by Glen Cook
Hecht looked for Principate Delari's opinion.
"She's telling the truth she believes."
"Artecipea again."
"Yes."
"Bit, why hear this Erika Xan's appeal in the first place?" Her scowl told him that was a question she had hoped she would not be asked.
"She was my cousin. On my mother's side. At one time she was in the life, too, but she found a sponsor. She was scared to death when she came to me. She was mixed up in something really wicked. She wouldn't talk about it."
"And she was Artecipean. Meaning you're Artecipean."
"Yes."
"I missed. I thought you sounded Creveldian."
Principate Delari asked, "Where is your cousin today, madam?"
"I don't know. I assume that what scared her caught up with her."
"And she told you nothing about the girl?"
"No."
"Piper, I believe her. She didn't want to tell the truth and only sidled up to it, but she told it in the end. Madam, what is the child's real name?"
"I don't know."
Hecht asked, "Where did she come up with Vali Dumaine?"
"She never used that around me."
Delari said, "Yes, Piper. Ever more threads lead to Artecipea."
Hecht asked, "Bit, did your cousin mention where she'd come from? Or where she'd gotten the money she paid you?"
"She came from the island. I expect she stole the money."
"And she told you nothing about what was going on?"
With strained patience, "She was running. She didn't have time."
Principate Delari stopped Hecht's interrogation. "Wait, Piper."
He waited. The old man meditated more than a minute, then said, "Other lives, other ways of thinking, Piper. You can understand that."
Hecht nodded. A brothel was foreign territory. How could he understand how things were done there? "Who else did Ghort bring back?"
"Mostly hostages from the Three Families, but some relatives of this woman as well."
"I want a girl Vali's age. This one's granddaughter. I don't remember the name."
"I think we have that one."
The old woman showed no reaction. A hard life had schooled her well. She said, "Interrogating the mistress of a sporting house is a waste of time, Captain-General. The essence of the profession is discretion. Clients expect you to fail to pay attention."
Delari responded, "That, madam, is first cousin to your earlier fabrications. Every whore or whoremaster who ever was looked for ways to squeeze their marks. You may not be able to provide the answers the Captain-General wants. But you will be honest when you answer him. Or this will be a long visit for you."
Hecht had the old woman returned to Ghort. "We have to explore this Artecipean connection. It just keeps coming up."
"Knowing my grandfather, that's already well under way."
"He's out there, you know. Sniffing around like a wolf scouting a sheep cote. Which reminds me. Mutton would be a nice change."
"Are you ready to question the Society assassin?"
"It never ends."
"If you'd stayed a spear carrier you'd be somewhere loafing right now, hoping your petty officer won't find you and make you dig a latrine or cut firewood."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning you made your choices. You said yes every time someone handed you more work. Oh!" Delari went white. He slammed both hands to his chest. For an instant Hecht thought it was his heart. Then-
The earth slammed up, fell down, shimmied like a belly dancer's bottom. There had been tiny, barely perceptible tremors for days. Nothing like this. Accumulated dust and dirt fell from higher up in the mill. Chunks followed. "Downstairs!" Hecht ordered. "Everybody out! Earthquake!" Hecht's left wrist itched cruelly. "It's sorcery, not…"
Principal Delari, a ghastly pale, already starting down, said, "I know. Get out. Get the situation under control."
The panic faded. Hecht got down and out. He pushed through a mob of gawkers, all facing downriver. The ruined castle could not be seen. A cloud of dust, or fog, intervened. A breeze shredded that and carried it westward, over the river into the Connec.
Principate Delari poked Hecht in the ribs. "Don't gawk, move."
Hecht moved. Toward the cloud. Which faded to a trace.
His wrist continued to nag. He barked, "Colonel Sedlakova! Have the officers assemble on me immediately."
The earth continued trembling.
