The Tyranny of the Night iotn-1

by Glen Cook

  Shagot considered him a madman. He rumbled, "You said your boss would pay well. So we came."

  Svavar asked, "Have you found out anything about the man we're seeking?"

  The priest was puzzled momentarily. Then, "Oh. The mystery man from the orient. No. Not yet. No one knows anything. But Brothe is big and the search is of no urgency to anyone but you. And the hunt has only just begun."

  Shagot grunted, tormented by the alien urgency coiled within him. He forced it down. "You have work for us or not?"

  The smelly old man twitched. He had moral qualms about what he had been told to engineer.

  The Grimmssons did not yet realize that they had been retained only because the Bruglioni family could deny them. And because they could be used up in some scheme down the road, where deniability would be particularly appetizing.

  Father Obilade had spent a lifetime deluding himself. But he was not stupid. He knew Paludan Bruglioni did not intend to exploit these foreigners for the glory of God. But it might be possible that what served the Bruglioni could benefit God as well. This was the mission Sylvie Obilade set himself daily, to weave his day into the grand tapestry of God's master plan.

  It is an easy intellectual step to the conviction that whatever you do must be part of God's plan. Justification for villainy knows no intellectual constraint.

  Shagot said, "It reeks in here, old man. Why don't you clean this shit out?" And, before Father Obilade could respond, "What do you want? You woke me up. So get to the point."

  "The Patriarch plans to rectify his weakness in the Collegium by creating new Principatй positions disguised as the presentation of honors to stalwart defenders of the faith."

  Shagot snorted. He did not understand Episcopal politics.

  "Sublime will nominate three men of three apparently diverse viewpoints: one enemy of Sublime, one ally, and one disinterested outlander unlikely to assume his seat. These seats won't be permanent." Most Principatйs served only in their own names, for life. But the Five Families colluded to make sure each clan held at least one seat at all times. You had to be a Principatй to be elected Patriarch. "They'll pass away when these individuals go to their heavenly rewards."

  Again, Shagot snorted. "Why should I care about that shit?"

  "Rodrigo Cologni has made a secret agreement with Sublime. After his confirmation he'll change sides and vote with Sublime's party in return for castles and estates he can distribute to his children."

  The purportedly celibate fathers of the Church could be fathers in the literal sense. They failed to admit the hypocrisy.

  "Once these nominations go through and Bronte Doneto returns, Sublime will have a three-vote advantage in the Collegium. But Sublime's plans aren't in the best interest of God's Church. Therefore …"

  Shagot suspected that the Chadarean god was old enough to look out for himself. "You want somebody killed."

  "Crudely put, but, yes. Though it isn't as simple as that. There'll be a clamor if Rodrigo Cologni is murdered. That can't be connected with the Bruglioni."

  Shagot was not brilliant but he was a cunning villain. Things fell into place instantly.

  He and Svavar would kill this Rodrigo Cologni and, somehow, before they could be arrested and questioned, brave Bruglioni household fighters who arrived too late would kill them while supposedly trying to save Cologni. Or some variant on such a scheme.

  "How much time do we have to get ready?"

  "It needs to happen within the next twenty days… Before Bronte Doneto returns."

  "I'll sleep on it. I'll see what the physical situation is. Do you have somebody inside the Cologni household?” Shagot thought it likely that the Five Families all had spies inside the others' houses.

  Father Obilade was exasperated. These outlanders were too clever, by half. But he had to use the tools at hand.

  "Why is that of concern?" the priest asked.

  "Because we need to know the target's movements. His plans. We can't just march into the Cologni compound to get him."

  "Access won't be a problem. Rodrigo Cologni is a whore-master. He's determined to enjoy as many women as he can before it's too late to futter another. He goes looking for new whores at least three nights a week."

  "Good. Good. That'll make it easier." Rodrigo did not sound bright. Far safer to have women brought to him. "How big a mob follows him around?"

  "There haven't been any family wars for a generation. The Five Families want to avoid the excesses of the past. So Rodrigo only needs to worry about robbers. He'll have four bodyguards. And maybe a few friends. None of those have to die. But the Cologni bodyguards may be a challenge."

