Surrender to the will of the night

7. Mother City: Time of Changes

Rumor said the Five Families were furious. Rumor had their supporters in the Collegium gnashing their teeth. They were irked by Boniface’s stubborn refusal to get out of their way.

They were further incensed by the swift arrival of the Captain-General, whose commitment to the vision of Hugo Mongoz was common knowledge. Before his advent gangs roved the streets, bullying the retinues of rustic Principat?s, often coming to blows.

The City Regiment did little to control the violence. That said a great deal.

Someone had a firm grasp on Pinkus Ghort’s leash. Piper Hecht suspected Principat? Bronte Doneto. Doneto, of the Benedocto family, wanted the disorders to continue.

The arrival of Patriarchal troops stilled the waters swiftly.

The Captain-General answered only to Boniface VII. Boniface had asked for peace in Brothe for months.

Peace there would be, now.

Piper Hecht meant to steal every moment he could with Anna Mozilla and the children. And received an outstanding gift his first visit. The children surrounded him immediately. Pella was proprietary, having just spent all that time in the field with his adoptive father. Lila was shy. He had not been around much since her arrival. She kept looking to Anna to see if she was doing the right thing.

Vali was the amazing one. First, she had grown dramatically. She promised to become an attractive woman. But the greater thrill was having her hug him, then say, “Welcome home, Father.” Plain words. Straight out. Speaking in his presence for the first time ever.

Hecht hugged her back and looked over her at Anna. Anna smiled, nodded. Vali had regained her ability to trust. Vali had enlisted fully in their makeshift family.

Pella said, “We thought you’d never get here.”

“You and me, both. Every time I started this way they found something else that had to be handled right now. Otherwise, Mother Church and the Episcopal world would go under before sundown.”

Anna said, “You’re here, now. Leave the world outside. Madouc sent word you were coming. The children made a special meal.”

“Wonderful.” He could smell the mutton cooking. “I wish I knew how to tell you all what an anchor you are to me when I’m out there.” Which he meant absolutely, however hard temptation might nip.

“Tell us about the wedding!” Vali enthused. Lila nodded. The older girl would break no hearts. Nor get a chance to do if her background came out. “Pella wouldn’t.”

“Because they didn’t let him inside.” He settled at the table, began describing the Imperial wedding.

The girls rushed back and forth with food. Hecht talked only when both were there to hear. Pella remained seated, Anna judging him to be too old now to run with the girls.

Anna no longer had servants. She did not trust herself or the children not to give something away. And they all had secrets.

Vali wanted to know what King Jaime looked like. Was he as handsome as they said? Lila wanted to know what the Empress and her sister wore. Lila was almost appealing when she was excited.

“Jaime is as pretty as a man can be. And as spoiled. He makes enemies almost as fast as he can talk. He won’t stop saying stupid and offensive things. The Empress and the Princess Apparent were stunning. Their gowns cost more than any of us can hope to see in our lifetimes. Katrin wore gold. Helspeth wore silver. They were soaked in gems and pearls. Katrin favored rubies, Helspeth emeralds. The ladies of the court were nearly as gaudy. I do wish you could have seen them. But I’m still thinking it was a miracle that I was invited.”

“That is curious,” Anna observed.

“They said it was because Boniface can’t travel. After the crusade in the Connec, I was better known than anyone else connected with the Patriarch.”

“You were invited when Pacificus Sublime was Patriarch, too. And he wasn’t handicapped.”

“Are you sure? He went way before his time.”

Anna shrugged. “It just seems strange.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

“Pella says you had a private interview with the Empress.”

“I did. She tried to hire me away from the Church. So maybe that explains why I was there.”

“What? Why?”

Lila asked, “You aren’t going to do it, are you?” In a voice so soft Hecht almost missed it.

“No. She wanted me to lead a crusade to the Holy Lands. I don’t want that. I’d have to deal with all those pompous idiots… Never mind. I have a job here. At the moment, to ensure an orderly transition. But let’s don’t talk about that. You girls tell me what you did while I was gone.”

Anna was more than usually demanding that night. She was troubled. It took a while to get her to open up. “I’m afraid,” she said. “All the time, anymore. Not terrified. Just always anxious.”

Hecht held her close. “Any special reason?”

“I worry about the girls. That evil thing is still out there. Principat? Delari keeps saying they got it, but it keeps coming back. Plus, Principat? Doneto has people trying to find out things about us. If he digs deep enough…”

“He’ll get his digging fingers lopped off. The Ninth Unknown has created entire lives for us based on what we’ve told people. Pinkus Ghort’s special spy, Bo Biogna, dug up my service records all the way back to Grumbrag. And in Grumbrag he found a man who says he’s my brother.”

Anna stiffened. “Really?”

“He told me so himself. I saw him in Alten Weinberg. He came by to see Joe.” He did not have to explain. Anna knew about Bo Biogna, Just Plain Joe, Ghort, Hecht, and their shared adventures.

Hecht added, “You’re protected. Never doubt it. Principat? Delari will watch out for you. Cloven Februaren, even more so. I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t have a squadron of Night things guarding your house.”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because they want things from me. And they’re more likely to get them if they look out for you and the kids.” Not to mention, they were basically decent men.

Anna started to ask something, decided against it. Probably about something she knew he would not discuss. “You may be right. Heris visits us at least twice a week. She always prowls around outside like she’s looking for something.”

“There you go.” Heris? Muniero Delari’s granddaughter. Hecht’s sister. Who, like Hecht himself, had no talent for sorcery. But talent might not be necessary with Delari and Cloven Februaren behind her.

Hecht was not sure what his grandfather, and his grandfather’s grandfather, were all about. He was no longer the naive Else Tage who had taken a picked band into the Idiam, to plunder the tombs of Andesqueluz. Piper Hecht, Captain-General of the Patriarchal armies, took no one at face value. Neither his enemies, nor the least of his friends and allies. Saving only Just Plain Joe.

Everyone had a secret agenda.

The children smirked and giggled at breakfast. Hecht ignored them. He was in a good mood. It was a fine day. He had no obligations. He planned to stay right here and do nothing.

Anna was not so cheerful. Looking further ahead, she was anticipating Hecht’s inescapable eventual departure.

Lila made breakfast. Hot bread. Honey. Some fiercely tart little green grapes harvested far too soon. And sausages that seemed to be half fennel. She explained, “This sausage is the kind my mother made. The Artecipean way.”

“Very good. Spicier than I’m used to, though.” And mostly pork. Of course. These westerners seemed determined to cleanse the earth of swine by devouring the beasts faster than they could breed.

“Vali. Now that you’ve learned to talk, why don’t you tell me all about Vali Dumaine? What’s the big mystery? What’s the big secret?”

The girl’s lips twitched and twisted. Habit died hard. But she had known this would come. “I made it up. All of it. I heard some Arnhander crusaders at the Ten Galleons talking to the Witchfinders. We didn’t know they were Witchfinders then.”

“Continue, please.” She seemed to think that she had explained.

“The crusaders had been told to go to the Holy Lands by the Arnhander king. The old one. The one that died. Anne of Menand got him to make them go. They belonged to a count she wanted revenge on. His wife was named Vali Dumaine. I liked its sound. So I made up the story that Lila told you that night in Sonsa.”

Hecht looked at Lila, who stared at the floor. “You believed Vali?”

“Not really. But I wanted to. So I pretended. I didn’t want her to do what I had to.”

Hecht guessed Lila to be fourteen. Even back then, she would have been an experienced prostitute, her virginity auctioned nightly by her mother.

“God will reward you, Lila. I’m sure of that. So. Vali. Who are you, really? The daughter of Bit’s relative from Artecipea? She told one story that ran that way. Another made it sound like you had been sold to the house.”

Lila said, “Mother never told the whole truth. She couldn’t. Not even to herself.”

Hecht thought a woman would have to be skilled at lying to herself to survive in such a hard trade.

“I don’t remember any more, Father. I was too young when I came to the Ten Galleons.”

Hecht did not pursue the matter. It was not crucial. Let the child be what she wanted. Anna would set her on the path of righteousness.

Hecht had another sausage. Vali watched, obviously anxious. He winked. She jumped. “Lila. How are you doing?”

The older girl was surprised to be asked. “Good. Considering. This is an interlude I’ll enjoy as much as I can.”

Hecht’s turn to be surprised. Not because Lila was insecure but because she had assumed a fatalistic outlook so early. Her life must have been harsh indeed. “You have a place here. As long as you like. You’re family, now.” Which could end with one slight political crosswind.

Hecht said, “Everyone listen. Life is unpredictable. Mine maybe more than most. Other people don’t have giant worms come out of the ground after them. If anything happens to me, ever, all of you get to Principat? Delari’s house the minute you hear about it.”

“Why?”

“Anna?”

“Why would we be safer there than here?”

“Because Muniero Delari is who he is.” And because Cloven Februaren made his home there, as well. The Ninth Unknown might be the most powerful sorcerer in the west, if not the world. Though he hid it well.

“I understand that. What eludes me is the Principat?’s motives for caring about me or the children.”

“Ah, I can’t really explain that.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Fifty-fifty. I know some things. I suspect some things. And I know there’s more that I don’t know. One thing I do know is, the umbrella of the Principat?’s protection casts its shade on this family. Accept it. Enjoy it, the way you will the weather we’ll have today.”

Pella rose. He had not spoken for some time. Not even minimal table courtesies. “We can’t enjoy the weather. We aren’t allowed. Some people aren’t afraid of Principat? Delari.” He left the kitchen. A moment later Hecht heard the front door open. Pella would be staring out into the fine morning and, no doubt, would be incensed because he could not go run the streets.

Hecht murmured, “All life is compromise and trade-off. He can’t run the streets but he isn’t starving.” And he had learned to read. And he had begun to learn a trade.

“Trade-offs,” Anna agreed.

Hecht wondered how she meant that.

“Dad,” Pella called. “There’s soldiers coming. Patriarchal Guards.”

Anna said, “And there goes the one day we thought we had.”

Pella made a startled squeal. Hecht rushed to the front, armed with a kitchen knife.

Heris stood six feet from Pella, who was framed in the doorway. The boy was pale. The woman had her hands spread to indicate that she was not dangerous.

