The Tyranny of the Night

40. The Fire and the Pain

Ghort told Else, "Pipe, I'm ready to check on out. I have officially seen everything."

"What did you see?" Else did not trust his own eyes. Those things out there were among the greatest demons of the Night. Holy men in the Kaifate of al-Minphet would insist that they did not exist. They were folktales, nothing more. Like the fabrications of the professional storytellers of Lucidia.

The soultaken attacked his companions. While countless dead men tramped into the world and, after some confusion, shambled toward the living. Meaning some turned toward the city wall, more headed east to meet the approaching Imperial

probe, and most came at Else and his crusaders.

Not once had Else seen Gledius Stewpo among the Devedian-heavy reserve but he heard that dwarf bellow, "Stand to your matches! Now, fire!"

Two hundred firepowder weapons barked during a two-second span. The weapons had remained unseen until the dwarf summoned them forth.

The fusillade tore the approaching heroes apart. Else was aghast at how swiftly firepowder missiles flung the power of the Night into oblivion.

Few of the ferocious dead warriors got close enough to engage the Patriarchal troops. The Deves produced an endless rolling thunder. The smoke became oppressive.

Results were less sanguine where there were no firepowder weapons. The Imperials were not prepared to deal with fighters who were dead already. Their best defense was discipline.

Once they formed ranks they managed to fend off wild attackers fighting as individuals.

A tenth of the heroes chose to assault al-Khazen. Else saw no obvious reason why some scarecrow figures chose to clamber up the wall, but they did, easy as insects. When they reached the battlements they murdered everyone in sight.

The firepowder smoke cleared away. Streamers of dark mist came from al-Khazen as the sorcerers within engaged the undead warriors. That resistance attracted the interest of most of the dead still facing the Patriarchal troops.

Else pushed up off the cold, wet ground and eased forward. Ghort followed. He crowded in against Else. "What the hell happened here, Pipe? I sure as fuck don't want it to be what I'm pretty sure it was."

Behind them, the Devedian fusiliers prepared to withdraw. Al-Khazen's garrison would not mount a pursuit

Firepowder tubes continued to crack occasionally. Sharpshooters plinked the blind, howling thing jogging in its wide circle. That thing no longer looked anything like the man it had

It was aware of little outside itself. It passed near Else without sensing him. The inverse was not true.

The pain was worse than it had been with the bogon in the Ownvidian Knot, though more sudden and stimulated over a much shorter range. Else collapsed. But he was not alone. He would not have to explain to Pinkus Ghort. Ghort was down himself, clawing at his temples.

Devedian soldiers continued to snipe at the wounded god. Every hit weakened him, slowed him, left him less certain of his form. He did not appear human, now. But he was a god. He would be a long time going. Most likely, he would not go at all. He might even recover if enough live mortals were slain around him.

Else's pain faded as the wounded god stumbled away.

Ghort heaved the contents of his stomach. "Ah, Eis's fucking Holy Piles, Pipe! If there's any way to kill that freak, let's get on with it. Or just stay out of its fucking way. I can't take much of this."

Still recovering from his own pain, Else considered his place in events, both as others intended and as chance had conspired. This morning would not set well with Grade Drocker. Nor with er-Rashal el-Dhulquarnen, who had to be stunned.

Only now did Else grasp the implication of those few minutes in Esther's Wood. That which would slay a bogon could dispatch far more powerful entities.

Else said, "I'm not sure what to do, Pinkus. It's only starting to sink in. But I think we're in the middle of history happening."

A shriek of despair came from the wall. They watched as the dead heroes threw someone down.

Ghort cursed. "Them damned things won't quit." A dead hero with one arm, one leg, and no eyes had hold of his ankle.

"Don't cut yourself. That looked like Starkden that just fell."

Ghort severed the wrist of his assailant, then levered the hand off his ankle. "We need us a big-ass bonfire to roast us some dead men."

"Good idea." Else's pain grew. The blind Instrumentality was headed their way. "A pit might be better."

"So they can't run from the fire. Yeah. Shit. Now what?"

Deves were walking the killing ground, finishing the dead heroes with swords and spearheads of blackened iron with silver-plated tips. They gave the blind god a wide berth. At random moments he sparked off lightning.

"They've figured out a way to battle the Night. From a distance," Else said. "The Brotherhood will be thrilled."

Ghort skipped away from a grabbing hand, frowning. "Something like this happened before, Pipe. On a smaller scale. You mentioning the Brotherhood made me remember. This was in Sonsa, a couple years ago, before we hooked up. That's how Drocker got messed up. By Deves. They said it was some new kind of sorcery but I'm thinking it was maybe the same thing we just saw here."

"Could be. They're devious people. Well, this is Starkden."

"She dead?"

"Looks like."

"Be careful."

Else collected an antique spear that had lost its operator. He poked the fallen sorceress. "Let's get her bound and bagged and headed up to Drocker. He'll love us even if she isn't breathing."

"He'll have him a shitload of mixed feelings. Should we do something to help them Imperials?" Things were no longer going well for Lothar's would-be rescuers, though the Braunsknechts from me drain had joined them.

"They're holding their own. We need to get busy here."

"The guys look like they're hot to go, Pipe. They've figured out what these dead guys are. Which tells them there might be valuable antique weapons and grave goods to be had. But I'm on the job."

