Surrender to the will of the night

3. Alten Weinberg: Celebrations

The Captain-General had been assigned a three-story, eighteen-room limestone monstrosity for his visit to the seat of the Grail Empire. The house came with a staff of twelve. It belonged to Bayard va Still-Patter, son and heir of the Grand Duke Ormo va Still-Patter. Empress Katrin herself had ordered Bayard to vacate in favor of the Church’s leading soldier.

The Captain-General, Piper Hecht, and his party had come to Alten Weinberg in company with King Jaime of Castauriga. Who had dragged a sizable portion of his subjects hundreds of miles to celebrate his marriage to the most powerful western sovereign. The Captain-General, it appeared, was in favor with the Empress, though they had encountered one another only twice before, never to speak.

Three days after arriving Hecht listened as Kait Rhuk said, “We can’t figure it out but this woman definitely has something in mind for you.”

Nervous, Hecht paced and wondered if Katrin’s game involved her younger sister, the Princess Apparent, Helspeth. He had no one to share thoughts with. His intimates he had left in the Connec to manage the Church’s offensive against revenant Night. Those who had accompanied him here were lifeguards, clerks cum spies from Titus Consent’s staff, or belonged to Kait Rhuk’s weapons gang-the latter along in case the Night offered some unpleasant attention. And there was his adopted son, Pella. Plus Algres Drear, a Braunsknecht, or Imperial guard, who had been rusticated to Viscesment after offending the Empress and members of her Council Advisory.

Captain Drear told Hecht, “I’ve sneaked around as much as I dare. He’s right. She’s up to something. No one knows what. The Council Advisory are concerned.”

Empress Katrin was an Ege. Her father’s daughter. The Ferocious Little Hans frightened them still, though he was now years dead. Johannes’s unpredictable daughters frightened them more.

“I’m surprised they haven’t thrown you into the stocks.”

“People don’t see what they don’t expect to see. Algres Drear is off in Viscesment protecting the Anti-Patriarch. The few who do recognize me tell me I got a raw deal.”

Hecht had walked the streets himself. He had not learned much. He did not understand the language well enough. Nor did he have the time to fit himself in. More, he could not persuade his chief lifeguard, Madouc, that he would be safe wandering around.

Pella, though, had grown up on city streets and could slip his minders easily. His big problem was the language.

Alten Weinberg was more crowded and excited than any local could recall. The coming marriage had the world agitated. It might be the critical marriage of the century. It could render permanent the Imperial rapprochement with Brothe, ending centuries of warfare between Patriarchy and Empire. If Katrin produced a son to assume the Imperial ermine it would also give the Empire a foothold in Direcia. And would provide Jaime a shield against the ambitions of King Peter of Navaya.

“We saved him from a gang of thieves,” Presten Reges told Hecht. Hecht considered Pella. The boy was filthy, his clothing torn. “We don’t think it was political. The local soldiery wouldn’t let me bring the thugs along for questioning.”

“Tell me, Pella.”

The boy’s story supported Presten’s estimation. He had become too curious about something, then had betrayed himself as an outsider. An open invitation. “I messed up, Dad. I forgot where I was.”

“Lesson learned, I hope.”

“I’ll be more careful.”

“Did you find out anything for your trouble?”

“A lot of people don’t like this wedding. But that’s not a secret.”

Katrin Ege was unpopular because of her accommodation with the Brothen Church.

“It isn’t.” Hecht worried for Katrin’s sister. There were factions eager to move Helspeth into the top spot, hoping she favored her father’s policies. That put the Princess Apparent at risk from Katrin’s friends.

Helspeth tried to be neutral and to maintain her sister’s love. But simply by existing she became a fulcrum and rallying point.

It was early. Hecht had spent his waking time, so far, breaking his fast and studying dispatches from the Connec and Patriarchal garrisons in Firaldia. He had learned little to cheer him.

Carava de Bos approached with a small, black wooden tray on which lay three letters, their seals unbroken. De Bos managed the delegation’s clerical functions by day. The night clerk was Rivademar Vircondelet. Each doubled as a spy. Both were prot?g?s of Titus Consent, chief spymaster and record keeper of the Patriarchal forces. And friend of the Captain-General.

De Bos said, “Recently arrived letters, sir. In order of arrival. Also, a gentleman named Renfrow has asked to see you. Shall I make an appointment?”

“You don’t know who he is?”

“He thinks he’s important.”

“And that would be true.”

“Shall I make an appointment?”

“No. Send him in. The rest of you, clear off. Madouc. I don’t want the servants eavesdropping.” Bayard va Still-Patter expected his people to spy. They tried hard. And were ferociously inept.

Renfrow was nondescript. He wore seasoned clothing like nine of ten people in the street, was average in height and unremarkable in his features. His hair betrayed specks of gray. Hecht had been close enough to smell the man’s breath on several occasions but could not recall the color of his eyes.

Hecht watched Renfrow approach. Renfrow was surprised to see Algres Drear. Pella, Hecht sensed, remembered Renfrow from the Knight of Wands a couple years ago.

That boy had a dangerous memory.

Hecht considered the letters. He recognized none of the hands. One seal was that of the Patriarch. The others belonged to the Empress and her sister, respectively.

These morning reviews happened around a table capable of seating a dozen. Hecht folded a couple maps and turned over two reports that had not gone away. Renfrow took it all in at a glance, lingering an instant on the letters from the Imperial sisters.

Hecht said, “Sit. If you’ll be more comfortable. I intend to.” He settled.

“I appreciate you seeing me so fast.”

“Our talks are always interesting. And I’ve grown bored. I should have waited and come here a week behind King Jaime.”

“I can’t imagine being bored in this political climate.”

“Not my politics.”

“You could be wrong. I think. There are secrets even I can’t ferret out. Secrets hidden from Ferris Renfrow in particular.”

“I can understand that.”

Renfrow flashed a conspiratorial smile. “If I asked, would you explain why Algres Drear is with you? I pulled a lot of strings to get him rehabilitated enough to go be one of Bellicose’s Braunsknecht guards.”

“Bellicose told him to come.”

“I hear you and Bellicose have developed a mutual admiration.”

“True. Is that why you’re here?”

“No. I wanted to warn you to be careful.”

Hecht merely raised an eyebrow.

“Dark things are stirring. Rumors reach me, second- or third-hand, from sources not even marginally reliable. The Night is abidingly disturbed by what you’ve been doing in the Connec.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“You have powerful enemies. Over there.”

Hecht, never quite convinced, nevertheless nodded.

Renfrow produced a folded paper from inside his shirt. Hecht winced, half expecting a crossbow bolt. Madouc would be watching. Madouc did not like sudden movements near his principal.

Renfrow opened the sheet, smoothed it.

“What is that?”

A talented artist had drawn a face, the side of a head, and an unusual pair of hands.

“Life-size,” Renfrow said. “Killed north of here some weeks ago, along with several barbarians who wore animal bones and skulls in their hair.”

“What was it?”

“I’d hoped you would know. You’re the man from Duarnenia. The veteran pagan fighter.”

“Not a pagan fighter. I left before I was old enough to visit the Marshes. But the Sheard had nothing like this helping them.”

“You’re a mystery wearing a cloak of enigma, Captain-General. The men with this thing had some connection to Kharoulke the Windwalker.”

“Then you’re looking at the wrong pagan gods. The Sheard have nothing to do with Kharoulke. Or any gods of his generation. Kharoulke hails from the farthest north. From the lands of the Seatts. And beyond. Kharoulke was displaced by the gods that our God overcame when Chaldarean missionaries converted the north. I’ve heard rumors about the Windwalker returning.”

“You surprise me again by being so well informed.”

“I have friends in low places.”

“No doubt about that.”

“Sir?”

“I’ve found that while almost no one recalls a boy named Piper Hecht making his journey southward, to take service with the Patriarchs, records of his service with several local garrisons exist. He never stayed anywhere long.”

“Some captains kept records obsessively. I caught the habit myself. My people can account for every copper that ever touched our hands. Good record keeping lets you show your employer what you’ve accomplished and why it cost so much.”

“And still they complain.”

“Of course. This thing.” Hecht tapped the drawings. “You should’ve brought the corpse. That would cause a stir.” Maybe get some attention paid to some of the more serious threats to the world.

“Its flesh corrupted and melted within hours, though there was snow on the ground and ice in the trees. Neither ravens nor wolves would touch the flesh.”

“Something of the Night.”

“Undoubtedly. But what?”

“I’m not the man to ask. But I know who that man might be.” The Ninth Unknown. Cloven Februaren. Lord of the Silent Kingdom. Possibly the most powerful sorcerer alive. And the least predictable. “Unfortunately, he’s in Brothe. Like most of the Collegium, waiting for Boniface to die.”

