by Glen Cook
The lifeguards were thoroughly unsettled now. None could stand still. But none had yet discovered the ancient in brown.
Hecht said, "What changed when we crossed the Dechear?"
"What do you mean?"
"We had no trouble with the Night east of the river. Just the mischief you get anywhere. But once we crossed over we started getting pestered. Bad. Like the spirits of rock and brook and tree are more offended by our presence than Count Raymone and his friends. Principate Delari seems indifferent. Or maybe he just can't explain."
"Might he be preoccupied with more pressing matters?"
"Sir?"
"The Night may be more active but it's still just a nuisance. Precautions you learned while you were crawling will head off most of the monkey business. Expect it to intensify. Yes. The land itself feels threatened. Because it is. And now it's time to go. Yon lad with the fine blond hair just caught something from the comer of his eye. He's going to mention it to someone."
The old man did a snappy about-face. And vanished as he finished. "No," Hecht muttered. "You don't just disappear."
"Sir?" Madouc had crossed twenty yards of abandoned vineyard in a blink.
"Thought I saw something. Out of the corner of my eye. But it wasn't there when I looked. Are they coming out in the daytime? Can they?"
"I don't know, sir. You should ask the Principates about that. But I think we should move you down where you'll be less exposed."
"Maybe so. Lead on." Hecht wondered why the Night would harass Patriarchal invaders but not those from Arnhand or Grolsach.
"That isn't true," Principate Delari said when Hecht made the point. "Arnhanders and Grolsachers alike have encountered a range of significant revenants. Rook and Hilt have been underfoot from the start. Weaver and Shade have turned up more than once. Others are stirring. Death. Skillen. Kint. Someone is freeing their bound fragments. Some may have pulled themselves together enough to start feeding on lesser spirits."
"I've never heard of those before. Death, Skillen, Kint?"
"Death is death. Personified. A reactive rather than a proactive. Not a claimer but a proclaimer."
"Huh?"
"Death shows up when it's time for somebody to die. Like a herald. Rook, Hilt, and the others come in to clean up."
"Skillen? Kint?"
"Misfortune. Despair."
"Did the ancients have any happy gods?"
"Does anyone? Today's gods range from unpleasant to psychotic. The God Who Is God, the All-Powerful and Merciful, when He bothers to show Himself-and note that He hasn't for several hundred years-only dispenses disasters, plagues, and pestilences. Likewise, the Devedian God and our Chaldarean deity, as currently edited. The Dainshaukin deity is a freak out of pre-history, always in an insane rage. None of them can fend for themselves. They need people like the Society to put words in their mouths and break bones in their names."
"I'm seeing a new side of you here."
"The Connec is upsetting my sense of discretion. God ought to be able to look out for Himself. If He doesn't like your heresy He can smack you down Himself."
"Pardon me. I'm going to move a few rods downrange so a stray lightning bolt don't pick me off by mistake."
"You just sealed your own doom, Piper. By definition, God can't make a mistake."
"He doesn't seem to mind sarcasm, either." Madouc moved in and out of hearing as the road climbed, descended, and meandered. He seemed appalled by what he heard.
Delari suggested, "Those of His minions who feel He needs occasional assistance could be anywhere, Piper. Maybe even among the lifeguards of the Captain-General of His Living Voice."
Hecht wanted to protest the absurdity. But it was not absurd. He had not chosen the bodyguards. Surely one would belong to the Brotherhood of War. The Society might have placed a spy, as well.
He did not respond. Aloud.
Delari added, "We're never so invulnerable that there isn't one worm who can bring us down."
"Not even you?"
"Not even me. They haven't forgotten me, Piper. They're biding their time. There'll come a day." There would. Of course. Those coals never burned out.
Buhle Smolens came down from the North. He passed behind the main Patriarchal force. He turned over the captured Arnhander specie and records of all that he had done, investigated, and learned while in Viscesment. He picked up an additional two thousand men.
The material named and described several men he hoped to meet.