Ghort strode off to draft work parties. Else considered proceedings atop the wall. He saw Bone and Az observing from relative safety. So Az had found his way back to the company. They saw him but gave no sign. Until Az made a quick, small Sha-lug warning gesture.

Else turned as a body lying deep in mud and dirty snow and parts hacked off dead heroes surged to its feet, the soultaken that had speared the crippled god. He felt the fury, fear, and insanity of the thing. And the power. Here raged a new monster of the Night, pulling itself together by culling fragments from dying Instrumentalities.

The thing recognized Else.

Else decided on a swift tactical relocation. A fresh surge of pain hit. He lost focus on his footing. He slipped on an icy stone, fell, slid twenty feet downhill.

Deves maneuvering against the blinded god fired on the new threat.

The soultaken roared, producing an amazing noise from a human throat. Then it shook like a dog suffering a seizure. It swelled up, changed shape, and began to get the hell out of there.

It turned into something like a mantis of twice human size, with twice too many legs for a bug. Mahogany chitin with scarlet scars and highlights ripped through its fur and rag clothing. It headed north at a high rate of speed, undaunted by the terrain.

Else sat in cold mud and gaped till his wrist told him the blind god was coming.

Else started to get up. His hand brushed something his eyes did not see. When he grasped it with his amulet hand it became visible as the bronze sword of power formerly carried by the soultaken now infested by his supreme deity.

The blind god shifted course, toward his nearest tormentors.

Could that hideous head be far from the sword?

Ah. There.

Else's bowels turned to ice. They came near voiding.

The thing's eyes were open. It lay on its left side, in muddy, trampled grass, eyes alive. Eyes aware. And as mad as could be imagined. What was it? It had no hands, no voice, no means to impose its will. Save the mesmerizing power of those eyes.

Else's wrist blazed with pain. The amulet shielded him again. For that er-Rashal el-Dhulquarnen deserved gratitude.

Else clambered to his feet. He stripped a ragged cloak off an unmoving dead hero and used it to bundle the head.

The pain faded immediately.

TROOPS FROM THE PATRIARCHAL CAMP BEGAN TO ARRIVE. Grade Drocker sensed an opportunity to strike a hammer blow on the cheap. Else sent a party in through the storm drain and another to climb his still-dangling escape rope. Whoever got the chance should open a postern or gate. He directed others to help the Deves finish and collect the dead heroes. Ghort he finally did send to help the Imperials. The men from the Grail Empire faced a deteriorating situation.

Exhausted, Else eventually settled down in the bottom of a brushy gully with Uncle Divino. It looked like it had snowed antique weapons. There were scores scattered in me mud or hanging in the bushes.

"Good place to hide, eh?" The bronze sword had drained him. He set blade and wrapped head aside. "I'm ready for a nap."

Bruglioni grunted. "Best I could do. How's it going up there?”

"I think we're all right. You all alone? Where are your guys?”

"Those assholes ran off as soon as it got exciting. Then I managed to get crippled without doing anything but lay here."

Else grunted.

"All that hardware came raining down. This damned dagger got me through the knee. There's a killing spell on it but it wasn't meant for me. It was intended to kill somebody named Erief Erealsson. Presumably one of our undead visitors."

"I don't know the name. Probably somebody who was important once upon a time. History is fickle."

"Do you have any idea what's happening here, Hecht?"

"I think so. This might be the beginning of the end of the Tyranny of the Night. The weapons the Deves used could make it possible to punish the gods themselves."

Uncle Divino scowled. "You're a doctrinal mess, Hecht. But that's near the mark. The Brotherhood of War and the Special Office will be excited. They'll want to get those weapons into the service of God as soon as they understand them."

"Even if the weapons are tools of the Adversary?"

"What?" The Principatй's eyes widened. Had recent events been orchestrated? Was he a witness to the first bell of the Carillon of Doom? "Damn! You might be right. This needs the attention of a quorum in the whole of the Collegium. Damn again! I can't get up. I can't move my leg."

A deep sense of sorrow overcame Else. But he had to honor his promises. He sighed. They were alone in the gully, overlooked. This opportunity would not come again. "Principatй, years ago Freido Bruglioni and his brother did something blackhearted to Draco Arniena. Don Draco found them out. Don Draco told Don Inigo before he died. He made Don Inigo promise to extract a suitable revenge."

Principate' Bruglioni was confused. "That… That… I'd nearly forgotten … Draco knew?"

"Always."

"Then Inigo sent you?"

"He did, Principatй. I'm sorry. You've lived an exemplary life since."

"Hecht! No!"

"A man is only as good as his word." Else folded Bruglioni's own cloak and forced it down onto the old man's face.

Bruglioni struggled. Else's amulet tortured his left wrist yet again.

God was generous. No witness stumbled onto the crime. Else completed his task, then returned the antique dagger to the wound in Bruglioni's knee. He eliminated signs of his visit. Still unnoticed by men whose attention was focused elsewhere, he moved down the gully, away from Principatй Bruglioni.

He had debated breaking his word. He had grown fond of Divino Bruglioni. But there was little doubt that the loss of the Principatй would create huge problems for Sublime and the Collegium.

Ten minutes passed before Else spoke to anyone. He wandered the battlefield with the monster head under one arm and the bronze sword in the other, wondering what Divino and Freido had done to earn the abiding hatred of the Arniena.