“What do you hear about that?”

“Hugo Mongoz might outlive half the men who elected him.” Hugo Mongoz being the name of the Principat? who had chosen the reign name Boniface VII when he became Patriarch.

“Isn’t Bellicose supposed to succeed him?”

“That’s the deal. I have orders to enforce it if the Collegium tries to take it back. I’ll do what Boniface wants. Bellicose is a good man. Who may not last as long as Boniface has, despite being thirty years younger.”

“Drear should be with him, then. Not here.”

“Bellicose’s health will do him in. Not assassins. He sent Drear to be his representative at the wedding. As I’m standing in for Boniface.”

Ferris Renfrow kept his opinion to himself.

Hecht understood. “Bellicose knew what he was doing when he sent Drear. It’s because of how he was treated here when he was a bishop.”

Renfrow chuckled. “The pro-Brothen party were feeling their oats.”

“Is that all? I do have work to do.”

“I have ten thousand things. Nine thousand nine hundred you won’t help me with. So I’ll just leave you with another word of caution. You may have enemies you know nothing about.”

“You hear that, Madouc? Now you can nag me with the report of the Imperial spymaster himself.” Hecht felt less humor than he pretended. Madouc would, indeed, mention Renfrow’s warning every chance he got. It irked him that he would have to pay attention. He was exposed, here. And there were people who did truly believe the world would be a better place without Piper Hecht in it.

Madouc just smiled. More than did Hecht himself, the lifeguard looked forward to putting Alten Weinberg behind and getting back to murdering the Instrumentalities of the Night.

Ferris Renfrow said, “I’ve done what I had to do here. Which is warn you not to relax.”

“I do get lax, sometimes. Madouc never does. Madouc is an Instrumentality in his own right.”

“Cherish him, then. Honor him. Most of all, listen to him.”

Hecht asked, “Madouc, did you put him up to this?”

Hecht gathered Carava de Bos, Madouc, and Rivademar Vircondelet as soon as Ferris Renfrow left. Pretty blond Vircondelet could not stop yawning. Hecht stared at the letters on the black tray, longing to dive into them. “What have we found out about Renfrow? Anyone?”

De Bos and Madouc deferred to Vircondelet. The sleepy Connecten, a Castreresonese, had the potential to exceed his mentor, Titus Consent. “A Ferris Renfrow has been involved in Grail Empire politics for more than a hundred years. This Ferris Renfrow claims to be the son of the Renfrow who served the two Freidrichs and the grandson of the Renfrow who served Otto, Lingard, the second Johannes, and the other Otto. Every Ferris Renfrow frightened everyone around him. People won’t talk about them much. If a mortal can be considered an Instrumentality, Ferris Renfrow qualifies. He’s the living patron tutelary phantom of the Grail Empire.”

Hecht asked, “Is there a woman in any of the Renfrow lives?”

Vircondelet said, “I haven’t connected any Renfrow with any particular woman. Maybe they do like you and adopt.” Pella had just stuck his head in. He saw that he would not be welcome.

Maybe Renfrow’s family was like the Delari. Each generation produced out of wedlock, one after another.

Vircondelet kept on. “The princesses, Katrin and Helspeth, are the only women in his life of late. That’s because he’s the guarantor of Johannes Blackboots’s will and Bill of Succession.”

“Proceed on the assumption that all Ferris Renfrows are the same Ferris Renfrow. And keep digging. Find out who his enemies are. They’re bound to gossip.”

Carava de Bos said, “No one here has made much of it, but Renfrow appeared at court, filthy and wounded, with news of the victory, only hours after Los Naves de los Fantas.”

That startled Hecht. He hoped it did not show. “How could that be?”

“The critical question, right?”

“Keep an eye on him.” Hecht glanced at the letters. He could wait no longer. “All of you. Back to your duties. Vircondelet. Go back to bed.”

The Captain-General tormented himself. He opened the letter from Boniface VII first. He had no interest in it whatsoever. It told him its author had had a premonition that his hour on the stage was about to end. And begged him to make sure the agreements with the Viscesment Patriarchy were honored. By force if necessary,

In Hugo Mongoz’s estimation, most of the Principat?s of the Collegium were slime weasels interested only in filling their own pockets. They would ignore the agreements if they thought they could.

Hecht burned that letter. It was a waste of paper. Though Boniface could not be sure that his will would be executed. Unless he watched from Heaven as his Captain-General enforced his wishes.

Hecht read the letter from the Empress next. He dreaded what might lie inside that from the Princess Apparent.

Katrin Ege, Empress of the Grail Empire, with a string of subsidiary titles that filled half a page, requested the attendance of the Captain-General of the Patriarch of the Brothen Episcopal Church…

The flattering crap went on and on. Piper Hecht was not one to be turned and shaped by that. But he let it play. And composed an equally florid, disingenuous, and dishonest response. Yes. He would see Her Grace, the Empress, Katrin… Time and place, Katrin’s choice.

Katrin’s request was echoed by Princess Helspeth in her brief letter. Which he read over and over, looking for the slightest nuance.

In one hour Hecht would present himself to the woman who, at the moment, was the most powerful ruler in the western world. He was trapped in speculations about what might be on her mind. Alone. Pella was away wandering the city with one of his handlers. Madouc had expressed serious reservations.

Alone he might be. In the room where he slept. But one of Madouc’s men was right outside.

Some things needed no doors to get inside.

Hecht was rereading Helspeth when the flames of his candles danced briefly. “Cloven Februaren?”

“You’ve grown more sensitive. We get you more time in the Construct, you’ll be able to smell me coming.”

Hecht looked toward the voice. He saw nothing till the man materialized by turning to face him. He was old, small, weathered, all clad in brown. His eyes, of uncertain color in that light, sparkled with mischief. His hair needed a trim. And combing.

Cloven Februaren. The Ninth Unknown. Grandfather of Principat? Muniero Delari, the Eleventh Unknown. Who claimed to be Piper Hecht’s natural grandfather. Cloven Februaren was more than a hundred years old. Probably more than a hundred fifty. But he lied a lot. And he had the sense of humor of a ten-year-old.

Hecht glanced at the door. Who was on duty? Madouc’s men knew their principal sometimes became involved in spirited discussions with himself. Only Madouc dared step in to make sure they did not turn violent.

The old man said, “Well?”

“Uhm.”

“So it’s going to be one of those intellectual discussions?”

Hecht smiled. Which felt odd. “Philosophical, perhaps. I just realized that I seldom smile.”

“Your sense of humor has atrophied. What is it?”

“Sir?”

“You summoned me. You must have a reason.”

Hecht managed to hold his tongue. He had done nothing of the sort. But he had wished that he could see the old man.

“I didn’t, but I’m glad you’re here. You can help with a couple of things.” Hecht talked. In particular, about what Ferris Renfrow had said. “I’m interested in all that. And even more interested in finding out about Renfrow.” He related what little de Bos and Vircondelet had unearthed.

The longer Hecht talked the more agitated Februaren became.

“You’re disturbed. Why is that?”

“An unhappy suspicion. Has anyone accused the man of sorcery?”

“No. But he scares everybody. And has done for as long as you have. And he does things he shouldn’t be able to do.”

“Which you would accuse me of, too. I’ll check his record, then. As he seems to be checking yours.”

“More than once he’s told me he believes I’m Else Tage, a captain of the Sha-lug pointed out to him in al-Qarn when he was visiting Gordimer the Lion and his wild sorcerer.”

“That would be when he acquired the boy. Armand.”

“Yes. Osa Stile. Muniero Delari’s erstwhile bed pet. Now playing night games with Hugo Mongoz himself.”

Flash of the Februaren mischief. “And getting nothing to his friends outside Krois. The Dreangereans think he’s dead.”

Hecht steeled himself. “Have you seen Anna? And the girls?”

“No. But Muno has them to the house regularly. Anna misses you. She and Heris have become friends. And Heris has become adept with the Construct.”

Hecht was surprised at how emotional he was about his makeshift family. Anna Mozilla was not his wife but he ached with longing for her. Vali and Lila were not his flesh but he missed them more than his true daughters. Of whom there were two. Almost forgotten. Along with a real wife. Whose face he could no longer picture. None of them seen in years, and then usually only for a few brief hours before the Lion sped him off on some other deadly mission.

Cloven Februaren told him, “You’re not a bad man, Piper Hecht. Neither was Else Tage. We’re all slaves of circumstance. And circumstance can be crueler than any devil.”

Hecht understood. It was what he needed to hear at that moment. Except: “The Adversary is determined to drag me down.”