  "Uh. Like I said. Let me sleep on it. Let me look it over. Find out whatever you can about Rodrigo Cologni. Be ready to say yes when I name our price."

  Once they left the crazy priest, Svavar observed, "They plan to use us up."

  "They mean to try. But they don't understand our luck. Let's have a little fun with them." Clever evil was Shagot's sole remaining pleasure.

  The Walker himself strode through Shagot's dreams that night.

  Father Obilade, of course, wanted Shagot to wait till after the job to get paid. Shagot laughed. That after Svavar spent dozens of hours studying Rodrigo Cologni and the Cologni compound. Which, like the homes of all of the Five Families, was a fortress. Literally.

  Shagot replied, "I'm inclined to go along, old man. I mean, why would a priest try to cheat me? But my brother Asgrimmur, he says he didn't just fall off the turnip cart. He's naturally suspicious. Especially of anybody who chooses to live in these southern cities, where honor and the value of a man's word are considered trivial. Well, he's my brother. I've got to keep him happy. So what we're gonna do is, we're gonna take a third for each of us right now, then we'll pick up the rest afterward."

  Father Obilade had not yet recovered from hearing Shagot's price for Rodrigo Cologni's life, six hundred gold Patriarchal ducats.

  Nor did he like the demand for two-thirds payment up front. He could not make that deal, anyway. Paludan Bruglioni had not put that much specie at his disposal.

  Paludan had a powerful desire to turn loose as little money as possible because he might not get it back.

  Paludan had a reputation for squeezing a ducat till the Patriarch thereon squealed like a eunuch undergoing his signature procedure.

  Father Obilade confessed, "I can't go with that. I wasn't given the power. Your fee is … I suppose excessive isn't the right word. You pay the most when you buy the best. Meet me here same time, night after tomorrow night. I'll warn Caniglia that you're coming."

  "We'll be here," Shagot promised cheerfully. "I'm looking forward to taking your money." And he was. He had found a Deve who would invest it at an excellent rate of return. He had no idea what he would do with his wealth, but that did not concern him. He was enjoying life as much as he ever had.

  He did not sit around. He sent Svavar out to dog Rodrigo.

  Father Obilade wanted the attack to take place in the Madhur Plaza, as near Basbanes's Fountain as could be managed. In response to questions about why, the priest shrugged and said the location had personal meaning for Paludan.

  Shagot examined the plaza personally, and had Svavar do so repeatedly, by day and by night. The site seemed ideal for what the priest wanted done. There were numerous excellent lurking places where heroic rescuers could wait to charge out and, to their eternal sorrow, be just moments too late to save Rodrigo Cologni.

  Rodrigo Cologni was an assassination begging to happen. He was predictable in the extreme. He left the Cologni compound at the same time every time. And he followed the same route to the same whorehouses.

  Father Obilade yielded to Shagot's financial demands. He turned over four hundred of the six hundred ducats two days before Rodrigo's scheduled early elevation to Heaven. Shagot told the priest, "We'll follow your script if we can, but we'll change shit around if anything comes up." The old priest scowled. "Just get it done."

  Sva
var and Shagot moved into the Madhur Plaza hours ahead of time. They brought all their trophies and fetishes. Even Svavar felt optimistic. "Going to be some real surprised assholes, Grim. Going to be some real surprised assholes."

  Shagot chuckled. "Yeah. Going to be some good laughs on Father Obilade and Paludan fucking Bruglioni and his butt boy, Gervase. So. Let's fade into the fucking background and let the drama begin."

  They did not stand out. Brothe drew countless pilgrims from everywhere. Basbanes's Fountain was a sight the foreigners all wanted to see. It had a history almost as long as that of the Old Empire itself.

  Rodrigo Cologni passed through the plaza, outward bound, escorted only by his bodyguards. Shagot and Svavar felt even more confident.

  A city watchman reminded them, "No sleeping in the plaza, gents."

  "Not to worry," Shagot replied in credible Firaldian. "We've got a place to stay. We work for Paludan Bruglioni." He grinned and chuckled. The sergeant would remember that later.

