The Tyranny of the Night iotn-1

by Glen Cook

  Then we'd better listen," Else said. He was accustomed to crediting the undirected misgivings of Bone and al-Azer er-Selim.

  "Coach is moving," Scolora said. "Coming our way."

  "Damn! Get down, then. Get invisible."

  Scolora protested, "There're other people around."

  The coach, moving fast, drew abreast of their hiding place, Else glimpsed its polished ash flank through a gap between bales. Then all the darkness went out of the world.

  A god's fist smashed into his chest and flung him against a warehouse wall. As he flew he heard shredded screams from his companions. Cotton fountained, some of it on fire.

  Unconsciousness came.

  It did not last long. A few numb-looking dock wallopers were just starting to get in amongst the bales, chattering too fast to be understood. Else picked out the word for sorcery, though.

  He became aware of pain in his left wrist

  "God is merciful," he murmured. His wrist had been burned. Blisters were rising already. His amulet had protected him.

  He staggered to his feet, covered in cotton, startling the Sonsans. "What happened? Where are my friends?"

  In an exchange made difficult by language problems Else explained that he and his friends had thought that they could save money by sleeping amongst the cotton bales. Then there had been an explosion.

  That was all the Sonsans knew. Just, Boom! and the quay was covered by tons of smoldering cotton. They thought it might have something to do with the squabbles between me great families.

  They found Scolora right away. The Direcian was dead. Thoroughly and gruesomely so. He had been torn into four pieces loosely connected by strings of skin and flesh. And Adrano was scattered almost as extensively as the cotton.

  At that point me dock wallopers really caught on. They had used the word sorcery before. Now they saw the proof. They scattered immediately.

  The quay was a complete ghost town, now. Where were the workers? The crews from the ships? Where were the curious, drawn by the explosion? Did bad news spread that fast here?

  Else considered Scolora and Adrano. He could do nothing for them now. He felt guilt and anger.

  He collected their gear and helped himself. Then he eased out onto the quay. No one was watching. All was still. Darkness was falling. He had to disappear into the city.

  He could not turn up at that factor house now.

  A light shown through the leaded glass stern lights of Vivia Infanti. From the captain's quarters.

  Else moved quietly into the Stern Castle. No life had yet returned to the quay. But that would not last.

  Someone in the master's quarters played a lute, a dolorous tune that Else did not recognize. It was a sad song of unrequited love. Like most of its kind, it originated in the End of Connec, where such things had been invented.

  Else pulled the latch string slowly, swung the door inward without a sound.

  The ship's master sat in a plush chair, beyond a chart table, staring out the stern lights at stars coming to life as indigo skies gave way to true night. His back was to Else.

  He ceased playing his sad song. "I didn't think you'd keep your word, sorcerer." The seaman made that final word a curse and an expression of boundless contempt.

  He turned. And was startled. "Who me hell are you?"

  "An unhappy man. Your secret passenger just killed two friends of mine. You're going to tell me about him."

  "You're kidding, right?”

  "He's bad. But I'm here. And I'm angry enough to make you wish you were carrying a lamp, to light the road to Hell for my friends."

  The ship's master struggled but was past his prime and never had been a fighter. Else was in his prime, a fighter, and he knew how to get prisoners to talk.

  Once the inevitable was obvious, the ship's master said, "The man was a stupid, arrogant, bigoted pig. I'll actually wish you luck if you go after him."

  That was not Else's plan. It was not his mission. He just wanted to know what was going on in case it affected future planning.

  The ship's master talked. Else prowled. He considered relics that said this man's whole life was right here aboard this ship. That there was nowhere else he would rather be. He had collected exotic souvenirs in interesting places, including swords with unusual blades; a composite bow of the type used by the steppe horse peoples; a Ghargarlicean infantry bow six feet long, of a type that had gone out of use centuries ago; and a Lucidian crossbow of a sort mass-produced for use by local militias tasked with defending city walls. It did not have much power but any idiot could use it at close range. This one had been painted, then decorated with sutras from the Written and given a quality string. None of which had done its user any good, obviously, or the weapon would not be in a Chaldarean sea captain's weapons collection.