“And? Are you going to claim some special place on the Rolls of Temptation?”

“Helspeth.” He had said nothing to anyone, ever before. “The Princess Apparent. I have an obsession. From the first time I saw her, as a captive in Plemenza. I saved her life at al-Khazen. The insanity is mutual. We’ve exchanged guarded letters. I’m here, now. In Alten Weinberg. With Helspeth less than half a mile away.” Hecht was astonished. He was confessing what he was barely able to admit to himself. “I’m terrified that I’ll do something mad. That I’ll ruin myself and drag the Princess with me.”

The humor and mischievous sparkle fled Cloven Februaren. “Wow. Seeds of an international epic. I’d better shelve my lesser concerns and concentrate on this wedding. It is still on?”

Hecht did not catch the gentle sarcasm.

“Katrin worships the ground Jaime walks on. Though Jaime needs a good solid ass-kicking, to borrow a notion from Pinkus Ghort.”

“Who is getting fat commanding the City Regiment. Bronte Doneto and Pinkus Ghort make quite a team. Lords of Brothe, now, those two. What’s wrong with Jaime?”

“He’s much too impressed with King Jaime. He worships the man. And thinks the rest of the world should join in.”

That brightened the old man’s evening. He said, “Sounds like an opportunity.”

“As may be…”

Madouc invited himself into the Captain-General’s bedchamber. He glared around suspiciously. “Who are you talking to?”

“Madouc?”

The chief lifeguard had suffered this before. “Gerzina heard voices.”

“Did any of them yell for help?”

“No, sir. But it’s a given that the man we’re protecting doesn’t have the God-gifted sense to call for it.”

Hecht was irked. But did not have the strength of conviction to tell Madouc that he was wrong or was getting above himself.

Something had to be done. They were too much at loggerheads, letting personalities get in the way of common sense. Someday he would bring Madouc’s worst fears to fruition by thoughtlessly disdaining the man’s advice. Meanwhile, Madouc exaggerated every slight in his own mind.

Friction. It had to be overcome. Somehow. Madouc was a good soldier, wasted in his current assignment.

“If you were Master of the Castella Commandery, Madouc, what job would you see yourself best suited to do?”

“Sir?”

“If you could pick your job, what would that be?”

Hecht did not expect an answer. Unless as some formula. The Brotherhood of War had countless rules they did not share with outsiders.

“Given a choice, I’d master one of the commanderies in the Holy Lands.”

“And protect pilgrims? Interesting. Have you asked?”

“The Brotherhood has begun to turn its face westward. Maybe because the west has begun to turn away from the Holy Lands. You and I have been involved in two crusades, now. Neither overseas.”

Madouc’s anger at his principal had transformed itself into anger at his own order.

“Have you asked?”

“No.”

“You should. A man ought to do God’s work in a way that comforts his soul. He’ll do a better job.”

Madouc had nothing to say about that.

“I suppose I ought to start getting ready.”

“Sir?”

“Letter from the Empress. Commanding me to attend her in privy audience. After the evening meal. That’s all I know.”

“There’s one thing you need to address. We caught that man Bo Biogna trying to sneak in here. I know you go back a way so I’ll defer to your judgment. He’s been asking a lot of questions about you, here, in Hochwasser, and elsewhere.”

“Principat? Delari warned me about this. Principat? Doneto considers me a traitor to his personal cause. He wants to find something bad about me from before we saved him that first time in the Connec. I’ve given him no ammunition since. Except by faithfully serving each employer instead of being his secret agent.”

“Will he find anything?”

“I doubt it. I never stayed anywhere long. As soon as I got up a stake, I headed farther south. Well, wait. I did steal a sack of turnips once, right after I started. Some bullies took my knife and cheese…” He stopped. Madouc was astonished, hearing him open up. “Where is Bo? I know exactly what he was up to.”

“Hard times?” Hecht asked when Biogna came in. Bo was never a big man. The rags he wore hung loose. Hecht recalled them when Biogna filled them out.

“Yeah, Pipe. How’s it going?”

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Been going some cold, harsh places.”

“So I hear. You know you got Madouc’s guys all flustered.”

“I just wanted to see Joe. I heard he was here with you.”

“I thought so. I sent for him. You’ll understand if we don’t give you the run of the place. These others don’t know you like I do.”

Biogna’s gaze turned furtive for a moment.

Hecht asked, “You run into anything interesting up north? Like wild riders with animal skulls braided into their hair?”

“Nothing that outrageous. Just the Night being busier than it used to. You’d better carry some charms if you need to go out after dark. It gets worse the farther north you go.”

“Find out anything interesting about me?”

Biogna grimaced. “You didn’t stay anywhere long. Hardly anybody remembers you. But there’s always good things about you in the records.”

“I wanted to get to Brothe. I worked when I needed money. When I ran into you guys was the first time I let myself get distracted from my goal.”

“Paid off, though. For all of us. Especially you and Ghort.”

His good humor abandoned Hecht briefly. It had not worked out for most of the men of their little band. They were buried near Antieux.

“Yeah,” Biogna said. “For them as survived that nonsense. And Plemenza, afterward. We ain’t doing so bad. Hey! I met your brother.”

Hecht could not have been more startled if Biogna had pulled a knife. “What?”

“Your brother. Tindeman. You mentioned him a couple times.”

“But he’s dead.”

“Looked pretty healthy to me. Gone gray in the hair, though. And he’s got a nasty purple scar across his face that makes it hard for him to talk. But he’s alive and kicking. He’s an artillery engineer in Grumbrag.”

Hecht was too surprised to improvise. How could the Ninth Unknown have placed live people to support his backstory?

“You seem overwhelmed,” Biogna observed.

“I am. I’ve never been so surprised. I always thought I was the only one left. The fighting was really awful that year. Almost everyone on the Grail Order side was killed. Even if the Sheard were broken.”

Hecht was saved the need to dissemble further by the arrival of Bo’s friend, Just Plain Joe.

Joe was a big, slow, dull man with a genius for managing animals. Though he was a private soldier-Joe wanted no more responsibility-Hecht considered him one of his dozen key men. Joe knew animals. The Patriarchal army could not operate without countless animals if he wanted it to remain an effective, modern force.

Joe had cleaned up. Which explained why it had taken him so long.

Hecht said, “Look who’s here.”

“Yeah. They told me. Hey, Bo. Hey! You don’t want to get too close. I didn’t get that clean.”

“Look at me, Joe. Do I look like I’m ready for parade?”

Hecht called for food and refreshments. His lifeguards watched, carefully blank, while one of the more powerful men in the Episcopal world relaxed with a stable hand and a would-be trespasser.

Hecht had formed strong bonds with these men, Pinkus Ghort, and others who had not survived. Their variable fortunes since had not broken that bond. Even when they worked at cross-purposes.

Carava de Bos appeared. “I’m loath to interrupt, sir. But you have to see the Empress in just two hours. You need to eat and dress.”

“Thanks. Joe, Bo, duty calls. You guys enjoy yourself. Cederig.” Speaking to one of the lifeguards. “Mr. Biogna can stay as long as he likes. But he’s to go nowhere except here and the stables.”

Biogna would want to say hello to Joe’s tutelary mule, Pig Iron. Pig Iron had been with Joe since the beginning.

Hecht considered that mule a sort of philosophical signpost. The beast had an attitude toward the world. It served him well.

Hecht considered himself stubborn and nasty, too. Though he had yet to take a bite out of any of his friends.

Cloven Februaren twisted into existence while Hecht was dressing. Without help. He insisted on dressing himself, as much as he could, despite the status he had attained. It was almost as good as having a slave whisper in his ear.

The old man said, “I overheard your friend’s report. About finding your brother Tindeman in Grumbrag. I’m not guilty of that. My contributions to your backstory consist of false entries on minor payrolls. Did Begonia say anything he couldn’t have gotten from what you’ve told him about your past?”

“Yes. That someone I made up is alive and kicking in a city halfway between here and the permanent ice.”

“You think he told the truth?”

“Bo? I don’t know. He’s a clever little weasel. He could be running a game suggested by Bronte Doneto. To see my reaction. Only, I’d be more inclined to suspect Ferris Renfrow.”

“You’ve told the same tales so often you believe them yourself-unless you stop to think. You had Muno doubting facts about which there was no question, you lied with such conviction.”

Piper Hecht was not one hundred percent convinced that his “true” origins had not been sold to him the same way.

“True, I suppose. And Renfrow has spies everywhere.”

“Or he’d like us to think he does.”

“Maybe not so many as when Johannes was alive, but plenty. He’s thoroughly dedicated to the Grail Empire.”

