by Glen Cook
Even agents of the Society doubted Duke Tormond's sincerity.
Beyond his failure to suppress heresy, the Society found fault in his failure to suppress the followers of Immaculate II. His failure to persecute those who attacked or defended themselves against Brothen Episcopal agents. Not that that mattered much, anymore. News out of Viscesment made it pretty clear that Sublime had brought the long struggle with the legitimate line of Patriarchs to a conclusion favorable to the Brothen house. But there was still his failure to return properties seized from corrupt clerics, his fortification of churches, and his employment of Deves and heretics in the instrumentalities of the state. On and on and on. No genius was needed to see that the Duke would never fulfill the demands placed upon him.
The Socia Rault solution might be Tormond IV's only salvation.
The Devedian and Dainshau families left the column not far west of Antieux. They headed south for Sheavenalle. The Chaldarean refugees continued eastward on the ancient road, toward Castreresone. That road made plain how heavily age lay on the Connec. Brothen legionaries had built it fifteen hundred years ago. The bridges dated from that era, too, yet needed little maintenance even now. As the name implied, Castreresone was once the site of an Imperial regional military headquarters. Its walls rested on foundations laid down by legionary engineers.
'Time lies heavy in this land," the Perfect told Socia.
She was not impressed. She was too young for the deeps of time to mean anything. Whatever happened before she was born was ancient history. But she did admit, "It is kind of creepy out here." She looked back at Bernardin Amberchelle, whose party followed close behind. Some uncomfortable people were traveling with the Count's cousin.
Brother Candle felt uneasy when he considered Amberchelle's band, too. He did not know those men. Had not seen them around Antieux. Bernardin said they were lesser nobles, like the Raults, who had been driven out of their homes up near Viscesment. None were Seekers After Light. And they used a dialect that did not sound Connecten.
Socia added, "I'll be glad when we get out of the country." Which seemed a remarkable thing for a country girl to say.
Her comment crystallized the unease the Perfect had felt lor days. This southern Connecten countryside was distinctly uncomfortable. For no reason that was obvious. And that was new. He had wandered this land for decades without feeling anything like this.
His thoughts drifted back to the woods above Caron ande Lette. Rook. There were rumors suggesting the return of other ancient Instrumentalities. Something in the sea. Things of the Night in the darkness. But always hearsay.
Still, the sheer number of reports suggested that the hideous and horrible were creeping forth from the graves that had held them so long.
A city seemed a good place to be, then.
The road west followed the north bank of the Laur, which ran east, back whence they had come, then southeast to Sheavenalle and the Mother Sea. Traffic had passed this way, on riverbank and water, since before men learned to remember by writing things down.
The Laur, navigable to Castreresone and beyond, boasted dozens of boats and barges of shallow draft, some under sail, some driven by sweeps. Brother Candle told Socia, "I've often thought if my life had gone different I might've become a barger."
"Didn't you have tummy troubles going over to Shippen und back?"
"The open sea is something else entirely. Only a lunatic would subject himself to that as a way of life."
"I learn something weird about you every day."
"You should be learning something new and weird and wonderful about something every day, child."
Their path to Khaurene last year had passed thirty miles north of Castreresone. That storied city had been the seat of the governors of the Old Imperial province of Closer Endonensis. Khaurene had been the capital of Nether Endonensis.
Closer Endonensis had been fruitful and pacific and there-tore much favored by the Brothen emperors.
Castreresone was an impressive sight. Some called it the White City. The limestone sheathing its walls was nearly as pale as marble. And those walls, though set on ancient foundations, were the most modern and best maintained in the Connec. Improvements were under way now, the outer curtain being heightened, machicolations being added at key points, roofing being installed over the wall walks. New curtain walls with D-shape mural towers were under construction around two wealthy suburbs that had come into being during the last century.
Castreresone held an odd place in the feudal order of the End of Connec. Its overlord could claim suzerainty over most all Connecten coastal territories from Terliaga to the delta of the Dechear River, excepting those fiefs belonging directly to the Dukes of Khaurene. Such as Sheavenalle. But there was no fixed family of lords in Castreresone. Traditionally, the city belonged to the Duke of Khaurene's heir. Tormond IV had no declared successor. So Castreresone was held by an uncle, Roger Shale, who was actually younger than Tormond. A Maysalean who never married, Roger Shale had no legal heirs. His niece Isabeth was his designated successor.
Roger Shale was nothing like Tormond. He was energetic, efficient, and organized. He had kept order locally during the recent troubles. But he had no power in the broader affairs of the Connec. He spent his energies making Castreresone the best protected city in the End of Connec.
Brother Candle said, "Weird and wonderful. I don't know about that. But I can say this: This quiet, beautiful city is much nearer being the soul of the Connecten nation than is Khaurene, Antieux, or the Altai." The Altai being that part of the Connec, center north, that was most mountainous and most inclined toward heresy. Many Seekers had taken refuge there already. The Altaien population as a whole were convinced that they were the only "true Connectens."
