by Glen Cook
Bechter went to work with enthusiasm.
“Hope you see what I’m seeing,” Ghort said.
“Which would be?”
“How much the Brotherhood resents the Society.”
“Useful to know, down the road.”
“I’m thinking so.”
Ignoring the protesting Society brothers, Hecht assumed the role of Captain-General. “Let’s have some order. Pay attention.”
Silence. The Castreresonese were intensely interested in the victorious general’s comments.
Hecht presented Sublime’s directives, which had not changed. He presented a list of heretics and enumerated steps to be taken to suppress, convert, or evict Unbelievers. Their properties were forfeit to the Church. The city was expected to raise funds for repairs to its defenses and public works. Leading men were to be fined for their obdurate behavior.
Those fines would fall into Hecht’s war chest.
Once Castreresone was settled he would move against Khaurene.
Castreresone, not Duke Tormond’s home city, was the key to control of the Connec, in Hecht’s estimation. He owned the key, now.
He took the seat reserved for the ruling count. His officers introduced locals of standing, starting with the consuls, the manager-senators who handled the daily business of city government. Castreresone retained many of the appurtenances of its youth as a city-state. With layers of feudal law and obligation laid on over the centuries.
The eight senators present were eager to please. Three more were absent, all on the Society’s wanted list. Hechi asked. One supposedly died in the fighting. One had suffered a stroke. And one had fled the city.
Heeht picked names at random. “You three will speak for them to the Society.”
The magnates were introduced next. They were the rich men of Castreresone. Many belonged to the urban nobility disdained by traditional nobility because they were more interested in commerce than warfare.
Another round in the ancient contest between city and country.
The Captain-General found a total lack of defiance in the defeated. The excesses in the towns and villages had beet useful. Once the introductions had been made and the oaths of fealty administered, Hecht made a brief speech. He would forgive the sins of the past. In return, he expected thos oaths to be fulfilled absolutely. Rebellion would be dealt with harshly.
The Captain-General went through the motions, tired. But he studied the Castreresonese closely.
He did not identify a single potential troublemaker.
Titus Consent approached, grim as he weaved between Hecht’s lifeguards. He whispered, “Bad news from Hagan Brokke.”
“I’ll finish as soon as I can.”
Now that he had seen the human face of the city there was little more he wanted to do. Plans for the occupation had been made long since.
He what?” Hecht asked.
“In the vernacular, he got his ass kicked,” Consent said. “He slid out of Mohela ande Larges, as directed.
He made a show of threatening Khaurene again, then headed east. And ran into Isabeth’s mercenaries.
An encounter engagement. Which escalated. Both sides seeing an opportunity that wasn’t really there.
Brokke had the advantage till the Navayans arrived.”
Hecht said nothing. There was no point. Things happened. There were no guarantees. Genius was not infallible. And … things happened. Finally, “How bad?”
“Not sure yet. Pretty bad. But he didn’t lose his prisoners.”
“Good. Torturing them will make me feel better about losing those men.”
“You’re in a fine mood.”
“I don’t take misfortune well. As you see. And I want to go home. I haven’t seen Anna or the kids in half a year.”
“You are unique in your exaggerated pain, sir. Why is Colonel Ghort blessing us with his company?”
“I’m not sure. It must have to do with Principatè Doneto and Morcant Farfog. But he isn’t as forthcoming as he once was.”
“It couldn’t be just that he needs to relax with someone he’s known since before the responsibilities started piling on?”
The Captain-General closed his eyes. He drifted into a fantasy realm where he, Ghort, Bo Biogna, Just Plain Joe and the mule Pig Iron, and a few comfortable others surrounded a campfire, swapping tall tales.
The good old days, when they were hungry but had the luxury of being able to relax.
“Could be, Titus. How scattered are we? How disorganized? How long to pull it all together to march on Khaurene?”
