Working God's Mischief

18. Alten Weinberg to Cholate: For the Prize

Alten Weinberg did not boast a large Devedian community. The one that existed was prosperous, cultured, and strove to be included in Imperial society. Devedians were prominent in the state bureaucracy.

A Devedian scholar named Rodolof Schmeimder was his people’s spokesman to the Righteous. He had appointed himself back when Carava de Bos returned with captives and plunder from the raid on the Krulik and Sneigon manufactory.

Schmeimder asked to see the Commander.

Titus Consent argued, “It can’t hurt to see the man.”

“Special pleading for a member of the old tribe?”

“No. I only met the man once before. He rubbed me wrong. I sent him back to de Bos. Carava thinks he’d be a valuable friend.”

“Why does he want to see me?”

“Because he can’t get what he wants from de Bos or me if you’re going to fly off the handle when we do our jobs. You can’t second-guess us like that if you don’t actually know the people involved.”

“I see.” This went back to a blow-up he had suffered on discovering that Deve craftsmen from Krulik and Sneigon, now restricted to a controlled access section of the Hochwasser canton, had been allowed to send letters to their families. Mostly those were in Brothe, where Piper Hecht had enemies. “So. This is punishment for me having overreacted.”

In the calm following his outburst Hecht had taken a moment to examine their logic. It was no secret what had become of the people taken in the raid. The craftsmen, their outrage spent, seemed content to pursue their careers in their new surroundings-so long as they enjoyed some basic freedoms, kept their dignity, were paid, and were not badly treated.

“I did overreact. I was too paranoid. What could they tell the world that it doesn’t already know? What does Schmeimder want to nag me about, specifically?”

“He’ll have several things. The biggest, I think, will be permission for the falcon makers’ families to join them.”

Hecht felt his anger rise. But, why? He stilled it, more easily than he had before.

Titus continued, “It makes sense. If their families are here they will be less inclined to make trouble or try to get away.”

Hecht tried to recall when he had begun suffering spells of irrational anger. Normally, he calculated carefully before exploding. Consent and de Bos had been taken aback once they realized he was not acting.

Titus said, “He’ll also ask for their confinement to be relaxed. I don’t see much worry about them wandering off.”

“If we let their families come here.”

“Yes.”

“What’s their productivity like?”

“Feeble. They do just enough to get by. Quality isn’t what it was before, either. Plus, we’re having problems providing ore and firewood. Hochwasser isn’t well located for those things.”

“Bring them smelted iron and charcoal already burned.”

“And sulfur? And saltpeter? We should consider moving the craftsmen to the resources instead of doing it the other way round.”

“Then look at that. Making sure we don’t give up anything.” The critical result of the Krulik and Sneigon raid was not that he had acquired those master weapons makers but that he had denied their products to everyone else. Those firepowder weapons he encountered in battle would be second grade.

Titus Consent listened but did not respond to his concerns. “Schmeimder will also want permission to raise a Devedian and Dainshau regiment to join in the liberation of the Holy Lands.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Their faiths were born amongst the Wells of Ihrian, too. Long before ours.”

* * *

Rodolof Schmeimder was no stereotypical Deve. What hair he had was vaguely blond. His eyes were the blue common to half the subjects of the Grail Empire. And he smiled a lot, which was not characteristic of the portrait of the species Hecht had built inside his head.

While Hecht took Schmeimder’s measure the visitor returned the favor. “I hope you don’t think I’m out of line, here, Commander, but your aura suggests that you’ve been touched by the Night.”

Consent, keeping notes, gasped.

Hecht asked, “How so?”

“Unfortunately, that sort of thing can’t be explained like describing the good and bad points of a horse.”

“So, like a fortune-teller, you can make up whatever you want. You don’t have to deliver any evidence.”

That startled Schmeimder. “Well, uh … yes. I see how you might think that if you’re not sensitive to it yourself.”

“I promise you, sir, my Night sensitivity is such that the Night has to smack me with a club before I take notice.”

“No one has mentioned this?”