“She came out of nowhere, Dad! I was watching the guards. When I turned around, there she was. And I was in the doorway the whole time.”

Heris said, “I’m no good at this yet. I meant to hit that breezeway down the street, across the street. A memory of this room got in the way.”

Anna and the girls crowded together behind Hecht, gaping. With Anna eyeing him suspiciously because it was obvious that he understood.

Hecht asked, “There’s a reason you did this?”

“Grandfather wants you to know that those men are real Patriarchal Guards.”

Hecht had not thought otherwise. Yet. But he would have done if the soldiers were not men he recognized.

“Has something happened?”

“Boniface has taken a bad turn. He’ll want to see you.”

News Delari must have gotten from Cloven Februaren. “I see.”

“Also, I’m supposed to tell you you’re all to come to the town house tonight.” Heris looked him in the eye. “It’s important, Piper.”

“The old man’s wish is my command.”

“And the old, old man’s.”

The Patriarchal Guards arrived. They formed up outside. Their corporal came up to the door with a letter case. Pella called, “Dad.”

The letter case contained only a brief note in a shaky hand. It urged the Captain-General to pay his final respects to Patriarch Boniface VII.

“It’s serious this time, sir,” the corporal said. “He doesn’t have long. Everyone says. He’s determined to see you before he goes.”

“I see.” Though he did not, really. “Anna, maybe you should take the kids to the town house now.” That place was no fortress but it would be safer than this if troubles followed Boniface’s passing. He would get his own men down here right away.

Hecht wanted to ask Heris if it was a problem, the family showing up now…

Vali said, “She just kind of turned sideways and wasn’t there anymore.” Her eyes were huge. “How did she do that?”

Anna, however, was suspicious. “What was all that? Never mind. I understand the need. I just hope nobody decides to loot this place while we’re away.”

“Don’t worry. There are watchers. And I’ll send some of my men. Corporal, I’ll make myself presentable and be right with you.”

Hugo Mongoz looked all of his eight decades, and more. “Out!” he rasped at his attendants. “All of you! Begone!”

The Patriarch had made prior arrangement with his guards. They began removing the physicians and hangers-on. They were not gentle with any who resisted.

“You arrived in time,” Boniface said.

“You’re a stubborn man.”

“I won’t let my Church slide into the grasp of those who want only to aggrandize and enrich themselves.”

Hecht did not ask why Boniface wanted to be different.

“You’ll observe my Will and Testament?”

“That’s why I hurried down from Alten Weinberg. I know Rocklin Glas. He’s a good man. He’ll be good for Mother Church. But he has drawbacks.”

“Which are?”

“You must know. He’s a cripple. Unlikely to outlive you by long. And he enjoys the enmity of every Principat? interested in assuming the ermine in order to aggrandize himself and his family.”

“True. Mustn’t forget the Five Families. Have they put forward an alternative to Bellicose?”

“No, Your Holiness. They’d have to fight it out amongst themselves, first. None of them have the charm to get the others to elect them.”

“Make them fulfill my promises.”

“I will.”

“Suppress the Society. Don’t let that whore in Salpeno seduce anyone else the way she did Sublime.”

“These things will be done. Are being done already.”

“Excellent. Excellent. I can go on satisfied that good men are in charge. Come here.” The old man’s voice had been weakening. Hecht knelt beside the sickbed. Mongoz exuded a sour odor that could not be masked by rosewater. “Tell Cloven Februaren I’ll haunt him if he doesn’t take care of you.” He laughed at Hecht’s surprise. The laughter turned into a coughing spasm.

“Yes. I know he’s out there. I know what he’s doing. He was always a busybody. With a juvenile sense of humor. But good at heart.”

“So it seems.”

“And a useful ally to someone like yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Pray with me.”

Hecht did so.

Principat? Delari could not wait to get Hecht into his silent room to ask about his visit to Krois. “The Patriarch had you in?”

“He wanted assurances that his plans will be carried out after he goes. And he wanted me to relay a message to your grandfather.”

“Uh?” Delari’s right eyebrow shot up.

“Seemed to know all about him.”

Delari scowled. “Makes me wonder who else knows more than he should.”

Heris joined them. She brought two permanent members of the household staff, Turking and Felske, who were married. The cook, Mrs. Creedon, seldom left her kitchen. Heris said, “Anna and the children are changing. Do you have anything that needs bringing in and putting away?”

“I have a couple of lifeguards outside. They could be made more comfortable.” Madouc’s men had caught up with him coming out of Krois.

Heris gestured. The couple hurried off. Hecht glanced at Delari. “She’s grown more sure of herself.”

“Blame it on the Ninth Unknown. And the Construct. Will you be able to spend time with us there, this time?”

“If I can. But I doubt it. I’m here to make the Collegium behave. Heris, what the hell were you doing, materializing in Anna’s sitting room? I have trouble enough explaining things without that.”

“I missed. I told you. The old man isn’t the best teacher. He mostly lets you figure things out for yourself. He isn’t around ninety percent of the time.”

Hecht faced Delari. “You said Heris and I have no talent for sorcery.”

“Inborn, less than some stones, certainly.”

“There are a million magical stones in folklore and myth.”

“My point. But in this case Cloven Februaren is just harnessing the Construct. The magic is in that. You could learn the trick if you spent a few months down there getting in tune.”

“Anyone can learn?”

“Given time and the inclination.”

“Including the people that work down there?”

“Within severely constrained limits. That’s how the women get in and out without falling foul of the Palace guards. Enough, for now.” Anna and the children were arriving.

Anna was stunning in something she had found in the apartment set aside for the family. Vali and Lila were not quite so remarkable but were well dressed, too.

Hecht suppressed a chuckle.

Pella had been outfitted like a young lord, complete with silken hose and slippers with bells on their upturned toes.

“Marvelous,” a new voice opined. And there was the little old man in brown, Cloven Februaren. The Ninth Unknown. “Yet there’s something wrong, here.”

Felske stepped into the room to ask, “Your Grace, Cook would like to know when the meal should be served.”

“When she has everything ready, I expect.”

Almost simultaneously, Februaren said, “These kids don’t fight. Brothers and sisters should be like cats and dogs. The girls should be scorching the boy about being dressed like that.”

Hecht observed, “Some young people are more civilized than others. I saw Hugo Mongoz today. He had a message for you.”

“I heard it. I took it up with him personally after you left. The only man we need to worry about is Bronte Doneto.”

Hecht glanced at his family, all eager to eavesdrop. “Doneto? As a concern other than what we have already?” Doneto was digging. Doneto held Pinkus Ghort’s leash.

“Friend Bronte has his eye on the Patriarchal throne.”

Not unlikely, on reflection. “He seems a little young.” Again, Hecht indicated the family with a glance.

Februaren said, “Might as well bring them in a little way, Piper. It’s true, what they don’t know they can’t betray. But what they don’t know can let them tell things they wouldn’t if they knew what was going on.”

That worried Hecht. Family worried Hecht. Family made you vulnerable. His enemies would not withhold their cruelties because he did not share his secrets with Anna and the children.

“I don’t like it. But you’re the expert. I’ll defer to your judgment.”

“Why, thank you, Piper.” The old man chuckled.

“Teach Heris better aim with the turn sideways trick.”

“I heard. She just needs practice. And more concentration. Well. Here they come. And it looks like Muno has laid on a leg of lamb.”

Principat? Muniero Delari, within the confines of his home, disdained many Firaldian customs. Among his steps away from the customary was, he let children eat with adults. Though he was not so relaxed that he tolerated their chatter during the meal.

Turking and Felske presented the initial courses. Delari remarked, “I’m as uncomfortable as Piper, Grandfather. For different reasons. If you insist on baring souls, I suggest we save it for the quiet room, over coffee.”

“Conceded. One of my failings,” Februaren told Anna, flashing a big, boyish grin. “I’ve never been sufficiently paranoid. Gets me into trouble all the time.”

“So has your childish sense of humor,” Delari said.

“It’s just not possible to resist sticking a pin in, here and there.” The old man grinned again.

Hecht changed the subject. “What’s the problem with the thing in the catacombs? First, I hear it’s been hunted down and destroyed. Then I hear that it’s on the move again.”

Amazing. Principat? Delari actually reddened. “I don’t want to sound defensive. Or whiny. But it keeps getting re-created by the needs of the populace.”

Anna asked, “Why would anyone want a monster that creeps around, doing evil?”

“Nobody wants it consciously. But refugees have a powerful need to be scared of the dark. They’re from rural areas where the Night was never a friend. The city is different. Night is almost as safe as daytime. Pinkus Ghort makes it so. So the monster fills their need to fear the dark. We destroy one, the belief and need seizes another minor Instrumentality and feeds it. Belief channeling power toward its object.”

Hecht asked, “You mean…?” He got no chance to ask.

Cloven Februaren interrupted, “The way to fight that would be to start some rumors that make the believers lose faith.”

Then the earth shook violently.

“What in the hell?”

That was Turking, suddenly terrified.

“Earthquake,” Anna suggested.

Piper Hecht had heard that sound toward the end of the siege of Arn Bedu. But that explosion, of a ton of firepowder under a tower, had not lasted so long, nor had shaken the mountain so vigorously.

“That’s southwest of here,” Delari said.

“Maybe the magazines at Krulik and Sneigon.” The Krulik and Sneigon Special Manufactory produced the firepowder and firepowder weaponry employed by the Patriarchal armies. Its destruction would be a huge disaster.

“Not a good thing,” Cloven Februaren said. “You’d have to start from scratch. Unless somebody had a few eggs hidden in other baskets.”

The three men moved out into the weather. Illuminated smoke rose into the overcast. “That’s not the Devedian quarter,” Hecht said, which was where Krulik and Sneigon were located. “That’s closer. And not big enough to be Krulik and Sneigon.”

“I’ll take a closer look.” The Ninth Unknown turned sideways and disappeared.

Anna and the children saw him go.

“Hush!” Hecht snapped. His lifeguards were closing in. Madouc himself appeared. Hecht asked him, “Any idea what just happened?”

“Your guess would be as good as mine, sir. But I suspect that a firepowder magazine wandered too close to a spark.”

