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

by Glen Cook

  Else did not venture an opinion. Later he enjoyed a tense discussion with Titus Consent. Consent had begun to understand his own value. And that had begun to go to his head.

  “This isn’t a threat,” Else told him. “I don’t do that. But the man in charge here does. And he has no love for anything Devedian. And isn’t just hard and smart, but deep. He’s watching you.”

  Not humbled, Consent said, “Your leaders have been complaining about us wasting food on the people who got driven out of the city.”

  “Ignore the whining. Those Deves helped us. A lot.”

  “As you command, Colonel.”

  “You don’t like the way things are, take it up with the Brotherhood.”

  Titus Consent went away because Sublime’s devoted Principatés had found the commander of the city regiment.

  Divino Bruglioni isolated Else. “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask for some time, Hecht.”

  “Sir?”

  “It’s about the reward purse Paludan was supposed to give you before you came to the Collegium.”

  “Yes?” This would be about the ring.

  “You know I gave him that to give to you?”

  “Thank you, then. A man needs affirmation of his work—even if the only measure is coin.”

  “True. But . . . How do I phrase this? Straightforward is the only way. Did you find a ring in that purse? It would be plain gold, well worn, rather old. Nothing special. But of sentimental value to me. It came to me from my grandfather, who got it from his. I’ve been trying to find it for months. I know I had it when I made up that purse. I can’t remember seeing it since.”

  “Ah.” Else said, “There was a ring. A gold band. And some foreign coins. I sold it all to a money changer who said he’d resell everything to his nephew the goldsmith. He was making something for the Patriarch’s mother.”

  Divino Bruglioni spat a curse. “That damned tiara! . . . I know who . . . How could you? Sainted Founders! The Fates are heartless.”

  “What did I do, Your Grace?” A Prince of the Church whining about the cruelty of pagan forces?

  “Hell, nothing. You couldn’t know the ring wasn’t part of your reward.”

  “You’ve lost me completely, Your Grace.”

  “No doubt. I fibbed. The ring was special. It was magic, in lay terms.”

  “Wow! Like in stories?”

  “No. Not like in stories. I don’t suppose the man you sold it to might be one of our Devedians here?”

  “No. He was more exotic. I think he was Dainshau. And at least eighty years old. I needed a translator. He was from the old country.”

  “Dainshaukin all try to make you think that, Hecht. Their purported inability to speak the language gives them an edge. You’d be stunned at how fast they learn when there’s money to be made.”

  “A magic ring? Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I never believed in them.” Else wondered how many times Polo had searched his things.

  “Most people don’t. Most urbanites have no idea what goes on in the wider world. They’d void their bowels if they were aware of a tenth of what they can’t see.”

  “You’re scaring me, Your Grace. What did the ring do?”

  “Its main power is that it makes itself and whoever is wearing it hard to notice. By creatures of the Night. If I put it on I could stand amid a pack of Night wolves and they wouldn’t notice me. But the ring also affects whoever uses it. You forget about it. Then you lose it.”

  “That’s what happened to you?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I can see where that would be a handy trinket. I’ll take you to see that Dainshau when we get back to Brothe. Just in case the ring didn’t get melted down.”

  “There wouldn’t be much point. He’ll have forgotten the whole incident, probably.”

  Excellent. The perfect excuse registered for him, up front. “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop saying that. Never mind. Tell me. Is there any plan to do anything but sit here and freeze our butts off?”

  “The weather should start growing warmer before too much longer.”

  “I mean, will we do anything about al-Khazen? Besides sit here?”

  “Not if I can help it. Time is the best weapon we have. They get weaker every day. A few of them defect every day. Defections will increase once they hear we’re letting the common soldiers go home to their farms and families.”

  “I’m not sure I like that.”

  “It’s something my great uncle taught me. Always show your enemy a Golden Path. A way out that gives him a chance to get away. Because if he’s sure you’re going to kill him, he’s going to make you work real hard to get it done. He’s going to hurt you bad.”