“My troops tell me I’m spooky all the time. I don’t think like they do. And strange things happen around me. But that’s because we’re out there trying to make strange things happen.”

Titus Consent kept quiet, face blank.

Hecht said, “Which is all irrelevant. Mr. Consent says you want to discuss specifics. Let’s get to that. I have a meeting with the Empress coming up.”

“I know. You have to decide what to do about Anselin of Menand … Oh!” Schmeimder blanched. He knew things he should not and had betrayed himself.

Hecht did not glance at Consent. The leak would not have come from there. The lapse would be at Helspeth’s end and, likely, inadvertent.

“Spying certainly isn’t the best way to win the affections of the Empress and the Righteous, Master Schmeimder.”

“I’ll grant you that. But I would remind you that nothing stays secret in Alten Weinberg. Only when nothing is written down and every discussion happens in a quiet room is there any hope at all. And even then, word gets out. Somebody tells his wife or lover or best friend. In strictest confidence.”

That was true in Brothe, too, where conspiracy and intrigue had become art forms.

“I understand that. Some things, though, need to be kept quiet so bigger secrets aren’t betrayed and lives aren’t lost. The matter of the missing king features both risks.”

“I’ve forgotten I ever knew anything I shouldn’t.”

“You wanted to see me why?”

Schmeimder expressed almost exactly what Titus had said he would.

Hecht asked, “Do you understand why we isolated those people?”

“I don’t, sir. Not really. They were craftsmen who found ways to make better products faster than their competitors in response to the demands of an expanding market. Which is what merchants, artisans, and craftsmen do.”

“Exactly. You are correct. But let me offer a counterpoint, from the perspective of the Righteous. The Shades.”

“Excuse me? I don’t understand.”

“The main engagement of the Firaldian campaign happened at a place called the Shades.”

“Oh.” Still puzzled.

“A few hundred Righteous engaged several thousand troops raised by the Patriarch. The Patriarch’s troops died. The tool we used to make that happen was the Krulik and Sneigon falcon. Manufactured by the men we’ve isolated at Hochwasser.”

“Oh.”

“Master Schmeimder, I do not want to take the Righteous onto any field where they’ll face what Serenity’s men faced. That is why those men are locked up out there.”

“You want to hold the knife-maker responsible for what his customer does with his product.”

“I don’t want the knife-maker to sell his product to anyone but me. Which I have managed with a minimum of disruption and pain-compared to most episodes in the history of your people.”

Schmeimder stopped short of arguing after recognizing the veiled threat.

Hecht continued, “My staff agree with you. Those people haven’t been troublesome, just willfully slow and mildly obstructionist. If productivity and quality improve, improved conditions will follow.”

“About that. About quality. I’ve been asked to point out that the saltpeter you’re providing isn’t the best.”

“Maybe someone should pay closer attention during the refining process.” He glanced at Titus. Titus shrugged. “In future, bring your concerns to Mr. Consent or Mr. de Bos. They will do what is best.”

“The other thing, then, sir, is, can you make room for a company of free will Devedians who also want to see the Holy Lands?”

“Mr. Consent told me you might ask. You understand my natural reluctance?”

“A knee-jerk response common throughout the Chaldarean world. Deves with weapons? It raises frightening prospects. But it could prove disarming in the long run. Working in common cause, Chaldareans should become less frightened of their neighbors. And younger Devedians could improve their self-image by getting involved in something the broader society approves and respects.”

Consent kept his face blank and mouth shut. Once upon a time he had been filled with that kind of naïve optimism, too.

Hecht said, “My staff is with you on this one, too, Master Schmeimder, though I’m skeptical myself. It will be a hard sell for me but I will remind everyone how well my Devedians did during the Calziran Crusade.”

“Is that a roundabout no?”

“It’s a roundabout yes. But prepare to be disappointed. Grand Duke Hilandle, Lord Admiral fon Tyre, and their sort won’t be confused by any facts I present in lieu of prejudicial arguments.”