Interesting. Everyone assumed the explosion was accidental. What if it was not?

A flash shone while Hecht wondered how someone outside the military supply chain might have gotten hold of that much firepowder. The rumble did not arrive for several seconds. Hecht immediately guessed that to have been one standard twenty-four-pound firepowder keg.

Cloven Februaren said, “You have more resources than you’re ready to admit, boy.”

Hecht jumped. The old man had returned. Without startling Madouc. Though Madouc was always suspicious of the old man in brown.

“Uh…”

“My sentiments, too. The bang. It was at the Bruglioni citadel. They must have had their cellars filled with firepowder. Everything fell straight down, into the cellars, then on down into the catacombs.”

The light was not good. But Hecht would have sworn the old man was distressed.

Februaren said, “No one in there could’ve survived. It’s worse than the hippodrome collapse.”

Principat? Delari stirred. Having been responsible for that. He had used a keg of firepowder to attack the monster of the catacombs in exactly the worst possible place.

“What shall we do?” Hecht asked.

Madouc suggested, “Staying out of the way would be appreciated by the city authorities.”

Delari agreed. “Good point. They’re irritated enough, having to put up with Patriarchal troops. Sit still. Let them work. They’re competent. If they want help, let them ask.”

Hecht nodded. Reluctantly. He had grown accustomed to doing what he thought was right, without consulting anyone.

Anna took hold of his left bicep. “Why don’t we go inside? Life could get exciting out here.”

The instant he was out of sight of the lifeguards Cloven Februaren turned sideways.

“How does he do that?” Anna asked.

All three children babbled, Vali loudest. “Maybe what is he doing would be more interesting.”

“Dreaming the Construct,” Heris said. “And that’s all you need to know now. And you’re not to repeat that to anyone.”

Hecht glanced at Principat? Delari. He had seen no evidence that Delari could, or did, “dream the Construct.” Why not? If it was so easy that Heris could learn?

Delari said, “We still have dinner to finish. Further discussion can wait.”

The gathering in the quiet room differed only in that Anna was present. Always before she had been asked to stay away. Heris arrived last, bringing coffee. Her great talent. Brewing the rare and incalculably expensive beverage.

Muniero Delari shut the door. Lined with stone, it was immensely heavy. He said, “Anna, you’re a remarkable person. As near perfect for our Piper as a woman could be.”

“But?”

“Yes. Right. I do have a but. I’d rather you weren’t here. What you don’t know can’t hurt the rest of us. But my grandfather says your ignorance could be a more deadly threat to you and the children. And the four of you have become important to us.”

This was new. Hecht sipped his coffee quietly, occasionally glancing at Cloven Februaren. The ancient had been away only minutes. He seemed content to sip coffee and look smug.

Anna looked to Hecht for support. He said, “I don’t know where he’s going. But you don’t need to be scared.”

“Let’s jump right into the cold water,” Delari said. “Heris, in addition to being the top coffee artist in Brothe, is Piper’s older sister.”

Hecht started. Then realized that almost everything Anna needed to know piggybacked on that one statement. Anna knew pretty much everything else about Heris.

Anna said nothing for more than a minute. Finally, “You’re all related. Grade Drocker was Piper’s father. Which explains a lot. But…” She stared at Hecht, eyes wide. “You fired the shot that caused his death.”

“I didn’t know who he was. I’m still not sure what difference it would’ve made. He meant to kill me. He’d tried before. He got two of my friends instead. He didn’t know who I was, either. Till around the time I went into the City Regiment, when he did a turnaround and started sculpting my career.”

“And his father took over when he went.”

Muniero Delari made a slight bow toward Anna. “More coffee, Piper?”

“Always. You know I’m addicted.”

Cloven Februaren leaned nearer Anna and, in a stage whisper, said, “Here comes the really grim part.”

Delari scowled. “Can’t you be serious about anything? Two hundred years old. The most powerful sorcerer in the world. And any one of Anna’s children is more serious and responsible.”

“Being serious now, Muno. Putting on my stern face and acting my age.”

A flicker of smile cracked Delari’s scowl. “He had a point, Anna. Obliquely. You’ve just been included in some extremely dangerous knowledge. The only people who know all that are in this room. Others-er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen in Dreanger comes to mind-know Piper isn’t what he pretends to be. None of them know the whole truth. They can’t find it. The records have been destroyed.”

Februaren said, “The bush he’s beating around is, if anyone finds out it’ll be because somebody in this room right now tells somebody. And that wouldn’t be healthy.”

“Hey!” Hecht said. “Don’t you threaten…”

“Sun comes up in the east. Tides come in and go out. I’m stating facts. Cold facts.”

Delari said, “Anna, you’ve been whining because you haven’t been included in all of Piper’s life.” As Anna frowned at Heris. “Now that you’re included, you can’t walk away.”

The Ninth Unknown said, “You came to Brothe from Sonsa because your former husband’s secret employers insisted. Are you still reporting to al-Qarn?”

Hecht grew more nervous by the second. This could not end well.

“Not for almost two years. I’m sure those people wrote me off for being too close to Piper.”

“That’s good,” Februaren said. “The point’s been made. Piper, fill us in on your adventures.”

The old man and Principat? Delari hardly interrupted, though Hecht did not have a great deal to report that Februaren had not already picked up during his random visits. Both seemed particularly interested in Asgrimmur Grimmsson.

“What did you do with him?” Delari asked. “I’d certainly like to talk to him.”

“Me, too,” Februaren said. “A man who became an Instrumentality, then a man again. Interesting stuff.”

“He’s hidden in a room like this down under the Castella. Hopefully not attracting attention. I didn’t know where else to put him. He wants us to help him free the Old Gods he trapped after he turned into a monster. The unintended consequence of that was the liberation of Kharoulke the Windwalker. As the world is becoming a paradise for his sort.”

“More coffee, Anna?” Heris asked.

“No. I’ve had enough. Of everything. I need some time alone.” Her world had become far more vast and dark in just a few minutes.

As he prepared for bed, Hecht overheard Vali ask Anna, “So did they finally tell you what’s going on?”

“Yes. And now I wish I’d minded my own business.”

“Devedians say, ‘Have no congress with sorcerers.’”

“Which makes them smarter than most of us think.”

The Captain-General visited the fallen Bruglioni citadel. Four lifeguards and Kait Rhuk’s fire team accompanied him.

The Bruglioni stronghold had covered several crowded acres. Surrounded by a curtain wall, it had included gardens and outbuildings as well as the fortress that served the family as home and headquarters.

That was all rubble in a hole, now.

Madouc whispered, “Sir, here comes Colonel Ghort, his own self.”

People made mock of Pinkus Ghort’s rustic speech-which came and went according to a formula best know to Ghort his own self-and of his dress. But Hecht had heard no one but Ghort himself denigrate Pinkus Ghort’s intelligence.

Ghort said, “You musta hauled some major ass, getting down here from Alten Weinberg so fast, Pipe.”

“Promises to keep. What happened here?”

“Firepowder accident. Believe it or not, people survived that. Most of the servants. Gervase Saluda and Paludan Bruglioni, both. Though they’re both bad hurt. Paludan might not make it. Saluda was just leaving when it happened. Lintel came down and crushed his legs. He’ll probably never walk again. The rest of the family are still down there. Along with a fortune in rare wines. I’m told.” Ghort sounded more distressed about the wine than the trapped Bruglioni.

“They had a fine cellar when I worked here. You sure it was an accident?”

“It was pure stupidity. We have a witness who heard an idiot Bruglioni nephew brag that he was going to steal some firepowder and make his own fireworks. He was carrying an open lamp instead of a closed lantern.”

Hecht stared at the rubble. Dust still swirled in the hole. He tried exercising his cynical side. “Who’d profit if it wasn’t an accident?”

“Same folks as will anyway. Anybody in the Five Families who ain’t named Bruglioni. This should about do the family in.”

Kait Rhuk said, “Permission to interject, Captain-General?”

“Go ahead.”

“Colonel. Why would the Bruglioni have had enough firepowder to do this? Not to mention that-I think-legally, firepowder is supposed to be made exclusively for us. The Patriarch’s men.”

“Good point,” Hecht said.

Pinkus Ghort did not quite look Hecht in the eye. “The Collegium say they’re part of the Patriarchal armed forces, Pipe. Looking at it realistically, firepowder manufacturers are producing more than you’re buying. Your conquest of Artecipea took care of the saltpeter shortage. They’re turning a tidy profit on the extra production.” And, perhaps, certain individuals charged with enforcing the rules were getting a share.

Hecht glared toward the Devedian quarter, yet was more irked with himself than those people. This he should have foreseen.

There was nothing more likely to facilitate the redistribution of wealth than a new means of killing people. Though handling and employing firepowder effectively required skill.

Skilled firepowder handler Kait Rhuk asked, “How long before we see firepowder weaponry in the hands of our enemies?”

“Let me guess,” Hecht said. Loosing his sardonic side. “As long as it takes someone to work out a good formula for the stuff?”

Rhuk snorted. “If that was true we’d be up to our asses in bad guys with firepowder toys. The formula ain’t no secret. Every apothecary and chemist in Brothe knows it. What they don’t know is how to put them together. If it was me, I’d have somebody I really trusted permanently installed at Krulik and Sneigon. I’d babysit them day and night. I’d use somebody who’d cut a throat anytime the mood hit him. Somebody who ain’t weasel enough to get rich on the bribes he was gonna be offered.”

The Captain-General did not want to operate that way. But he saw the point. Men who wanted a fast profit, right now, would happily sell the most wonderfully murderous tools to the worst enemies of their own state or people, somehow oblivious to the fact that those weapons might bite back.

The Rh?n had a ferocious secret weapon. They called it nephron. It was a thick, heavy liquid that, once fired, could not be extinguished. It had to burn itself out. Rh?nish merchants would not sell the formula but willingly sold nephron itself, even to Sha-lug who used it against the Eastern Empire’s soldiers.

Human minds did not seem large enough to encompass an obligation to eschew profit if making it required providing a means to destroy one’s neighbor.

Pinkus Ghort said, “Hey, Pipe. You lost in there?”

