by Glen Cook
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 Grimmssons' 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
"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 fortunate 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.
Shagot entered a low, square stone building that stood by itself. It had unglazed windows and doorways without doors.
Svavar asked, "What's this?"
"A well house. The women come here to get water." Shagot looked down into the cistern. "They climbed down here." An iron ladder going down into the cistern had had the rust worn away. Blood discolored its rungs.
A face appeared below. A Praman face. It betrayed astonishment and terror. It disappeared, shrieking a warning.
Shagot swung over the lip of the well and jumped down. Svavar cursed and followed more carefully. At first, the Braunsknechts refused to go down into the earth.
The Emperor entered the waterhouse. He grasped the situation immediately. He gave orders for troops to circle west of the city in search of a storm wa
ter outlet. Below, the soultaken engaged the hindmost of those Pramans who had chased the Episcopal raiders underground.
Hansel stamped out of the waterhouse. He swung onto Warspite's back. For an instant he stared uphill, toward the citadel. He would aim the soultaken that way next.
As he flexed his wrists to shake the reins to urge Warspite forward, an arrow out of the darkness entered his open mouth. Its head severed his spinal cord as it exited the back of his neck.
35. With the Direcian Combine: Cold Spring
The winter was long and bitter but not inconvenient for the combined forces of Direcia, Platadura, and the Connec. They did little but stay warm and get to know the people of Calzir. They saw no fighting.
Brother Candle did not feel he was part of a real war. He had become part of the court round King Peter, in the castle al-Negesi, atop an eminence from which, on a clear day, the hills where al-Khazen lay could be discerned. Peter felt no need to move closer. The Pramans were unable to overawe the forces already facing them.
Brother Candle understood. Peter had tripled his territories at no cost. He had created — and continued to create — a network of personal relationships with foreign nobles and people like Brother Candle, Bishop LeCroes, Michael Carhart, and Tember Remak. The lack of danger, other than from the passage on winter seas, had lured the curious from Direcia and the End of Connec. Duke Tormond and his sister spent a month on Shippen, she enjoying her husband and he learning more about the world and the men who would stand beside him in the dark times to come. Tormond was impressed by how much Count Raymone Garete had matured.
"We'll go home come spring," Bishop LeCroes predicted. "This war is over. It's just a matter of the Pramans figuring that out and laying down their arms."
If Lucidia and Dreanger did not send reinforcements.
Brother Candle doubted the Praman world would blaze with passion for a countercrusade in Calzir. Not when wealthier and more romantic little kingdoms in Direcia were being devoured by King Peter's Reconquest to resounding indifference across the remainder of the Realm of Peace.
Brother Candle was enjoying a leisurely breakfast. Bishop LeCroes stopped to say, "Loafing season may be over. Something major is happening at al-Khazen." His voice was so strained Brother Candle went looking for a high place.
He used his elbows more than was appropriate for a Perfect. Everyone had gotten there before him, equally curious. When he got a good look in the right direction he saw what looked like a tower of black smoke rising from a huge fire a long way away. Only … It looked more like a small but intensely ferocious thunderstorm. "What is it?"
"The Night gone mad. Trying to devour itself. It was much gaudier when it wasn't as light out."
King Peter, Count Raymone, and a few others in a higher turret were engaged in an animated discussion.
Brother Candle had a sense of portent. The world was about to change again. Chances were, the change would not be for the better.
Peter and his cronies sent riders to find out what was happening. And couriers to alert the various garrisons that something was afoot. Inasmuch as nobody to the east was inclined to keep their overseas allies posted.
Brother Candle had little sense of the Instrumentalities of the Night. Those who did, like Michael Carhart, assured him that rural Calzir had been sucked clean of every minor spirit. The forces gathered at al-Khazen had drawn them in. The Calziran sorcerers were a mystery. The Patriarch's forces included numerous members of the Collegium. No one knew what dark forces had been marshaled on behalf of the Grail Empire.
As time fled forward Brother Candle increasingly felt his world growing colder — for any whose philosophies did not match those of they who were convinced that they ought to rule the world.
Brother Candle told Michael Carhart and Tember Remak, "I can feel the ice coming to the Connec."
They understood. Life was about to become less attractive for Maysaleans and pagans, Devedians and Dainshaus, Terliagan Pramans, and even those Episcopate daring enough to favor the Patriarch of Viscesment.
But none of them had an imagination dark enough, bleak enough, pessimistic enough, to guess how dreadful the future could become.
36. Enfolded in the Embrace of the Night
Else crouched in the dark cistern beneath Waterhouse Two, feeling like a cowering rodent, though hiding and abiding were Sha-lug skills equaling any involving sword or lance. A Sha-lug slave warrior was obligated to preserve himself, not to waste himself on heroic gestures.
