shagot said, “This way. The raiders went this way.”
“What raiders, Grim?”
A commando band from the Patriarchal army had ambushed Lothar’s captors and claimed their prize.
Johannes flew into a scarlet rage. He sent couriers to hasten the arrival of the rest of his army. He would purge al-Khazen of the Unbeliever, then he would find his son.