He noted one of Ghort's men edging nearer. "Quintille? What is it?"

"Message from Captain Ghort, sir. Your ears only."

The man was shaking in his boots. Why? "Go ahead."

"The Emperor is dead. Slain in the fighting in the city. Lothar is emperor, now. Johannes's daughters have taken charge. Captain Ghort says we should expect confusion in the Imperial camp."

"No doubt. How's he doing?"

"That's the other message. He needs help. Some thunder-casters if you can send them. These things don't get tired and they don't give up until you cut them into pieces."

"They're on the way, soon as I round some up."

Quintille fled, obviously relieved to get away.

Else went looking for Gledius Stewpo. The dwarf was elusive. Nevertheless, Else dug him out.

"I don't recollect putting you in charge, dwarf. Nor anything in Captain Ghort's plan including what happened this morning. But it worked out. So far. Do you have firepowder and shot left? Ghort has a problem over yonder."

Stewpo and his henchmen did not protest though it was plain they wanted to. A couple of firepowder tubes swung Else's way.

"That wouldn't be smart. I'm the best friend you've got on this side of the Mother Sea."

"It's that sword, Colonel. You need to get rid of it. It's already begun to dress you in the same aura as the last man who carried it."

Else glanced at the running blind god, now smaller than he had been, said, "I see." He suspected the head more than the blade, though. "You have anybody trustworthy enough, and strong enough, to watch over the sword without trying to use it?"

"Is there one of us righteous enough to reject the tools of alien gods?" Stewpo asked. "I think so."

"Good. Find this paragon. We'll destroy the sword in the same fire as the undead. It's bronze. It should melt. So. If you'll round me up a relief force, I'll go extricate my overly optimistic number two."

AS ELSE, THE DWARF, AND TWENTY DEVES HEADED FOR THE brawl between Imperials and undead, Else asked, "How could you afford that much ammunition? They say you people have hoards to beggar a dragon, but you just shot off more silver than I can imagine."

"You're imagining wrong." Stewpo handed him a rough metal pellet the size of the end joint of his thumb.

"Iron."

"Yes. With a few thin patches of silver laid on."

"Uhm?"

"It doesn't have to be solid silver. The silver at the surface is all that's needed. And iron gives most creatures of the night terrible indigestion. The silver in one small coin is enough for a hundred of these shot."

Amazing. "How can we just be learning this? Why are firepowder weapons effective when traditional weapons aren't?"

"But they are. You saw us finishing the undead with silver-tipped swords. A healthy entity can dodge traditional weapons and missiles. They're too slow. The shot from a firepowder tube, though, moves too fast to see. We're almost there. You might want to hang back a few steps."

"One thing before you go get mauled by the undead. Just my personal curiosity. Why are you out here, openly directing Devedian forces? Grade Drocker knows your name. Why show your hand here, now? How did you know there'd be an outbreak from the Realm of Night?"

"That's several things, Colonel." Stewpo gestured at his men to deploy. "But it's all gone so well, I feel like crowing. My God is the True God."

"Excuse me?"

"An Angel of the Lord came to me at night many times, to tell me that Hell would open its mouth here. I choose to be seen exactly because the sorcerer will remember my name from Sonsa. If he presses my people, they can honestly blame everything on me. And I've told them that the original information about firepowder weapons came from the Dreangerean provocateur who died during me uprising in Sonsa."

Did a deeply veiled threat lie behind Stewpo's words?

"I don't expect Drocker to last much longer. He doesn't have the strength to give you much trouble. And no one else cares."

"You aren't Devedian, Colonel. You don't see things as all being part of the river of time. You barely see beyond yesterday, today, and tomorrow."

Else disagreed but kept his opinion to himself. Though the dwarf might honestly believe that he had been visited by an angel, not a rogue Chooser of the Slain arranging a cruel ambush for a father who had ripped out her heart.

Stewpo asked, "Is that it? I do have your clumsy associate to salvage."

"Go. Save." Else clambered up a rock outcrop. The hillside fell away from the wall steeply. The slope below was littered with dead and wounded men, along with bits and pieces of northern heroes. Seventy yards away a dozen Braunsknechts swayed in a clump around Elspeth Ege. Else felt that same thrill he had experienced in Plemenza. The girl seemed angry and fearless.

Ghort and his crew had failed to break through. They were surrounded themselves. Neither party had much resistance left to offer.

"Do your stuff, dwarf," Else muttered.

There was no thinking going on amongst the heroes. The Devedian fire teams fired their first volley from ten feet away. There were no misses. By the time the heroes realized that there was a threat the Deves had fired again. Heroes hit went down. And stayed down. It took only minutes to exterminate them.

"You took your sweet time," Ghort gasped. He was pale, his expression strained. “Ten more minutes and there wouldn't have had been nobody to rescue." "You're bitching so I'm guessing I got here soon enough."

"Oh, yes. I'm going to make your life miserable for a long time to come. Ow! Easy there, hairboy." A Dainshau physician had begun to examine Ghort.

Else told the Dainshau, "Those others need you more than this one. Let the vitriol leak out before you patch him up."