From the vantage of a hummock two hundred yards southeast of the mill Hecht could see that a quarter mile of hillside, sloping toward the river, had split like a rip in the seat of too-tight trousers. At several points he saw a pale bluish mother-of-pearl surface. Pulsing.
Puffing, Muniero Delari trudged past. "Come along, Piper. Come along." The old man's course angled uphill. He wanted a closer look at the crack.
The ground shivered. The pearlescent blue moved.
Pinkus Ghort caught up as Hecht and the old man climbed to where they could look down the length of the tear in the earth. He blurted, "Holy shit! It's a giant-ass fucking worm!"
"Grub," Delari corrected. "A larval stage." A wave of motion ran along the thing in the crack. Its downhill end moved forward slightly. The itching at Hecht's wrist amplified severely. "Piper! You should…"
Hecht had decided what he should. "Consent!" Puffing, Titus was catching up. Random officers followed, seriously confused. "Bring out the falcons! With special loads! I need them up here yesterday! Your Grace. Are we seeing what I think we're seeing?"
"The birth of a god. More or less."
"But what…?"
"I don't know anything you don't. This could be the hatching of an egg left over from before mankind reached this part of the world. But we don't have the luxury of taking time to worry about who, what, where, and all that. We have to act."
True. That thing would be no friend of Piper Hecht's. Or anyone else round here.
It was Esther's Wood all over again. Another race against time. That thing was maturing. He could sense it nursing on what little free power was in circulation nearby. Soon it would want to feed in earnest.
A backward curved horn began to form atop the downhill end.
"That the head down there?" Hecht asked.
"It would seem," Delari replied.
"Pinkus, you aren't in the chain of command but you have a way with words. Go make those gawking fools take this seriously." The whole army wanted to see the monster. No one seemed smart enough to be scared. "Tell my idiot officers I want everyone moving upriver. With the animals. Except the artillerists."
The falcon crews were running round in confusion in the meadow where they had built bunkers to store their weapons and firepowder. Hecht hoped they would not try to tow the weapons. No. Here came Kait Rhuk and his gang, two men dragging the falcon and three lugging ammunition. The other crews seemed intent on following Rhuk's example.
Hecht told Principate Delari, "I should go run this show. They know what to do only in theory. If you think of anything useful to do, don't hesitate." He stumbled down the slope. Several officers intercepted him. He repeated his orders to get everyone out of harm's way. "This thing is going to want to eat. Let's don't be its first meal."
Clej Sedlakova asked, "What're you going to do?" Hecht thought it worth noting that the handicapped officer was among the first actually to come for instructions.
"I'm going to kill it."
Seven falcons were in position. The other three crews were still getting organized. There would be personnel adjustments later. If there were survivors.
The god grub continued trying to shake the chains of the earth. Hecht moved down to the front end, which had come out of the ground a few dozen yards from the river. That end had developed obvious mouth parts and dark patches where eyes might appear.
Pinkus Ghort jogged up. Hecht demanded, "What're you doing back here?"
"I couldn't miss this."
"You could be as sorry as you've ever been.
Rhuk! Weber! Stand by. Hell, Pinkus, we need to get behind those things."
Rhuk and Weber took his sudden movement for the signal to fire.
The simultaneous roar of both pieces, hurling sulfurous hot gases, felled Hecht and Ghort. Hecht rolled over in time to see hundreds of black spots appear on the grub's vast face. Three more falcons discharged, raking the monster's length.
The earth shook. Three-quarters of the grub rose into the air. It crashed back. Hecht, trying to get up, went down again.
The acne spots on the grub grew quickly. As did the spots that would become eyes.
"Get the eyes!" Hecht shouted. "Keep it blind!"
More falcons barked. The least competent crews were in place. Rhuk and Weber prepared their second shots.
Principate Delari limped down to where Hecht had given up trying to get his feet under him, dropped to his knees. Shaking his head. "There's no choice. I know there's no choice. I can't guess what spawned this… There's going to be a storm, Piper."