“I’ll try to see this Tindeman Hecht.”

“I have to call somebody to help me with these last few laces. Some things I just can’t manage alone.”

“I can take a hint.”

For the after-dark walk to Winterhall, the Ege manse in Alten Weinberg, Madouc insisted on a guard that included both Kait Rhuk’s falcon teams, their weapons charged with godshot. Every man carried a brace of primed hand falcons and a burning slow match. Madouc absolutely expected an attack. An enemy would get no better chance.

Madouc thought not only about guarding his principal but about what potential assassins really hoped to accomplish.

Assassinations, in Madouc’s estimation, were highly symbolic, meant to make a mighty declaration. If he could guess what that might be, he should be able to guess when and where a killer would strike.

And he was not wrong. Though tonight’s would-be killer was but one starving, deranged spearman who charged out of the darkness, shrieking, intent on throwing his weapon.

“What did he say?” Hecht asked after the man had been rendered unconscious, tied, and turned over to local troops drawn by the bark of a hasty hand falcon.

“Something about Castreresone. We did something there that he didn’t like.”

Winterhall resembled the va Still-Patter house, built larger. Why did the Empress want to meet away from her palace? The grandeur there would overawe a beetle like Piper Hecht.

Madouc opined, “She knows you’ve seen Krois. You’ve seen the Chiaro Palace and the Castella dollas Pontellas. Her palace wouldn’t intimidate you. And she might want to be away from all the eyes and spies that go with a palace. Here she can talk with only a few noses poking in. Here she can get away from her fianc?.”

Rumor had King Jaime making himself thoroughly unpopular by acting like he was in charge. Katrin supposedly would not admit his bad behavior but had taken steps to neutralize it.

“Be interesting to see how much control she lets him have after the wedding,” Hecht said. Katrin Ege was used to having things her way. Often even over the objections of her Council Advisory.

“Indeed,” Madouc replied.

“What is that?” Hecht indicated construction they were passing. It could not be seen well by torchlight.

“Something being built by bankers from the Imperial states in Firaldia. Their own private fortress. You see more and more of them in northern Firaldia. Just round stone towers with only a few windows up high and just one small entrance maybe fifteen feet above the street. Good enough in family and city politics, where you don’t see heavy weaponry or extended sieges.”

Hecht recalled capturing a somewhat similar citadel in Clearenza, when Sublime V wanted to punish the local Duke. That place had had a ground-level entrance, though. And a larger footprint.

The Captain-General had to shed most of his party outside the Ege palace. And all of his weapons. Unarmed, Madouc was allowed to accompany him as far as the doorway of the sizable room where the Empress had chosen to see Hecht. He remained outside with a brace of humorless Braunsknechts.

The room was drawn from an eastern potentate’s fantasy, all silken pillows in bright colors. The air was heavy with rare incense. Six women were present. Hecht recognized the Empress and her sister. Katrin had aged badly. The other women were unfamiliar. They would be ladies-in-waiting, wives or daughters of important nobles.

It was a torment, avoiding staring at the Princess Apparent.

One of the women seemed aware of his problem. She looked him straight in the eye, mocking and flirting.

“Captain-General, come forward,” the Empress ordered.

Hecht pushed himself. He was able to pursue ceremonials under fierce pressure. He did those things an empress would expect, but once he completed his obeisance he dared say, “This is irregular in the extreme, Your Grace.” He understood that honorific pleased Katrin, though it was more suited to a Prince of the Church.

“It is. Yes. Sit. Be comfortable.”

The Captain-General did as instructed. The Empress had gained a regal air along with the haggard look. Helspeth had gained… something dangerous. More magnetism than in his frightened fantasies.

Katrin continued, “There are matters I want to raise with you. I couldn’t, elsewhere. As it is, my Council Advisory will fulminate and bluster when they hear about this. Jaime will be petulant. But not enough to endanger his chance to become Imperial Consort.”

The woman with the challenging eyes approached the Captain-General. She brought coffee in a little cup so thin the fluid level was evident from outside. The odor said this was the finest Ambonypsgan, smuggled through Dreanger and so expensive that only kings and princes dared enjoy it.

There was a message in the appearance of that cup. The Empress knew a lot about Piper Hecht. Including his fondness for coffee.

The woman who brought the coffee murmured, “Compliments of the Princess.”

She knew.

A glance at Helspeth. The Princess Apparent was not behind that message. She had best hope this woman was a true friend.

“Thank you for the coffee, Your Grace. I haven’t had the pleasure in some time. How may I be of service?”

Encounters of this sort often dragged on, no one speaking to the point, everyone looking for some bit of leverage. Hecht was impatient.

“Two matters, Captain-General. Possibly more, later. Firstly, the Remayne Pass. You came that way?”

“I came with King Jaime. Who went the northern way. He had reservations about the pass.”

“Because the thing my sister squashed there has found new life. In a smaller way. It’s making trouble but I can’t unleash my ferocious little Helspeth again.”

So. She had heard the whispers marking Helspeth as the truer child of the Ferocious Little Hans.

Helspeth was not pleased. That was clear. But, as mentioned in more than one careful letter, she meant to be the perfect younger sister and Princess Apparent.

“And?”

“Only the Captain-General of the Patriarchal forces has the power and means to eliminate this pest. The Empire will bear the expenses. Including indemnities to the families of anyone lost in the hunt.”

Hecht took a tiny sip of coffee. That could have been arranged by go-betweens. Even if Katrin was flexing her Imperial muscles for the benefit of men who had been pushing her this way and that. Who might be inclined to do more pushing, more vigorously, these final days before the wedding.

Once trivial opposition to her choice of husbands had grown dramatically since King Jaime had become available for direct assessment.

Only Katrin remained infatuated.

Katrin proved capable of cutting through when she wanted. “That’s my lesser problem. I have something bigger in mind. First, though, I want your oath never to discuss it outside this room. If we can’t come to an accommodation.”

Hecht thought the Empress naive if she believed anything discussed here would remain secret. The ladies-in-waiting had husbands who wanted to know. Someone would tell someone, in strictest confidence.

Hecht toyed with blond hair he had let grow long. And was considering pruning back. Strands of gray had begun to appear. “I can make that commitment. But my silence won’t keep the secret.”

“No doubt. The great symbol of the Empire is the eagle. But I’m surrounded by vultures.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“But you’re not surprised.”

“The price of power, Your Grace. The higher you rise the more parasites you accumulate.”

Katrin rose from her cushions. Helspeth did the same. The Empress said, “Come with us. There’s a quiet room back here.”

Every lifeguard and lady-in-waiting began to stir, driven to protest. Katrin snapped, “My ferocious little sister will guard me against the wicked Brothen.”

Moments later the Empress herself shut the door of the most austere quiet room Hecht had seen. The walls were bare stone that sorcery could not penetrate. There were no furnishings.

Hecht studied the milky rock sheathing.

“Captain-General? I promise, it’s real. The best stone, from the quarry where Aaron and his father worked.”

“I was looking for cracks. An acquaintance-he belongs to the Collegium-can spy on a quiet room if there’re cracks anywhere.”

“Muniero Delari.”

“Him. Yes.”

“Helspeth. Stop that.”

The younger woman was trembling.

“All right.” The Princess Apparent feigned an abiding interest in the integrity of the stonework.

Katrin said, “I’ll get straight to it. Excusing themselves one way or another, someone will force that door soon. Captain-General. I want to hire you away from the Church. You, your staff, and all your professional people.”

Helspeth gasped. “Katrin?”

“Your Grace?”

“I swore an oath when I was crowned. Only my confessor knows. I mean to make the pilgrimage to the Holy Lands. Leading a crusade. I want you to be its commander.”

That Katrin might launch a crusade was no secret. But…“I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ve been surrounded by the great men of the Grail Empire my entire life. The best of them, like the Grand Duke, are petty, self-serving, and would backstab any other lord I might appoint my champion.”

Hecht started to protest.

“Bad choice of words, Captain-General. Not champion. Supreme commander. General of generals. For the same reason you were made commander of the Brothen City Regiment. You have no ties to any faction.”

“So all your dukes and grafs and ritters would be against me because I’m an interloper.”

“My father developed tools for handling that sort. I haven’t deployed them yet. Once this marriage is made I intend to put together a new Council Advisory. Jaime and the Patriarch back me.”

“Possibly. I suspect Jaime will be a nuisance, determined to control you.”

Katrin’s temper flared. It was true. She would hear nothing against Jaime.

Hecht stole a glance at Helspeth, who had been stubbornly silent. That startled her. She said, “Surely you’d find service with the Grail Empire an important step forward, Captain-General.” Her voice was breathy. It wavered.