Chuckling, Else headed for the Imperial survivors. Most had collapsed once the need to defend themselves ceased. Only the Emperor's daughter remained upright, beside her fallen mount, with a light sword in one hand and her father's standard in the other, taken over from her fallen standard-bearer. She wore some sort of toy mail, a light breastplate, and no helmet. Her dark hair streamed in the wind.

Else inclined his head. "Princess."

"I remember you. But not your name."

"Piper Hecht, Princess. Of the Brothen city regiment"

"Your circumstances have improved." She flashed a melting smile.

"Indeed. While yours appear to have deteriorated somewhat."

"We had them right where we wanted them."

Else could not help grinning. "What can I do to help?"

"You could give me my brother back."

"I'd love to. But I'm in no position to do that I'm a soldier. He's already in the hands of men more interested in politics."

"Members of the Collegium."

"Yes."

"Is he all right?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him. But I think so." Else's gaze remained locked with that of the young woman. Clearly, she felt the electricity, too. "What will you do?"

"We are the children of Hansel Blackboots."

"I wish you luck, Princess. The best possible. I wouldn't want to face what you do, now."

She flashed another melting smile. "I told you. We’re the children of Ferocious Hans." Her gaze shifted to something behind him. She gasped, astonished.

Else turned as a gout of darkness stabbed up at the belly of the sky.

The sound arrived. It was the roar of a dozen thunderstorms compressed into one minute of fury.

That could be one thing, only.

"I have to go," Else said.

"I'll see you again," Elspeth mouthed, having read his lips.

Ears ringing, Else had trouble discerning nuance. But that seemed to be a promise.

"Stewpo!" he shouted in the dwarf's ear. "Was that what I think?"

"That was the death of a false god."

ELSE WATCHED PATRIARCHAL TROOPS ENTER AL-KHAZEN through a newly opened postern. Bitter fighting lay ahead. Masant al-Seyhan would not go quietly. Er-Rashal would not go at all. He would vanish and reappear in Dreanger, blaming all the disasters on others, getting up to some new sort of mischief.

Else said, "You'd better go underground, little friend. Drocker is deeper than you think."

"He can be as deep as he wants. The firepowder knowledge is loose. He can't make it go away. Not even your great Dreangerean sorcerer can manage that. He is much less clever as a puppet-master than he thinks."

"Life will go harshly for the Deves of al-Qarn, now."

"Life always goes harshly for the Deves of al-Qarn."

"Do you know what er-Rashal was up to? Why he indulged in schemes that hurt his own side more than Dreanger's enemies?"

"I have a notion. It's most likely wrong. I'll tell you what an old man once told me. In politics and war you don't need to waste time looking for treachery or conspiracy if stupidity or incompetence will explain a disaster."

Else nodded. His own people manufactured complicated, improbable conspiracy theories to explain their embarrassments. Those often referenced the secret schemes of the monolithic Devedian religion.

They neared the tower of black smoke. It was slow to dissipate. "Well," Else said. "That's one hell of a hole in the ground." A cone of earth and stone fifty feet across and sixty deep had vanished. The sides of me pit were glassy and had the droopy look of melted candle wax.

Else had worked hard to teach his soldiers to be innovative. To seize any opportunity. They were doing just that, flinging anything remotely flammable into the pit along with pieces of fallen hero. Else said, "The lazy asses didn't want to dig their own pit" He made sure the demon's head and bronze sword went into the fire.

Else organized the removal of the injured and arranged for the Episcopal dead to be buried in al-Khazen's Chaldarean cemetery. Then he joined the troops inside the city. Most of the Calziran defenders had surrendered or fled. Their morale had collapsed. The remaining resistance was holed up in the citadel, under relentless attack by the dead heroes. Else kept his crusaders away from that.

The Imperials had lost interest. They were headed back to their camps. The nobility would be maneuvering to get control of Hansel's daughters.

Those girls would need to be strong and clever.

Lothar ought to be under special guard. Sublime might have the boy murdered as an expedient means of dulling the Grail Empire's teeth.

That could not be allowed. Sublime must always have the threat of me Emperor behind him.

Al-Khazen was dead except for the excitement at its heart. Sorceries flared there. But the efforts of the denizens of the citadel were ineffective. The Collegium had begun harrying them, leaving them little attention to spare for the dead heroes.

A LAST BAND OF CALZIRAN FUGITIVES ELUDED THE FOREIGN Pramans and dead warriors alike. Mafti al-Araj el-Arak and his courtiers, their families, and certain formerly resolutely stubborn lords of the Calziran kingdom were making their escape. In an exchange of messages they had promised to surrender to King Peter of Navaya at al-Negesi. They had sworn their paroles against the Written. Else thought the weather would keep them honest. They had nowhere else to go if they wanted to be warm and fed.

Else watched them move out, shielded by his troops. He hoped the hint had gotten through, that there would be familiar faces among the refugees.

Ah. There were. Bone and the Master of Ghosts, Az, who needed help from his companions. Looking very Calziran today. Bone had found a loophole in their oath.

Wait! There was another face he knew. Not included in the offer of parole. "Stop that man. Chiotto. Brench. In the gray jebalah, with the hood. Cut him out."

The Mafti's chief chamberlain materialized. He had initiated negotiations originally. "A thousand pardons, Lord!" he gasped at Else. "Forgive the Mafti! This gray rat forced himself upon us. He was desperate to escape the mad Dreangerean. It was not the Mafti's plan to violate our parole."