“What?”

“You went away someplace inside your head. I was afraid you got lost.”

“It isn’t that vast a landscape, Pinkus. Pinkus, knowing you, you’ve found a source for the best wine in town. And you’ve found some way to get in touch with what’s going on in the underworld.”

Ghort gestured with both hands, as though playing with a balance scale-or pair of breasts. “Thus. So. I try. But, really, all I need to do is put on a show that’ll keep the senate happy.”

“Bronte Doneto is who you need to keep happy. Him and the old men of the Church. Not the old men of the city.”

Ghort shrugged. “Pretty much the same crew.”

“They’re wearing you down. Aren’t they?”

Ghort shrugged again. “How can you tell?”

“You don’t even bother to talk bad about them.”

“A man gets addicted to eating regular.”

Hecht faked a laugh. “What are you going to do about this?” He gestured at the hole where the Bruglioni citadel had stood.

“I reckon I could get a shovel and start filling it in. But I don’t suppose that’s what you mean.”

“No.” Smiling. Attitude was a big part of what made Pinkus Ghort Pinkus Ghort.

“I’ll get some of the old farts from the Collegium to come exercise their talents. Give them a chance to show off. Them antiques have egos like you wouldn’t believe. When they figure out it was really an accident, then I’ll grab my shovel. It they decide somebody did it, I’ll hunt the asshole down and drag him in begging me not to turn him over to the Bruglioni.”

“Good for you, Pinkus. You want to come by Principat? Delari’s town house some evening, I brought you half a dozen bottles of white wine from Alten Weinberg.”

“Hey. That was thoughtful.”

“It was, wasn’t it? I’m warning you, though. It’s different stuff.”

“Good. I hear you had an interview with the Empress her own self.”

“I did. She offered me a job.”

“Shit. That’s some shit. I guess you said no.”

“I said no. I’m not ready to break in a new set of crazy old men who are out to sabotage me.”

“I smell rank cynicism, Pipe. You promised you’d work on that.”

“I do. Every day, right after my prayers.”

“That don’t exactly boost my confidence. Did I ever catch you praying? I don’t remember if I did.”

“You’d have to be sneaky and fast. I try to keep it between me and God.”

Ghort chuckled. “I don’t even bother anymore. My god is on a five-century bender and don’t have time for mortal trivia.”

Hecht understood Ghort’s attitude but could not, himself, thumb his nose at the Deity. Whichever One He might be. He asked, “What’s your boss up to?”

“What do you mean?”

“Where’ll he stand when Boniface goes? I’m hoping he doesn’t put you and me in a difficult position.”

“You mean to enforce the Viscesment Agreement.”

“I swore an oath.”

“And the City Regiment, in our myriad, wondrous forms, will be blessed with breaking up the riots.”

“They get to be too much for you, Krois or the Castella can whoop and six thousand veteran Patriarchals will be here overnight. Fifteen thousand in a week. There’s only going to be one next Patriarch.”

“Easy, Pipe. No need to get all intense.”

“Just want to make my point.”

“Consider it made. But you won’t make yourself popular.”

“I have to do the right thing.”

“I give up. It won’t matter a hundred years from now, anyway.”

There was room to debate that. Hecht saw no point. It was hard enough to get Ghort to worry about next week.

Ghort said, “Tell me about your god-killing adventures in the Connec. And Alten Weinberg. What was that like?”

“The interview with the Empress was as interesting as it got. The wedding was just long, boring, and hot. And way overdone.”

“No shit? Is Katrin still as good-looking as she was when we saw her in Plemenza?”

“Time hasn’t been kind. The Grail Throne is a cruel taskmaster.”

“She made it hard on herself, changing sides in the Imperial squabble with the Church.”

“Definitely part of it. Jaime won’t help, either.”

“Not the big, handsome hero, eh?”

“Not so big. Definitely handsome, in a southern kind of way. And he did show good at Los Naves de los Fantas. They say. But he doesn’t have a much finer character than our onetime friend, Bishop Serifs.”

“Not good.”

“And Katrin won’t see it.”

Ghort stared down into the hole. “You see something moving there, Pipe?”

“Where?”

Ghort pointed.

Squinting, Hecht could just make out…“Rhuk! Front!”

Kait Rhuk shoved gawkers aside, rolled his falcon to the lip of the sinkhole. Lifeguards closed in. Hecht snarled, “You men! Stand back! Rhuk. Your eyes are better than mine or Colonel Ghort’s. Something is moving down there where that furniture is all tangled up. Get a sight on it.”

“That looks like somebody trying to wave,” Rhuk said.

Ghort said, “I’ll send somebody down.”

“Have them do it from the sides, please,” Rhuk said. “They don’t want to get in my line of fire.”

Ghort’s men were halfway down, descending from both sides. The wreckage began to shift.

Hecht said, “Brilliant, putting your men on safety ropes.”

Ghort’s response vanished in the roar of the falcon.

As the ringing in his ears receded, Hecht heard Rhuk shout, “Am I good, or what? Took it out first go!”

The Captain-General held his tongue. Rhuk could be given hell later. Then he smelled something, faint but familiar. That odor had been present elsewhere after a falcon had challenged some Instrumentality of the Night.

Then the smell was gone. Rhuk’s team, using the City Regiment’s ropes, descended into the pit, armed with the jars they used to harvest the leavings of the things they murdered.

After a while, Pinkus Ghort said, “Your guys are really good at what they do, Pipe.”

“Yes. Rhuk scares me sometimes.” He scratched his left wrist.

Rhuk scared himself, this time. While digging a smoldering hot egg out of the rubble he knocked a hole in a fragile wall, opening the Bruglioni family crypt. Where several desperate human beings had been trapped since the explosion. They climbed all over Rhuk, running to the light.

It was about then that Hecht caught his first glimpse of the old man in brown moving amongst the onlookers. He needed to talk to the Ninth Unknown. His amulet had not warned him that danger was so close.

Over a late meal Februaren remarked, “It wasn’t a full-fledged baron of the Night. But near enough. Your problem with the killing thing should ease up, now, Muno. This thing had been spinning off bits of itself to become foci for that monster parade.”

Hecht did not understand. Principat? Delari did. That was good enough. Hecht said, “This morning may have exposed a problem. My amulet provided no warning.”

Februaren frowned. “None?”

“Nothing but a persistent itch. Which started after Rhuk shot it.”

“They’re adapting. I’ll have to adjust. Maybe the ascendant can help.”

Hecht asked, “How’re you doing with my pet Instrumentality?”

“The soultaken?”

“Only one I have. I don’t even know where you’ve moved him.” The old man had insisted that the soultaken be taken out of the Castella, away from the nosy Brotherhood. Especially the Special Office and its Witchfinders in particular.

“He’s bricked up inside a tower. No doors. No windows. And nowhere you need know about. He’s teaching me about himself. And working on a plan to… But you don’t need to know that, either.”

“Why not?”

“You’ve shown a terrible inability to keep your mouth shut lately.”

Everyone fell silent. The whole table stared at Hecht.

He awaited an explanation.

“And you don’t even know it. Who swore an oath not to reveal what he discussed with the Empress inside her quiet room? Who has, since, told almost everyone who will listen?”

“There was a crack?”

“There are a dozen cracks. In the ceiling. In the floor. The place is old. It’s settled. They don’t keep it up. Why break your word?”

“I’m sorry. I never thought about it. It wasn’t that big a thing.”

“For you. For you, it’s a feel-good. Look at me! The Grail Empress herself wants me to be her Captain-General. But for her it could be crippling. She has enemies everywhere. Luckily, for both of you, I made the people you told forget. I hope. I don’t know what they might have written down.”

Hecht felt like a small boy caught red-handed in a shameful act. He had promised. And should have had the sense to see the implications for Katrin. In fact, he had. But just had not thought about it.

“Maybe I’m not equipped to operate in so rare a political atmosphere.”

“You’ll be fine,” Februaren said. “If you focus on your work. And don’t get distracted by thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking.”

Time to change the subject. “Have you seen my brother yet?”

That got looks, all round.

“No. I’m working dawn to dusk trying to put enough more hours into the day so I have time to do the things I have to do along with everything everyone wants me to do.”

Heris demanded, “What brother are we talking about?”

Hecht said, “A soldier in Grumbrag is masquerading as Piper Hecht’s brother Tindeman. Bo Biogna found him. He convinced Bo. My guess is, they didn’t have a lot of language in common.”

Pella said, “I thought all your family was dead, Dad.”

“So did I. I still think so.”

“Then who…?”

“An imposter.”

“But…”

“No point speculating till we talk to him.” He could think of several explanations, all of evil intent.

The Ninth Unknown said, “I’ll find him. After I deal with more pressing matters here. The transition to Bellicose has to go smoothly. And I want all of us to come out the other side healthy. Piper in particular.”

Heris said, “I could go.”

Februaren and Delari scowled ferociously. Both shook their heads.

Heris grumbled, “You said I’m ready to manipulate the Construct.”

“Not that ready,” Februaren said. “Not to go somewhere you’ve never been. Not somewhere that far away.”

Principat? Delari, not unkindly, asked, “What language do they speak in Grumbrag?”

Heris seemed even more deflated. “Probably several. Including Church Brothen.”

“Could be. If you were going to interview a bishop, or someone educated, you’d manage.”

Februaren said, “There’s plenty you can do here, Heris. But you have a long way to go, romancing the Construct, before you can go places you haven’t already been. Muno can’t do it.”

Delari said, “Muno can’t do much of anything with the Construct. There’s something lacking in the man.”

“If you tell the Construct you can’t connect with it, Muno, it takes you at your word.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

Both old men checked their audience. This ancient dispute probably antedated the births of everyone in the room.

It did not need airing now. It should not have taken place in front of the children. Hecht thumped the table.

Februaren said, “You kids don’t repeat anything you hear in this house. Understand?”

He got wide-eyed nods from Pella, Lila, and Vali, none of whom had seen the ancient this intense before.

“Lives could depend on your silence.” He told Hecht, “Bragging is how criminals get caught and men with deep secrets deliver themselves to their enemies. It’s bonehead human nature. We all want to look special. Knowing something is one of the best ways.”

