by Glen Cook
Hecht nodded. The real message was that Pinkus had taken prisoners and had dug out all the information he could. "That's good news. Anything else?"
"One more thing. Colonel Smolens says there were some weird people in Viscesment when he got there. They took off before he could catch them. Into the Connec. Just a creepy feeling, he says, but he wants you to stick close to your lifeguards."
Hecht shivered. His bodyguards were all down below. He did not like having them so he tended to keep them at a distance. "All right. Tell Madouc I need to see him, soon as you're done here."
"Yes, sir. One more thing."
"You said that already."
"I almost forgot this."
"Well?"
"Count Raymone may be more clever than we've credited."
"What's he done now?"
"It's what it looks like he's ready to do. He's telling all the Connecten Devedians and Dainshaus that they should emigrate somewhere where Sublime and the Society are powerless."
"Does that make sense? He'd deprive himself of his educated class."
"It does if he thinks they're spying. Which they've been reluctant to do. The Society has won us no friends. It makes even more sense if he expects to lose his war. We won't have anyone to keep records. Or any records, either, probably."
"Strategic thinking, not tactical. Interesting. So. Unless you have another one more thing, bring the Braunsknecht, then fill Madouc in on the warning from Smolens."
Hecht met the Braunsknecht outside the mill. He frowned. "I should know you, shouldn't I?"
"Algres Drear, sir. I commanded the company that took you prisoner when you were withdrawing from your previous Connecten adventure."
"Ah. Yes. The Plemenzan captivity. I hope you didn't offend Bronte Doneto too much, back then. He's a member of the Collegium, now. And he's here with us. Again."
Hecht studied Drear while he talked. The man was in his middle thirties, looking older. Gray speckled his beard and temples. His brown eyes were almost soullessly without motion. This was a hard man used to the hardships of the field. Who found himself in too comfortable circumstances in his current assignment. And who was not troubled in the least by the possibility of enduring the displeasure of a member of the Collegium.
Stupidity? Or ignorance?
Hecht said, "You asked to see me. I'm giving you time. In deference to the family you serve. But I do have a war to get ready for. So what do you want?" He stifled any hope that Drear had brought some special message from Princess Helspeth.
"The Princess Apparent has a request. I don't know why she thinks you'd grant it. But it isn't my place to think."
"Anything within reason. And politically feasible."
"She wants to know how to kill a god."
Not much could have been a bigger surprise. "Kill a god?"
"An Instrumentality. A demon, if you will."
"I don't understand." How much had Ferris Renfrow told Princess Helspeth?
"You do. You killed the Gray Walker. At al-Khazen. Deliberately and methodically. The Princess needs the know how."
"I'll bite. Why?"
Drear talked about the monster preying on travelers in the Jago Mountains.
"It's a giant bug?"
"Not many people have survived to describe it. The Grand Duke Omro va Still-Patter is the best known and most reliable. He managed to cut a claw off it. He kept the claw. He describes the monster as a huge praying mantis with a lot of extra legs."
"I know the thing. It was at al-Khazen. If I understand right, it used to be a man. Now it's an insane Instrumentality. I didn't make the connection then but I think it was active just north of Alicea last year."
"How do we kill it?"
He did not want to admit that he had an answer. He was not sure why. The secret was spreading, if slowly. But no one understood why it worked.
Captain Drear read him well. "How do I reassure you?"
"I don't know. I'm not sure why I'm worried."
"Is it because you don't know how?"
"It's easy. You didn't need to come to me. The Princess saw the Gray Walker destroyed."
"Not strictly true, sir. Not strictly true." Drear removed a doeskin wallet from inside his shirt. "The Princess's personal appeal, sir."
Hecht accepted the letter. He read. The contents underscored just how much the girl trusted this man. Otherwise, she would never have dared commit such thoughts to paper. "She trusts you more than I could ever trust anyone. I suspect with reason, because your mission is to protect her. Why should I trust you, though?"