“I see.” Schmeimder remained puzzled, like he had thought the Commander of the Righteous could damned well do whatever he wanted.

“I’ll present the idea and recommend a positive response. Now. This news about my agents having learned the whereabouts of Anselin of Menand. Is that out yet? Has the Arnhander ambassador heard? Or the Archbishop?”

“I think not. Not yet. But don’t count on having much time. That’s just too big a story.”

“No doubt. No doubt.” It might be time to deploy his special resources.

* * *

The Grand Duke had been back in Alten Weinberg just a few days. He was, he claimed, likely to die of apoplexy if many more wicked changes tumbled into his path. It was all he could do to maintain his composure in the Imperial presence. He managed that only because of the relentless pressure of observing eyes.

Lord Admiral fon Tyre was not pleased, either. But he, too, felt the watching, calculating eyes.

Those eyes were numerous but the most intent were those of Katrin’s uncles. Those men had not been reluctant to spread the word that Hansel Blackboots’s last child was not going to suffer what her siblings had. They had been particularly remiss where Katrin was concerned, repelled by her romance with the Patriarchy. That was over. Helspeth Ege was of age. She was Empress legally. She did not need self-serving old men bullying her.

Wherever the Grand Duke, the Lord Admiral, or the former Masters of the Wardrobe, the Privy Purse, or the Household began to show exasperation publicly, an uncle turned up.

All this Hecht learned within minutes of reaching the palace. Which, to his surprise, was overrun by the ruling class.

There might be no intimate meeting to decide about Anselin.

Helspeth had had the grand ballroom opened and lighted profligately. The excuse was, ostensibly, a celebration of Katrin’s amazing success in the war against the Patriarchy.

The new Empress had had a throne brought in. Twelve Braunsknechts surrounded it. The Commander of the Righteous had brought a dozen of his own most intimidating soldiers, on the recommendation of Hourli, who assured him that of the countless plots afoot at least three meant to free the Empress of her wicked Commander of the Righteous by murdering him.

Hecht worked his way through the press, to Algres Drear. “What is all this? I expected a planning meeting.”

Drear could add nothing to what Hecht had picked up crossing the ballroom. “She doesn’t confide in me. I think she wants to hit these people over the head with a shovel. She wants them to go home for the winter with their heads stuffed with things to brood about.”

The northern lords would move on quickly. It would be harvest time soon. In three weeks Alten Weinberg would be a ghost of its summer self.

“I have a bad feeling about this, Drear.”

“A sensibly upbeat attitude.”

“Trouble?”

“Let’s see what she does.”

Drear was right. Helspeth did want to hit people over the head. As the crowd began to relax, a Braunsknecht sounded a trumpet. Helspeth read Katrin’s will into the startled silence, word for word, including a rambling excoriation of Serenity-and, most especially, her elevation of the Commander of the Righteous to the high peerage.

Piper Hecht nearly melted in the heat of the glares directed his way, heat that did not reflect directly on Helspeth. This would be recalled as further proof of Katrin’s insanity, though, surely, there would be a faction that damned Helspeth for not having burned the will instead of making it public.

* * *

The Grand Duke did suffer his apoplectic episode when he heard that a common adventurer from the Empire’s nethermost frontier had been made a prince.

A common adventurer was now, for the length of his life, one of the most important men in the Grail Empire. That was no longer a mocking, malicious, sad rumor. The Ege chit had announced it herself and was downright gleeful about the distress it caused her Council Advisory.

The Grand Duke did not yet understand that the Council had been disbanded, to be reconstituted with people selected by the new Empress.

Hilandle noted an especially oversize member of the Commander’s lifeguard regarding him intently. The Grand Duke thought he seemed familiar. His frown deepened when he noted that the man had no right hand.

Hilandle chose that moment to lose control.

* * *

There were scores of invisible people in that ballroom, bringing beer and wine and foodstuffs, clearing away and cleaning up. They went unnoticed but were neither deaf nor blind, nor were they immune to the influence of the Shining Ones.