"I see. You drugged him somehow?"

"Indeed. Yes, Lord." His evasive eye suggested that poison was more likely.

"Is this Masant el-Seyhan?"

"The same, Lord. He is a terrible man. We didn't dare …"

"Enough. You lie like a dog. But I have no complaint now. Remind the Mafti that he'll be followed to el-Negesi. I've ordered that no mercy be shown parole breakers."

"Your generosity is heroic, Lord. Worthy of a Believer. Your mercy won't be forgotten."

"Go. I can still be overruled by my superiors." There would be, for sure, an outcry about his having let potential ransoms get away. Foo on how many soldiers' lives the arrangement saved.

There were always more soldiers.

He was improvising, not only to save lives but to give old friends a chance to elude the doom er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen wanted to call down on the remaining Sha-lug.

Else was angry. The Rascal had betrayed al-Prama and Dreanger on behalf of some obscure ambition of his own. But he would pay, in time. Maybe even here, at the hands of Devedian fusiliers. They would be eager to get off a shot at the man who had invented firepowder weapons. They loved irony as much as gold. Or maybe the payback would come later, after news of his treachery crept back to Gordimer the Lion.

Once the groggy man in gray had been hustled off for an encounter with Grade Drocker, Else settled in for a siege of the citadel. Which did not happen.

Private soldiers not as weary as he, still able to reason, saw an opportunity to penetrate al-Khazen's citadel through the some postern the Mafti had used to get away. The undead paid no attention. They were occupied elsewhere.

Er-Rashal el-Dhulquarnen could not be found. Likewise, the commanders of the Dreangeran and Lucidian expeditions. Nor was much treasure discovered. The few servants left behind were so resolutely ignorant that it was obvious their memories had been bewitched.

"Here's what you do," Else told one of his captains. “Put the servants into a slave coffle. We'll question them again later. Then set the citadel on fire. If they're hiding in some secret place that'll bring them out. You can let them surrender if they offer."

He settled down, then, out of the way, and napped. He had but to crack an eye to see a hundred Brothen soldiers doing the same. He nodded off reflecting on how much of his life he spent alone. He was alone even while he commanded ten thousand men.

He would be with Anna Mozilla again, soon, though.

It began to snow. That respite was over.

EXHAUSTION DOGGED ELSE MERCILESSLY AS HE CLIMBED FROM one trail marker to the next, while the snow fell, after dark, making his way back to camp. He was part of a chaotic stream. Younger men passed him. He passed older men. Polo met him and worried around him like a nervous puppy. "Just feed me and put me to bed," he said. He was too tired to worry about the state of a Patriarchal camp that had suffered several days of Titus Consent's tyranny. The confusion could be sorted out later. Polo shielded him faithfully till well after sunrise, though everyone wanted a chunk of his time. He pushed them away himself, then, and went to see Grade Drocker.

The Brotherhood sorcerer looked dreadful.

"Glad you came out, Hecht. Dramatic things have been happening. I need to know what you can tell me. I have decisions to make." Drocker needed two minutes to get all that out.

"Ask the questions. I'll do my best to answer."

"First, tell me what happened. I recall discouraging you from rescuing the crown prince."

"We did back off and leave that to the Brotherhood."

"Yet men from the city regiment brought Lothar into camp."

"Your soldiers didn't get the job done. Without my men grabbing him when they did Lothar would've died in captivity."

"Just as well you showed the initiative. We lost the Brothers sent to retrieve Lothar. All of them, sadly."

"They fought well. From the little I saw, they made the Pramans pay a terrible price to keep hold of Lothar."

"I'm pleased. I'm exhausted, Hecht. Nearing the end. I have almost nothing left. Not even my usual little kingdom. I'm alone except for Bechter. I should be in a rage about our losses. The behavior of our Deves, down there, should've made me insanely furious. Weapons of that same sort did this to me. But I'm too weak. There is a passage in the Good Book. One of the Unattributed Prophets. 'I am weary unto death.' I won't last the week, Hecht. I may not witness another sunset. I've borrowed all the time that God will loan me." The long speech, made with few interruptions, left Drocker looking like a corpse.

"Shall I send Polo for a physician, sir?"

"No. My time is short. I've done what needs doing. Sergeant Bechter will become your aide. An unimaginative but steady man, Bechter. He'll have all the information and materials you'll need."

"Sir?"

"You will succeed me as commander of Patriarchal forces. The Principatйs have accepted my wishes. They'll encourage the Patriarch to make the appointment permanent."

"I'm not worthy."

"Possibly not. There is much about you that I find disquieting. And more that says there is in you a steadfastness of character more important than lip service religiosity."

Else shifted ground. "Did you get anything out of Starkden or Masant el-Seyhan?"

"The woman was too long dead. I'm no necromancer. Worse luck. We had our grievances. The Principatйs are working on the other one. It doesn't look promising. His brain has been damaged by drugs and poison. Only Special Office experts could open him up. But the two we have in camp were with Lothar. They're unlikely to recover from their capture."

"And the other sorcerer? The one who came from overseas?"

"Gone. Vanished. Claimed seriously damaged by the undead warriors before he finished them off. That's enough for now. I must recuperate. If I can. As you leave tell that old woman to come in. I need changing."