The column from the east first spied Castreresone in the early morning light. The white walls shone. The road went down to a bridge over the Laur wide enough for eight men to march abreast. On the south bank the road traversed half a mile and rose a hundred feet to approach the acre of flat, open killing ground in front of the huge, complicated barbican that guarded the main entrance to the White City. Black wreaths hung on the wall, sad memorial to events in Viscesment.
It was there, as they waited to be let into the city, that the news about the god worm caught up.
"What does it mean?" Socia asked, absent all her usual spiteful spirit. She was subdued because the old man was so obviously deeply shaken.
"I don't know. Except as a signal that the Instrumentalities of the Night have begun to move into a whole new level of involvement with the world."
"The gods will walk among us again?"
"It may be. It may be. And that terrifies me."
14. Crusaders: Wolves on the Border
The movement north and east went too smoothly for the Captain-General. "I worry when things go right," he told his staff as the army settled in to rest near the monastery complex at Dominagua. "You people can't be that good at what you do."
The backhanded compliment sparked smiles.
The high excitement soon faded.
Principate Doneto brought news from his cousin as Hecht was about to resume movement. "His Holiness is involved in delicate negotiations, Captain-General. He wants you to hold off a few weeks."
"Why? He's been so keen to get on with it for so long."
"I'm baffled, too. I'm not part of the inner circle, cousin or not."
"Does this mean stay here? Can I position myself better for when he turns me loose? Are there any other new constraints?"
Principate Doneto seemed disconcerted. He glanced round as though displeased by the presence of so many witnesses. "You just shouldn't take the campaign into the Connec. Yet."
Hecht surveyed his staff. He and they never stopped working. During the rest several notions had gotten schemed out. The professionals wanted to get the maximum return from the city militias during the short time they would be available.
Legally, they could be kept in the field only forty days
. The sands were racing through that hourglass. There were ways to balance that. Pay to those willing to serve longer and rotate replacements in at different times.
Hecht asked, "He does realize that in a month this army will start shrinking? And that bad weather will be along soon?"
"I'm reporting, Captain-General. That's all. I can send a letter voicing your concerns, but I can't make him read it. I can't make him pay attention if he does."
"I want to move up to the frontier."
Doneto shrugged. "You're the military commander."
Hecht turned to Titus Consent. "Are those scouts back yet?"
"One party. The ferry crossing will be tough with this many men. It could take a week."
"It took us all day last time with just a few hundred. But we need to secure it. Even if we can't go over we can control traffic. Colonel Ghort. Let's take a walk. I want to pick your brain."
Hecht paid Doneto no more heed, which probably irked the Principate. He did not care. He had his own personal Principate. Muniero Delari traveled slowly but he traveled. His presence assured Doneto's best behavior.
There was no sign of trouble between them.
How long could that continue?
Of more immediate concern was the depth of Pinkus Ghort's commitment to his sponsor.
Doneto thought he owned Pinkus Ghort. Pinkus might not agree but would still feel indebted. It was no secret that he still lived in the Principate's town house.
"What's up?" Ghort asked once they were safe from avesdroppers. Hecht's lifeguards maintained an acceptable cparation but were close enough to intervene if evil showed is face.
"Recall what we talked about during the ride up? Just tossing things around?"
"We talked about a lot of stuff. Gad, it's nice. I like it cool like this."
It was windy, almost cloudless, and unseasonably cool. "Might affect the vintage."
"Yeah. Probably. What do you think?"
"I have no idea. I don't understand wine. The Sonsan nation is what I'm thinking about. Check the map. It's barely seventy miles from here."
A Bronte Doneto involved in a scheme with the Special Office would not find a raid on Sonsa to his taste. If Ghort was in tight…
"You thinking just a raid? Or a general chastisement of the city for being unfriendly?"
"I'm thinking, make Sublime love us by forcing the Three Families to bend the knee."
"And maybe get a closer look at Bit and her crew, too?"
"Absolutely. I do still want the real story on Vali."
They stopped walking, looked across slopes and hills covered with vines. It was beautiful country. Ghort said so. "The Connec is, too. What we saw of it."
"We'll get to see that part again. Sublime is close to obsessed with taming Raymone Garete."
"Lot of that infecting the Society, too. I'd as soon not. It won't be close to easy. Even with a pair of heavyweight sorcerers tagging along."
"One sorcerer. Principate Delari isn't here to participate. He's here to keep an eye on your boss."
"On my boss? On you? I thought he'd, like, adopted you."
"On Doneto."
"Doneto? What do you mean, Doneto? I don't work for him. I work for the City. What do you mean, Delari wants to keep an eye on him?"
"You still live in his house, Pinkus. And he thinks you're his man. He still tries to lay claim on me, sometimes. I don't know what the problem is between him and Delari. Maybe it's all just Delari. But there is bad blood."
"He hides it pretty well."
"He does. I wouldn't know about it at all if it weren't for the boy."
"Armand? There's something weird about that one, Pipe."
"Wow! Can't get anything past you."
"What I mean is… Can it. The demon himself." Bronte Doneto had come out for a stroll. Not unusual. But his constitutional kept bringing him closer.
Hecht said, "Go snatch Sonsa. If you need more than the Brothen contingent…"
"They should be plenty. How soon?"
