by Glen Cook
"This being?"
"Castreresone."
"That's up to them. Isn't it? If you're determined to limit casualties and damage." The staff insisted that the White City could be taken whenever the Captain-General ordered it. But thousands would die and the city itself might be destroyed.
"I'm not in a hurry. Yet."
"You could offer terms. Sublime isn't here."
"Still no respect for our master?"
"Not in our lifetime."
"Don't be too public about it. Society types are everywhere. Popping up faster than these Connectens can murder them."
"I have trouble remembering that the rest of the world runs different than our little slice here."
"Don't. You have a family. Where's Bechter? I haven't seen him for days." Bechter was always underfoot when that was inconvenient.
"Making the rounds of the siege works. He has experience from the Holy Lands."
"Have you reeruited any solid sources? Anywhere?"
Consent shook his head. Looked vaguely defeated. "The Devedian and Dainshau communities won't talk. They're getting out. Going to Terliaga, Platadura, anywhere where the Society won't be able to follow."
Hecht was baffled. Peter of Navaya, Lion of the Chaldarean Reconquest, openly accepted Unbelievers into his dependencies. And insisted that they be treated well.
Consent said, "Peter saw what you accomplished in Calzir."
"If so, he saw in it an affirmation of policies he had in place. He had a lot of Pramans with him in the Calziran Crusade. Now he's recruiting in Shippen and Calzir. And getting a good turnout." He heard that two thousand Pramans from Shippen had been ferried to Artecipea to further Peter's ambitions there.
Hecht felt a little thrill of apprehension. Bone and the company were on that island.
"I see Bechter. You still want him?"
"Yes."
Lifeguards orbiting him, Hecht moved a dozen yards, to gain a different perspective on the barbican protecting Castreresone's main gate, doing its job now as a mountain of rubble. Work gangs hauled the rubble off for use as ammunition.
Only the more ferocious of the expanding community of Society hangers-on dared complain about the Captain-General's efforts to reduce the White City. And they did. He tempered their fury by offering them weapons and the privilege of leading the assault wave. No takers so far.
"Captain-General, you wanted to see me?"
"Sergeant. Yes. I've been wondering. The man in brown. Seen him lately?"
"Not in weeks, sir. Is it important?"
"No. I just hadn't seen him either, myself."
"Have you ever figured him out?"
"No. I do think I know who he is, now. Or was."
"Was, sir?"
"He might be a ghost." Or a minor ascendant. A notion Hecht was not ready to loose into the public domain.
Bechter frowned. That failed to conform to his Brotherhood vision of how the world should work.
"Yet another conflict between what we want to be true and what we have to suffer," Hecht said. Those conflicts tormented everyone but the Patriarchal Society for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy, these days. Faith had begun to creak under the strain.
The Society thought God was testing faith by dealing contradictory evidence.
Piper Hecht wondered why God-anybody's God- would bother. The God of the World ought not to be so petty.
Bechter said, "Prosek is back."
"Tell me."
"He was just coming in when I heard you wanted me. I just had time to say hello. And make sure he didn't attract attention."
"I thought he was dead." There had been little communication with Plemenza. That little had not been optimistic. The falcons had been destroyed, their crews injured, and Prosek lost. The pass was open but the fate of the monster remained uncertain. It might be lying up somewhere, recovering.
Princess Helspeth's having opened the pass had generated a political storm inside the Grail Empire.
Hecht suffered troubled nights.
"I need to see him as soon as he's able."
Gervase Saluda and the Principate from Aparion, with minimal courtesy, demanded an audience. After lurking in the background for weeks, acting as Collegium spies. Hecht expected an argument about access to Drago Prosek.
The Principates surprised him.
Saluda, never warm since he had assumed the Bruglioni seat in the Collegium, said, "We've received a suggestion from Brothe that it may be time to be a little more aggressive toward Castreresone."
Not subtle, Gervase Saluda, hinting that Sublime had grown impatient. "Really? I think he'd let me know directly if he was. He hasn't been shy about that yet."