Witnesses in Viscesment believed them to be Artecipean. They fled into the End of Connec when Smolens arrived. Immaculate's more ardent supporters had done the same. Most were now in Antieux.
The Artecipeans had done nothing blatant while in Viscesment. Even so, the locals believed they were up to no good. Men with such ugly personal habits could only be villains.
The Night made itself more felt with each darkfall. Though never more than malicious mischief, the harassment sapped morale. Pinkus Ghort had trouble recruiting militiamen. When, despite their Chaldarean faith, every imaginable demon and malevolent sprite seemed possible, most wanted to relocate to where interaction with those entities was less likely.
There were few desertions from the Patriarchal force. And plenty of natives were willing to help the Church tame the heretics of the Connec.
The weather turned. Rains came. Not just the occasional shower whose misery faded in a few hours but frequent violent thunderstorms featuring high winds, massive lightning, and, often, accompanying barrages of hail. In calmer hours the sky remained overcast.
The wet did no good for equipment, clothing, boots, feet, or the hooves of the animals.
"It's natural," Principate Delari assured Hecht when he asked if the gods themselves were conspiring to destroy the army with mildew, mold, foot rot, and rust. "There's just more of it this year than normal. So the locals assure me." The sky seldom shone through.
The weather was inhospitable the day they sighted Castreresone. Its walls were as dreary as the sky. The folk of city and surrounding countryside were astonished to find a crusader army going into camp astride the broad old bridge over the Laur. There was never any contact with enemy scouts or skirmishers. The vedettes met no one but startled peasants and amazed travelers.
Hecht kept asking, "How could they possibly not know we were coming? No infantry force moves faster than the news of its coming."
Titus Consent opined, "They heard. They didn't believe. It isn't possible. Peter of Navaya is their shield now. Not even Sublime V is crazy enough to offend King Peter."
The Captain-General set his main camp across the river from the White City, with a strong force beyond the broad bridge, fortifying the Inconje bridgehead. The bridge itself was a glaring reminder that war was alien to the Connec. It should have been fortified at both ends. Its main span should have been designed to be demolished easily.
The east end of the bridge was surrounded by the low buildings of an unfortified suburb, Inconje, inhabited by prosperous Deves, Dainshaus, and others who could not find a place inside the city or its attached, walled suburbs, the Burg and the New Town. The population had all fled. They had left little worth stealing.
"Those are some impressive walls," Hecht said. "We won't be going over them. And we don't have enough men to lock them in and starve them out." Half the army had gone to Antieux or Sheavenalle. The capture of the port city was critical to the success of the campaign. "We'll just harass them till we come up with a few traitors willing to help us get in. I should've kept Sedlakova. He might see something I couldn't."
Consent suggested, "Talk to Hagan Brokke. He works harder than anyone. And he's maybe a little disgruntled because a one-legged man got first chance at Antieux. He thinks you take him for granted."
Hagan Brokke had been close through most of Hecht's Brothen career, in the City Regiment for the Calziran Crusade and now with the Patriarchals for the Connecten Crusade. Hecht had, indeed, taken one of his more talented officers for granted. "Does
he know anything about siege work?"
"Talk to him."
15. Plemenza: Tooth to Tooth with the Son of the Night
Princess Helspeth snapped, "You've been here six weeks, Mr. Prosek! When can we expect you to do something?"
Algres Drear caught her left elbow, squeezed, pulled.
Prosek had taken his orders to heart. "When I'm ready, ma'am." Always "ma'am," instead of honorifics due the Princess Apparent of the Grail Empire. "Or you can go try it yourself if you can't wait."
Helspeth fumed. Drear had trouble restraining his temper. He did so because he understood Prosek's response. The man was testy because he was being harassed.
Helspeth loathed Prosek because he failed to be impressed by her in any way-except as an annoyance.
Drear squeezed her elbow again. "Remember. Brotherhood of War."
Helspeth held her tongue. She watched Prosek's men make additions to a map of the high Jagos. Recon work had been slow and difficult. Few people were getting through to report and fewer were willing to go scout.
Something like a brown stain had been added to the crude chart.