"I'm done telling. It's your mission, now. Do what you need to do and go when you're ready. Your Grace."
"Gentlemen."
Ghort said, "I was just telling Pipe that this looks like the place I want to retire, I get lucky and round up enough booty. Go into the winemaking business."
Hecht said, "You'd probably suck down all the profits."
Ghort's man Bo Biogna left camp with a picked team that same night. Next morning the entire Brothen contingent departed. Hecht told the morning staff meeting, "I've given Pinkus a special mission. If our master unleashes us, he'll catch up."
There were questions. Hecht did not answer them. These men did not need to know.
Principate Bronte Doneto was among those asking. Maybe Pinkus had moved beyond a sense of obligation to him.
Maybe.
"Forget Ghort," he said. "We need to move up to the Dechear. Colonel Smolens, I suggested a feasibility study to you and Lieutenant Consent. Mainly to keep you out of trouble. Did you follow up?"
Smolens admitted, "We did. It should be easy. Sir." The honorific added only because members of the Collegium were present.
Titus Consent said, "There is no plan for stopping you. Assassination is their only worry."
Hecht considered Muniero Delari from the corner of his eye. The old man showed no special interest. He hoped that meant this would not get to Osa Stile. "Good. Get out warning orders to prepare to move up. Smolens, you get the other job."
"Is that an execute, sir?" Smolens asked. He was eager.
"Put it together and do it."
Delari was paying attention, now. And suddenly suspicious.
Whatever anyone thought, Piper Hecht was still his own man.
The Patriarchal army drifted westward, covering barely a hundred miles in ten days. Forward elements reached the Dechear and staked out camps at likely crossing points. The nearest surviving bridge was way upstream, at Viscesment. The Captain-General divided his forces, the better to reduce the strain on Ormienden and to remain tactically prepared. Principate Doneto chose to accompany the southernmost division. The same favored by the Captain-General himself. This was the largest division that would strike toward Antieux. Doneto had begun to smell blood. He had a score to settle.
There was work aplenty even for Principates, including turns watching over the bridgehead the Captain-General established on the west bank. Doneto and Delari alike spent hours interviewing locals and itinerant members of the Society, trying to gather solid facts about the strange events plaguing the Connec.
Smugly, Piper Hecht noted that neither Principate had missed Colonel Smolens. They assumed him to be with one of the other divisions.
Smolens would do to Viscesment what Pinkus Ghort meant to do to Sonsa.
Only Hecht's immediate staff knew. Enough of a bond had formed that even Clej Sedlakova enjoyed belonging to an inner circle putting something over.
Hecht was with Sedlakova, reviewing recollections of the country round Antieux. "They won't make the same mistakes. They'll have built more cisterns and those will be full. Titus says they've reengineered the main gate, adding machicolations and a second portcullis operated from a second guardroom in order to make treachery more difficult."
"I wasn't putting much faith in the Society's secret friends, anyway."
"That may still work."
"What's the ground like? Is mining an option?"
"I think it's on bedrock. That and a height advantage are why it's sited a little back from the river. We'll see something similar, on a larger scale, when we get to Castreresone."
"How high are the walls? There'll be a lot of deep topsoil around if winemaking is serious business."
"You lost me there."
"Something we don't do much anymore, that they did a lot in ancient times. Build a ramp to the top of the wall. Raise it higher than the wall if you can, so you can attack downhill."
Clever members of the Brotherhood of War had done that in the Holy Lands in
the early crusades. Praman castles were no longer sited where that would be possible.
Titus Consent entered the room, which was on the second level in an old windmill. The mill had not worked in years. There was no obvious reason for it having been abandoned.
Hecht said, "Something?"
"Several. All hitting at once."
"And?"
"Smolens has done his job. Had a little problem with Immaculate's guards, though."
"They didn't back down?"
"Not soon enough. Smolens got the bad end of the casualty equation."
"I was afraid of that. But why were they still there if the Empress went over to Sublime?"
"I don't know. But Braunsknechts do take themselves seriously. Which could be a problem."
"Meaning?"
"We've got one downstairs. He wants to see you."
"Smolens took prisoners?"
"This one came from Plemenza. He doesn't know what happened in Viscesment. Yet."
It would not be long before the news reached the ends of the Chaldarean world.
That world now knew that Patriarchal troops had occupied Sonsa. Already there were rumors that Sublime had attacked the city because of a deal he had made with Dateon or Aparion. Or possibly Peter of Navaya, whose Plataduran allies wanted the Sonsan holdings on Artecipea.
This Braunsknecht came from Plemenza? That meant from the Princess Helspeth.
This had to be handled carefully.
"This Braunsknecht say why he's here?"
"Because he wants to talk to you. He thinks you'll want to talk to him."
"I don't get it."
"He did say it has to do with the monster in the Jago Mountains."
"Ah." That was much less dangerous. "There was something else?"
"Colonel Ghort is ready to leave Sonsa. The Three Families have sworn allegiance to Sublime. They've promised the use of their fleets come time for a new crusade into the Holy Lands, hoping that comes soon. They have sailors starving and ships rotting at the quayside while Platadura is taking control all over the western Mother Sea."