  A runner came, whispered in the Principaté’s ear. “I see,” Bruglioni said. “Yes. I’ll be there right away.” Once the messenger was out of earshot, Divino said, “There’s an Imperial delegation headed our way. They’ve been getting hurt by the Praman sorcerers. They want to know how to ease the pain. And get some sleep at night.”

  Uncle Divino hurried away. Else retreated to his quarters. Why was the Emperor not better prepared? The man had Ferris Renfrow covering his back.

  Else decided to nap while the opportunity was there.

  Polo wakened him, it seemed only moments later. “They’re coming, Colonel.”

  “Who?”

  “The Imperials. They’ll pass right by us.”

  Fine. Drocker would have them led through the camp to impress them. “Let’s sneak a look, then.”

  Polo bounced outside, stood gawking in the bitter wind. Else held back because it was cold out there. And he needed Polo’s help to get into his heavy winter blouse.

  The clatter and rattle of tack and armor, and the rumble of hooves impacting cold mud, moved nearer. Else decided to stay right where he was. Ferris Renfrow would be with this bunch for sure. Else did not want to attract Renfrow’s notice.

  He opened shutters a crack. And spotted Renfrow immediately, along with several Braunsknechts from last year. The nameless captain rode at Crown Prince Lothar’s right hand.

  Lothar! Rumor said Johannes had his children with him. Else had not believed it. Why take the risk? But here was the weakest of the three, leading a delegation, getting a chance to show what he could do.

  Else was deeply disappointed. Helspeth Ege had not accompanied her little brother. Then he was embarrassed by his disappointment.

  “Polo! Get in here!”

  “Colonel?”

  “Inside. Now. I need you.” Else sealed the shutters and hoped the Imperials would not investigate.

  “Colonel?” Polo sounded concerned. There were moments when Else suspected him of caring.

  “Polo . . . that rabbit . . . I’ve got stomach cramps. This is bad. Get Captain . . . Ghort back. He’ll have to . . . stand in for the regiment. This is going to start . . . coming out the other end soon.”

  “Sir? Are you sure?”

  Else groaned. “Polo, if you don’t get Ghort in here in the next . . . three minutes I’m going to find you a . . . Oh! A special assignment with the people who manage the drayage teams.” Polo had met Just Plain Joe. “Do . . . Uhn! Do you really want to improve your skills . . . with a shovel?”

  That kind of work—and there was a lot of it because this force included more animals than it did men—was handled by Calziran day laborers. Polo did not know that. Polo did not wander around seeing who was doing what.

  “I’m on my way, Colonel.”

  While Polo was away Else thought up an errand the man could handle after he returned with Ghort.

  “What’s up, Pipe?” Ghort asked, but not until Polo had scampered away.

  “Is he gone? For sure?”

  “Yeah. Tell me. I ate the same stuff you did.”

  “There are a couple of nightmares out of my past in that bunch that just rode in. I don’t want to run into them until I have time to change my look.�
�

  “You already changed a lot since I met you.”

  “Yes. But by changing back to what I looked like before I headed south. Look. I don’t want to talk. I’ve already told you more than you need to know. Go to the meeting. Stay out of the way. Don’t tell anybody anything unless they ask. Nobody but Drocker, Uncle Divino, and Principaté Doneto are likely to miss me. If they do ask, say it looks like food poisoning. Or maybe regular poisoning, since you ate with me.”

  “Sure.” Ghort grinned. “Which ones don’t you want to see?”

  “You don’t need to know that.”

  “I figured that’s what you’d say.”

  Else pretended to be exasperated. “Just go be the eyes and ears of the regiment.”

  “I’ll put on a show.”

  “No. Don’t be Pinkus Ghort. Be invisible. They might not miss me.”

  “There’s some wishful thinking that maybe turned up in a too-much-wine dream. All right, Pipe. Anybody asks, you’re dyin’ of the drizzlin’ shits. I’ll beg them to use their powers to save you. I’ll get them to burn Polo at the stake for poisoning you.”

  “Pinkus.”

  “I’m calm. Your ass is covered. If anybody notices you’re missing.”