Drocker was not speaking in jest. He had a nurse, a Calziran Chaldarean so old they might have built the Vaillarentiglia Mountains around her. She did change him like a baby. He could not get out of bed anymore.

ELSE TOOK UP THE REINS OF THE REGIMENT. THE FIRST TASK he set his company captains was a roll and injury call. They came up just eight men short. Three were Deves who had participated in the firepowder surprise. Four were soldiers who had arrived in time for the scouring of al-Khazen, hoping to find something worth stealing. The eighth was Principatй Divino Bruglioni. No one had any idea what had become of the Principatй. His peers were almost hysterical.

Else sent searchers to look for the missing men.

He made an opportunity for a private moment with Rogoz Sayag. "Inform Don Inigo that the thing is done. The client understood clearly why before the transaction closed. I wish I could've let someone closer handle it"

Later, once Principatй Bruglioni had been found, a victim of the undead heroes, Rogoz told Else, "Don Inigo has held on desperately. I'm sure he'll be pleased. The Arniena will consider themselves forever in your debt."

"Warn them that I expect to collect. In time. I remain ambitious."

An extended exchange with Rogoz was impossible. Everywhere Else went, now, Polo and Redfearn Bechter followed. Bechter was determined to groom him to take over for Drocker. "I'm the only member of the Brotherhood in Firaldia still standing, sir. And I'm not qualified to be the new warlord."

"I'm sure they'll send someone from Staklirhod as soon as they realize the Castella is empty."

Polo clung because he had nothing else once Principatй Bruglioni turned up. He did not want to be sent to the Bruglioni company. "I don't get along with those arrogant pups."

There were a lot of arrogant pups in the city regiment. Else wished he had been able to put more of them out of Brothe's misery.

He visited Ghort in me regimental infirmary. Ghort immediately insisted, "Pipe, you got to do something about the food around here."

The chief physician for the regiment accompanied Else. Else said, "This one is my number two. See that he gets the same gourmet meals you provide those injured Deve boys in the next shelter."

The physician in charge was Devedian. Of course.

Ghort protested, "Pipe, if you wasn't my colonel, I'd call you an asshole and tell you to kiss me where me sun don't shine."

"Lucky me for being your colonel, then. You'll make a point of getting back to work soon?"

"I'm teetering on the edge of me abyss here, Pipe. With them trying to starve me."

"If you're not available I'll promote somebody else. Bo Biogna, maybe. He'd make a good commander for the city regiment."

Else grinned as he moved away. He felt Ghort healing by the moment.

There were four shelters in the infirmary compound. Two belonged to the city regiment. Two served everyone else. The smaller city shelter serving Devedians and Dainshaus was crowded. Those meant for Episcopal Chaldareans, city regiment and otherwise, were not. The last and smallest shelter served prisoners and outsiders. Else visited because Crown Prince Lothar was confined there.

The crown prince had suffered minor injuries and frostbite. Of his party he was the only one hale enough to resent being on display. He remembered seeing Else before. With few words exchanged Else became sure there was a powerful mind inside Lothar's feeble body.

He was his father's son.

"Your situation may not be as desperate as it seems, Majesty." Which earned Else a blank yet calculating look. "Make sure you're too weak to travel, though. Unless you're eager to see Brothe again."

Lothar's companions included several severely injured Praman nobles. Else supposed they were being saved in hopes of ransoming them.

The Brotherhood sorcerers with whom he had shared that table in Runch had been isolated in a dark corner. The chief physician explained, "Heavy tangles of sorcery surround those two. I haven't the skills to deal with that. So I put them where they can't cause much trouble."

"Isolation is best. Unless you have a pit to put them in."

"They'll be buried soon enough."

“Oh?”

"Neither will survive much longer. We haven't been able to feed them. They wouldn't have lasted this long without the sorcery."

"Grade Drocker will be disappointed."

The younger of the black crows, whose name Else could not recall if ever he had known it, opened his eyes. Wild and frightened, they fixed on Else. "DaSkees? What're you doing here? Where are we?" Then he closed his eyes again.

"What was that?" Else asked, hoping the hammering of his heart did not give him away.

"I don't know. He may be reliving something. Men sometimes do in the grip of a fever."

"Oh. I've seen that. Heck, I've been that sick. When I was little. You're doing a good job. If you need more resources, let me know. I can't promise anything, but… Spring Captain Ghort as soon as you can. I need him." He wanted to suggest that the Brotherhood sorcerers be strangled, too, but that was just wishful thinking.

"POLO. I HAVE A NEW ASSIGNMENT FOR YOU." Polo was not pleased. Polo lived in a state of despair, now that Principatй Bruglioni was gone. He steeled himself for the worst, dramatically.

"Come on. It isn't that awful. You'll be Captain Ghort's man, the way you've been mine. Assuming they do make me the head general."

"Sir? But, sir, who'd take care of you?"

"They've already picked Sergeant Bechter. From the Brotherhood."

"Sir? But, sir, Bechter? He's an old man. And a spy."

Else just smiled at Polo, one eyebrow raised.

"Sir, I'll have trouble getting used to Captain Ghort."

"I'm sure you will. He does take some of that. But he grows on you."

"As does mold, in some circumstances."

"Nevertheless, that's the way it's going to be. For now. You can return to the Bruglioni citadel when we get back to Brothe. If you like."