Katrin clearly appreciated the support but was puzzled by her sister’s shyness.

“It would be, indeed,” Hecht said. “I can imagine no greater honor, nor any task more challenging, than being warlord for the Grail Empire in such a holy enterprise. But…”

“But?”

“A crusade would be expensive in the extreme. Even if every fighter volunteers, wages still have to be paid. Men have to eat. Their animals have to eat. Weapons have to be purchased. Armor…”

“There should be wealth enough, Captain-General. Despite the costs of the Calziran Crusade, my father was frugal. He left a sizable treasury. My brother not only preserved that, he added to it. Despite the jackals surrounding him. Likewise, the current Empress. Who expects to come into substantial additional riches soon.” A remark she would not pursue.

“I have a contract with the Patriarch,” Hecht said. “At his will. In effect, I’m his till he loses faith in me. Right now I’m engaged in a bitter campaign to exterminate revenant Instrumentalities in the End of Connec. They refuse to go easily.”

“As with the thing Helspeth defeated.”

“I’ll do what I can about that.”

“And when Boniface goes?” Helspeth asked, voice stronger now. “Will you be free then?”

“No. Bellicose of Viscesment will be the next Patriarch. To reunite the Church. I’ve sworn to stand behind him. In case the Collegium try to renege on the Church’s promises. It’s a pity Boniface became Patriarch so late. He might have earned a place in history, given more time. He’s the best Patriarch I’ve known.”

“Bellicose won’t last long, will he?”

“Boniface may outlive him. His health is fragile.”

The hammering on the door began. Helspeth said, “That took longer than I expected. You’re starting to scare them, Katrin.”

“They’ll have a reason after this. Captain-General. What will it take to bring you here? Will Boniface or Bellicose let me buy you?”

Hecht managed not to eye the Princess Apparent. “Not as things stand. They both have uses for me.”

“If you did serve me would you be just as loyal?”

“Yes. My integrity is what I’m selling. Those people out there do seem to be getting impatient.”

“They’ll regret it.” The Ege steel rang out.

For the ghost of an instant the tips of Princess Helspeth’s left hand fingers brushed the back of Hecht’s right. The effect was electric. He jerked. Helspeth gasped. Katrin paid no mind. The door had begun to open. She was headed that way in a blistering rage.

The Ninth Unknown was in a serious mood. He made no noise to attract the lifeguard outside Hecht’s bedchamber. He whispered, “Wake your dead ass up, boy. We’ve got problems.”

Hecht surfaced from a dream featuring Helspeth and him engaged in activities that could compromise the Grail Throne itself. The old man had a hand over his mouth. That was not necessary. Hecht whispered, “What?”

“Boniface had a stroke. You need to get back to Brothe.”

“I’m stuck here till after the wedding.”

“There might be a coup. Bellicose hasn’t reached Brothe yet. And neither Muno nor I can get close enough to prop up Boniface’s health.”

“Damn!” Hecht swore softly. The timing was awful. “Can you disguise yourself?”

“What?”

“You can manage not to be seen at all. I know. Can you pass as someone you’re not?”

The old man frowned his question in the weak light of a lone candle.

“Can you deliver letters without giving yourself away?”

“I’m listening.”

“I can send orders to the garrisons near the city. And my people in the Connec. If you take the long strides in between, my forces can be in place ahead of time.”

“Send for pen and ink. I’ll find a way.” Februaren turned sideways and vanished.

Hecht summoned the duty lifeguard. “I need quills, ink, paper, and sand. Right away.” He had wax and a candle.

Armed with the appropriate tools, he began writing orders.

Cloven Februaren reappeared. “Too bad you didn’t have more time with the Construct. You could handle this in person.”

“Wouldn’t be smart to let people think I could be two places at once.”

“Good point. Better than good. What were you and the Ege chits doing in that quiet room?”

Hecht forgot his promise first time he was asked. “Katrin wants to hire me to lead a Grail Empire crusade into the Holy Lands.”

“My. My, my. The Palace is going mad, wall to wall, wondering what went on in there. No one thought of that.”

“It caused some excitement?”

“King Jaime and the Council Advisory are livid. They’re blaming Princess Helspeth. Only Jaime has said anything within Katrin’s hearing. She’s dismissed everyone she saw when she stepped out of that quiet room.”

“Good for her. I hope she goes for a clean sweep. Have you learned anything about the Night thing Renfrow reported? Or my purported brother?”

“When would I have had time?”

“Right. One does take an advantage for granted quickly, doesn’t one?”

“You may. I don’t. Seal the letters you have ready. I’ll move them along. Leave the rest here, addressed. And make sure no one can get in here when you’re gone.”

Hecht grunted and folded, then applied wax. Within the minute the Ninth Unknown was gone again.

Hecht settled beside Kait Rhuk. Rhuk asked, “What have we got, boss?” Hecht did not mind the informality. Rhuk did his job. Well.

“You talk much with Prosek about the thing in the Remayne Pass?”

“Yeah. We designed our attack strategy based on what he learned there. Why? Something on the fire?”

“That interview I had with the Empress. She told me the thing is making a comeback. And hopes we’ll do something about it.”

“We can handle it. Our munitions are way better than when Prosek went after it. One good hit should take it out.”

“Good. So. We’ll deal with that. After the wedding.”

“There isn’t much to do, here. For us.”

“So?”

“So I’ve hung around a lot with guys who humped into town with the high and the mighty.”

“And?”

“There are incredible career opportunities for men in my line. Especially up north.”

“Kharoulke the Windwalker.”

“Not yet. Not directly. But his cult is back. That’s weird, isn’t it? The wells of power start drying up and, suddenly, we’ve got ten thousand more Instrumentalities plaguing us. You’d think it would go the other way.”

“Slow down.” Rhuk had a substantial accent. It thickened when he became excited. “Do you know what you’ll do if we do come up against an Instrumentality like Kharoulke?”

“More developed than Seska was. Probably bend over and kiss my ass goodbye.”

“Because?”

“At some point an Instrumentality should become powerful enough to see ambushes ahead of time. Then it’d stand off and do you wicked. With a platoon of first-string sorcerers I could lure him into a trap that didn’t look like a trap until the firing started. If the first salvo was accurate I could finish him before he pulled his shit back together. But if I didn’t get him the first time I’d never get another chance.”

“Not what I’d hoped to hear. But pretty much what I expected.”

“You ask me, boss, if you want to handle a demonic assertion like the Windwalker, you better get the Patriarch on the case with God. Get Him to come out and flex His muscles the way He used to do in the olden days.”

An interesting suggestion. But not especially useful.

Hecht suspected that God would not show up.

His faith had suffered serious ablation lately. “Think about the Kharoulke problem. If we ever face something that big it’d be handy to have a strategy set.”

“Of course, sir.”

Kait Rhuk was dedicated. He would do that. When he was not busy catching whores.

Cloven Februaren came and went. In the main, he brought good news. Buhle Smolens was headed for Brothe with five hundred crack mountain infantry. Patriarchal garrisons throughout Firaldia were on alert. The Master of the Commandery, the new Brotherhood chieftain at the Castella dollas Pontellas, Addam Hauf, would quarter Patriarchal troops there, meaning the Brotherhood would back the Patriarchal forces.

The Brotherhood existed to make war in the Holy Lands. They could not do that without support from the west. Internecine squabbling anywhere meant reduced resources available to those determined to liberate God’s homeland.

The Captain-General was satisfied that everything possible was being done. If Boniface hung on for a week, a smooth succession would be assured. Buhle Smolens would be close to the Mother City. The Captain-General would be headed south.

The Ninth Unknown said he thought the Patriarch would last a month.

He was able to get that close, now he had begun to put thought into the effort.

Cloven Februaren began to show the strain of trying to hold everything together. Hecht told him to ease up. If it looked good, let it ride. Let it work itself out.

Advice he had to take himself. He could not walk away before the wedding.

The wedding did come, though the wait seemed endless. As an anticlimax. Being Boniface’s representative, the Captain-General watched with the attendant clerics. He played no part himself, not being in orders. Pella was not allowed to join him. The boy remained outside the Holy Kelam and Lalitha Church, shadowed by Presten Reges and Shang “Bags” Berbach. The lifeguards were frantic. If ever someone wanted to get at the Captain-General through his son, this was the time.

Holy Kelam and Lalitha was one of the great churches of the Grail Empire, rich in architecture, furnishings, and decorative detail. It was an object of pilgrimage. Relics of both Founder namesakes were buried beneath its altar. The lame and sick came to light a candle and pray to Lalitha, who had wrought miraculous cures while living.