“I don’t want to get above myself. But these guys need some rest. They need to relax. They need to get in out of the Night. Which won’t get any better because we took Castreresone. Despite Prosek’s efforts.”
“What’s that?”
“The racket? Probably Archbishop Farfog insisting on seeing you so he can give you your orders.”
“Here are some orders for him. Go away. Stick to robbery and saving souls. I’ll handle the war business.”
“Sure you want to offend him?”
“I don’t mind. Do you?”
“Sir?”
“They say he keeps records. On everyone. I’m sure you’re one of his favorite suspects.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“It won’t be a happy world if Farfog is running free. Maybe we ought to help him become Patriarch.” He enjoyed Consent’s startled response. “The Patriarch gets so isolated he has to drill through layers of hangers-on to have much impact outside Krois. Farfog isn’t a leader. He’s a pusher. He’d drown in the bureaucratic swamp.”
Consent chuckled. “Interesting idea. Disarm the idiots by putting them in charge, then let their own incompetence destroy them.”
“Something like that.” Hecht did not think Farfog would destroy himself. But he was venal and corrupt enough to render the Church a cripple, incapable of undertaking another massive religious offensive.
“When you tell him to go away, feel him out about how much the army’s support might be worth to him.”
Consent did not like that. But he did not question it.
***
PRINCIPATÈ DELARI WAKENED HECHT. WHO WONDERED how the man had gotten past his bodyguards. “Problems in Brothe, Piper. I have to leave.”
“What is it? Saluda and Linczski have gone already.”
“And Doneto. He has a big lead.”
“What is it?”
“Sublime is gone. Or going. His gang is trying to keep it secret.”
“We’ve been hearing that for months.”
“It’s true, now. All the Principatès away from Brothe will be moving that direction. Like flies to a cow flop. Wanting to reach the Chiaro Palace in time to get in on the first vote.”
Members of the Collegium not on hand for the initial vote could not participate in subsequent polls. The rule helped keep the Patriarchy in the hands of members of the Firaldian primates.
“You’ve been sharing wine with Pinkus Ghort.”
“With my grandfather. I don’t see him often enough.” Nor sounded like this opportunity had gone that well.
“I’ll miss you. I’ll feel naked, having you go just when the Night has begun this escalation.”
“You’ll be protected. He’ll be out there somewhere. Hovering. Trying to make the world run according to his own weird prejudices.”
“I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about the other twenty thousand men …”
“Talk to him about that. I need to get busy. I’m way behind.”
“Take a boat down to Sheavenalle. Then a ship across to Brothe. You’ll get home weeks ahead of everybody. You can fix it up to be the next Patriarch yourself.”
“I don’t want it. Wouldn’t take it if it was handed to me.”
“If you get a chance, see Anna and the kids. I think that would mean a lot to them.” He did not know what else he could do. “I’ll give you a letter for them before you leave.”
&nb
sp; Hecht told Ghort, “I liked it better down in Inconje. This place is dark, dank, and smells bad.” He exaggerated. The keep had not been built for comfort. The offending smell was the result of generations of cooking with unfamiliar spices.
They were alone except for a couple of lifeguards. Ghort was sampling local vintages.
Hecht asked, “What’s really on your mind?”
“I don’t know if we can take Antieux. An assault would just get a lot of people dead. They aren’t getting hungry in there. They aren’t getting thirsty. The walls won’t come down. Winter is closing in. We’re starting to see sickness in the camp. Probably brought in by all the hangers-on we’ve accumulated. And we’re having trouble with Night things. Trouble that looks like it could get bad.”
“We have that here, too. I’ve got a man, Drago Prosek, who seems to be on track to controlling it.”
“I heard the falcons.”
“That’s for the big ones. I’ve got more falcons being cast, including a test kind that can be fired faster. But that’s in Brothe. Which doesn’t do us any good here. Where he is doing good, here, is with traps. You should see the things he’s caught. A whole menagerie of stuff that should’ve been extinct since the Old Empire. Stuff no one’s ever seen before.”