Februaren glared at the children some more. “It would be your own lives, most likely. If somebody wicked decided you knew something he could use against Muno or Piper.”

Hecht suggested, “That being the case, why not take steps?” He caressed his left wrist.

“There may be hope for you yet, boy. Only, that means it’ll be even longer before I go take a look at your brother.”

Anna was subdued in her lovemaking that night. She understood that she had slipped deep into the struggle with the Night. And those she cared for had been drawn in as deeply, or deeper.

“Piper, the children don’t deserve this. They’ve already suffered too much.”

“I know.” He did not remind her that all three had, already, enjoyed more good fortune than did the run of orphans.

The Captain-General summoned Krulik and Sneigon to what Kait Rhuk bemusedly called a “Come to the Well of Atonement” meeting. It did not last long. Neither Krulik nor Sneigon had leave to speak. Rhuk, backed by Brothers from the Castella, confiscated their sales records.

The excitement was meant to prod the Deves into talking to one another. A man who turned sideways could eavesdrop and discover what secret sales contracts had been accepted off the books

Hecht would not confiscate firepowder or weaponry sold on the sly. He lacked authority. But it might be useful to know where it had gone.

The vast majority of what Krulik and Sneigon had sold behind the curtain had gone into the Grail Empire, to people who did not hold their Empress in high regard.

Katrin was fortunate that her malcontents disdained one another too much to join forces. Internecine warfare was an ancient sport amongst the Imperial nobility.

Johannes Blackboots had kept the peace. Lothar had not lasted long enough to make mistakes. Katrin’s peace was holding because every villain knew Ferris Renfrow was watching from the shadows.

Would adding falcons make much difference?

Unlikely. Even the best weapons were of little use against anything but the Night. Their battlefield value was psychological rather than practical. They made loud noises and a lot of smoke.

When the end came for Boniface VII, despite the Ninth and Eleventh Unknowns, there was no dislocation. Bellicose was in the chamber, praying over Hugo Mongoz. As were physicians and key Principat?s. History demanded witnesses.

Also present were Hugo Mongoz’s children, fathered before the old man began to prefer boys to women.

Two score more people waited outside the dying room, among them the Captain-General of Patriarchal forces. And Boniface’s toy, Armand. Who seemed wary of the Captain-General. And very worried.

Hecht waited with Addam Hauf, one of the Masters of the Brotherhood. Hauf had come over from Runch, on Staklirhod. He was a tall man in his early fifties, all muscle and sun-baked leather. Neither man realized they had crossed swords in the Holy Lands, long ago. Hauf observed, “The Princess fears for his sweets and pretties.”

“Don’t waste pity on him. He’s been underfoot forever. He always finds another keeper.”

Hauf grunted an interrogative. So Hecht explained. Without revealing what Armand really was.

Hauf asked, “He seems afraid of you.”

“I’m close to Principat? Delari. The lover he abandoned so he could catch himself a Patriarch.”

“Hard feelings?”

“Not on my man’s part. He was glad to get shot of the boy. It was a strain keeping up.” And keeping Armand away from secrets. For Principat? Delari had known that Armand spied for Ferris Renfrow.

“You know this man from Viscesment.” A statement that asked a question.

“I was impressed. He’s another like Boniface. He talked fire and brimstone early. He went after the Society with amazing ferocity. He reined it in when Boniface showed that he’d be reasonable. His liability is the same as Boniface’s. Bad health. He won’t last long. And I see no reasonable successor. There’ll be the traditional dogfight amongst a lot of bad choices.”

The remark about suppressing the Society sparked a nod from Hauf. There was no love between the Society for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy and the Brotherhood of War. The Brotherhood did not like the Society’s obsessive focus on heresy in the Connec. That diverted resources from the fight for the Holy Lands. That was the struggle that needed concluding, favorably, before all others.

Principat? Flouroceno Cologni stepped out of Boniface’s dying chamber. Four Principat?s from the Five Families waited attendance on the dying Patriarch. Gervase Saluda was not recovered enough to take his place on behalf of the Bruglioni. Principat? Cologni said, “His Holiness has passed over.”

Servants and lesser priests scurried out. The forms of mourning had to be observed. They would commence immediately.

Among those who hurried out Piper Hecht particularly marked Fellau Humiea, an odd creature recently nominated to become Archbishop of Salpeno by King Regard. Meaning Anne of Menand. As always with the leading men of Arnhand’s capital, Humiea stood accused of having lain with the King’s mother.

“Trouble?” Hauf asked, noting the Captain-General’s stare.

“Possibly. I don’t know what they’re thinking in Salpeno.”

“I wouldn’t be disappointed if a boulder fell from the sky and smashed Anne of Menand. The only help we’ve gotten from Arnhand lately is her son Anselin and six knights.”

“She sees no personal advantage from freeing the Holy Lands. Offer to make her Empress of the combined Crusader states.”

Hauf chuckled. “That might work. Though she’d probably strip the Holy Lands of treasure and sacred artifacts and abandon them to the Unbeliever.”

Hecht nodded. An exaggeration. But where Anne of Menand was concerned, every canard contained an element of truth. “My vigil is complete. I should get back to the Castella, see if there’s news from the Connec.”

“Difficult, managing a campaign from hundreds of miles.”

“Difficult, indeed. I had almost unnatural luck putting together a competent, trustworthy staff and officer corps. They don’t miss me much when I’m gone.”

“An interesting phenomenon. Unseen outside the warrior orders, at least since the Old Empire.”

The Captain-General grew uncomfortable. Master Hauf might be implying something. Might even be accusing. “Sir?”

“Just reflecting on the unique thing you’ve created these past few years. An army that doesn’t disperse during the winter, planting, or harvest. An army not structured around leaders who command by right of birth.”

Hecht interrupted, “My little heresy. So long as my employer doesn’t object, I’ll choose my officers based on talent. Too, no one of exalted birth ever asks to become one of the Patriarch’s men.”

“Men of noble birth come to us. Or raise forces of their own to take into the Holy Lands. Do you hear much about our comrade order, the Grail Knights?”

“Last news I had from up there was that one of my brothers might still be alive. Which I’m not prepared to believe. I left in the worst season. The pagans had found a war leader acceptable to most of the tribes.”

He stopped, shivered as though retreating from painful memories.

Master Hauf nodded. “Some new horror is afoot up there. News came down the amber route, through the Eastern Empire, about an attack on a Grail Order stronghold called Stranglhorm. The Grail Knights were victorious. But the behavior of their attackers, and the sorcery supporting them, is unsettling.”

Hecht was moving now, headed for the Castella, slowly. Addam Hauf paced him. The Master was headed the same way. “We faced strangeness and sorcery in Calzir and Artecipea, both. We’re still cleaning up a mess in the Connec.”

“I’m guessing this is more of the same.”

“Kharoulke the Windwalker.”

Master Hauf looked startled.

“There’s been talk. The Principat?s are interested. So were people in Alten Weinberg when I was there. So. Work is being done. Of what value time will tell.”

“Include the Brotherhood when you learn something interesting. If you can.”

“Of course. Though you seem better informed than I. I hadn’t heard about an attack on Guretha. How bad was it?”

“The pagans were particularly destructive.”

“I’ve never visited Guretha. It was supposed to be a great city. By the standards of that part of the world.”

“I suppose the ice will have it before long, anyway.”

Piper Hecht closeted himself with his cronies inside one of the Castella’s quiet rooms. Force of habit. He did not expect to share any secrets but you never knew what someone would say to excite an eavesdropper.

“I want to know more about Master Hauf. He doesn’t have a reputation that precedes him.”

Buhle Smolens said, “Bechter says he was new to the commandery at the Castella Anjela dolla Picolena. He came to Runch out of the Holy Lands with a solid reputation as a battlefield leader. His family has connections with the lords of several Crusader states but he’s no politician himself. His claim to fame is that Indala al-Sul Halaladin counts him a friend.”

“How could that be?”

“They’ve had chances to do malicious harm but never dishonored themselves. Bechter thinks Hauf was promoted because he’s too honest and honorable. There were men who wanted to get him out of the Holy Lands. Where a lack of scruples, morality, and honor has begun making the Brotherhood look bad. Bechter thinks Hauf is here looking for a few good Brothers to help scour out the corruption.”

“Interesting. Strange, but interesting. Slip him what we know about the Witchfinders in Sonsa. Tell me more about Hauf and Indala.”

Colonel Smolens launched a convoluted tale of treachery and chivalry centered on one Rogert du Tancret, the violation of a holy truce, the kidnapping of Indala’s sister, and the Brotherhood’s intercession. In the person of Addam Hauf. Whose effort forestalled a war that might have pulled in Pramans from across all three kaifates. As it was, several mountain counties in the northern Holy Lands passed from Chaldarean to Praman control.

Rogert du Tancret remained unabashed. He continued to provoke the Pramans.

Smolens said, “Rogert fears no one because his fortress, Gherig, is unassailable.”

Once, when he was Else Tage, Hecht had seen Gherig. And even from many miles away that fortress had been grimly intimidating.

Some-most-strongholds were just piles of rock, however big they became. Gherig, though, had a personality. It lay crouched on its stony mountaintop like the home of earthly evil. It radiated the sense that something terrible could happen at any moment.

No. Evil was not right. Gherig was more like the Night. Neither good nor evil, except as one chose to behold it. Gherig simply was powerful and predatory. And, evidently, was these days in the hands of a master suited to it.

“Not important to us,” Hecht said. “We have troubles of our own. In the Connec.”

“Letter from Sedlakova came this morning. They’re having real trouble cornering Rook. Who gets a little stronger and smarter each time they take out some other revenant.”

“How did they get him the first time? Are there records?”

“You mean the Old Brothens?”

“Yes. Find out how they pinned him long enough to bind him.”

“The ancients exploited the nature of the god they meant to confine.”

“Research it. I’m going home. Which, this once, I’m not looking forward to. Anna and I are going to have a row about Pella going with us when we go out again.”

There was little reason to remain in Brothe. Bellicose’s ascension was not being disputed. The loud grumbling was all about his not yet having selected a more clement reign name. Hecht only needed the new Patriarch’s confirmation before he returned to the Connec.