The Captain-General spared little attention for the wonders of the church. He focused on the wedding party. On Princess Helspeth and King Jaime. There was little mystery about his interest in the Princess Apparent. The Adversary had found a foothold inside his soul. He did wonder why the Direcian monarch interested him, though.

Attitude? The man was sure to be trouble. Everyone watching could tell he was impatient to get this nonsense over. That he was eager to start throwing his weight around.

Jaime was headed for a world of disappointment. Katrin might be besotted, might be fawning over him, but she was Johannes Blackboots’s daughter. No pretty Direcian would win control of the Grail Empire simply by wedding her.

And if she did surrender all reason?

The Council Advisory would step in. A dozen grim old men and their grimmer women. They watched from the floor, afraid that they had erred by agreeing to this match.

They could tell that the Castaurigan had ambitions unfettered by reality. He expected to outshine Peter of Navaya, using his new spouse’s wealth and power.

Could he be that blind? His bride meeting privately with Boniface’s military commander had outraged him. He had no idea what might have been discussed, but was aware that the Church was little interested in glorifying Castauriga or its king. The Church was cozy with Peter of Navaya.

King Jaime would be in a tight place with the Church. The outstanding characteristic of his wife was her devotion to Brothe. That was her external strength and her great political liability inside the Empire.

Hecht leaned nearer the Archbishop beside him, Elmiro Conventi. Conventi represented several Imperial cities in northern Firaldia. “We need to watch this King. He’ll intrigue with the anti-Brothens if he can’t bully the Empress.”

The grossly fat Archbishop first showed annoyance, then grasped the suggestion. “Excellent observation. I’ll pass the thought along.”

The ceremony was a long one. It did not just join a woman and a man, it formalized an alliance and founded a dynasty.

Piper Hecht thought he had been in the west long enough to be acclimated to its weirdest customs. He was aghast when he discovered that the grande dames of the court were, at this late hour, jockeying to be chosen to witness the Empress’s defloration. There would be five. Tradition assigned the respective mothers and the bride’s aunts the task. Neither Jaime nor Katrin had a living mother. Jaime had brought no sufficiently exalted Castaurigan women. He tried to refuse the ceremony. The court harpies would have none of that.

They wanted to see the Ege chit humiliated.

Somehow, the Empress, Alten Weinberg, the Grail Empire, and the greater world got through the night. As did the Captain-General of Patriarchal forces.

Madouc assured him, “Only the highborn endure that. Before the conversion to Chaldareanism, girls lost their virginity early. They seldom married before they proved their ability to bear children. It’s still that way for the peasantry. But the nobility consider it imperative that there be no doubts about paternity. No man wants to leave his patrimony to a child not his own.”

“I understand.” Without fully comprehending. “Yet most women here young enough to be interested seem to indulge in liaisons with men who aren’t their husbands. Some with more than one man. While the men are involved with women not their wives.”

“The underlying consistency is hard for outsiders to grasp.” Madouc’s tone was caustic. “The romanticism of the jongleurs is to blame.”

“Meaning?”

“They say marriage is a business arrangement. Love is something else.”

The Praman world had its love stories. Its fables of deceit, betrayal, and cuckoldry, usually illustrating the weakness of the cuckold. In real life even the suspicion of infidelity could lead to a harsh death. Here, everyone winked at it-even when one’s own woman was concerned.

And yet, Piper Hecht could not see Helspeth Ege and keep his thoughts channeled into propriety.

The post-nuptial celebrations went on for days. Two passed before the Captain-General could leave without giving offense. He left the borrowed house in better condition than he had found it, with an effusive letter of gratitude to the younger va Still-Patter.

The Braunsknecht captain, Algres Drear, rode with him. “My greatest appreciation for your efforts on my behalf, Captain-General,” he said, on the road south of Alten Weinberg. “The Princess Apparent would’ve had me back if she could. But her sister won’t forgive me. Nor will those old men she made look like fools and cowards in the Remayne Pass.” Having mentioned the pass, Captain Drear became nervous.

“I’m glad you’re along. You were there before. You can help plan.”

“You truly intend to deal with the monster?”

“I told the Empress I would. Kait Rhuk says we’re a hundred times more ready now than Prosek was then.” He glanced over his shoulder. There were four falconeers back there who had survived the last ambush. They had been injured, then taken captive by the Imperials, who had hoped to pry the secrets of the falcons out of them. They had betrayed nothing because they knew nothing.

“I’d apologize,” Drear said, following his glance. “But you’d know I wasn’t sincere. The Princess Apparent was livid. She has an overly developed sense of honor.”

“Something like her father?”

“Johannes Blackboots could put his sense of honor aside if the stakes were high enough.”

“I suspect the Princess would, too, given a real need. We’re few of us morally and ethically inflexible. Those who win the great reputations are those who are least obvious about it.”

“A cynic.”

“Perhaps. I count myself a realist. I’d forgotten these mountains are so big.”

The Jagos climbed to the sky, each peak clad in a cape of permanent ice.

Drear said, “They’ve changed a lot, just in my lifetime. There’s a lot more ice and snow now.”

Princess Helspeth’s folly in the pass had earned her no detractors among the people of the region. Their livelihoods depended on having travelers use the pass.

The Captain-General paused to rest his animals and ready his gear before entering the pass. The village was called Aus Gilden. It was unlikely ever to be known for anything but its utility as a jumping-off point.

A courier from the Connec overtook the Captain-General there.

He gathered the band in the evening. “I’ve had a message from Lieutenant Consent. Our brothers in the Connec had a productive few weeks while we languished in Alten Weinberg.”

Laughter. Every man had seized the opportunity to do everything but languish.

“Prosek cornered and dispatched Hilt and Kint on consecutive nights. He’s close behind Death, now.”

Someone called, “Let’s hope that goes well.”

“Hagan Brokke twice destroyed large gangs of bandits, with the assistance of Count Raymone. Clej Sedlakova cleared several towns and ambushed Rook. Who, unfortunately, managed to slide away again. But badly weakened. That leaves only Shade running free and uninjured.” Skilen and several lesser revenants had fallen already.

The men did not cheer. They were not that sort. But they had pride in accomplishment. Kait Rhuk said, “Let’s hope it’s as easy up ahead.”

“You foresee problems? The monster can’t offer anything like the threat it did to Prosek.”

“I like to be ready for the worst.”

An outlook Piper Hecht approved. If you were prepared for the worst you would seldom be caught unready.

The Ninth Unknown appeared occasionally but there was little chance to talk.

It was a comfort, knowing the old man was watching.

Drear warned, “We’re coming up on where it happened.”

Those who had been with Prosek before began pointing out and explaining.

Hecht sent most of the party to make camp at Prosek’s old site. A caravan headed north soon filled the pass anyway. Hecht and the veterans of the previous encounter, with Madouc, pushed on against the flow.

They found little evidence of the previous encounter. Even the scars on the rocks had faded.

Hecht said, “Let’s get an early start tomorrow.”

Returning to camp, Hecht found the north-bounds settled not far off. He sent Kait Rhuk to ask if anyone had seen anything unusual.

No. They were too many for the monster to trouble.

“So are we,” Rhuk opined.

Hecht feared so. And did not know how to hunt the thing. “I didn’t think this through.”

The Patriarchals made such extensive preparations to resist the Night that the Firaldians nearby mocked them. Every ward got set out. Every man carried at least one handheld firepowder weapon. Both falcons were charged with godshot. Falconeers sat close by them, nursing slow matches. Huge fires illuminated the camp.

And still doom nearly had its way.

A severe itch gnawed at Hecht’s left wrist. He knew he was dreaming, yet knew the itch was real. He had to wake up. He could not. The sense of d?j? vu tormented him. He had been here before. Not in this place but in this situation. Aware but unable to respond as something terrible closed in.

Reason gained ground. This had happened before, in the Ownvidian Knot. He had awakened enough to shake Bronte Doneto out of the spell controlling him.

A falcon barked. Utter astonishment, like a living force, engulfed existence. Then black pain, followed by an instant of realization that the impossible, extinction, was at hand. Then a swift descent into a vacuum of never-will-be-again.

The impact was so brutal Hecht could barely drag himself out of his tent. He was soaked with sweat, shaking. His left wrist ached like it had been broken.

It was worse for the others. They had no protective amulets. The pale light of drained fires feebly illuminated men writhing, or so smitten they lay as though dead, eyes open and rolled back. Yards from the smoking muzzle of a falcon steam rose from a circle of blackened earth. An egg, still so hot it yielded red light, lay at its center.