Hecht had no chance to ask what that meant. Falcons discharged. They ruined the face of the grub and tore smoldering black wounds along its length. Ten thousand tails of vapor, like feathers stirring in the breeze. The grub shook and screamed-inside every mind for miles.
Hecht's new amulet was not supposed to hurt. Good thing. He could not imagine how bad the pain would have been were he wearing er-Rashal's gift.
There was always ambient power in the world. It kept the ice at bay, made sorcery possible, fed the Instrumentalities of the Night. Like air, the power was always there. Like air, its presence went unnoticed. It became notable only when it was absent.
Rather than absorbed, the ambient power began to be sucked into the god grub. Its wounds stabilized.
Hecht made a whimpering noise.
Principate Delari shouted. The storm had arrived. "This is too damned expensive!"
The falcons barked raggedly, voices nearly lost in the psychic roar. A power vortex began to form above the grub. It darkened and grew, spinning, streaked with threads of every imaginable color.
Delari said, "You have to get your men away from here. If the falcons don't work…"
"It's under way." The officers had gotten the rubberneckers moving at last.
Hecht spied Cloven Februaren back up the slope. Which had begun to shake with vigor.
The light grew feeble. Hecht barely made out Februaren falling. He headed for the old man, moving as though through waist-deep honey. Muniero Delari shouted something he did not understand.
The old man uphill tried to get his feet under him. He fell again and began to slide toward the tear where the grub had begun to thrash.
Two more charges ripped along its flank and back. And did not fade.
And did not fade.
The black began to spread.
The deep honey drag weakened.
The grub's thrashing increased. Like the writhing of a broken snake.
A sour, stink bug reek hit Hecht. His nose and eyes watered.
Cloven Februaren's slide toward catastrophe quickened.
The old man clawed at the grass. Hecht knew he would not get there in time.
The old man's left foot tangled in a ground-hugging vine. Hecht did get there as Februaren swung end for end. He snagged the old man's tangled ankle, ripped him loose, pulled him in, hoisted him onto his shoulder, and ran.
Instinct more than thought drove him. He had trouble staying upright. The grub kept punishing the earth around it. The stench punished the air.
He had staggered a hundred yards, gasping painfully, when he recalled the Gray Walker's death.
He pushed even harder, till the fire in his chest forced his collapse. He dragged himself into a low place, pulling Cloven Februaren. The ancient muttered some unintelligible warning.
Where was Muniero Delari?
Lightning filled the universe. The ground shook its worst yet. The earth itself rumbled but no thunder followed the ferocious flash.
Cloven Februaren moved feebly. He tried to say something. Hecht could not hear. The old man stabbed one weak finger.
Hecht looked.
A pillar of scarlet stood a thousand feet tall, its red deepening fast. A red and black ball churned atop it. It seemed to include a cherubic demon's face, looking for something it could never see because it was blind.
Hecht lay there a long time, watching. The pillar degenerated into smoke and soot. Some drifted on the wind. Most fell in a fine black snow.
The old man wanted him to do something.
Get up and take charge. Get up and find Muniero Delari. Get up and growl defiance at the Night.
Hecht got his feet under him. He had no strength left. He spotted a wooden shaft nearby. It had been part of a tool for swabbing the bore of a falcon. Now it was a broken stick but long enough to lean on.
He got the pole, then hoisted the old man. "Hang on. I can't carry you anymore. But I'll go slow."
Februaren grabbed hold, then tried to say something about pain in his side.
Hecht moved a dozen yards uphill, to a vantage from which he could see how fortunate he had been to get down when he had.
From that small eminence he could see that half the world had been toasted. Fires still burned where bushes and trees had stood. Smoke still rose from burnt grass. Yet patches and stripes of green spotted and wove through it all, fading into obscurity beneath falling soot.
A firepowder caisson exploded.
The falcon in a smoldering carriage nearby looked like wax left too long in the sun.