Terrible fighting was going on in the drainage system. And in the city above, from the sound. Else could not follow its progress but it seemed that Imperial troops had entered the city. The combined efforts of Starkden, Masant al-Seyhan, and er-Rashal el-Dhulquarnen were inadequate to repel them.
There was sorcery afoot, for sure. Else's nearly forgotten amulet hurt more than it had at any time since me encounter in the Ownvidian Knot.
Er-Rashal not being able to do as he pleased, when it pleased him to do so, was nearly beyond the scope of imagination. Er-Rashal el-Dhulquarnen had been a distant, almost godlike presence in the Dreangerean world for as long as Else could remember. Not being able to do as he pleased likely strained the Rascal's imagination, too.
Over twenty-five years of training and wartime stress had gone into building Else Tage, the unflappable. But the unflappable Else made a noise like a startled little girl.
Something — that, initially, wore no shape familiar to the Sha-lug Else Tage … Something filled the overflow from the collection chamber below Waterhouse Two. Else felt something touch his soul, take cues from hidden recollections. Passing through several repulsive shapes first, it took the form of a woman … No. A girl. Heris … Sister of the toddler who became the Sha-lug Else Tage… But big. So big. Too big to push through the overflow.
That thing, whatever it was, winked. It raised a finger to its lips. Then it went away. A fog formed in the space it had occupied. The entrance became invisible.
Once his mind resumed function Else wondered how that thing fit the rest of the storm-water system if it could not get into this cistern… The amulet he wore reminded him that it was still there, this time blistering cold instead of hot and painful. Principatй Bruglioni's ring seemed to weigh twenty pounds.
What the hell?
Hell might have plenty to do with it. That was no woman. That was something vast and potent, far beyond human, though probably designed by human hope and fear. It would be the thing he had been warned about. A something that could brush aside the determined efforts of er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen. One of the Instrumentalities of the Night. Possibly a goddess to some unbeliever who had not found the True God.
Cautioning Else Tage to remain calm, quiet, and still?
This was a difficult hour. He did not need a caution from the demon. Everywhere else was less safe than here. And there was little he could do to affect the situation, whatever he chose to do.
The thing left long silence in its wake. But only where Else remained hidden, behind the glamour she had cast. There was fighting in the streets above. There was fighting in the drainage system. A lot of widows would be made tonight And Else Tage remained a blind bystander. He could not imagine becoming involved without feeling guilty. He would have to betray someone.
Eventually, he climbed back out of the cistern and deserted the waterhouse for the madness of al-Khazen's streets. Imperial troops were still arriving. Pramans fought on in hopeless desperation. Their sorcerers had failed them again, as they had at every turn since the Brothen raid.
Being cautious, avoiding confrontation, Else used memorized maps to reach a section of wall overlooking the exit from the storm-water drain. He was alone on the battlements. The rest of existence seemed focused on the struggle behind and
below. Except that the thing he had seen back there now was engaged in a ferocious confrontation with al-Khazen's defending sorcerers — rather as an afterthought on her part, like a man swatting at a particularly agile h
orsefly.
Else stared at the moonlighted hillside below. He picked out landmarks he had seen coming in. He saw no sign of the reserve companies. Which was good. He would have been disappointed if he had.
On reflection, he was surprised that he could see much of anything, even with a moon up.
False dawn had begun to creep in from the east. Already.
How could that much time have passed?
Else was so completely alone on the wall that he considered complaining to God about being lonely. There was no one to stop him doing whatever he wanted.
He began to search for some means of getting down outside. Maybe he could escape without going through that claustrophobic drain again.
Fate conspired.
He found a coil of rope inside a guard station. It was long enough to reach the foot of the wall. It had been reworked for climbing. It was knotted at regular intervals. Someone had used it to go raiding or consorting. Or deserting.
After tying the rope off, though, Else settled down to watch. He would have no part in the events. Fortune had moved him out of the way before the excitement started.
His commandos left the storm-water drain in good order. He had no trouble recognizing Ghort, hustling Crown Prince Lothar ahead of the main party. Else wondered how Bronte Doneto would play the game now. Surely his ransom demands for Lothar would exceed those that Hansel had made for him.
Else could make out some members of the reserve companies, now. A few were too restless, too eager. But they gave nothing away. They could be seen from no other vantage point. Had there been witnesses to discover the trap, still it would have been impossible to warn its prey.
The Praman pursuit tumbled out of the drain in a mix with the slowest Brothens.
The first Pramans out, Sha-lug and Calziran royal lifeguards, showed little interest in the people ahead of them, Except to mark what direction they ran before selecting an alternate line of flight
Something only marginally human came out of the storm drain. A huge man-thing, head lost in masses of tangled, filthy blond hair, hoisted an equally nasty mummified head on high and bellowed a challenge that stilled the morning. With his right hand he brandished a bronze sword that was, even to the uneducated eye, obviously enchanted. It was limned by a nimbus that could be sensed but not visually described.