Drear understood him. "True. I serve the Grail Empire. I can't make you trust me. Maybe you can explain why it's important to you not to let anyone know how to dispatch the Instrumentalities of the Night."
"But…" Yes. Everyone did know. Iron and silver. The metals that had afforded some protection for thousands of years. But…
He had not worked it out himself until just a short time ago, despite countless hours spent on the puzzle.
His response in Esther's Wood had been sheer panicky inspiration, silver sprayed out in a blast too wide for the bogon to avoid. He had been lucky. That particular bogon had been especially sensitive to silver. Any iron in the blast would have been there by happenstance.
Now his artillerists nurtured secret charges for their falcons. Three charges of godshot for each of the twelve weapons he now possessed.
Reason eventually led him to the conclusion that it wasn't the fact of the charge that had slain the bogon in the Holy Lands. Nor the Gray Walker at al-Khazen. Instrumentalities of the Night had coped with iron and silver from earliest times.
So what was different now?
Firepowder.
Firepowder weapons, falcons or the light tubes employed by the Devedian fusiliers at al-Khazen, flung their missiles in a velocity too extreme to track and evade.
He read portions of the letter again, amazed that the girl could write such things, then trust anyone to bring them to him unread.
He went to the mill doorway. "Titus. You still in there? Yes? Find Bechter. I need to borrow Drago Prosek." He told Drear, "It'll take a while to organize."
Drear just nodded.
Hecht led the way inside the mill and upstairs. "Find yourself a seat." He collected quill and paper and began to write. Drear waited quietly. Hecht sanded the finished product. He was folding it when Sergeant Bechter arrived, huffing and puffing.
Bechter said, "Prosek's on his way. What's up?" He spent one glance on Algres Drear. And took the man's measure.
"Our new good friends in the Empire have a problem. Only we can solve it. I want Prosek to go with Captain Drear and handle it."
Bechter nodded. He gave Drear another glance. "Braunsknecht?"
"I am. Brotherhood of War?"
"Retired."
"Of course."
Drago Prosek arrived. "Permission to enter, sir?"
"Get in here," Hecht said. "Prosek. This gentleman is Captain Drear of the Braunsknecht lifeguard of the Princess Apparent of the Empire. He's brought an appeal for assistance. I've decided to accede to the Princess's request. Her friendship could serve us well."
"Yes sir." Without any suggestion of a reservation about his superior's thinking.
"I'm going to give you a chance to show us what you can do."
"Yes sir. What would that be, sir?"
"Take two falcons to Plemenza. With their crews. I'd recommend Varley and Stern, but the choice is yours. Take two special loads for each falcon."
Prosek's eyebrows jumped. His eyes widened. "Sir…"
"There's something ugly in the Jago Mountains. Something of the Night. You were at al-Khazen. Captain Drear tells me this is the monster that got away from us there."
Prosek's eyes got bigger. Even Bechter showed some reaction.
Hecht continued. "Go figure out how to ambush it, or trap it, then kill it. Do whatever you have to do. Then get yourself back here because by that time we'll probably be besieging An
tieux and we'll want you there to starve with us."
"Yes sir." Ignoring his Captain-General's tone. Prosek turned to Drear. "Drago Prosek, sir." He extended a hand. Drear seemed surprised.
Hecht met Drear's eye. "That's what I can do."
"Good enough. I think. Thank you, sir."
"Take this letter to the Princess." He passed the doeskin wallet back. "Prosek."
"Sir?"
"Don't let these people tell you what to do. Not even the Princess herself. Make them support you. You're smart enough to know what needs doing. And bright enough to figure out how to do it."
"Yes sir."
"All right. Everyone go. I have thinking to do."
Once the last man left, Hecht read Helspeth's letter for the fourth time. And still could not believe the girl trusted Drear that much. Although, mainly, it revolved around her plea for help ridding the Jagos of the monster.
Titus Consent told Hecht, "There's a problem getting intelligence out of the Connec."
Hecht was tired. The less the army did the more work there was for him. He did not want to hear more bad news. He wanted to go to bed. Maybe to dream about Anna. Or Helspeth Ege. Who was an infatuation he did not yet underhand. He sighed. "Tell me."