The news spread that Grade Drocker was fading and had chosen Piper Hecht to succeed him. For reasons never made clear the dying general had developed an abiding fondness for the free soldier from Duarnenia.

Else Tage was content to see the hand of the Almighty there.

The news made him the most popular man in the crusader camp. And they were, now, officially, crusaders. The Patriarch had issued the appropriate bulls.

The proclamation had no practical impact other than to underline the fact that Sublime V was determined to make war on behalf of his God.

Everyone who could get to Else immediately wanted something. Mostly they presented petitions already denied by Grade Drocker.

Else put word out that, assuming he did succeed Drocker, there would be no policy changes whatsoever. Although he was considering easing restrictions on the Deves. They had carried the heavy end of the load so far.

Else no longer had time of his own. When he did steal a moment for reflection he worried about the wounded Brothers from Runch.

THE SQUABBLE OVER THE BONES OF CALZIR BEGAN. ELSE MADE it clear, time and again, that he did not intend to become involved in adjudicating claims amongst the vultures. Those had to be presented to Sublime. The Calziran Crusade had been the Patriarch's war, though the big winner was Peter of Navaya. There was no practical means of making Peter give up what he had taken. The dust was settling still and already Navaya was a brake on the Patriarchy as huge as the Grail Empire had been.

Lothar remained in the Episcopal camp infirmary, apparently too feeble to travel. There were daily demands from his sisters, none of which got a hearing. The Imperial camp was chaotic. The sisters were having trouble enforcing their will. Though the succession was established nobody had anticipated having to live with it.

Grade Drocker threatened to make a comeback. The absence of stress proved a wondrous tonic. Else got no chance to see him during those two days, however.

SERGEANT BECHTER WAKENED ELSE IN THE HEART OF THE night. "It's done, sir. Master Drocker passed over. It was peaceful. He was smiling. He spoke no last words. He did leave letters and bequests."

"And he was alone. But for you. A whole life, come to that"

"Not exactly. Principatй Delari spent time with him. And he accomplished a great deal, for good and ill, in his life. More than most."

Else nodded. "Don't get philosophical on me, Bechter. I need you. We'll be facing a lot of practical problems, now. I don't want to have to think, too."

"You need to think about what to do with all these soldiers. Our Patriarch is the sort who would abandon them in place now that they've won his war. Also, we're starting to see desertions. There hasn't been much plunder. People have started going off on their own."

"Put this out. Any deserter who attacks or steals from the locals will be treated as a bandit. As long as the regiment sticks together it can stroll back up to Brothe and make sure that Sublime pays his debts."

"As you wish."

"Is the news out about Drocker?"

"Only Principatй Delari and we two know. Right now."

"Don't tell anyone until morning, then. Are there Brotherhood ceremonies that will be necessary?"

"Yes. But it takes more than one man to perform them."

"Can you use the men in the infirmary?"

"Possibly. I'm seldom called upon to innovate."

"You're the number one Brother, now, Sergeant If you're like every other soldier that ever lived, you've always known how you'd run things if you were in charge."

Bechter chuckled. "You don't got nobody standing in line to bitch about you being a nitwit in them circumstances, Colonel."

"You're the last man standing."

"Uhm."

"I didn't have much use for Drocker, early on. He was too bitter. But I developed a healthy respect for him. Make your arrangements. If you need the two from the infirmary, we'll tie them into chairs while you make up voices for them."

Bechter failed to conceal his offense at Else's disrespect.

"Sorry. But you'd better use them quick if you need them. They aren't expected to last."

OTHER THAN ELSE TAGE AND REDFEARN BECHTER, AND THE critically injured Brothers from Runch, only Bronte Doneto and Principatй Muniero Delari attended the Brotherhood passing over ceremony for Grade Drocker. Who had been the Third of the Thirteen Seniors of the Brotherhood of War. Osa Stile was there, too, smirking in the shadows, untouched by time. Osa had found himself a place under the cassock of the most powerful sorcerer in the Collegium, Principatй Delari.

Else murmured, "Why is Delari here?" to Principatй Doneto. Doneto seemed inclined to treat him as a peer, now. At least till Sublime chose not to honor Drocker's recommendation concerning his successor.

"He's Drocker's natural father."

Else sat on that for a while.

"It isn't common knowledge. Delari was a boy when it happened but already a bishop because of his family. Delari never acknowledged the boy formerly but everybody knew. Delari saw to his education and eased his entry into the Brotherhood. Where he got ahead on his own."

Else said nothing. He let the information simmer. This could be important later. Possibly very important, given that Osa Stile kept smirking at him when no one was looking.

Doneto continued, "The question now, I think, is, will Delari take you up the way his son did? You could do yourself a world of good by getting close to that old man."

Which explained me mocking glint in Osa's eye.

The ritual seemed endless. Afterward, Else could recall little about it. His part was as witness. He had done nothing but watch. In time, though, the thing was over and Sergeant Bechter found himself in an unexpected argument with Principatй Delari. Drocker had left unequivocal instructions concerning the disposal of his corpse. He wanted it cremated. He wanted his ashes scattered widespread so no future sorcerer could use his clay to instigate some wickedness.

Principatй Delari was set against cremation. He offered religious arguments but his emotional need was clear in his reedy old voice. He did not want to turn loose of this son that he had had such a limited chance to know – despite the inarguable force of Grade Drocker's fear about how his cadaver might be used.