  "Be careful with that," the Sonsan pleaded. "It has a hair trigger." There was, of course, a bolt in the mechanism.

  "It isn't a good idea to leave the bow bent all the time. Takes the spring out." From questions about the Brotherhood sorcerer Else moved on to broader questions. What were the attitudes of Sonsans toward the Church? Toward Sublime V? Toward the Patriarch's apparent determination to launch a new crusade?

  "Crusades are good for Sonsa," the ship's master replied. "The Patriarch is a raving lunatic, but we don't mind as long as his gold pours into our coffers."

  Else settled into the master's chair. The master himself was strapped down on his own chart table. Else finally broke out his letters from Gordimer.

  Those letters did not contain much that he could not figure out for himself. Keep low. Keep his eyes and ears open. Learn whatever he could, even if it did not appear relevant. Try to discover why Arnhanders thought the way they did. Sow seeds of conflict between Dreanger's potential enemies so they would have no attention to spare for overseas adventures. Work his way closer to Sublime and the Collegium when he could. And so on and so forth, with not one word about what to do when attacked by murderous spies. Or sorcerers from the Brotherhood of War.

  He did find out how to contact two Dreangerean agents in Sonsa, neither of whom knew about the other. He was to keep it that way.

  "Idiot crusader," the ship's master barked, harshly enough to recapture Else's attention. "Wake up. Somebody just came aboard."

  Else did not ask how the man knew. It was his ship. Else collected his letters and the Lucidian crossbow and faded into a shadowed corner.

  The latch on the cabin door rose. The door swung inward. A shape in black stepped inside, saw the ship's master laid out, blurted, "What the hell?"

  Else triggered the crossbow. "Give my regards to Enio and Adrano."

  The invader moved like a cat but not fast enough. He grunted in pain, pierced through the right arm and shoulder.

  Else discarded the crossbow and moved in, hoping to strike before the man could use his sorcery.

  But the Brother met him with a short sword. He showed no lack of confidence despite being wounded and having to fight left-handed. Until he realized that he faced a skilled opponent.

  He lunged, pressed Else back a step, fled through the doorway. Else thought better of charging into whatever awaited him out there. It was nighttime now. And a major sorcerer was afoot

  He found another quarrel for the Lucidian weapon, made sure his letters were safely stowed inside his shirt, then extinguished the one lamp burning and opened the leaded-glass stern light

  He clambered outside, grabbed a mooring line and spidered down to the quay. He was crouched behind a big wooden bollard, catching his breath, when the wounded Brother clumping down the gangway looked over his shoulder.

  Why had he not used his sorcery?

  Else loosed his second bolt.

  He heard it strike but it did not hamper the man's flight. Maybe he was wearing something under his Brotherhood clothing.

  The Dreangerean agent who accepted Else into his shop at an impolite hour was a dwarf, a twisted little Devedian scarcely four feet high. He was not pleased.
"I knew this day would come. I tried to pretend it wouldn't. I told myself it would just be a few pieces of silver now and then in exchange for the occasional letter. But this is what it was all about isn't it?"

  Else examined his surroundings by the weak light of the tiny lamp the dwarf carried. The place was a miniscule silversmith's shop. The dwarf's clients would be mostly Devedian. Almost everything Else saw looked like Devedian religious paraphernalia. Which seemed likely, the shop being located in the heart of Sonsa's Devedian quarter. "Yes. You're right. This is what you've waited for. What you've been paid to wait for. I need to disappear. And to stay disappeared. I have a letter for you from al-Qarn."

  The dwarf's name was Gledius Stewpo. "That's how they say it here and that's good enough to get by." Stewpo might not be pleased about developments but he was prepared to deal with them. He had a secret room underneath his house. It pretended to be a hidden workshop, in case somebody stumbled in. A man could hide there in relative comfort. "They won't find you here without using some heavyweight sorcery."