  “There you go. That’s what I wanted to hear.”

  Ghort went off to do his job.

  Else did not want to participate in any meeting with a delegation that included men who had shared a meal with Sir Aelford daSkees in the Sonsan factor house in Runch.

  THE ENEMY IN AL-KHAZEN COULD SPY ON THE IMPERIAL CAMP, SOME. THE Emperor had failed to enlist any major sorcerers. The Patriarchal forces, though, enjoyed the protection of two dozen members of the Collegium. They kept turning up, determined to grab some of the glory.

  The Pramans were intimate with the Instrumentalities of the Night. Their chieftains recognized a huge opportunity when they learned that a delegation had been sent to confer with Sublime’s crusader commanders.

  Hansel held just a quarter of the siege line. His works were not close to the city. They were not connected with the crusader works, nor were they as well developed. That despite the fact that his troops, with Vondera Koterba’s contingent, substantially outnumbered those of the Patriarchy. But Hansel had had to leave numerous garrisons behind. The falls of al-Healta and al-Stikla were too recent for the troops there to break away and join the siege of the last Praman stronghold.

  Starkden and Masant al-Seyhan, and the wickedness that stood behind them, were not discomfited by Johannes Blackboots. They were not worried by the surprisingly professional and competent force fielded by Sublime V. Nor were they rattled by the dramatic successes of the King of Navaya.

  The sorcerers of al-Khazen struck where they were least expected.

  * * *

  “PIPE.”

  It was the middle of the night. Nobody honest had any excuse to be up. “What?” Ghort sounded stressed.

  “Bad news from the Imperial side. No details yet but it sounds like some important folks got themselves ambushed and captured. Including the Emperor’s daughters.”

  Once that sank in, Else said, “Makes me wish I was a swearing man. How do we know?”

  “We seem to have Deves under every bed. I got it from the dwarf. His people overheard the delegation fussing about it. Messengers are coming and going. Drocker has demanded an explanation from the Imperials.”

  “He hasn’t interfered, has he?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That wouldn’t be polite.”

  “The Brotherhood aren’t fond of the Empire. The Emperors won’t put up with their crap.”

  “And vice versa. Drocker isn’t stupid. He won’t anger the Emperor needlessly. If Hansel got mad enough he might create his own Patriarch, or bring Immaculate back from Viscesment.”

  “How’s your health?”

  “Not getting any better.”

  “Drocker wanted to come over and heal you himself.”

  “I’ll suffer a miracle recovery once the Imperials go away.” He did not ask how the conference had gone. He had had reports. The Deves did have an ear under every chair. Hansel had two things on his mind. How to get the Patriarchal troops to do most of the dying if any fighting took place and how to screw Peter of Navaya out of his conquests.

  “Keep your ear to the ground. Come back when you get some real details.”

  Else next wakened to the clatter of the Imperial delegation moving out, Lothar and his advisers grimly serious.

  An hour later a groggy Pinkus Ghort reappeared, accompanied by Gledius Stewpo and Titus Consent.

  “We been took, Pipe.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, those guys. Lothar and his bunch. Those messages they got were fakes.”

  “What?” Else tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Somewhere, Polo was rattling pots.

  “That business about the daughters. It was a hoax. By the guys in the city over there. Once the Principatés got to work they found out that Johannes and his family are snoring happily in a castle fifteen miles southeast of here. There never was any problem. The messages were all fakes.”

  “How long since the prince left? Any chance we can get help to him?”

  “It’s been over an hour. He was in a hurry. I sent riders but I don’t think they’ll catch him in time.”

  Else pictured a map, tried to judge the crown prince’s location and where the Pramans were likely to attack. “You’re right. But the Pramans will have to stray pretty far away from safety. Get the commando company ready. There’s a good chance we can get between the bad guys and the city. What are the Brotherhood and the Principatés doing?”

  Ghort shrugged. “The Principatés are running in circles and yelling.”

  “They should be trying to protect Lothar.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But they’re too busy worrying about how they’ll look. As for the Brotherhood, I have no idea.”