“Good work, men,” Hecht tried to say. Nothing came out. His mouth was too dry. Nor, he saw, did anyone really deserve the accolade. The duty falconeers were down, in attitudes suggesting that they had fallen asleep.

That thing in the Ownvidian Knot had sent a wave of sleep before it, too.

Cloven Februaren. “Thank you, Grandfather.” He should see about Pella, now.

“What?” Algres Drear, stumbling, appeared. He offered Hecht a hand up.

“My ancestors were looking out for me.” A suspiciously un-Chaldarean thing to say.

“Maybe. It’s the same as that night in the Knot, isn’t it?”

“That would be my guess.”

“And it wasn’t the thing we’re here to destroy.”

“I doubt it. This would’ve been what they call a bogon. A sort of prince of the Night. The way it was explained to me before. Why are you in such good shape? Compared to these others.”

“I was asleep behind that boulder. I guess it shielded me from the worst.”

Hecht eyed the boulder. He saw nothing special. Maybe it was laced with iron or silver ore. Maybe it had been shot up during Prosek’s adventure here and had rolled down the mountain since. Maybe rock was a solid enough barrier in itself. No matter. “Let’s see what we can do for these people.”

“Why are you up so easily?”

“I have friends in the Collegium. They gave me protections against this stuff. Though I’m asking for more, after this. I’m not feeling that grateful to be alive right now.”

“A bitching soldier is a happy soldier.”

Hecht managed a chuckle.

There were no deaths. No one had anything broken or torn. Nobody needed sewing up. But hearts and souls had been brutalized. Fear had found a home. Faith had suffered a severe strain.

Hecht told them, “Never forget. We survived. We won. It’s the Night that needs to be afraid. The Night that has to get out of the way.”

The pep talk helped. A little.

Hecht decided to invest another day in recuperation. He hoped for some sign from Cloven Februaren. None came.

Next morning Hecht got everyone moving as soon as there was light to see.

He squabbled with Madouc. He wanted to be out front. Madouc would not suffer it. The lifeguard carried the day.

Hecht had decided to give in whenever his own desires were not critical to the work at hand. He did not have to be out front, he just wanted to be. Acquiescence now would ease relations and make it easier to overrule Madouc when taking a risk might be useful.

Pella eyed him suspiciously. He asked no questions. Hecht suspected he understood. The boy was quick and smart. Too bad Madouc was just as smart and even quicker.

Progress was slow. The men out front were not eager to find what the travelers from the south had missed. Their Captain-General rotated the point frequently.

The Remayne Pass opened out some. Slopes curved up to either hand, covered with scrub and modest evergreens amongst scattered boulders tumbled from farther up. The peaks caught the rising sun first. Those shifted quickly from orange to a white too brilliant to look at.

A stream rumbled beside the road, carrying frigid meltwater.

The air grew thinner and colder.

Hecht dropped back to the pack train, fell in with Just Plain Joe and Pig Iron. He did not say much. Neither did Joe. Pig Iron kept his own counsel. There was no way Hecht could explain his need for time shared with Joe.

Just Plain Joe was one of his oldest acquaintances this side of the Mother Sea. Pinkus Ghort and Bo Biogna dated from the same time, and Redfearn Bechter from just days later. Only Anna Mozilla went back further than did they.

Joe had no agenda. Joe lived each day as it came. He made life easier for the animals. Hecht could relax with Joe. He didn’t have to explain anything, guess about anything, do any planning, be anything but a guy Joe knew.

Joe was in one of his social moods. Fifteen minutes after Hecht joined him, he asked, “You in a big hurry, Pipe?”

“Always. It isn’t necessary, though. Probably.”

“I keep looking at that river and thinking they ought to be some good trout fishing there. In one of them pools where the water takes a break before it goes charging off again.”

“You want to have a fish fry?”

“Been a while since I had a mess of good cold-water fish. Better than anything they got down in the lowlands.”

“When’s the best time?”

“Afternoon? After the sun warms the water some and there’s bugs out. Early evening is maybe even better since there’s more bugs then.”

“We come to a place that looks good, give a holler. Those men up front need a break.”

“They’re pretty worried, eh?”

“The monster had a bad reputation, back when. I think we’ll have trouble finding it now, though.”

“That wasn’t it the other night? That was rough on the horses.”

“Rough on all of us. No. That was one of those bogon things like the one in the Ownvidian Knot that Principat? Doneto chased off.”

“Uhm.” Joe went back inside himself and relaxed. Maybe half an hour later he emerged to chat briefly about ways to reduce disease amongst the army’s mounts.

A small party northbound had no news about the monster but did report that all Firaldia was holding its breath over Boniface’s health. The Patriarch made good progress for a few days, then suffered grave setbacks. On his good days he pursued his work ferociously. He had made great headway with the Eastern Church. He was close to a modus vivendi that would soothe the factions in the Connec. The ancient peace of those provinces was about to be restored.

If Boniface just had the time.

That alone should have the poisoners swarming, Hecht believed. Too many people, inside the Church and inside Arnhand, had become deeply invested in abuse of the End of Connec. Thieves, all, except for a handful of fanatics.

The column halted. Kait Rhuk and the men up front spread out, getting ready for trouble. Hecht hurried forward. His lifeguards closed in but did not stop him. This needed doing.

“Rhuk. What do we have?”

“Injured man up ahead. Maybe dead.”

Rhuk had the man covered from several angles, no one closer than twenty feet. One falcon was sited so that it could fire at anything coming out of the only cover nearby.

“He’s breathing,” Rhuk said. “I see that now.”

The man lay sprawled among the rocks like he had fallen out of the sky. He was large and wore nothing but a massive growth of washed-out reddish hair. The dense rat’s nest around his head and face contained streaks of gray. He had not been eating well.

“Been in a few scrapes, looks like,” Madouc said. “I’ve never seen so many scars.”

“Missing his right hand, too,” Rhuk said. “Want me to go wake him up?”

“No. Nobody get in the line of fire.”

Everyone eyed the brush up the hillside. Was this man bait?

Hecht said, “I’ve seen this man before. I’m trying to remember where.” The memories came in a rush. He did not want to accept them. “Below the wall of al-Khazen. This was one of the soultaken.” Whose death tussle with Ordnan and the Choosers of the Slain had cursed him with ascension to Instrumentality status.

“Target both falcons on him. Have every hand weapon ready.”

“Sir?”

“That’s our quarry. The man who became the monster.”

That caused a buzz. And brisk preparations.

“Say when, sir,” Rhuk said, slow match in hand.

“Not yet. Only if he does something threatening.” This needed closer examination. He was aware of no instances of this soultaken returning to human form. There must be a reason. “Pella. I have a job for you.”

“Dad?”

“Round up some throwing stones. Chunk them over there. Try not to hit him in the head.”

“All right.”

“Rhuk. The rest of you. No firing without my order.”

Pella threw. He did not miss. The body yonder twitched.

Where was the Ninth Unknown?

The hairy man shuddered. He forced his way up off the rocks. His naked skin bore fresh abrasions, several extensive and evidently painful. He got into a sitting position, shuddered again, rested his hands and chin on his knees.

“What now?” Kait Rhuk asked.

“Wait. Pella. That’s enough.”

The wait was a long one. At last the naked man shuddered, lifted his head, peered round with bleary eyes. He showed his palm weakly, in response to the martial display.

“Don’t anybody relax,” Hecht said. “Don’t take any of this at face value.” He told the naked man, “Speak.”

Hecht could not decipher the answer. He did not move closer. The soultaken had been created specifically to destroy him. It might not be able to abort its mission.

“Captain-General?” Rhuk wanted instructions. Again.

“Wait.”

“Food,” the soultaken gasped. That was clear enough.

“Toss him a loaf. And a hard sausage. Somebody. Don’t get in the line of fire.”

Algres Drear volunteered. He approached the naked man from uphill, avoiding the sight lines of the falcons. He tossed a loaf and a sausage into the man’s lap.

The soultaken ate with glacial haste. A party came up from the south. Threats kept them moving. The news they carried was not encouraging. The Five Families of Brothe were maneuvering heavily, determined to reject the ascension of Bellicose. They might try to lock foreign Principat?s out of the Chiaro Palace to keep them from voting in the next Patriarchal election.

The news angered Hecht. He wanted to rush ahead to the Mother City. Those idiots! Was it impossible for them to deal honorably? Impossible to stand by agreements already made?

But this situation had to be explored first.

He could just blast the soultaken. In this form he could be torn apart easily. But. There must be a reason for his having changed shape.

“This may take a while. Anybody know this pass? Is there a good campsite up ahead? I can’t remember.”

Again, Algres Drear volunteered. “There’s a marshy meadow about three miles on. It was a campground before the monster came.”