  Stewpo had several ticks that Else found distracting. First, his head was in constant motion, nodding or shaking. And he ended every other sentence with a strained laugh, as though he was enjoying a joke he had just told himself.

  Else did not find a single thing the dwarf said even vaguely amusing.

  Worse, when the dwarf sat down, he rocked. Forward and back, forward and back, quickly and incessantly. And he was unaware of his ticks.

  Stewpo read the letter from al-Qarn. "All right. Here we go. I'm ready to help any way that I can."

  Else told him everything. Anything less seemed pointless. "I rigged Adrano's remains so it would look like it was me that got blown apart, then I went through everybody's stuff and took whatever might come in handy."

  "That's good. What about the Brotherhood assassin who got away?"

  "I don't know if that's what he really was. I know they're not rational people. But they must realize that murdering people like that ship's master, after all he did to help, is counterproductive. People don't pitch in if you kill them for their trouble."

  "I was thinking more about what became of him."

  "He got away."

  "And never smacked you around with any sorcery?"

  "That's right"

  "They snookered you. The one you assumed was the servant was the sorcerer. The other one was his bodyguard and assistant."

  "You could be right. How safe are we from the night here?"

  "Quite. This country was civilized before the Old Brothen Empire rose up. The spirits have been winnowed a thousand times. Only the benign ones are still around. The malignant ones have all been driven away or bound into stones and trees and streams. There isn't much left that a sorcerer can use. Sonsans want it that way. They want a world shaped by the laws of economics, not those of pain and chaos."

  "The laws of chaos?"

  "Even disorder is orderly if you look close enough."

  "Suppose this sorcerer brought his own spirits?"

  The dwarf had wild white hair not well acquainted with a comb. He ran his fingers through that when not indulging another tick. "That's a possibility. But you said he's from the Special Office of the Brotherhood of War. Those people want to end the tyranny of the night. They don't drag it around."

  "Will they employ the tools of evil in order to conquer evil?" A common human failing, even in the Realm of Peace.

  "They'd say not. Whatever, they won't find you. If you stay in this room. Rest. In the morning I'll find out what they're saying in the streets."

  "Don't change your routine. And I really could use a snack. I haven't eaten since this morning."

  "I could be your grandfather, Sha-lug. Don't teach me my craft."

  "I wasn't… I see."

  Gledius Stewpo brought supper next evening. "Sha-lug, you don't want to be out there now. I assume you didn't lie to me. Yet your story is nothing like what the Brotherhood says happened. They say they were chasing a foreigner who wants to spy on the Church."

  "Really? That sounds a little silly. Do they say who? Or why?"

  "No. Around here nobody believes anything the Brothers say, anyway. Unless you're a Blue and beholden to the Fermi."

  "So there's a lot of excitement. And Color politics is trying to take it over?"

  "There're other theories out there. The point is, you don't want to be seen. Having blond hair will get you dragged in for questioning, guaranteed."

  Else nodded. Typical luck. All he was supposed to do in Sonsa was get off the boat and go somewhere else.

  "If you hadn't interrogated Vivia Infant's master you could've gotten away without anybody suspecting anything. But you tried to kill a member of the Brotherhood."

  Else grunted. "I wasn't thinking strategically. Tactically, I thought I needed to find out what was going on."

  "You're in luck. They don't know who they're looking for. But they are looking hard. Word from inside is, the wizard is in a tizzy because nobody should have lived through that explosion."

  "Didn't you tell me that Sonsa is supernaturally pacified?"

  "Obviously, I was jabbering out the wrong orifice."

  "What do Sonsans think?"

  The dwarf chuckled. "I don't know many people who'd be upset if a few Brothers from the local barracks got themselves dead. They don't have much power here, and little influence except with the Fermi, but they do make themselves thoroughly obnoxious to Devedians and Dainschaus."

  "Do they have the kind of power that lets them grab people off the streets? Without Sonsa blowing up?"

  "The Durandanti and Scoviletti don't want to alienate them. Because then the Brotherhood might line up with the other family."