Else stepped in with a gentle reminder to the old man that, much as they all did not like the idea of cremation, they had no legal or moral right to ignore the wishes of the deceased. They could only rouse the ire of the Brotherhood by doing so. Then he went out to supervise the return of the injured Brothers to the infirmary.

ELSE TOLD THE CHIEF SURGEON, "HE POPPED UP AND STARTED raving. He wanted to run away. He thought devils were after him. Then he collapsed. I got him here as fast as I could."

The younger brother from Runch was not breathing. The chief did something that changed that. The Brother started ranting about somebody named daSkees. Else had considered ending this risk along the way. But he had not dared. Too many potential witnesses. The camp was crawling with men getting ready to travel. No orders had been issued but rumor was rife.

Grimly disapproving, the chief asked, "And the ceremony?"

"It went well."

"Where will you find the celebrants to see these men off?"

"I don't know, Chief. That would be Sergeant Bechter's problem."

Else returned to his new quarters, tired and ready to put everything into Redfearn Bechter's hands. But he had a visitor who could not be put off.

"FERRIS RENFROW. I HEARD YOU WERE DEAD. FALLEN valiantly protecting the crown prince."

"Wishful thinking, I'm afraid. On your part as well as others."

"That being the case, is there any reason not to make my wish come true now?"

"You do have the advantage of me. I confess. Nonetheless, I think you'll find it in your interest to assist me."

"Should I send for a physician?" It was plain that Renfrow had not fared well in the events surrounding the capture of Crown Prince Lothar and had not recovered.

"Call it bravado if you like, but, no. I've actually suffered worse."

Else shrugged. "I'll honor your choice. Of course."

"I suppose I should congratulate you. You've accomplished wonders."

"I've done my job. Which is what a soldier does."

"Yes. Well. Let's not play games. I don't have that much time. I'm at your mercy."

"I'm eager to hear about that."

"Naturally."

"Well?"

“The boy. Lothar. He's here, still."

"In the infirmary. Guarded by men who'd refuse if I tried to let him go. He's worth too much."

Renfrow confessed, "Our camp is in chaos. No one wants to bend the knee to a pair of teenage girls."

"Sounds like knives in the dark time."

"Some of that may be necessary. But murder alienates people. Persuasion, arm-twisting, creation of mutual objectives work better."

Else raised an eyebrow.

Renfrew said, "That's what I want to work out here."

"I can but listen. I'm without power." Renfrew sneered. "You're the damn warlord of the Patriarchy. And, God knows why, the fair-haired, shining adopted son of the number-three man in the Brotherhood of War, who was the secret pride and indulgence of his illegitimate father. Who, with Osa Stile whispering in his ear, will probably become your great patron in Brothen politics."

Else said, "You seem flustered. Who's Osa Stile?"

Renfrew glared. After a moment, he said, "You're so damned stubborn, you're beginning to wear me down. Osa Stile would be Principatй Delari's catamite. The one who used to sleep with Bishop Serifs."

"Ah. The boy Armand. You've lost me again."

"You're gaming. I don't want to play. Listen. If Lothar Ege should somehow slip through Sublime's fingers, the Grail Empire would be forever grateful."

"Gratitude has a short shelf life. Did it keep well I’d never have left home. And would be dead now. Fighting in the Grand Marsh will be extremely cruel. Rumor has the ice moving in fast." He could not resist retelling his imaginary history to the one man who was sure it was false.

"Enough. You know what Johannes's word was worth. You're a professional, methodical sort. You pay attention."

Else grunted a positive.

"Johannes is gone but I'm not"

"The people who interest you are in the smallest infirmary hut. There's also several there who wouldn't interest you but whose disappearance would confuse somebody trying to work out what happened."

Renfrew steepled his hands, fingertips to his lips briefly. "So if a band of Praman commandos snatches everybody some night, the gaggle of Principatйs you've got here might be mystified for a while."

"And the Grail Emperor would owe me in a big way."

Renfrew nodded. "The balance would tilt in your favor."

"You'd want to time your move. Some powerful men here have almost unrestricted access to the Night. While Imperial forces don't seem to have anything going there."

Renfrew muttered, "Go teach your grandmother to suck eggs."

"You might also work on people who're making trouble for Hansel's girls."

That startled Renfrow. He eyed Else narrowly, trying to get a handle on what lay behind that remark.

Else suggested, "A diversion might be useful, too."

"Don't get overly enthusiastic about responding."

"I won't. Given a choice."

ELSE WAS CAUGHT NAPPING WHEN THE RAID DID COME. HE had given up anticipating it. Renfrow struck only after the camp was completely chaotic with preparations to head north. At first it seemed to be a desperate Praman attempt to steal food.

Renfrew's agents had done a good job of reconnoitering. Else tucked that knowledge away for future reflection.

Three of the men captured with Lothar Ege could not handle the stress of flight. They died before the raiders cleared the camp. Likewise, two of the Praman nobles. Neither Special Office Brother from Runch survived. The raiders made no effort to see that anyone but Lothar came through still breathing.

Else was pleased with himself. He had managed that quite smoothly.

He began to look ahead, counting me days till the army reached Brothe. He had the regular courier carry a message to Anna Mozilla.