“I’ll be glad to get out of here. What’re you going to do with the Braunsknecht?”

“Drear?”

“Him.”

“Take him back to Viscesment and put him in charge of the Imperial pullout.”

“And me?”

“Drag you back and make you work. You’ve had your holiday.”

Smolens snorted derisively.

Hecht said, “We don’t need to be here. Good guys and bad, they’re doing what they’re told.”

“Only because they’ve seen the new guy and he looks like death on a kabob skewer. They figure he won’t last a year.”

Hecht had seen Bellicose, briefly, and agreed. But the Ninth Unknown thought the man might not be beyond help. “He might surprise them.”

“I hope he does. I liked working with him in Viscesment.” Smolens shifted footing dramatically. “We really do need to maintain a presence here. A lobby with the Collegium and an inspectorate to ride herd on Krulik and Sneigon. Those bastards will sell weapons to anybody with money.”

“I’ll leave Rhuk. Like Prosek, he keeps coming up with marvelous ideas. Being here, he’ll have the chance to try them right away. I’ll get him the tools he’ll need to handle those people if they don’t behave.”

Smolens put his feet up. “I think, was I Krulik or Sneigon, I’d have seen this coming. I’d be setting up a manufactory somewhere secret. Maybe several.”

“Worth thinking about.” Hecht decided to mention it to Cloven Februaren. The old man would find the potential for mischief invigorating.

The relaxed state of the Mother City was evidenced by the size of Hecht’s escort. Just four lifeguards accompanied him to Anna Mozilla’s house. And no one in the streets paid attention.

Which made Madouc especially nervous. Naturally.

It had been some time since someone had tried to get the Captain-General.

Hecht surprised Anna and broke Pella’s heart by not arguing when the subject of the boy going back to the field came up. He told Pella, “I want you to study with the Gray Friars at Holy Founders. To learn the things you need know to do what Titus does.”

Anna was startled. “Is there something wrong with Titus? No? hasn’t said anything.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Titus that a visit home wouldn’t cure. I’m thinking about Pella, not the army.” Said with a meaningful look.

The children did not know the extent of the connection with Muniero Delari and Cloven Februaren. Those were just nice but weird old men who had them round to visit. Who gave them small but expensive presents.

“Which reminds me. Heris was here today. The Principat? wants us to come for a late dinner. A coach will call.”

“An invitation with muscle behind it.”

“She said the old man wants a last visit before you leave.”

“Really?” His plans remained vague. He wanted to see more of Pinkus Ghort. He wanted to sit down with the man who had been a monster. He wanted to get a real feel for the political tides in the Collegium and city.

“Have you decided when you’ll go?” Anna asked.

“No. I had a message from Sedlakova today. They’re having trouble. The squatters from Grolsach keep getting underfoot. Count Raymone can’t seem to sort them out.”

“Not to mention problems with Arnhander incursions,” Principat? Delari said when Count Raymone Garete came up during dinner. “Small bands, so far. A few straw knights and poorly equipped foot soldiers following some righteously indignant veteran of the Society adopted by Anne of Menand when Boniface VII dissolved the order.”

“There’ll be trouble from that direction?”

“Grandfather thinks so. Maybe as soon as news of the Interregnum reaches Salpeno.”

Legally, Bellicose had to wait out twenty-six statutory days of mourning before he became fully infallible.

Hecht said, “I got messages off as soon as Boniface went. Arnhand won’t catch anyone by surprise. Where is your grandfather?”

“He’ll be here later. He finally went to Grumbrag. From there he was going on to someplace called Guretha.”

“A second opinion would be useful.”

“Second?”

Turking and Felske came and went with the courses. Mrs. Creedon appeared in the doorway twice, possibly hoping for a compliment. Hecht paid no attention. He barely noted that everyone but the old man was keeping quiet.

Heris finished eating and went to the kitchen.

Cloven Februaren ambled in and settled at Heris’s place, pounded the table with the pommel of his knife. Delari said, “Gracious of you to make yourself presentable before you joined us, Grandfather.”

Februaren was filthy. And stank. The children, though they enjoyed the old man most of the time, edged away.

“Too hungry. Hungry work I’ve been doing. Couldn’t find your brother, Piper. I think somebody was working you. The rest we’ll talk about in the quiet room. Food!”

Everyone exchanged glances.

“What?”

Heris returned with the coffee service. Turking and Felske came armed with sweets. Mrs. Creedon beamed from the kitchen doorway. Heris poured coffee for Hecht first. “Happy fortieth,” she told him. Then everyone congratulated him on having reached forty.

He could say nothing. He dared say nothing. He had had no notion of when his birthday was, nor even, for sure, his exact age. He supposed Heris must have worked it out. He could not ask.

“I don’t know what to say. I’ve never had a birthday, or a name day.” Which was true despite his dissembling.

Heris said, “I wanted to invite some of your friends, too. Colonel Ghort and that man with the animals. And some others. But Grandfather gets nervous about having strangers in the house.”

Principat? Delari said, “The times are trying. Outrageous paranoia is the only rational response.”

Piper Hecht watched his children enjoy their first encounter with coffee. Two out of three rolled up their lips. Vali, though, nodded. None of them had a problem attacking the sweets.

Before he took his cup up to the quiet room Hecht had a few quiet words for Mrs. Creedon.

“Visited a city called Guretha,” Cloven Februaren said. “Lots of dead people there. Mostly not Gurethan. The city will have to be abandoned, anyway. Unless the climate turns. It can barely support itself. Importing grain. But the Shallow Sea has fallen so far that soon it’ll be impossible for the grain ships to get there.”

Hecht told what he had heard of Guretha from Addam Hauf.

“Accurate enough. They have better communications through the Eastern Empire.”

“Or sorcerers paying closer attention,” Delari opined.

“That, too. From Guretha I went to several other places on the edge of the ice. It’s the same everywhere. Desperate savages and something not human. The monster is the one from Ferris Renfrow’s drawing. At Guretha the Grail Knights lured it into the castle gateway and killed it with a blast of godshot. The falcons were Krulik and Sneigon products. Meaning they got there awfully fast. The charges were from the same generation that killed the worm on the bank of the Dechear. The falconeers were Deves contracted to the Grail Knights.

“I found Devedian falconeers several places once I looked. Those people need to be reined in.”

Hecht said, “We should’ve expected it. I knew they’d arm themselves better. That was my unstated reward for all the good they’ve done me. But I never meant them to arm the world. I’m going back to Krulik and Sneigon. If I find anything suspicious…” What could he do short of filling graves? The firepowder genie was out of the bottle. He would have no more luck stuffing it back in than the Night was having ending the threat of the Godslayer.

Cloven Februaren asked, “Who told you about your brother?”

“Bo Biogna. An old friend. I met him the same day I met Pinkus Ghort and Just Plain Joe. He’s one of Ghort’s sneak arounds, now.”

“I know him.”

Muniero Delari sighed.

Hecht asked, “Is there a problem, Grandfather?”

Delari said, “I’m just tired. Helping Hugo Mongoz, and now this new man, stay alive is exhausting. Health sorcery is the most draining kind.”

Also the most common, though the majority of people with a healing touch had only a small portion of the gift.

Delari continued, “And Piper’s Nightside defector isn’t helping. Because of him I’m getting less assistance than I’d hoped.” He looked pointedly at his grandfather.

“You’ll get more help, Muno. Once Piper goes back to the Connec he won’t need guarding so much. And if you really wanted to ease your load, you’d let Heris do the easy stuff down in the Silent Kingdom.”

“But…”

“But you want to manage everything yourself. Every little facet. So they all get everything just right.”

“But…”

“I know you, Muno. I used to be you. I still can’t help poking my nose in. But not so much anymore. Look. Heris is a grown woman. She’ll be right there with the Construct. She can yell for help. If the end of the world comes, she can translate out.”

Sounded like the old man was trying to convince himself. “I won’t need guarding so closely? Is there something going on that I haven’t been told?”

“No,” Februaren said. “But you’re in Brothe. Brothens have strong opinions and act impulsively.”

The Ninth Unknown was an accomplished liar. Hecht did not believe him.

Februaren revealed a small, smug smile. “Once you leave the rest of us will have time for the Construct, for investigations, for conspiring with the thing you brought out of the Jagos.”

“I’ve overstayed my welcome.”

“And you said the boy isn’t bright enough to lace his own boots, Muno.”

That night with Anna was more melancholy than usual before Hecht’s departures. She seemed sure she would not see him again. She did not want to talk about it and would not be reassured.

Hecht had just swung his legs out of bed, rising to use the chamber pot, when the earth began to shake. A rumbling came from the south. Earthquake and thunderstorm in concert?

No. This was what had happened the night the Bruglioni citadel went up. Only more sustained.

“What is it?” Anna asked.

“Krulik and Sneigon,” he said as the children rushed in. “Paying the price of perfidy.” He was sure. He knew the collector, too.

That old man was one cold, murderous bastard.

The hole in the ground was ten times that left by the Bruglioni explosion. It continued to smolder. Minutes ago there had been a secondary explosion down there somewhere.

Pinkus Ghort observed, “We’re gonna need a new law. No more stowing firepowder in the cellar or the catacombs.”

“That should help.” Hecht watched Kait Rhuk.

Rhuk and two hundred Patriarchals were searching the rubble, recovering the occasional corpse. But that was not their principal task. They were watching the Deve rescuers and confiscating firepowder weapons. And unexploded firepowder, where that turned up. Carefully.

There were a lot of weapons. Many more than contracted for by the Patriarchal forces.

Hecht noted several senior Deves watching. Nervously. None were men he knew. The Devedians he had known in his early days had all died, many by suicide.

That old man was a ruthless bastard.

The Krulik and Sneigon who had given their names to the business had died in the explosion. Hecht collected those likely to take over, all from the Krulik and Sneigon families. “I’m not happy,” he told them. “My principal isn’t happy. We feel betrayed. Our very generous contracts have been violated repeatedly, even after our warnings.” He glared at the Deves. “I’m not feeling especially sympathetic today. But I give you one last chance.