Saluda observed, "This siege can't go on forever."
"Nor will it. In fact, I'm authorizing you to go up there and talk them into giving up. Right now."
Both were startled. There had been no negotiations whatsoever, even sub rosa. "Terms?"
"I trust you to be sensible." He just wanted them gone. Bechter had Drago Prosek ready to report. Anyway, Hecht was sure that the White City did not yet despair enough to contemplate surrender.
Queen Isabeth remained poised just twenty miles away. And her brother had begun to stir behind her.
Gervase Saluda gave Hecht one long, penetrating look as he departed.
Hecht shrugged.
"Rough trip?" he asked Prosek.
"Yes, sir. Not attracting attention. Especially after I crossed the Dechear. We're not popular out there."
"Where anyone cares. Sit. Be comfortable. Sergeant, bring the man whatever he wants. So. Tell the tale."
Titus Consent entered as Bechter left. He made Prosek uncomfortable. But Prosek began after an encouraging gesture from his commander.
"Why didn't you go back to the others?"
"I didn't trust them. That Princess. She was probably straight. The ones around her… I figured they'd do what they did. Once we took care of their monster."
"That being?"
"They locked everybody up. Gonna force them to explain firepowder and how the falcons work. And how to make them."
"I see." Hecht smiled. "And you're the only one who could tell them anything."
"Pretty much, sir. Those guys aren't ignorant. They know the theory-just not the practical knowledge."
Typical of soldiers. Indifferent to why something worked, so long as it did when the arrows started flying.
Prosek continued. "On the up side, sir, they'll get decent medical care. Which most of them needed. Both falcons committed suicide. I made sure the firepowder was used up."
"The monster. The Instrumentality. What about it?"
"We didn't kill it. But I don't think it'll be a problem again. It can't be much more than what it was when it was still a man. And it's badly crippled. It could barely crawl."
"Good. Good. I'll ask Principate Delari what it all means. Then we have to figure out how to make these confrontations go our way faster."
"I had a lot of time to think while I was traveling. I had some technical and tactical ideas."
Hecht listened patiently. Prosek amazed him. "Stunning. And expensive. Godawful expensive."
"Not my money, though. And worth it if you really want to break the Tyranny of the Night."
"Lieutenant Consent. Work some financial sorcery on these ideas. The rest… The way to speed the firing cycle… That'll have to go to the foundry people. Traps, though… We'll get to work on those. We can experiment right here. The Connec has become an Instrumentality-rich environment."
Consent said, "I don't have to do a lot of calculating to tell you there isn't enough silver in the world. So long as the wells of power keep producing. A vigorous push against the Night could even be counterproductive."
"Explain."
"The wells are fading. Which is cyclical. This time looks like the worst ever. For us, that means more people pushed into smaller territories having to survive on dwindling resources. Fighting over those makes things worse b
ecause much of the resources are destroyed in the fighting. Right here, we can see how that works. You see people worried about where food will come from-for the first time in centuries."
"And that connects with the Night how?"
"The wells of power produce the food and wine of the Night. Again, dwindling resources. If we remove an entity from the competition, there'll be more resources for the rest."
"I think I see."
"I didn't make that as clear as I should have."
"Clear enough. Don't the big ones feed on the little ones? Like bugs and fish?"
"In a sense. I think."
"Would destroying the little ones starve the big ones?"
Consent shrugged.
Hecht said, "Prosek, stay out of the way. Get back in shape. And keep thinking. I may put you in charge of figuring out better ways."
Prosek looked to Redfearn Bechter for a cue. Bechter did not offer one.
Delari asked, "Have you seen Cloven Februaren?"
"There was a rumor about an invisible man spying on the leadership inside Castreresone. If that was him, he hasn't bothered letting me know what they're saying."
"I'm worried."
"Oh?"
"Not by what he's doing. He's like the weather. All you can do is live with it. No. I think there's trouble in Brothe."