“But not dangerous?”
Hecht shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m short my adviser on those things.”
“Delari? Yeah. Doneto was useful that way, too. When you figure on moving west?”
“It’ll take a week to get organized. Then it depends on the weather. Much more snow and mud, I may just sit down here and keep warm. May just wait to see what happens in Brothe.” If Sublime went, would all his lunatic drive to rid the Chaldarean world of heresy and Unbelievers go with him?
Should Sublime’s successor be indifferent to goals set by the present Patriarch, what would become of the Captain-General and his army?
“My guys aren’t going to like winter … Oh! This is awful!” Ghort shoved an earthenware bottle away.
“Have you been getting ready?” Pinkus Ghort, Hecht suspected, had let things slide on the assumption that long-term thinking was a waste of time for a soldier.
“Probably not enough,” Ghort confessed. “Sedlakova, more than me.”
“Then you know what you need to do.”
“Winter is coming. We don’t have a lot of stores. Count Raymone cleared the countryside.”
“You’re on a river, Pinkus. And there’s a road to Sheavenalle. I have no trouble supplying my people.”
That Ghort was less than fully prepared was no surprise. He was not a born manager. Which was why Clej Sedlakova was in charge at Antieux. Sedlakova recognized his own weaknesses and chose under-officers to deal with them. “Is Sedlakova having trouble? Are you managing things separately?”
“I’ve got to, Pipe. Even working for pay, I’m City Regiment, not Patriarchal.”
“Point. But the fact remains. You need to do the scut work. Or find yourself a Titus who can.”
Admonished, Ghort nodded. Understanding the message behind the message. Friendship could not trump the welfare of the soldiers. Not with Piper Hecht. Who stared pointedly at the wine in front of his friend.
He had reason to believe that Pinkus spent too much time sampling the vintages at Antieux. Time better spent preparing for winter.
Ghort asked, “What do we do if Sublime does die?”
“We may have to look for work. If Joceran Cuito succeeds.”
“The Fiducian? Why him?”
“I don’t know. I’ve heard he’s the front-runner. Backed by King Peter.”
Madouc, the lifeguard captain, entered. “Hagan Brokke has arrived, Captain-General. You asked to be informed.”
“Thanks. I’ll see him as soon as he feels up to it.”
“He isn’t in good shape. He may need time with the healing brothers.”
“Then I can go to him.” He shifted to Ghort. “Any chance you’ll take Farfog with you when you head back?”
“You don’t have muscle enough to bully me into that, Pipe. That guy is the worst asshole I’ve ever met.
He makes old Bishop Serifs look like a fairy-tale princess. It’s too bad the Connectens didn’t kill his ass when they had the chance.”
“I’ve avoided him so far. I won’t be able to forever.”
“Something to look forward to, then. If we’re lucky, the next Patriarch will get rid of him. Hell, if we could just get him up in front of the Collegium … He’d make such an ass of himself, they’d appoint him chief missionary to the Dreangereans. Or something bad. You got anything for me to take back when I go?”
“Just find Prosek. Have him tell you how to handle your Night things. If you need to, tell Sedlakova he should bring in people from the Special Office. I’m sure he knows a few.”
“If he isn’t one himself.”
Cloven Februaren appeared as Hecht was crawling into bed. The feather bed being the one thing he found positive about having moved into the keep. He groaned. “I was hoping to get an extra hour tonight.”
“I’m only here to tell you I won’t be around for a while. You’ll need to stay closer to your lifeguards.”
Hecht suspected that Februaren had a severely inflated notion of his own importance. Yet the old man might have stopped any number of attempts to assassinate the Captain-General. How would he know about attempts that failed? “I’ll try to remember.”
“They only need be successful once. It’s important that they not be.”
“I’m glad you share my viewpoint.”
“I worry that you aren’t serious enough about sharing mine. Very worried. It’s important that you survive.”