"The Society is killing us. Their attitude toward Devedians is black and white. Not Chaldarean? Bad. Kill. So the Connecten Deves won't deal. And they're all going away anyway."
"Explain that."
"The Devedian and Dainshau minorities are emigrating. The Society is so obnoxious that even Maysaleans and some Chaldareans are going with them, some places."
"Really?" His preconception was that he would face raving fanatics who considered yielding to Sublime worse than martyrdom.
"At the best of times the Connec is a loosely structured realm. Anarchy is one tomorrow away. Connectens have enjoyed a comfortable life since Imperial times. They'd tolerate anything as long as people tolerated them. Until Sublime decided to stick his nose in."
"So… Oh-oh." Principate Delari had appeared.
Some people felt no need to get permission to drop in on the Captain-General. All of them were members of the Collegium.
"See you later," Consent said. He was not comfortable around Principate Delari. Despite the man's sponsorship.
Delari watched Consent scamper downstairs. "That man is awfully timid for a soldier."
"You have no idea how much you terrify ordinary people, do you?"
Puzzled, Delari asked, "Why would he be afraid of me?"
"To ordinary folks you're like Cloven Februaren is to you." Who was in Hecht's thoughts because Redfearn Bechter had seen him yesterday. "Only more so."
Delari was not pleased. But he brushed it aside. "I hear Colonel Ghort is coming back to us."
"He will be. I'm glad you came. Saves me looking for you. Pinkus should have prisoners who may explain what we saw there before. Who may tell us who Vali is. But Principate Doneto might want to keep us away from them."
Delari had not mentioned his conflict with Doneto since that fierce encounter in the catacombs.
"And you're afraid Colonel Ghort is still beholden to Doneto."
"Yes."
"Doneto doesn't know what Ghort was doing. Besides taming a republic that wasn't friendly to the Patriarch. He hasn't bothered to find out. That tells me he has no interest in Sonsa."
"Why is he here?"
"Sublime sent him."
"But…"
"All very complicated, right?"
"I don't know how you people live the way you do."
"You're talking? Never mind. I'm sure Bronte Doneto has motives for being here that aren't those of his cousin. Nor those of any conspiracy to thwart Sublime. Doneto has an abiding hatred for Antieux. Bad things happened to him there."
"He asked for them."
"That isn't relevant, Piper. If an enemy is so arrogant as to defend himself and defeat you…"
Titus Consent returned without being invited. He was pale and confused. "Sir, there's a message from Colonel Smolens. Somebody assassinated Immaculate."
"What? Damnit! Damnit! I wish I could swear like Pinkus. Get in here, Titus. Talk to us."
"That's it. Somebody got into the Palace of the Kings. The Braunsknechts weren't on duty anymore. There wasn't any reason for a heavy guard. Immaculate had been overthrown."
"I understand."
Consent continued. "He's made arrests. The assassins were clever getting to Immaculate but not clever getting away."
"The news isn't a hundred percent bad, then, is it?"
"The men they caught were all members of the Society, Captain-General. They were defiling and destroying symbols of the Viscesment reign when they were captured."
"That isn't good," Principal Delari observed. "We've just gotten us thousands of new enemies."
Hecht shook his head. "What were they thinking? Never mind. I know. The human capacity for stupidity is infinite. Instead of a crusade against the Night, how about we exterminate stupidity? Titus. Send a courier right now. Smolens should question those assassins publicly. Then execute them pubbcly. And fast. I won't condone evil even in God's Name. What do you want?"
Principate Doneto had appeared, also uninvited.
Principate Delari said, "Deep breaths, Piper. No matter how angry you are, you can't address a member of the Collegium that way."
"My apologies, Your Grace. You've heard the news that has me so distressed?"
"I overheard your instructions to Lieutenant Consent. They're a bit draconian. A response that dramatic is sure to blunt the initiative of Society members."
Principate Delari caught Hecht's elbow and squeezed with surprising force. "Stifle it, Piper. Bronte, anything less will provoke a firestorm."