  "And the Brotherhood squeezes every ounce of advantage out of that, right?"

  "Of course. They're not stupid. They don't understand how much they're disliked, though."

  "Uhm?"

  "They're too powerful. But they're powerful only because the situation here is repeated in every city in Firaldia. There's no unifying national nobility. There's just the Church. And the Empire meddling from outside. In Brothe there are five families dancing the power dance, with the Patriarchy itself the big prize. Without the Brotherhood of War behind him, particularly the Special Office, Sublime never would've gotten elected. He's beholden to them. His aggressive policies are their policies. I've kept telling al-Qarn. But al-Qarn won't listen."

  "Gordimer is a great warrior. But as a ruler and planner he has shortcomings. Unfortunately, if Dreanger's fortunes were left to Kaif Karim Kaseem al-Bakr, we'd all do nothing but say prayers while crusaders harvest us like hay. You know Sonsa. How long before the novelty wears off?"

  "Most people will forget by tomorrow night. The rest will give up before the weekend. Unless the Brothers offer a big reward. That would bring the sharks out.”

  "So I'll just wait them out. Do they have sheep here? Or cattle? Or anything that isn't a pig? I ate salt pork all the way from Runch. Despite an indulgence from the kaif, I feel unclean."

  Stewpo was no fool. "You think I'm an idiot, Sha-lug? You want to test my loyalty by studying my diet? You've been here twenty-some hours. You're not on a Brotherhood rack yet. In addition, you need to know that you've been badly misled. The Founding Family of al-Prama were self-deluded maniacs addicted to narcotics. But religion isn't the issue. Not for me. For me, it's what the crusaders have done to Suriet."

  Suriet was the Melhaic name for the region everyone else called the Holy Lands.

  The early crusader armies plundered the temples and towns of non-Chaldareans. As well as those of those Chaldareans who failed to acknowledge the ascendancy of the Brothen Patriarchy. Those were the times when the Brotherhood made its name and wealth.

  In olden times, before the Praman Conquest, the Wells of Ihrian belonged to the Eastern Empire, where a less virulent strain of the Chaldarean faith held sway. It was tolerant. Followers of other religions were not molested as long as they met their l
egal obligations to the Emperor. That did not change much after the Conquest except that several Chaldarean sub-cults became part of the minority mix.

  When westerners arrived to liberate the holy wells they considered even their religious cousins as subhuman resources there to be squeezed for wealth.

  Else said, “Trust is the first casualty of our trade. My apologies. Though I'd still love to get next to a leg of lamb."

  "I understand. I'm not entirely comfortable with you, either. Satisfy my curiosity. How did you survive an attack that shredded your companions?"

  Else chuckled. "Now who's testing who?"

  Stewpo shared a mutton roast with Else. Afterward, he sipped a dark wine from the coastal vineyards. "Another interesting day." His ticks were less prominent tonight.

  “Tell me. Anything. They didn't do well when they taught me patience."

  "I found a source of Ambonypsgan beans."

  "Excellent. I assume they reach Sonsa by the same routes and hands that bring the cotton across."

  Ambonypsga was a black highland kingdom south and east of Dreanger, the former separated from the latter by an inhospitable stony waste. Ambonypsga was strongly proto-Arianist Chaldarean with a minor admixture of pagan and Devedian tribes. Ambonypsga produced the finest coffee beans grown.

  Else raised his left hand. "In answer to your question the other night, I'm alive because I wear an amulet that shields me from sorcery and the things of the night. You can't see it. But you can see some burns. It got hot when it turned that killing spell."

  "I see. I do wish you'd try this wine. It's a fine vintage."

  Else shook his head.

  A bell tinkled softly. The dwarf jumped. He muttered, "At this time of night? There aren't any more of you coming over, are there?"

  "Not that I know of."

  The bell continued to demand a response.

  "Go." Else presumed there was no danger. The people looking for him would not ring bells, they would kick down doors.

  Stewpo returned looking worried.He was all fidget and tick, now.