The Tyranny of the Night: Book One of the Instrumentalities of the Night

by Glen Cook

  Shagot said, “That somebody is still here, little brother. Out of the Night. On the mortal plane. And not far off. We need to be more careful, at least till we understand what’s going on.”

  THE OWNERS OF THAT HOME MUST HAVE BEEN KILLED IN THE FIGHTING. Nobody reclaimed the place. Nobody tried to loot it, either. People stayed away by the thousands.

  Svavar found a razor. He shaved his face and head. He shaved Shagot, too. He appropriated clothing for himself. It did not fit right but he did not need to be a dandy.

  “Grim, I can limp around, now. I’m gonna go see what I can find out.”

  “Be careful, brother. I’m still too weak to tell if you get in trouble.”

  “You bet, Grim.” He was careful. Always more so than Grim could imagine being. Grim had complete confidence in the favor of the gods. Everything had to work out when you had the Instrumentalities of the Night behind you.

  Svavar, though, was deeply aware that they were in a land with alien gods. In Brothe the Old Ones were rats in the mystic walls. Noisy, malodorous, unpleasant, unwanted supernatural vermin.

  SVAVAR FOUND BROTHE LITTLE CHANGED PHYSICALLY, BUT POSSESSED OF A new attitude toward the rest of the world, Calzir in particular. Everyone had a hate on for Calzir, now. And those who made decisions intended to take the suffering right back to the pirates’ homeland.

  Fighting continued in a half-dozen areas where trapped Calzirans battled on. The Brothen strategy urged patience. The pirates were isolated, then ignored. Hunger would bring them out eventually.

  There were a thousand rumors afoot. The Patriarch would proclaim a crusade against Calzir. The Grail Emperor would let his subject kingdom Alameddine become a jumping-off platform. He would participate himself.

  Of more interest were rumors about the hunt for two blond sorcerers. Proclamations had been posted in public squares and nailed to the doors of churches. Svavar got their gist from literate passersby.

  Svavar could ask questions safely as long as he pretended to be one of the immigrant mercenaries fighting the pirates. He returned to Shagot knowing as much as any Brothen in the street.

  “We do need to move out, Grim. They’re putting together a gang to hunt us down. Two hundred men. They’re training right now. They’ve got a crew of sorcerers coming in, too. From something called the Special Office at the headquarters of the Brotherhood of War. They’re going to toss the whole city once they get here.”

  “We’ll need a coach. Or a wagon. Something that can move me. I’ve got a while to heal yet.”

  “But you always heal so fast.”

  “This time, too. But this time I’ve got to get over death itself.”

  “What?” Was Grim joking?

  No.

  “There’s no way I should’ve survived, little brother. Too much happened to me. It took the joined will of the Old Ones to blind death till my flesh recovered.”

  Shagot sounded deeply disturbed. Maybe he did not understand that they were not wholly alive anyway. But death held no terror for Shagot. Never had. Ah! He did fear life as a cripple.

  He had no choice while he remained touched by the gods. He would hunt the Godslayer forever, dragging himself forward with the one finger left on his one remaining hand.

  “I’ll find out what we can do. I might have to buy something.”

  “Do what you have to. Fast. We need to get a head start on those Special Office sorcerers.”

  “You know about them?”

  “They hunt and kill people like us. People touched by what they call the Instrumentalities of the Night. They want to destroy the gods themselves. Every god, every hidden thing, even the least little hulder, except for their own god.”

  * * *

  SHAGOT WAS AWAKE WHEN SVAVAR RETURNED FROM TOWN. HE LOOKED better. “What’s wrong, little brother? You look like you swallowed a bug.”

  “A big-ass stinkbug, Grim. We don’t have any money anymore.”

  “Huh?”

  “That asshole Talab that you picked to take care of it? He fucked us, Grim. He figured out who we are. He reported us to the Collegium. They took our money. Except for twelve percent that he got as a reward.”

  “And?”

  “So I killed him. After I made him tell me about it. I took money he had laying around. He wanted to pay me not to hurt him.”

  Shagot frowned, worried. “You got away with it?”