By celebration’s end Helspeth would become beloved of the common folk. She had defied the wicked old men whom even her father had dared not alienate. Her favor carried the new Lord Arnmigal along.

No one saw that at the moment. Nor was it obvious that Helspeth could defy the old men more easily because they were so much older today. Hilandle and fon Tyre had used themselves up trying to rage through Firaldia like youngsters still in their forties.

None of the dismissed Councilors had the fire in their bellies anymore. They preferred to get their ways by banging their swords on their shields. But an Empress with Ferris Renfrow, Algres Drear, Katrin’s uncles, and Piper Hecht behind her was not likely to be intimidated.

* * *

“This is Lady Hourli,” Hecht said. “She’s my new intelligence chief.”

Eight people had crowded into Helspeth’s refurbished palace quiet room. The smells of fresh plaster and fresher paint lingered. With Hecht and Hourli were the Empress and Lady Hilda, Ferris Renfrow, Algres Drear, and, to their consternation, Grand Duke Hilandle and Lord Admiral fon Tyre.

“Intelligence chief?” Helspeth demanded. “A woman?” Hourli was harvesting a crop of admiring looks from the older men.

Six people chuckled. Hourli did not. “Said the female emperor.”

Hecht said, “She found Anselin. And Titus wants to try other things.”

Renfrow said, “I can vouch for the lady’s competence.”

“Ferris? You know her?”

“A distant relative.” Not strictly true. “She’s brought some family members in to help the Commander. All women, except for her twin brother.”

Hecht added, “And they’re helping out of conviction, not for pay.”

Helspeth did one of those things that would startle people throughout her reign. She dismissed the matter. “All right. Your department, your problem. Talk to me about Anselin.”

Hecht glanced at Hourli. The Instrumentality deferred with a nod. He then glanced at Lady Hilda, who, this time, was not busy with coffee. War in Dreanger had interrupted the smuggling chain. Daedel winked.

“Anselin wanted to see Hypraxium on his way home.” Which was common knowledge, now. “He visited the great buildings and was a guest of the Emperor, who suggested he take an overland route home in order to avoid interception by Navayan or Plataduran warships. Anselin took that advice.”

But once Anselin departed Hypraxium, accompanied by one knight, two squires, a serjent, and a gaggle of servants, including a personal confessor, he had tumbled off the edge of the earth.

“Anselin’s party was too big to go unnoticed but too small to fight.”

“He’s dead?” Helspeth blurted. “Murdered by bandits?”

“No. A false guide took him along a wrong road, into Hovacol. King Stain has him. He plans to auction him off. Stain has been behaving strangely for several years. His enemies claim that he is possessed.”

The Grand Duke opened his mouth for the first time. “How could she possibly know all that?”

“Lady Hourli has unique resources.”

Ferris Renfrow said, “She does.”

“But…”

The Empress interjected, “We’ve been told, gently, that how the sausages get made is none of our business. Be content with the meat on the table.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Hecht said. Then, because Helspeth hated being called that if only because it had pleased her sister, he said, “Sorry. I meant Majesty. And it’s true. Every profession has trade secrets.”

“Do get on with it. Tell us what you plan, Lord Arnmigal.” Rubbing it in.

Lady Hilda winked again. Hecht pushed that distraction aside. “I mean to take Anselin away from Stain. I need your permission.”

“Do you? You must be exceeding confident that permission will be forthcoming. Buhle Smolens and Rivademar Vircondelet, with two hundred fifty men and twenty light falcons, left early this morning.”

That caught Hecht off guard. “Yes. I try to keep the men sharp with field exercises.”

Helspeth stared for several seconds. “A good idea, I don’t doubt. The sword’s edge should be kept polished. Stay a moment when the others leave.” Perhaps a sop to the old men, him facing a dressing down. “I want to hear how much this perfect edge is going to cost.”

“As you wish.”

“Always. Proceed with your plot. Although, I’m thinking, had you dealt with Stain when Katrin asked, this situation might not have arisen.”