Hecht said, “We need to dress this man. I’ll buy from whoever is willing to give something up. Something that will fit, Carolans.”

The soultaken was big. The soldier Carolans barely came up to his chest.

Size and the fact that few of the men bothered to carry extra garments around made clothing the naked man a challenge.

The man devoured every crumb given him. His color returned. He got his feet under him. He dressed himself.

He submitted while silver was placed round his neck, while his wrists were bound behind him and his ankles were connected by a leather hobble.

Before resuming movement, Hecht asked, “You have a reason for what you’ve done? Other than trying to engineer my murder?”

The captive grunted. “Must talk.” But that was all he said that day.

They had no leg irons or fetters. A need had not been foreseen. The prisoner made do with hobbles while he traveled. In camp his captors attached a rope to a stake driven deep into the earth and tied the other end to his left ankle. Another rope ended up tied around his waist. A ready falcon always pointed his way-even after the rain arrived.

The Captain-General had a tent raised to shelter the sentinel falcon.

The prisoner remained in the weather.

Camp set, watch posted, men fed, animals settled, Hecht went to talk to his guest. His lifeguards were close by, armed with firepowder weapons charged for use against the Night.

Hecht brought a camp stool. He settled out of the line of fire. “I’m ready to talk.” Drizzle fell.

The prisoner pushed emptied bowls to the limit of his reach. No one blocked any line of fire collecting them. “This will take a while. The change drained me more than I imagined possible. I’d forgotten how to be human.”

Hecht was surprised. The man was articulate. But his accent was brutal.

“You knew we were coming.”

“Yes. And why. There are few secrets from the Night. But Instrumentalities don’t understand human time. If they did, the Godslayer never would have been born. Till he acted the first time, though, the Night could never be certain that he had been.”

A theory previously proposed by Muniero Delari and Cloven Februaren.

“If the Night knows the future, why try to direct it?”

“There are countless futures. Some elements are unavoidable. At the same time, countless possibilities have to be eliminated.”

Hecht sat silently. The prisoner was content to wait. And indifferent to the weather. He did lean back and open his mouth to catch what liquid fell to him.

He had been given nothing to drink.

Hecht said, “I can’t help thinking you’re too articulate to be Asgrimmur Grimmsson from Andoray.”

“Svavar suffered on behalf of his brother and his gods. Like a sword thrust into the furnace repeatedly, then hammered hard on the anvil. Most of this Asgrimmur came from those gods, garnered unwanted as they died. This Asgrimmur has seen much that that Asgrimmur never suspected.”

“If the Night can’t tell time how did you manage to get into my way at the right moment?”

“I’m not that far removed from humanity.” Talking was a strain. This man never was a talker, nor much of a thinker. But slow waters carve deep canyons, given time.

“Let’s get to the heart of it. Why put yourself in my hands?”

“Kharoulke the Windwalker. In too many potential futures the wells of power keep weakening. The earth grows colder. The Windwalker waxes stronger. He could become greater than he was before. There are no Instrumentalities capable of contesting what he might become.”

“How can this be?” That was really a gasp of disbelief. God Himself would crush the devil.

But. The God of the Chaldareans, of the Pramans, of the Devedians, of the Dainshaukin, was a God fragmented into all the thousands of places where He was worshipped. Some believed there was no longer any way that He could pull Himself together again.

“The ice will keep spreading. Someday, no power will be able to challenge Kharoulke within that realm. Already he’s found souls willing to work his mischief beyond the ice. The gods of the hot lands will weaken as their believers die and their churches are crushed by the advancing ice.”

“And you care, why?”

“The Windwalker’s return is largely my fault. The events that created the modern me filled me with insane rage. That drove me to avenge myself on the gods who made soultaken of me and my brother and murdered the rest of our band.”

Hecht nodded. “You bottled them up inside a universe inside the realm of the gods they created for themselves. Freeing the Windwalker from bonds that had held him for millennia.”

“Yes. Though Kharoulke isn’t the only one. He just awakened first. He’s forcing the other Instrumentalities of his age to become appendages of his will.”

“Why come to me?”

“You are who you are. You are what you are. You are the only means by which I can correct my error. I’m awfully thirsty.” That last stated as though by a second, different personality.

Hecht had a bucket of water brought.

Later, the prisoner said, “There is no way I can reassure you. You must, of nature, distrust me. Though I promise you that the lesson of the ambush, where I came within inches of death, hasn’t been lost. All that shot, all that terrible silver, burned the madness out of me. Since then I’ve done only what I must to survive and recuperate. No travelers have died because of me.”

Hecht stared thoughtfully. This sounded like an educated man of breeding, not a pirate ripped out of his own time by pathetically scheming lunatic gods.

“What do you want help doing?”

“I have to go back north. I have to rediscover the way into the Realm of the Gods. I have to free them. In some way that leaves me healthy. Once loose they’ll have no choice about fighting the Windwalker. He won’t give them an option. They imprisoned him ages longer than I’ve imprisoned them.”

“That’s a lot to think about. And there’s bound to be more.”

“True. See to your obligations. There’s no rush. The Windwalker is still weak. And will be for years. Though weakness is relative. And he’ll get stronger as the ice advances. One day he’ll become strong enough to reach beyond the ice. When that happens this world’s days will be numbered.”

Good Praman or good Chaldarean, Piper Hecht heard little that could be encompassed by the faiths and prejudices of his experience.

“You don’t need to trust me. I don’t expect you to trust me. But I’ll accompany you, causing you no harm, to Brothe. Where I can be examined by those able to determine the truth.”

“Can you travel hurt?”

“I heal fast.”

But not thoroughly enough to regenerate a missing hand.

“What was that about?” Madouc asked once his principal was safely away.

“He has a message for our masters. From the Night side.”

“What?”

“He’s deserting. The Night. Because of horrors that are going to come. If we aren’t forewarned and prepared.”

“What?” Incredulous this time.

“I’m telling you what I heard. He talked me into taking him to the Collegium for examination.”

“He is the monster that has been plaguing the Remayne Pass?”

“And other areas across the south slopes of the Jagos. Yes. Though he’s been quiet since Prosek mauled him.”

The monster was right. He did heal fast. And made himself useful, too, once he recovered. But no one trusted him. Ever. Not even Just Plain Joe, who was incapable of seeing evil in anyone else. Pig Iron had nothing to do with him. And where Pig Iron led the rest of the animals followed. Asgrimmur walked every inch of the road to Brothe.

He wanted to be called Asgrimmur. He did not want to be Svavar, though he had been called that since childhood.

Asgrimmur Grimmsson had, at last, done something to win the approval of the elders of Snaefells. Two centuries after the last of them crossed over.

The road south passed through numerous counties, duchies, city-states, and pocket kingdoms. Some were Patriarchal States. As many more were Imperial. The most daring claimed to be free republics. Veterans of the Calziran and Connecten Crusades made up the Patriarchal garrisons. Hecht gathered those as he advanced.

Three thousand men went into camp in the hills northeast of Brothe, the troops under strict orders to do no damage to vineyards, olive groves, truck farms, farmers, or farmers’ daughters. The Brothen peoples, of all classes, were neither to be offended nor aroused.

The guards at the city gates had orders to prevent Patriarchals from entering. However, they lacked all suicidal inclinations. When Pinkus Ghort raked them over the coals later they would be healthy enough to enjoy his fury.

Hecht went straight to the Castella dollas Pontellas. The Fortress of the Little Bridges was the commandery of the Brotherhood of War in Brothe. The fighting monks had close ties with the Captain-General. For the moment.

Asgrimmur accompanied Hecht. As the great monuments and palaces along the Teragi came into sight, the Instrumentality said, “There is a cruel something hidden beneath this city. An evil something that feeds on fear.”

Pella said, “Dad, I thought Principat? Delari said he’d get rid of that.”

“He did say, didn’t he?”

“And he said he did it.”

“Maybe he was wrong.”

“When can we see Mom?” Pella hardly pretended not to be manipulating those who had taken him in. Hecht did not mind.

“Soon. I have to see Colonel Smolens first. I have to get our new friend set up where people won’t worry about him.”

Trouble was likely if anyone connected this man with the northerners who butchered their ways through Brothe during the run-up to the Calziran Crusade. The Brotherhood of War, in particular, nurtured an abiding grudge.

“Presten and Bags can take you if you just can’t wait. But you’ll have to stay inside once you get there. They can’t stay around to look out for you. They have families they want to see, too.”

“Can I? I can’t wait to see Vali and Lila.”

“Go. But remember. You can’t leave the house. You can’t!”

“I got it, Dad. I got it.”