“The people who worked here were the best at what they did. They can go on doing it. Somewhere where there’ll be less devastation next time there’s an accident.”

One hundred eighty-one dead had been recovered already. Most had been denizens of the tenements surrounding the works. Scores continued missing. It was a miracle the fires had not spread through the whole crowded Devedian quarter.

Damp weather had proved a blessing.

“I didn’t plan this but I’m not unhappy that it happened. Though I do wish I had that firepowder back.”

Departure for the connec had to be delayed. Hecht and a band of lifeguards took the damp road to Fea, the village where the creature from the Jagos was being kept. Hecht enlightened no one about the reason for the trip. Madouc was in a sour mood. No tempers were improved by the ongoing drizzle.

Feeble rains had fallen irregularly since the explosion at the Krulik and Sneigon works. Old people complained about their joints and proposed unlikely theories to explain the weather. Those in the midst of life were amused because their elders usually claimed everything was bigger, brighter, prettier, deadlier, and just generally more so in every way in decades gone by. Not so, the rain.

Hecht’s destination proved to be at the heart of Fea, a tower seventy feet tall. It was a primitive example of architecture beginning to appear in various republics and even a few Patriarchal cities where local politics could overheat. Entry was accomplished through a doorway sixteen feet above ground level, after climbing a ladder. Its few windows were archer’s embrasures well above that. Food and water, sufficient to endure a brief siege, were stored inside.

The towers were not fortifications in a traditional sense. City politics being volatile, they needed to protect their owners for hours only. Days at the most. Rioters seldom came equipped with siege trains. Or martial determination.

Hecht thought these family fortresses might be worth consideration in the Collegium. They could make difficulties for Patriarchal troops trying to control local disorders.

This tower was different from similar towers in that the ladder was stored outside. The Captain-General swung that into place. “Wait here, Madouc. I won’t be long.”

Madouc did not want to risk his principal to a thing that had harvested lives by the score. He argued. But Piper Hecht had no fear. Asgrimmur Grimmsson had reclaimed himself from the Night.

“Madouc, I do most everything you ask. Even when I don’t see the point. But not this time. I need to talk to this man alone.”

Madouc reddened. Would this be the one time too much?

But Madouc controlled himself. He had his men hold the ladder.

“Thank you, Madouc.” Hecht climbed. He felt it in his thighs. Too much comfort lately. And too many years.

The tower door swung inward at a touch. Hecht swung off the ladder, stepped inside. He saw no immediate evidence that the place was occupied. He moved through the gloom to a narrow stairs that had no rail. Stepping carefully, one hand against the wall, he climbed a riser at a time, testing each before he put his weight on it.

His eyes adjusted. And the light did grow stronger as he climbed, sneaking in through the unglazed embrasures above.

How had Cloven Februaren gotten hold of this place? He supposed the villagers would have reports, thirty percent fiction and sixty-five percent speculation.

“Godslayer. Welcome to my mansion in Firaldia.”

“Soultaken. I’m glad you’re enjoying the Patriarch’s hospitality.”

“I don’t think your old man has much to do with it. Except insofar as he executes the will of the All-Father.”

Hecht found himself in a round, featureless room boasting few comforts. Archer’s embrasures marked the points of the compass, designed to accommodate crossbowmen. Hecht tried to hide the fact that he was winded.

“The will of the All-Father?”

“Unless my brother Shagot lied, one of our rewards for destroying the Godslayer would be a stone-built mansion in warm Firaldia. Warmth being a huge luxury and giant temptation for wild young Andorayans. Who believed everything could be theirs if they had the will to take it.”

“I must confess, you’re entirely unlike my preconceptions of an Andorayan pirate.”

“I’m not that Svavar anymore. He was ignorant and shallow and an embarrassment to his people. And wasn’t bright enough to see it.”

“So how…?”

“When you’re trapped inside the monster of the Jagos you can’t do much but think. And taste the Night. And sample the unfortunate minds and souls that get in your way. You become as aware of the beast you were as you’re aware of the horror you’ve become. All that time thinking could drive you mad. Unless you re-create yourself in a shape more acceptable to yourself. I think most ascendants must go mad. I’m probably barking mad myself-though I keep trying to convince me that I was doing my stint in Purgatory and I’m just fine now. A diet of iron and silver does wonders for clearing the mind.”

Hecht moved to an embrasure, looked out on countryside that had changed little in two thousand years. In all likelihood those vineyards and olive groves and wheat fields had been where they were before the rise of the Old Brothen Empire. There were ruins down there the Feaens claimed antedated the Old Empire. Ruins no one disturbed. They were part of a pagan graveyard protected by the insane fury of cairnmaidens, children buried alive so their angry ghosts would guard the burying ground.

Even devout Chaldareans would not test those beliefs.

“Nor should they dare,” the soultaken said, as though reading Hecht’s thoughts writ upon his face. “Those murdered children are ascendants themselves, of the most terrible sort. Though very small. The world is fortunate they can’t grow and can’t sever their connection to the ground they guard. I’ve tried to talk with them. I can’t. Their rage is impenetrable.”

“Once upon a time, when the Faith was young, the saints set out to free the cairnmaidens and lay them to rest.”

“So they did. Once upon a time. But it was cruel and painful work. And thankless. Changing the official religion didn’t change the superstitions of the country people. When those early saints passed over they left no apprentices to carry on. Idealism flees all faiths early.”

Hecht moved to another embrasure. From this he could observe Fea itself, and Madouc nervously pacing. He stuck an arm out and waved to demonstrate that he remained among the living. “You wanted to see me.”

“In a sense. The old man who comes has a very one-sided mind. He doesn’t want to talk. He wants to ask questions that produce definitive answers. But he doesn’t know how to ask the right questions.”

“You’re hoping I’ll sit around chatting, wrestling the world’s travails? I’m not the right man. I’m a soldier. I solve problems by killing people and burning things till the problems go away. I seem to be good at that.”

“Better than most of your contemporaries. Your weakness is your inability to be ruthless.”

Recalling the Connecten Crusade, Hecht considered a protest. He forbore. The soultaken was right. He had made examples in an effort to chivvy potential enemies away from the battlefield. But his thinking had been local and limited, concerned only with the immediate future. Ten years from now, if the Patriarch sent him against Arnhand, no one would be intimidated by what he had done then.

The Old Brothens said war was neither a game nor a pastime. If a man was not willing to pursue it with all his strength, with utter ruthlessness, he should not go to war in the first place. In the long term, ruthlessness saved lives.

An enemy had to be stripped of all hope. Before the killing started, if possible. He had to know that if war came it would not end till someone had suffered absolute destruction. The Old Brothens always had the numbers. Not to mention superior discipline and skills. And utter ruthlessness.

“I see what you mean.”

“Good, then. In time to come you’ll need to be less gentle.”

“What?”

“I am become a child of the Night. Though I’ve resumed my original shape part of me is still entangled in the Night’s boundless sea. I know what the Night knows. Like most Instrumentalities, I have trouble organizing that so it makes sense inside this world’s limitations. The toughest chore is to anchor information at the appropriate place on the tree of time.”

“The same problem your Old Ones had when they conscripted you to murder me.”

“Exactly. They read the causes and effects incorrectly, then misinterpreted the results. By trying to defeat the future they wrote their own downfall.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m trapped climbing the tree of time myself. I have places to go and things to do according to the workings of this world.”

“True. A point I wanted to make. The reason I wanted to see you. I am an Instrumentality, now. Almost a new thing. My eyes are open to the Night. But I’m still human enough to see how I could be of use to an enemy of the Night.”

“You’re volunteering to spy?”

“Sort of. First I have to undo what rage made me do after my suffering at al-Khazen.”

“So you said. Yes.” Hecht was not ready to take the Night at its word, or at face value. Slippery was a defining characteristic of the Instrumentalities of the Night, be they gods or woodland sprites.

“Trust you need not invest. Judge by results.”

“You want to help in the struggle, feel free. A window into the supernatural realm would be priceless. But I can’t manage it. The old man will have to do. He can get any really useful information to me quickly.”

“He could teach me that traveling trick.”

“He could. You never know. He’s always got another surprise up his sleeve. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

“We have an understanding?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not clear on what you want for you.”

“At its simplest, absolution. Asgrimmur Grimmsson, as Svavar, was a terrible man. Not as bad as his brother Shagot, but a waste of flesh. What Svavar became might be worse-though that was circumstance, not intent. The ascendant absorbed power from two major Instrumentalities-which left him the slave of the qualities that made Svavar so awful.”

“But you’re a changed man now.” Hecht could not suppress his skepticism.

“The power of the metal to burn out evil and self-delusion can’t be explained in any way that would make sense to you. For weeks I’ve looked for an explanatory metaphor. There must not be one. Just say silver ripping through me constituted a baptism of the soul and spirit.”

Soul and spirit? The remark bore a suspicious odor. Some heretics believed men had two souls, consciousness and spirit. Hecht did not know the details. He shied away from deviant thinking.

The ascendant guessed his thoughts. “There’s a saying to the effect that there are more things in heaven and earth than we know. That is true beyond mortal imagining. For every Instrumentality you know there are a dozen in the air, the water, and the earth below. You know nothing about them because they never interact with human beings. They’ve always been insignificant in the history of your world. And always will be if they’re left alone.”

Hecht was becoming impatient. What the ascendant really wanted was company.

“I’ll release you in a moment, Captain-General.”

Hecht could not move.

“Those like Kharoulke prey on benign Instrumentalities. That explains how the Windwalker gets stronger when the wells of power are dying.”

“Not a secret.”

“Of course. But the dark Instrumentalities have never been so efficient. Not even Kharoulke’s generation, before they were defeated and constrained. They’ve changed. They’ve become devourers.”

Hecht noted the use of “they.” “There are others? Besides the Windwalker?”

“Yes. They’re still blind and only beginning to waken. But mortals are looking for them, wanting to quicken them. Hoping to become them.”

“Er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen.”

“First try. Go. Enjoy your war. Cleanse the Connec of revenant Night. But your success won’t stay that nation’s doom.”

Hecht could move. He did so instantly, despite having a thousand questions.

The ascendant was amused.

Cloven Februaren should be careful. This thing was no dim pirate.