  “I shook the guys chasing me before I crossed the river.”

  It had not been easy. He had had help. There had been a woman, put together in the northern style. A woman Svavar was sure he had seen before but could not place. He knew no women here. During his sojourn in Brothe he had been more celibate than any Episcopal priest.

  The woman had cast a glamour on the Deves chasing him. First, they lost their emotional edge. Then they became confused and vented their anger on one another.

  The woman bewitched him when he tried to approach her. She seemed amazed that he had noticed her.

  She was his guardian angel?

  He did not tell Shagot. He did not know why. But he was sure Grim would be pissed off when he found out.

  Shagot said, “I still have some money in my bag.”

  “All right. We’re out of time. Me killing that Deve asshole will get them stirred up all over again.”

  “You’re right. Did you round up anything to eat? I’m fucking starving.”

  “Good. I was worried.”

  SHAGOT AND SVAVAR DEPARTED BROTHE FOUR DAYS AFTER SVAVAR GAVE THE Deve money man what he had coming. They left via the gate they had used to enter the city. The guards there were not concerned about people leaving. Particularly people who did not look Calziran. Nor were they alert for three men, a dog, and a mangy mule pulling a wreck of a wagon.

  The third man soon stopped being part of the group.

  “Get the money back,” Shagot said from the wagon.

  “As soon as this damned dog . . . Shit. Give me a sword. I’ll chop the fucker’s head off.” Svavar was not afraid of the mongrel, though it was large and still had most of its teeth. After the Great Sky Fortress it would never occur to Svavar to be afraid of any mortal hound.

  He was in a foul temper. “Shit! He must’ve left the money with his woman.” He was not kind to the dog.

  “Don’t sweat it. We can always come up with money. Get shut of the bodies before somebody comes along.”

  Svavar did so, just in time. They had not traveled another two hundred yards before the vanguard of a cavalry force appeared ahead. Svavar guided the mule off the road in order to be out of the way.

  “Recognize those standards?” Shagot asked.

  “No. But the one with the keys must have something to do with the Patriarch.”

  The soldiers were from Maleterra, where their job had been to hold the road to Brothe if the Emperor decided to lash out at Sublime.

  Svavar wondered who was poking it to whom in the romance between Johannes and the Patriarch.

  The going was slow while the soldiers hogged the road.

  The brothers turned east when they reached a road that ran across the Firaldian peninsula. Later, they turned south on the eastern coast road. Vondera Koterba was still hiring in Alameddine. His army would become their hideout.

  Shagot remained immersed in his obsession. Shagot was confident that they would encounter the Godslayer again in Calzir. Svavar, no longer in control, lapsed into despair.

  Svavar began to see things. Things that may have been there, following wherever he went—or maybe things that were just in his mind. Things that men who had not passed through the Great Sky Fortress would never notice.

  THE WOMAN WAS TALLER THAN ANY OF THE SOLDIERS. SHE WAS ATTRACtive but not in the lush style favored in Firaldia. She was solidly built, well-muscled, without fat. She wore golden hair in braids rolled up at the sides of her head. Her stride was long and businesslike. The troops paid her little heed, which was remarkable for their sort.

  The woman left the road. She mo
ved some dead brush. Flies swarmed up, buzzing, angry about being disturbed at work. She considered the corpses of an old man and a headless dog.

  The woman scowled. She was disgusted—despite having seen worse ten thousand times before.

  Because no one was watching no one noted the fact that, at some point, the woman was no longer there.

  27. Brothe, Preparing for a War with Calzir

  P

  olo told Else, “This place is busier than a dog that’s been dead for a week.”

  Else grunted. Polo was right. The Bruglioni citadel was in a ferment. Divino Bruglioni had bullied the rural family into providing funds to hire workmen. And rustic Bruglioni were returning—lest they lose what estate they enjoyed.

  Principaté Bruglioni’s threats, in Paludan’s name, were draconian.

  Else went into the countryside twice, leading veterans of the fighting with the pirates. He dispersed parasitic Bruglioni relatives carefully selected by Uncle Divino. That electrified the rest of the family. That and the new wealth and new estates that were sure to fall to the Bruglioni during Sublime’s upcoming Calziran adventure.