Politics. Certainly. Hecht wished he did not have to suffer that side of the human condition. But if people could get along he would be unemployed.
"Could that be why we've seen so little of Saluda, Linczski, and Doneto lately?" Pinkus Ghort had visited twice and was expected again. Principate Doneto had not visited once.
"Could be," Delari admitted. "Doneto not wanting to draw notice. The other two are here mainly to keep an eye on us."
"I let them go up to the gates today. To offer Castreresone a chance. Evidently, the wealthy haven't suffered enough."
"And aren't sufficiently frightened."
"Letting the city levies run wild wasn't intimidation enough."
"They won't surrender while Isabeth is sitting there barely a day away. I know you don't want King Peter for an enemy. But to finish here you need to end any hope of relief. Before Church politics yanks the rug out from under you."
Engaging Queen Isabeth would support the mission he had been given in Dreanger. Particularly now that Sublime had an accommodation with the Grail Empire.
"I wanted a minimum of death and destruction."
Hecht was not unprepared to assume a more aggressive strategy. Plans had been made. That was what he and his staff did while artillery pounded the walls, patrols kept the Burg and New Town cleared, and pickets harassed anyone trying to get in or out of the White City. While the engineers continued undermining and overtowering, trying to overawe but preparing for an assault as well.
"I'll deal with Isabeth first, I suppose."
"Not going to be easy."
"I know. Peter won't have sent her without his best men to protect her. She has between eight hundred and a thousand men now, maybe half of them men Duke Tormond raised."
"Heavy cavalry."
Yes. He had to find a way to diminish that fierce advantage. Numbers meant little if unprepared infantry had to face men in armor, atop warhorses running shoulder to shoulder.
"I know. We have ideas." Which would not work. These Navayans had survived all the traps and trickery of the Pramans of al-Halambra.
He wished he had Buhle Smolens and Pinkus Ghort with him. They managed to execute the strategies he chose to employ.
It was time to find the limit of Hagan Brokke's talents.
Probing attacks found the White City in a state of excitement. Its defenders swarmed to every assault site and made themselves thoroughly obnoxious if the crusaders persisted.
Hecht did not sustain any assault for long. He was taxing the enemy. Wearing his will to rush hither and yon.
The artillery never stopped. Even the dimmest and most devoted Castreresonese could foresee the inevitable end to that.
One day the Captain-General would decide there were breaches enough and order a general assault. The Castreresonese could not resist everywhere at once. But hope remained. Encouraging messages did get through.
"I know," Hecht told Consent. "There's no way to stop everything. Given time, though, those messengers will bring despair instead of hope."
Troops filtered out of camp after dark. For the benefit of spies they were sneaking off to reduce towns and fortresses to the northwest, where colonies of Maysaleans and adherents of the Viscesment Patriarchy were common. And they did make life miserable wherever the locals had not yet yielded to Sublime's forces. But their mission was to collect on the upper Laur, along the northern road to Khaurene, two dozen miles from Duke Tormond's capital. Whence they could go forward against the Khaurenesaine or ease down behind Isabeth's position at Mohela ande Larges.
Hagan Brokke would command. He would make enough noise to be considered a clumsy sneaker. What he did later would depend on how Duke Tormond and Queen Isabeth responded to his presence.
Patriarchal forces east of Queen Isabeth would build up clumsily enough to be noticed, too.
Hecht told Consent, "These people have made a career of war. They're probably eager to teach us not to challenge our betters but smart enough to see the dangers. They won't charge into a trap."
"So you're doing what?"
"Creating options. Options they'll see clearly. If they sit, I'll gradually surround them. Their only hope will be Duke Tormond. Unless they fight."
"And Tormond does nothing but talk."
"He hasn't done anything else so far."
"They'll have the interior position. If they go after Brokke we won't know in time to help."
"We'll know. We have scouts camped in their saddlebags." He had a roster of the Navayans in Queen Isabeth's force.