  Svavar laughed softly, too. He was having a good time. For the first time since they had come out of the Great Sky Fortress, he was happy to be alive, partly because he thought they were putting one over on the gods themselves.

  "Hey," Shagot said, "we need to get out of sight. The Bruglioni gang should turn up pretty soon."

  They slipped into the deep shadows between two buildings. Svavar asked, "You think the Bruglioni guys will do the job if we just sit on our hands?"

  Treachery was in the works. Shagot's dreams had confirmed that. But he had dreamed much more. Some of which he had not yet unraveled. What Svavar suggested fit.

  "Excellent thinking, little brother. I don't know what they'd do. How about we give them the opportunity? We can always tag Rodrigo somewhere else, later."

  The wait seemed both long and short. One of those things relative to the moment. Svavar had trouble controlling the giggles. That was when time fled its swiftest. Time dragged when he grew somber and thought about everything that could go wrong.

  "Quiet," Svavar whispered. "Here's the boss's boys."

  Six Firaldians stole past, visible briefly in the light of a rising sliver of moon. They went into hiding scarcely a dozen yards from where Shagot and Svavar had holed up.

  "Did you recognize any of them?" Shagot asked in a whisper that could not be heard five feet away.

  "This isn't going to be a happy night for the Bruglioni. I saw Gildeo and Acato Bruglioni for sure. One of the others looked like Saldi Serena." That put both sons and a nephew of Paludan Bruglioni among the condemned.

  In the middle of the plaza the complex menagerie of Basbanes's Fountain kept spitting and peeing and pouring. The falling waters generated a soporific noise that Shagot found hard to fight.

  The moon moved on to where its light would no longer betray someone who snaked out of the thin gap where Shagot and Svavar waited. Shagot murmured, "Hang on. I'm going to see if I can hear anything." Carrying the head from the Haunted Hills. Shagot stole toward where his would-be assassins waited. Soon he lay on his stomach inches from the mouth of the gap where the Bruglioni boys had gone to ground.

  A heated argument was underway. Somebody wanted to know why the idiot foreigners had not shown. Someone told that one to shut the fuck up. It was not time, yet. Fifteen minutes from now, then they could start worrying.

  One of the lesser Bruglioni insisted, "I could go a long way, for a long time, on four hundred ducats."

  "Your whores would pick your bones within a week."

  Shagot could be as patient as stone when he knew there was a point. He remained frozen, listening, as minutes, then tens of minutes slipped by. He listened as the Bruglioni gang grew ever more uneasy.

  Their cat's-paws were supposed to have arrived by now. They had not shown. Had Paludan flung four hundred ducats into a great big black sack of nothing?

  Soon it was way past time for Shagot and Svavar to be out there hanging around the fountain, a pair of drunken foreigners who looked threatening to no one but themselves. Most of the foreigners infesting the city were too stupid to tie their own bootlaces.

  Shagot crept backward. It would not be long before Rodrigo appeared. Already, it seemed, the Cologni was at the nether edge of the range of his behavior. He was late.

  Drunken singing approached.

  Rodrigo. And his bodyguards. And some drunks that the Cologni had accumulated during the evening.

  This was something that Svavar had not seen before. It was out of character. "I definitely don't think we should do it now, Grim. I don't like the look of this."

  Rodrigo's drinking buddies did not seem interested in getting on out of the Madhur Plaza. They stopped at Basbanes's Fountain and stalled around until Rodrigo's bodyguards insisted that Rodrigo get moving.

  Shagot muttered, "I think I'll just go pound on that old priest till his balls fall off."

  Svavar touched his arm. "There's some excitement starting."

  The Bruglioni crew surrendered to the romance of their own stupidity. They rushed the party in the plaza.

  As Shagot intuited, the drunken new friends were not drunk at all. But their level of alertness had dropped because no attack had come when expected at the fountain. On the other hand, Rodrigo's guards were sharply alert because of the pretend drunks' obvious stalls.

  When the Bruglioni thugs rushed out, the Cologni bodyguards shoved knives into the backs of the pretend drunks.

  The rush arrived. Blades flashed. Several men went down, one a Cologni bodyguard.