Brothe was calm. Pinkus Ghort told the Captain-General, “I almost wish you could stay around, Pipe. It’s so quiet.”

“Enforce that yourself. You have the power and the men.”

“And could be out of a job. I’m not on the payroll to keep the peace. I’m here to make sure Brothe runs the way Bronte Doneto and the Five Families want it to run. In that order. They could hardly care less if the lower classes murder each other. And they’re behind the Colors.”

Those political parties, once just passionate partisans of various racing teams, had been quiescent since the collapse of the hippodrome. Which had been reconstructed sufficiently that a partial racing season was set for the coming summer. Street politics would come along with. Had begun already and were in abeyance only because the Patriarchal garrison was intolerant of disorder.

Hecht said, “I’ll enjoy it from afar. If it gets to be too much, come see me. The militias of the various Patriarchal States desperately need reorganization.”

“Thought you already did that.”

“I tried. Against a lot of inertia. A couple more tries, I’ll get them hammered into a tool that’s ready to use when I need it.”

Something flickered behind Ghort’s eyes. A shadow. A thought he did not care to share. “I’m glad I’m not at the tip of the spear no more. Here I’ve got some control over my life. I can squirrel away a little wealth.”

Hecht filed that for consideration. That would be Pinkus Ghort expressing shadow thoughts as plainly as he dared.

Hecht had a row with Pella. The boy did not want to stay behind. Hecht ended it. “I promised Anna. I keep my promises. If your studies don’t keep you out of trouble, Principat? Delari can find something for you to do.”

Madouc visited Hecht in his office in the Castella. “Captain-General.”

“Madouc.” Coolly. Displeasure carefully constrained.

“I want to withdraw my resignation. If you will permit.”

“What’s changed, Madouc? I’ll never be any different.”

“I understand. I was tired and frustrated. The trip to Fea, with all that bad weather, broke me. I’ve had time to get over it.”

Hecht had not replaced Madouc. It was not a pressing concern. “All right. Get caught up.”

“Thank you, Captain-General. I’ll try to be less prickly.”

Cloven Februaren told Hecht, “Addam Hauf told Madouc to come back. He got bumped up two stages inside the Brotherhood hierarchy and proclaimed chief observer of Piper Hecht. You’ll see some changes among your lifeguards. Several who aren’t Brotherhood will go. Others who are will be replaced by men less captivated by you personally.”

“Ah. So now I’ll be like the old-time emperors. Protected from everything except my protectors.”

“Seems to be the idea.”

“I shouldn’t have let him come back.”

“Better the devil you know.”

“Possibly.”

“Take care. I won’t be around much anymore. Other chores need my attention.”

Hecht said only, “I’ll miss you, then.”

“The Connec should present no special challenges. Just be alert. And let Madouc do his job. He’s good at it. When you let him be.”

“I get the message.”

The Captain-General undertook one last unpleasant chore before leaving Brothe. In company with his lifeguards he rode out to a small Bruglioni estate southeast of the Mother City.

Gervase Saluda had recovered some. He now occupied a wheeled chair. A blanket covered his lap. “To hide the fact that they took my left leg,” he said in response to Hecht’s glance. “Gangrene.”

“I hadn’t heard.”

“You’re a barrel of surprises, Captain-General. I never expected you to come out here.”

“I’ve moved on but I do owe the Bruglioni. Without you I’d be just another sword looking for work.”

“I doubt that. The gods themselves watch over you.”

Not a particularly apposite remark from a Prince of the Church. But Hecht was not treating Saluda as a Principat?.

“I have been lucky. And the Bruglioni haven’t. What will you do now?”

“Recover. And try not to turn bitter.”

“For the family. You understand? You are the Bruglioni, today. I hear Paludan hasn’t died, but isn’t much alive anymore, either. He can’t manage anything. His surviving relatives aren’t going to do the Bruglioni any good. Which, I should think, puts you in a fix.”

There was pain in Saluda’s expression. He had not yet shaken his physical distress sufficiently to explore his future.

“You’re the Bruglioni Principat?” Hecht said. “But will that last if there isn’t a Bruglioni family behind you? The other families don’t love you.”

“I know. They think Paludan chose me because I was his lover. That’s not true. Or because I have some unnatural influence over him. Never because I was the best available.”

“You were the best. You’re still the best. But if Gervase Saluda doesn’t step back from the Collegium and take charge of the Bruglioni fortunes, the family is going to collapse.”

After a moment, Saluda said, “I should just roll this chair onto the Rustige Bridge and right off into the Teragi.”

“A simple solution but not the one I hope to see.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll help if I can. For what good that is, with me away in the Connec.”

“Oh. Good on you.” Saluda looked skeptical.

The Captain-General reached Viscesment at the head of troops numbering several hundred more than he had detached to keep order in Brothe and neighboring Firaldia. The new Patriarch had authorized the use of any force necessary to clear the Connec of revenants. And, in a secret directive, of agents of the Society for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy. Too many members of that harsh order had gone underground rather than disband, their defiance fertilized by Anne of Menand’s covert support.

Hecht carried letters from Bellicose authorizing Count Raymone Garete to act against any monk or priest who refused to conform to the will of the Patriarch. Though he could only catch the renegades and turn them over to the ecclesiastical courts. Where they were too likely to be judged by sympathizers.

Clej Sedlakova, Hagan Brokke, and other trusted staffers assembled at Viscesment, in the Palace of Kings. With the Anti-Patriarchy ended, the Palace stood empty. The Patriarchals took over, which reduced the strain of their presence in the city.

Nothing critical needed deciding. The staff had managed well in their commander’s absence. “Makes me worry,” Hecht told no one in particular. “You men are either so good you don’t need me, or the job is so easy any fool can do it.”

His staff were all shrugs and smiles.

A feast of sorts filled Hecht’s first evening back. In attendance were the magnates of Viscesment and nobles of regions nearby. Count Raymone Garete and his bride Socia, and the Count’s more noteworthy henchmen, also attended. Senior churchmen were well represented, as well. They divided into clearly identifiable factions.

Bellicose’s friends formed the larger party. The other, called Arnhanders by their opponents, recognized the current state of affairs only grudgingly. And openly hoped for the end of Bellicose’s reign.

The Arnhander party did, in fact, consist almost entirely of outsiders who had come into the Connec during the crusader era.

Though officially only a lieutenant, Titus Consent had contrived himself a seat at Hecht’s left hand. Hecht supposed the rest of the staff had schemed to make that happen. Titus was in charge of intelligence. He would have a lot to report. Especially about those personalities of interest in attendance.

Consent whispered, “I’m still huffing and puffing from the rush to get here.” He had been in the field.

“Well, you made it.” Hecht noted several churchmen watching the exchange keenly. “Don’t take it personal, but you look like hell.” Consent did appear to have aged a decade in just a few months.

“Stress. These assholes want me to be you when you’re not around. No! Listen! We just got Rook cornered. Finally. In the Sadew Valley.”

“Isn’t that where he first turned up, back when?”

“Yes. The place must be important to him.”

Hecht flashed a sinister smile at one of the more notorious clerical agitators. The man wanted to be defiant, dared not. The Captain-General of Patriarchal forces did not, unlike the temporal powers, have to defer to the ecclesiastical courts. Which had led to occasional instances of harsh, summary justice.

“How soon will it be over?” With Rook stricken from the roll of revenants there would be no more demand for a Patriarchal presence in the Connec. Except for Shade. He had heard nothing positive about Shade. Yet.

“A while. It’s a loose cordon. They’ll tighten it slowly. They don’t want to get in a hurry and let him get away again.”

Hecht wanted to ask about problems in the force. But practical matters had to wait. He had powerful people to entertain, seduce, overawe. 8. Faraway East, the Oldest City: A Slender String How old was Skutgularut? Only the Instrumentalities themselves might know. Old enough to have been there in the Time Before Time, if its people could be believed. Old enough to have been there before men learned to write. Across the ages Skutgularut, anchor of the northern silk road, had been attacked, besieged, even conquered countless times. Never totally, not even by Tsistimed the Golden. Skutgularut was a place of high honor, sacred, that even Tsistimed could reverence. It was a place where scholars gathered. Where sorcerers met to study and experiment. It was a city at whose heart lay a small but utterly reliable well of power. A well never known, in all history, to have waxed or waned. For which it was called the Faithful.

Once Skutgularut yielded to the seductions of the Hu’n-tai At, Tsistimed made it his western capital. With age he came to favor the city’s famous gardens. The city prospered, for it no longer experienced war. Bandits dared not trouble the great caravans traveling the silk road. Those who tried were hunted down, man, woman, and child.

The aged Tsistimed seldom left his beloved gardens. He gave warring over to his sons, grandson, and the sons of his grandson. But he could not resist the call of adventure when the Ghargarlicean Empire collapsed. He had to tour the famous cities that were now his own.

The grand warlord of the steppe did not look like a man over two hundred years old. Those who came to grovel before him saw a man in his prime. A man with many years still ahead.

Age had overtaken Tsistimed only on the inside.

He was just plain tired of it all.

The savages came out of nowhere. There was no more warning than a few rumors of strange things brewing to the north. Then the men and women with the bones and skulls in their hair were everywhere, killing and destroying. Amongst them walked a thing in near-human form, with too many fingers, no hair, and spotted skin. Later, some claimed it had eyes like a tiger. Others said it was ten feet tall. All agreed that it was terrible. Invincible. Immune to the bite of any lone piece of iron but not to the cumulative effect of ten thousand.

The thing eventually fell. Eventually perished. Eventually melted into a pool of puss inside the temple that housed the Faithful.

Survivors agreed that pollution of the well had not been the thing’s desire. It had hungered for a direct drink from the Faithful.

The savages turned more ferociously destructive after their tutelary went down. They left Tsistimed’s palace a smoldering waste. They wasted most of Skutgularut.

Only a handful lived to flee into the icelands to the north.

The Hu’n-tai At courier system was such that Tsistimed learned of the attack while the destruction of Skutgularut was still under way. He ended his progress through Ghargarlicea and turned north.

The eastern world huddled into itself. The Night trembled.

There was no fury like the fury of Tsistimed the Golden.