  The Patriarch had proclaimed a crusade. A large majority of the Collegium urged him to do so.

  Else expected to take part. Paludan had directed him to raise an infantry company at Bruglioni expense.

  Else did not understand Sublime’s confidence. It seemed based exclusively on faith.

  History was littered with the bones of empires confident of the fearful swift sword of their god. But the scales never fell from men’s eyes. They never failed to trust the treacherous Instrumentalities of the Night.

  Else attended the planning meetings. His questions generated frowns but weakened no one’s confidence.

  More time went into divvying Calzir up, all the way down to the parish level, than went into planning the campaign.

  Else appealed for instructions from al-Qarn, once through Gledius Stewpo via the Devedian route, once through the Kaifate’s embassy. He received no response. He had to make his own choices. Meaning he would always be wrong. If Gordimer chose to see it that way.

  Else’s borrowed accountant had no trouble penetrating the number thickets of Mr. Grazia’s accounts. Else took the evidence to Uncle Divino. The Principaté betrayed a malicious delight. He used the material to bludgeon and blackmail those he wanted to keep in Bruglioni service.

  Whenever Else left the citadel, it seemed, he ran into someone who was unhappy about the Bruglioni resurgence.

  Principaté Doneto, in particular, complained that Piper Hecht was not sufficiently devoted to the advancement of Bronte Doneto’s agenda.

  * * *

  PINKUS GHORT FOUND DONETO’S EXASPERATION AMUSING. “PIPE, I AIN’T never seen nobody as self-centered as our old jail buddy. Long as he’s got pals who’ll put up with him pushing them around.”

  “I’m not surprised. I’ve had to deal with his type since I was tall enough to toddle. I’ll probably turn into his type if I live long enough and rise high enough. So will you.”

  “Yeah. I can see me wearing Grade Drocker’s slippers next time we hit the Connec. Take me along a troupe of them baby whores like Bishop Serifs had, only girls.”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “But fun. You got to admit that. You gonna be ready to go when the troops head south?”

  “Ready and looking forward to it.” Which was a lie. He did not want to war against fellow Pramans. But al-Qarn left him no choice. He had to go on being this character he had created until he did receive instructions.

  “That’s good. Me, too. How’s your lady?”

  “Anna?” He and Anna Mozilla had begun to develop a social life. That made him nervous, of course, but Anna was right at home. She drew attention away from him. But if someone decided to study Anna Mozilla they might begin to wonder when Piper Hecht had had an opportunity to develop a relationship with a woman from Sonsa. “She’s fine. Had a little scare last week, though.”

  “When those Calzirans came up out of the underground?”

  “Happened right down the street. I hope that’s the last bunch.”

  “Collegium says so.”

  “That the same Collegium that gave the all-clear a week before that mob popped up?”

  “You’d think a gang of sorcerers like them would be a little sharper at their own racket, wouldn’t you?”

  “Wouldn’t you? Can you tell me anything that’ll make my job easier?”

  “Nope. Well, don’t turn your back on nobody. Like I said, the Principaté ain’t thrilled about how things are working out. I don’t think he’d do anything drastic. But he’s a little freaky right now. Not much else is going the way he wants, either.”

  “Why should he be unhappy with me? I’ll be moving over to the Collegium any day now. He wouldn’t want me to jeopardize that, would he?”

  “I’ll remind him. He’s just anxious for something to go his way so he can get some exercise patting himself on the back for being so clever.”

  “You ask me, things are going amazingly well. I thought it would take me twenty years to get where I’ve gotten in just a few months. And you . . .”

  “Yeah, shit. I know. I’m lucky to have a job. And Doneto, too. He really screwed the bitch in the Connecten fiasco. But he got promoted anyway.”

  “They do say nepotism works best when you keep it in the family. Which wasn’t what I was going to say, but sometimes the truth just slides out.”

  “A joke? From you? Damn, Pipe. You’re starting to come around. You’ll turn into a real human being if you don’t watch out.”

  “I’m trying. How’re Bo and Joe?”