  Consent and Stewpo remained blandly silent.

  “All right. Arrange the commando thing. I’ll talk to Drocker.”

  Titus Consent asked, “Are you feeling better, then?”

  “No. But this is critical. Polo. Is that coffee ready?” Coffee caches had been discovered in several captured towns.

  Fifteen minutes later, still feigning intestinal discomfort, Else joined Grade Drocker. “My Deves tell me there’s huge mischief afoot. Coffee?”

  “No. Thank you. I don’t indulge. That’s probably why you’ve got the stomach problem. Can you do your job?”

  “I’ll do what has to be done.” He explained what he had done already.

  Drocker nodded. “Good. But hold off. I’ve already sent my men to do exactly that. We don’t want yours tripping over mine. Plus, yours aren’t equipped. Mine are used to operating in environments where the Instrumentalities of the Night are active.”

  “A good point. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I’m not making a grab for the glory.”

  “I understand. You’re right.”

  “Fear not. Lothar may be in less danger than you think. His party included two Brothers from the Special Office. They’ll be an unpleasant surprise for the Unbeliever.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  There would be interesting confrontations out there. Given remote help by the Principatés, those Brotherhood operatives might fend off Starkden and Masant el-Seyhan. But the Brothers might be surprised themselves.

  The men sent to capture Lothar would be Sha-lug.

  Else asked, “Do you have time to tell me about the Imperial delegation?”

  “See Bechter. He’ll fill you in. And lend you a messenger so you can call off your hounds.”

  “I brought my man Polo. He can run the message. Where do I find Sergeant Bechter?”

  ELSE TOLD POLO, “FIND CAPTAIN GHORT. TELL HIM WE’VE BEEN OVERruled on the rescue attempt but that I want the commando company ready to go anyway. Can you do that?”

  Polo bobbed his head eager
ly.

  “Get going.”

  “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” DROCKER ASKED.

  “Latrine.” And he had been.

  “That long? Here. Take this. In ten ounces of warm water. I need you working, not riding the Holey Pine.”

  Unnerved by Drocker’s jest, Else accepted the packet. “I’ll be right back.” He went away, made a show of following instructions, rejoined the Brotherhood sorcerer. “Does that stuff cause cramps? Because I had a good case before I took it.”

  “You may have a wind problem for a while. Unless you’re so sick that nothing will save you. Sit. Get comfortable. The old ladies from the Collegium are supposed to let us know what’s happening out there.”

  Else nodded, then said, “Sir . . . I’ve noticed that you’re getting better at speaking. Seemingly at cost to your physical well-being.”

  “I’m touched by your concern, Hecht. But you’re wasting emotion. I know what I’m doing—though that may not serve the survival of this flesh.”

  “Sir, I . . .”

  “This worldly cask doesn’t matter, Hecht. I would’ve shed it ere now had I been able to bring you into the Brotherhood. You don’t recognize it but you’re exactly the sort of man to see our faith through the worst tribulations, then boldly carry God’s standard to the Wells of Ihrian.”

  “Sir? You . . . I . . .”

  “The problem is that your commitment to the faith isn’t of a depth equaling your abilities to inspire men to accomplish a common goal.”

  “Sir . . . Sir, you’re straining yourself needlessly. You’re fooling yourself, too, I think. I’m just a displaced foreigner who’s been lucky. Captain Ghort would’ve done just as well.”

  “Perhaps.” Drocker began to show the strain. “Think about what I’ve said. Talk to God. Consult your conscience.”

  Wishing he could go inside Drocker’s head, Else said, “God’s Will be done.”

  “Go. Do what you’re thinking of doing. Without straying too far from a latrine.”

  There were no witnesses to this meeting. Else left it thoroughly puzzled. Clearly, Drocker was trying to manipulate him in several directions.

  Worthy of reflection.

  “PINKUS. WHERE ARE WE?” FIRST COLORS OF FALSE DAWN WERE CREEPING over the eastern hills. Shortly, the advantage would no longer rest with those whose loyalties hinged on the things of the Night. “Ready to go?”