Prosek tapped the map. He checked his team leaders, someone Varley and a man whose name Helspeth could not remember despite having been told a half-dozen times. Varley nodded unhappily. The other sighed hugely and unhappily. Forcing a smile, Prosek said, 'This is why they pay us like princes. Buck up, Stern. We'll leave beautiful corpses."
Helspeth thought that might be a joke. Stern was the ugliest men she had ever seen.
"We've determined our ambush site, ma'am," Prosek said. "Captain Drear. Did you make up the charges I asked for?"
Helspeth ground her teeth. The man knew perfectly well that they were ready. He was reminding everyone of the professional pecking order. Unaware that what shielded him was not his expertise but his association with the Captain-General.
She would not ask the question Prosek was prodding her toward.
Drear touched her elbow again, lightly, to remind her he thought her problems with Drago Prosek were of her own manufacture and, probably, existed entirely inside her own imagination. Drear believed Prosek was so wed to his work that he was unaware of any conflict.
Drear said, "Six charges, prepared according to your specifications."
"Excellent. Then we're all set. We can leave in the morning. Weather, manpower, and drayage permitting."
Weather between the Ownvidian Knot and the Jagos was not benign lately, though good days still outnumbered the bad.
Prosek said, "Alert the people who'll go with me. Have everyone eat a big meal and get a good sleep. We're not likely to have either again soon."
Another annoying characteristic of the man. He believed he could better endure hardship than any effete Imperial. Drear would happily teach the man respect once his Princess had her use of him. But that pleasure would never be his. The girl would stray from her agreement not one inch.
"I'm sorry I'm giving you so many gray hairs, Captain."
Helspeth told Drear. "Someday, perhaps, it will prove worth having endured my whimsy."
"I've endured worse servitude than here with you, Princess. It's the people around you who make the job difficult."
"In the morning, then, Captain."
She saw suspicion begin to cloud his thinking.
Stupid. She should not have given him that much warning.
Drear was livid when he found Helspeth among the men accompanying Prosek. She had donned the arms and armor she had demonstrated at al-Khazen. And wore a heavy cloak that concealed her sex and slight stature.
Weapons and armor had been confiscated during Lothar's reign but she had been clever and persistent and had gotten them back. The Empire enjoyed no shortage of corrupt functionaries willing to lose track of items in their care.
Lady Hilda joined the adventure, though she was supposed to keep the Princess Apparent under close control. She was bored to excruciation by the Dimmel Palace.
Captain Drear discovered them while taking a head count. There was truth in Prosek's notions about Imperials. Some were intimidated by the weather, which had turned cold and damp. It should get worse in the high Jagos.
Drear came up two long on his count. But by the time he isolated the ringers Drago Prosek was barking at the teamsters manning the wagons carrying the expedition's stores and equipment.
Helspeth told Drear, "I won't stay here voluntarily. If you force me, there'll be hell to pay."
"And yet, hell to pay if I don't. I should throw myself on my sword and save the Empress the cost of feeding me till she gets around to hanging me."
"So dramatic, Captain. I promise, I won't be any trouble."
"God, save me! Princess, you're trouble curdled just by being here."
"Lady Hilda will protect me."
"God, give me patience. Princess…"
"I'm going. Fix that in your head, Captain. Adjust to it. Console yourself with the knowledge that this will almost certainly be the last time I'll draw a deep breath without prior approval from my sister and the Council Advisory."
There might be a monster in the Jagos, interfering with traffic, but news did get through. There was strong sentiment in Alten Weinberg for cloistering the Princess Apparent somewhere where she could be controlled more completely. Not that she had done anything to offend anyone. No one complained about her efforts as the Empire's legate south of the mountains. But she was a valuable commodity. And a potential rallying point for those who disdained the Brothen Patriarchy.
Katrin was concerned. Her letters seldom demonstrated any warmth.
Helspeth repeated herself. "I'm going, Captain. We're wasting time and falling behind."
Algres Drear committed the sin for which he never forgave himself. He acquiesced. It was easier than fighting. He was tired of squabbling, especially with the girl. She never yielded.