There were human shapes everywhere. Those in the black were charred, though a few still tried to move. Songs of pain rose all around. From the greens, though, healthier men appeared, all fascinated by the collapsing tower above the god grub pyre.
The black extended a quarter mile toward the mill. Which still stood, though its ruined sails had fallen and were burning. The black itself faded into the brown of dead grass, then the yellow-green of sick grass. A mile away the earth was normal.
The ruined castle had collapsed. A gray dust cloud still trailed downwind.
Februaren made a feeble gesture indicating direction.
"Go. Help Muno."
Hecht set him down where he could be found easily, then shuffled off as fast as his body would allow.
He found the Principate a hundred yards away, stirring weakly in a low place that had not been quite low enough. Delari's backside had been crisped. His behind had suffered local roasting. "Principate? Can you understand me?"
Delari made funny noises. Hecht turned him gently. There was blood in the old man's nose and mouth. He wiped at it with his fingers, having nothing better to hand. Delari croaked, "Grandfather?"
"He's alive. Maybe a little bruised from me falling on him. I don't know about anyone else. I see a lot of bodies."
Another cask of firepowder exploded. The Patriarch would be livid about the waste.
"Anyone who… wasn't in a… direct line… should be all… right."
A racking cough seized him. It sounded like the cough that had dogged Grade Drocker when he was dying.
Was his conscience dredging up evils to haunt him?
Delari gasped, "I'm not broken… like Grade. I'll… recover." He tried to get onto his hands and knees. He managed, but not without a cry of pain. "What the hell?" He panted like a dog for twenty seconds, then tried to reach back behind him.
Hecht told him, "You didn't get all of you down out of the flash."
"How can I… ever go back… to the baths?"
Hecht chuckled. "I'm wondering how you're going to ride."
A voice suggested, "On a litter, facedown." Cloven Februaren had arrived unnoticed. Much recovered. He wore a broad smile. "This should be amusing in the baths."
Delari snapped, "When did you ever visit the baths? And don't you think you ought to be a little less visible? I'm not the only member of the Collegium here. The rest are going to come weaseling around trying to profit now the danger is
past." He turned slightly, looked over Hecht's shoulder. "Here comes Ghort."
Pinkus, with stripes burned on his clothing, wobbled as he walked. He tripped, spent half a minute on hands and knees before getting his feet under him again. Hecht moved his way. When he glanced back Cloven Februaren was gone.
"How did he do that?"
Delari said, "I wish I knew. It would be handy in a few minutes."
Gervase Saluda and the Principate from Aparion were leading the return of the curious. Carefully.
Hecht said, "Saluda is no coward."
"Nor is Gorin Linczski. He spent several years in the Holy Lands. Their caution is justified."
A recollection from Esther's Wood. "If you're able… Let's look in that crack." Titus Consent and other officers were headed his way, too. The falcon crews had begun to rematerialize.
Another keg of powder cooked off. Those approaching hit the ground.
Moving toward the crack, Hecht asked, "Can you manage?"
"Just don't ask me to run."
The ground nearer the grub gash was still hot. It hurt through Hecht's soles. Defunct sheep and goats spotted the slope. With their herd dog.
Delari gasped, "There's your mutton."
"We'll eat well tonight." He looked down. And saw what he expected. "There. The egg-shaped thing. Still glowing."
"Yes?"
He had to force it. "I've seen one before. In the Holy Lands. I don't know what happened to it." Which was as forthcoming as he could be. He glanced at the curious tide approaching. Most were distracted by distorted falcons, dead men and animals, and the gross impact of the god grub's demise.
From on high the devastation was appalling. Though mainly confined to nature. The abandoned castle was the only human construct to suffer extensive damage. The near countryside looked like the flank of a green and black zebra, the verdant stripes persisting wherever uneven ground provided protection. The breeze was removing the soot. Hecht asked, "What do you think?"
"It's too hot down there. And we need to keep anyone else from acquiring it. Tell me what the other one was like."