"Where can you fight them? There's no good place out there."
"Too true. The best strategy looks like attrition. While waiting for them to do something stupid before I do."
"Is that likely?"
"Titus! Sarcasm? I like that. I think." Smile gone, Hecht said, "You could have a point. I'm feeling some time pressure. Things are happening in Brothe. And people there are trying to keep me from hearing about it."
"Did it occur to you to ask me?"
After a moment, "No. My spymaster? Why consult him? Because I've been too focused on what's in front of me? What do you know?"
"My contacts in the Devedian community aren't what they used to be. But some still think being friendly could pay dividends. They tell me when there's something they think we should know."
"And?"
"Most Brothens think Sublime is dying. The gang around him want to make sure they can name his replacement. The Fiducian, Joceran Cuito, looks like he'll be their candidate."
The Direcian. Peter of Navaya's man. That could lead to interesting times. "A Navayan? We're still not over the last non-Brothen who won a Patriarchal election."
Consent shrugged. "I'm just telling you what I hear. They say Peter wants it. And has the money to make it happen."
"I see. And I'm being kept isolated because?"
"Because you have an army. You could veto the outcome of an election. If you had the inclination. Like a general from Imperial times."
Hecht chuckled. What would Gordimer and er-Rashal think? Their throwaway agent was in a position to influence the selection of the next main enemy of the Kaifate of al-Minphet.
Consent asked, "You thought about who you'd rather have take over if Sublime went away?"
Hecht assayed tone and expression. Was he being felt out? He decided not. "Something else to worry about."
"Always plenty."
"Where is Principate Delari? I don't see him around anymore."
"Nor do I. But he's out there. Maybe missing Armand."
"Maybe." Hecht did not miss Osa Stile even a little.
Seeing the diminution of the besieging forces, the magnates of
the White City launched another desperate night sortie. The Captain-General saw it coming. Every sally had been presaged by the gathering of watchers on the city wall.
A lot of dead men decorated the slopes when the sun rose. Few were Patriarchals.
The revenant Instrumentalities were busy all night. There were numerous reports of encounters in the form of sound or stench, but only a few had seen anything.
Hecht asked his staff, "Are they rattled enough to fall apart if we attack?"
Consent said, "Our men are exhausted, too. Those who were away from the main action wore themselves out mounting diversionary attacks."
And had gained several footholds inside the main wall. ›
"I'll let the Principates give them one more chance to surrender. What's this?"
A courier. With news that Queen Isabeth was moving. Her whole force was headed east, two hundred fifty knights, their associated sergeants, squires, and infantry, and nearly eight hundred Sevanphaxi and Terliagan mercenaries Tormond had conjured somehow. Nearly two thousand men, almost all veterans.
Hecht scanned the message again. "They're coming straight at us. To see what we'll do, I imagine. They're in no hurry. That's good for us." Otherwise, they'd be right behind the news. He sent messengers flying. To Hagan Brokke. To the scouts watching Isabeth. To those whose job it was to watch Mohela ande Larges.
An intricate dance began. It developed slowly. Each dancer waited for the other to misstep.
Isabeth halted after traveling twelve miles. She occupied the common farmland outside the town Homodel. Hecht's scouts reported the ground looked good for cavalry.
"Let them sit. Let them get colder." He thought it looked like there would be a more serious snowfall sometime soon. "Chase their scouts. Ambush their foragers. We'll let Brokke upset them."
While he waited, though, he kept on filtering men out of camp.
The bombardment of the White City went on.
Hagan Brokke feinted toward Mohela ande Larges, the attack the Captain-General supposed the enemy expected. Once Brokke saw that the Queen's headquarters could not be taken quickly, he headed toward Khaurene. As always, his troops crushed resistance ferociously. In two days they captured six towns and fortresses and accepted the surrenders of three more.
The Patriarchals from around Castreresone established a camp three miles from Isabeth's. Making no offer of battle.