  Then came a surprise second rush consisting of another half-dozen men who swooped in from the far side of the square. A great clangor ensued.

  Both Gildeo and Acato Bruglioni thought well of themselves as duelists. They had reputations to support their confidence.

  Their confidence was misplaced.

  "These guys are fucking professionals," Shagot said. The new bunch were very good, though not good enough to avoid injuries of their own.

  The speed and fury of the mess left the Bruglioni thugs and Rodrigo's bodyguards no chance to flee.

  Shagot nodded to himself as the winners collected their prize — Rodrigo Cologni — and then their wounded. Those included the backstabbed companion drunks, who were still alive but unlikely to remain that way if they did not get to some skilled care soon. "Four of them are hurt bad. Two more have lesser wounds. As soon as they're out of sight, start tracking them. We need to find out who they are and where they're headed."

  Svavar nodded unhappily. He was not feeling particularly bloodthirsty now. Which was, probably, why Grim was giving him this job while he stayed here.

  Svavar knew Grim would have no trouble finding him later. Grim always knew where he was.

  The Bruglioni were trying to pull themselves together, to limp back to the family fortress, when Shagot strolled up. At this point, no-one had yet been killed. But none of the Bruglioni or Cologni were in shape to fight on, either. Shagot cut a couple of throats, just to get everybody focused. One of those belonged to Acato Bruglioni, who had not been badly hurt before. His skill as a duelist did him no good whatsoever.

  Shagot told the rest, "I want to know what this was all about." He asked pointed questions, with a sword's tip encouraging quick responses. He killed Saldi Serena when that young man tried to run.

  Shagot learned that the setup had been what he guessed. He and Svavar were supposed to take the frame for murdering a man expected to support the Patriarch in the Collegium.

  "And who stopped you?"

  "That's what doesn't make no sense," Gildeo Bruglioni confessed. "Those were the Patriarch's wolves. The Brotherhood of War. They wouldn't have no reason to kidnap Rodrigo Cologni. He's on their side. But those were the orders they had."

  "Really?" Shagot set his undermind to work on that, and the fact that the Brotherhood attackers had been entirely familiar with what was supposed to be happening. "This is what you're going to do. Assuming you want to survive. Finish off those Cologni. Then start hiking. Fast as
you can."

  Reluctantly, Gildeo Bruglioni turned on Rodrigo's wounded bodyguards, none of whom were able to resist.

  Gildeo finished, turned, discovered that Shagot had slain the rest of the Bruglioni crew. His mouth opened but nothing came out.

  Shagot killed Gildeo with a single stroke that took the man's head right off. Then Shagot jogged off after his brother. How long would it be before people moved in to loot the dead? Shagot wondered if he ought not to have done so himself.

  How big a stink would come from tonight's evils? A huge one, surely, once the evidence was examined.

  Shagot grinned. This was fun.

  Rodrigo Cologni's captors were headed toward the Teragi River and the Castella dollas Pontellas, which made sense if they were Brotherhood of War.

  Shagot stopped trying to overtake his brother. He ranged out in front of his quarry instead.

  Those men moved slowly, avoiding notice.

  Shagot knew little about the Brotherhood of War. They were some kind of fighting priests, which sounded like a bad joke, considering the Chaldarean priests of his experience.

  He ambushed the party from the side, after letting their point man pass the unnaturally impenetrable shadow in which he crouched. A shadow he did not recognize as unusual, only as handy.

  Much happened around Shagot that he failed to notice.

  He attacked with an ancient bronze sword in one hand and the demon's head in the other. He thought he was jumping in amongst priests like Sylvie Obilade. It seemed he could see in the dark tonight, a talent of considerable utility.

  He had no trouble dropping the first four surprised and previously injured kidnappers he encountered. Then the point man returned and Shagot learned the truth about the fighting priests of the Brotherhood of War.

  Shagot's opponent was like none he had faced since those far days when he and Erief practiced against one another. Only the fact that the darkness was no handicap gave Shagot any edge.

  He kept dancing away, seizing fleeting chances to strike at the others. He had a chop at Rodrigo Cologni's hamstring when he noticed the old man trying to slip away.