Hecht agreed. But he and the old man were not talking about the same thing. It was not personal with Februaren. Februaren was a man with a plan. And that plan hinged on a supposed remote descendant.
Again, “I won’t be out there. So you have to think about your own safety whenever you choose to do something. Every single time.”
“I’ve got it. Really.”
Februaren did his turnaround thing. Hecht snuggled down into the warmth of the feather bed. He fell asleep wondering if he had it in him to be paranoid enough to satisfy the Ninth Unknown.
Three thousand of the best-rested troops headed west. Hecht hoped to provoke Duke Tormond into doing something unwise now that he had invoked his feudal right to summon his dependents to war.
Hecht was not eager for a fight. But a fight would stir the political cauldron. And he did want that kept bubbling, whether or not his most secret self remained faithful to the mission given him by his first master, Gordimer the Lion.
The review of the departing troops done, Hecht went to see Hagan Brokke. Brokke was apologetic about his failure to handle the Navayans. He had paid the price of failure, physically. He would not have survived long had he not come into the hands of the healing brothers.
From Brokke’s bedside Hecht went to see the prisoners Brokke had brought in. He expected a handful.
There were more than forty, the majority being knights and minor nobility. Those had been given comfortable quarters in Inconje. Those of more immediate interest, though, had been driven into a stock pen.
“Bo. I haven’t seen you for an age.”
“Been too busy to socialize. Sir.” Biogna scowled at all the bodyguards. Madouc must have had a dream visit from Cloven Februaren. He had increased the protection significantly.
“Are you involved in this?”
“I was out there with Brokke. Being his Titus Consent. Keeping him convinced that we needed to take a few prisoners.”
“Why such a mob?”
“Most of them can be ransomed. The men insisted. But there are some interesting ones, too.”
“Them?” Hecht indicated the men in the pen.
“Artecipeans. Every one. Probably useless for anything but Society food.”
“Uhm?”
“They’re not just heretics, they’re Unbeli
evers. Trying to bring back the Old Gods. Virulently dangerous.
Unlike those ones back yonder in the other pens. That whole clutch there are Khaurenese we picked up at Mohela ande Larges. One of Immaculate’s bishops, a Praman priest of some kind, and a Deve elder.
A couple days later, we found a Perfect Master hiding in some brush. Wouldn’t have known it. He wasn’t in costume. But the ones from Khaurene knew him. One of them said something before his brain checked in.”
Hecht considered the Artecipeans. They avoided his gaze. “I’ve seen some of these men before.” One face, in fact, he recalled from the crowd of gawkers outside Anna’s house the night they moved her to Principatè Delari’s town house. “I’ll work up a list of questions. Whoever answers them honestly won’t get turned over to Archbishop Farfog. Show me what else you’ve got.”
The captured soldiers were not impressive. Prisoners of war seldom were.
Biogna said, “This might be the best catch. Bernardin Amberchelle. Count Raymone’s ugly cousin. In the top five on the Society’s wanted list. He killed a bunch of their thugs. That’s the Perfect Master over there, with the girl. He was traveling with Amberchelle. Says the girl is his daughter. He was trying to get her to safety in Khaurene. He’s lying. She has a different accent. They’re both very careful to protect her.
She’s got to be somebody important.”
“Pity Ghort’s gone. He might be able to use the cousin to get to Raymone.”
“Send a messenger. He can use the information.”
“Good work. Keep after these people. Use Farfog as leverage.” Hecht considered the old man and the girl. The girl appeared to be about twenty, possibly not unattractive under the grime. She had a ferocious look.
“The Amberchelle person. Was he wearing or carrying anything we can send to Antieux? To prove we have him?”
“I’ll find out.” Skirting the certainty that the soldiers who caught him had relieved him of everything of value.
“Do that.”
Hecht avoided Morcant Farfog for two more days. By which time he had Castreresone under control. It was not a pleasant interview. Those who had reported the Archbishop’s failings had not exaggerated.