It did not take long for others to figure it out. Helspeth knew little about the daily business of the march. Things had always been done for her. Lady Hilda was of only slightly more use.
Helspeth did work to win the men over. She convinced them they were about to perform wonders.
Drago Prosek was not restrained about forecasting disaster due to the presence of women.
Six days of cold misery and cold emotional truce brought the party to the point Prosek had chosen for his staging camp.
Prosek and his crews, Algres Drear, and Princess Helspeth crowded the larger campfire. Everyone wanted a look at the map that Prosek had prepared. "Here and here," Prosek said. "Perfect sites for the falcons. This lower one has a clear line of fire a hundred fifty yards long and is shielded by boulders. This other is under an overhang and has a cave behind it. It's thirty feet up the mountainside. You can tell it's been a lookout post since prehistoric times. Stern, you're up there because you aren't smart enough to get scared or nervous. You take the second shot, once Varley freezes the thing with his. If you have to take off, just fall back into the cave. It isn't big enough for the monster to get into."
Helspeth started to remind Prosek that the devil was a shapechanger. Algres Drear pinched his lips. Just to remind her that she had promised to keep her big mouth shut.
"We have one problem," Prosek said. "Other than this damned weather." It was cold. The heavens delivered infrequent but unpleasant bouts of freezing rain. "How do we lure this thing in?"
Helspeth wondered what drove her to put herself in her present position. She was miserable physically, at risk of life and soul, and the adventure would stain her marital value. It would leave her more disliked and distrusted in Alten Weinberg.
She was not disturbed by any potential collapse of her value as a commodity.
Prosek asked, "Anyone know anything about this beast that they haven't told me? Is it likely to know how many of us there are or the nature of our mission? It used to be human, according to the Captain-General. Does it still have a human ability to reason? Right. Nobody has anything. All sink or swim for Drago. Princess? You
were at al-Khazen."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Prosek. I can't help you. I was occupied elsewhere when whatever happened to the man happened. I know less than you."
"Pity we don't have a wizard. But if wishes were fishes. The Captain-General told me I could handle this. Maybe he knows me better than I do. Drear. You look like a man who's done some hunting. How would you draw this thing?"
"I've only hunted deer and mountain goat. You go to them. Or ambush them."
Helspeth could not keep her mouth shut. "You've been to the Holy Lands, haven't you, Mr. Prosek?"
"I have. Five years. Actually saw Indala al-Sul Halaladin close enough to tell the color of his eyes. They're gray. Not what you'd expect. Your point?"
"The Sha-lug, the Peqaad tribesmen, Indala al-Sul Halaladin, even the H'un-tai At, all use the false flight tactic. And their enemies fall for it more often than not."
Reluctantly, Prosek granted, "Unfortunately true. A lot of Crusader commanders, new to the Holy Lands and eager to make a name, never believe the Unbeliever is as smart as they are. And veteran besides. So?"
"The man the monster was before he was soultaken lived in Andoray two hundred years ago. That will shape his thinking now. Won't it?"
"Seems likely. So?"
"Heroic individualism was a big thing back then. If somebody put on full armor and went up there like Red Hammer challenging the Midwynd Giant…"
Prosek's eyes glazed. He sucked spittle back and forth between his teeth. "Here's an idea. Why don't we…" He repeated Helspeth's suggestion word for word. As she neared the boiling point he winked at her, grinned. "Just one problem. Picking a hero. And I have a bad feeling about that. You're the only one here equipped for the role. Captain Drear, is anyone small enough to wear her armor?"
"There is no way…"
"I agree. But nobody else brought a convincing costume."
Lady Hilda volunteered, "I'm small enough…"
Helspeth said, "That isn't going to happen, either."
Two days of drizzling misery passed. Both falcons were positioned, their crews rehearsed. Drear and Prosek had scouted the pass as far as the ruin of the next way station. They had felt the monster stirring. They planted small, standard wards to keep smaller Night things from scouting for the monster.