"Well. Yes. You could be right. Those people are becoming too full of their mission. Lieutenant, forget your orders."
Delari squeezed till Hecht ground his teeth.
Doneto continued. "I'll go to Viscesment. The trial and executions will have more impact if the Patriarch's cousin presides."
Hecht growled, "If the executions are of somebody besides some poor spear carrier."
Doneto glared at him, for the first time in his recollection directly angry.
Principate Delari squeezed his elbow again.
'Titus, that's how we'll do it." He bowed slightly to Doneto. "It's in your hands, Your Grace. Please move swiftly, lest the wound fester."
It might be useful to have Bronte Doneto far from the main camp, too.
"I do understand that, Captain-General. I'll be on the road within the hour." Doneto turned and left.
Give the man his due. He traveled without an entourage. He could move fast when he decided to do so.
Hecht waited fifteen seconds to ask, "You think he was behind it?"
Delari said, "No. His anger was genuine. The Society is fast becoming more curse than sword. They win no friends for the Church."
Hecht mused, "So how long do I have to sit here while they make our future more difficult? Sublime has become as wishy-washy as Duke Tormond."
Consent said, "We could get lucky. Tormond and the Patriarch could just sit there waiting for the other guy to die."
"A vision likely prayed for by millions."
Principate Delari opined, "The news from Viscesment should inspire Sublime. He'll think the murder was a good thing. He'll convince himself that the collapse of the Viscesment Episcopals will follow. That all he needs to do now is exterminate heretics. Who, being inhuman minions of the Adversary, will just line up for execution."
Heartbeat normal again, Hecht said, "Titus, Colonel Ghort is bringing prisoners from Sonsa. Meet him. Take charge of them. Bring them to Principate Delari. Any couriers going to Viscesment are not to say anything about Ghort or Sonsa."
Hecht tried to get back to the work of the day. He was too restless. He told Delari, "I need to get out in the air. Walk some of this energy off."
"I understand."
Sergeant Bechter followed Hec
ht out of the mill. Several lifeguards did the same. Hecht wanted to tell them all to go away. He did not waste his breath. They would not go. Bechter said, "Sir, I saw that man in brown again this morning."
"If he's being that obvious he must want to talk."
"Sir?"
"I know who he is, now. He's all right."
"Who is he?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. An Instrumentality in his own mind. But he's no danger. Except to the fool who gets in his way."
"A sorcerer?"
"Of the first water. Let's walk down to those meadows south of camp. Where they pasture most of the animals. We'll watch traffic on the river." He felt like a stress-free conversation about mules or oxen with Just Plain Joe. Joe and his mule Pig Iron were completely comfortable with their lives. What a wonderful peaceful, prosperous world it would be if everybody in it was like Pig Iron and Joe.
Six lifeguards tagged along. They remained at a distance once Hecht left the confines of the camp. They knew where he was headed.
A breeze stirred the meadow. It carried the perfume of late season flowers. There were few trees this side of the river, and only scattered shrubs. The hillsides to the east bore splashes of yellow, carmine, and violet, and several shades of green. The army's animals had not yet stripped the land of fodder. In the distance a bleak gray ruin of a castle watched over the river. Hecht did not know its name or story. The river itself was a sluggish band of olive drab syrup, showing no hint of current. On the Connecten bank Patriarchal troops had raised a palisade round the hamlet of the ferrymen. There was plenty of timber over there. Hecht had work parties harvesting some to build rafts. He had a few more men cross over every day. A casual, slow invasion.
This appeared to be fertile land. Some calamity must have befallen it. Else these meadows would be wine country or farmland like the rest of Ormienden.
Curious. That river down there, the Dechear, was one of the great traffic ways of the continent. Traders had been sailing it before the rise of the Old Brothen Empire.
He did not see Just Plain Joe. Pig Iron, the unmistakable mule, stood out, lording it over the cavalry mounts.
Hecht asked, "Does it feel like the wind is getting cooler?"