  “Joe got kicked up to be in charge of the Principaté’s stables.”

  “Good for him.”

  “Pig Iron lives like a king.”

  “Good for him, too. I have to go, Pinkus.”

  “The Castella?”

  “Yes. They’ve brought in a painter who’s trying to create a portrait of Starkden based on my memories. I think it’s a waste of time. But who argues with the Brotherhood of War?”

  “Especially the Special Office. Bechter’s all right, though. He’s just a soldier. He don’t preach at you.”

  “He is a good man.”

  “Look out for that asshole Drocker.”

  “Hey, I’m careful of everybody who hasn’t shown me any reason to trust them.”

  “Ouch.”

  “I trust you, Pinkus. I trust you to be Pinkus Ghort. I trust you to look out for Pinkus Ghort. And I think I know Pinkus Ghort well enough to know when I need to strap my chastity belt on.”

  Ghort snorted. “Is it true, what I hear? The Bruglioni are really gonna give you a company to take down to Alameddine?”

  “I don’t expect many real Bruglioni to be involved. Except my man, Polo. He’s Uncle Divino’s spy. He’s obvious and inept. We’ve worked things out. He pretends he’s just my batman. I pretend I don’t know he’s watching me. Appropriate greetings to Bo and Joe. And see that Pig Iron gets a turnip from me. I have to get going. I can’t be late.”

  Ghort grunted.

  Else was right. He could not be late. Because he was not expected at any specific time. The summons from the Castella had not mentioned a time to show up.

  In addition to working with that painter, Else was being wooed by the Brotherhood. He had, twice, turned down the chance to join. Which, according to Redfearn Bechter, actually pleased Grade Drocker.

  Drocker did not consider Piper Hecht Brotherhood material. A blind man could see that Piper Hecht was not devoted to God.

  Irony in the extreme, Else thought. Irony worthy of a divine chuckle.

  The Brotherhood had been having trouble recruiting for decades. Modern Chaldareans were not prepared to endure the austerity and poverty expected of God’s Soldiers.

  Lamenting the headed-to-Hell-in-a-hand-basket state of the Chaldarean world, Divino Bruglioni claimed, “What this century needs is a good plague to revive the
old values.”

  REDFEARN BECHTER WAITED AT THE BLUE POSTERN. THAT WAS NOT REmarkable. A lookout on the Castella ramparts would have seen Else coming.

  “You’re later than we’d hoped.”

  “The letter said the morning.”

  “I understand.”

  “It’s like a mausoleum in here.” The halls and rooms and corridors were empty and still. The day-to-day austerity of the Brotherhood was intimidating in itself. Else found them every bit as committed and determined as the best Sha-lug.

  “Those Brothers who were able went to Alameddine with the Emperor’s scouts. Those of us who stayed are too old, too sick, too injured, or too involved in the planning to go.” Bechter added, in a whisper, “I’d rather be out there myself. Not that I like fighting.”

  “Not enough men left to dilute Grade Drocker’s venom, eh?”

  Bechter chuckled. “You said it. I didn’t. But I won’t have to gut it out much longer. The convoy from Runch should show up before the end of the week. Hawley Quirke will be back. The sorcerer can stew in his own juice.”

  That made Else uncomfortable. He was not sure why. “Who else is coming? Anyone I know?”

  “How would I know? Hell. How would you know any of them?”

  “By reputation, I mean. I wouldn’t know any of them personally. Unless they shared those happy days in the Connec with us.”

  “Those men are either all dead, here, or down south scouting out the best ways to stomp Calzir.”

  They entered a room where, to Else’s surprise, nearly fifty men sat quietly while Ferris Renfrow employed a long wand to point out areas of interest on a map of mainland Calzir painted on a blank wall that had been plastered, then whitewashed beforehand. The map had south toward the top, as the foot of the Firaldian peninsula appeared from Brothe. Artists continued painting the map while Renfrow talked about the Calziran kingdom. The painters wore Imperial livery. The major stuff, coastlines, cities, passes, rivers, and fortresses, were on the wall already. The artists were adding finer details.