Unfair, and even the old men saw that.

“This opportunity would not have befallen us.”

It would have been a different world. The Righteous would not have taken the Krulik and Sneigon works before hearing about King Jaime. The Righteous would not have had the falcons that had made the difference at the Shades. Katrin would be alive and a prisoner of the Church. Serenity would still be Patriarch.

Helspeth stepped back. “You’re right. Anselin would have ridden in here. We’d be trying to get Anne of Menand to bully Serenity into trading him for my sister.”

Said sourly. Helspeth was in a contrarian mood. Hecht glanced at Lady Hilda, seeking a clue. He got another wink.

What the hell was Daedel up to?

“Hilda?” Helspeth said. “You have something to contribute?”

“The Archbishop keeps complaining about something being wrong with the churches.”

Helspeth said, “Since none of these barbarians are inclined to take a cue and ask, what does that mean?”

“I’m not sure. The Archbishop has trouble making himself clear when he’s excited. I think he means that the churches no longer have a holy feel.”

Still no commentary. It was not clear what Hilda meant, either. Lady Hourli, though, looked uncomfortable.

Lady Hilda grumbled, “I’m saying what the Archbishop said. Maybe he meant the churches aren’t blessed anymore. Maybe he meant that God isn’t there anymore.”

Hilda was disappointed by the numb response, obviously. Hecht suspected that she had hoped that someone could clarify Brion’s complaint.

* * *

“No more snow jobs,” Helspeth told Hecht when they were alone.

“Including having Hilandle and fon Tyre in so the old guard doesn’t get its noses out of joint?”

“I can make that exception.”

“What is this with Lady Hilda? She was flirting. Are you testing me?”

Helspeth raised an eyebrow but did not explain. “The Grand Duke of Eathered and Arnmigal is free to do whatever he considers to be in the interest of his Empress, even to rescuing the King of Arnhand. But the Empress would appreciate knowing what Lord Arnmigal intends before it becomes a public issue.”

“Understood. But it’s hard to keep you up to the minute.”

“Really? When you have friends who pop into my bedroom in the middle of the night? Who know intimate details of things happening right now in a kingdom hundreds of miles away?”

Before he could placate her, Helspeth growled, “You want me to take you on faith but you won’t trust me.”

Hecht’s shoulders hunched. The new, imperious Helspeth was disconcerting.

Hecht felt Hourli laughing somewhere close by.

“Very well. But you won’t believe the truth when I tell you.”

“Try me, my lord,” said from inside two feet, head tilted back, eyes narrowed sleepily. Then she reddened.

Hecht was too pressed to respond, with humor or contact. “My Lady Hourli is the old goddess Hourli. Her twin is the god Hourlr. Also helping the Righteous are the goddesses Sheaf, Eavijne, Aldi, Wife…”

“Stop! You’re right. I don’t believe you. I can’t, for the sake of my immortal soul. I know those names from when I was little. My old nurses told me stories about Donner and Ordnan, Hourli and Locke.”

“Excellent. If you won’t believe me I won’t have to explain.” He was sure he heard Hourli laughing. Being the subject of disbelief could be an advantage, sometimes. You could do what you wanted and not be blamed. “Just carry out my recommendations and enjoy the results.”

“Lord Arnmigal … The hell with it! I have no hope of salvation if God does condemn us for sins that that we commit in our hearts.”

Hecht waited.

“Hilda was doing what I told her to. I wanted to know what you’d do. But she went a little further than I wanted. She might mean it.”

“Isn’t that rather juvenile?”

“Yes. It is. But do I know any better? Have I had any chance to learn? I tripped into obsession at first sight with a man I saw for just a few minutes while my father was questioning a prisoner. The prisoner became Patriarch. The man who captured my imagination saved my life under the walls of al-Khazen. My lord, the only other man who ever forced his way into my mind, as a man, was Jaime of Castauriga, which repelled me. He believed he had the right.”

“Uh…”

“He thought he had a claim on any woman he wanted. I infuriated him by refusing. So did Hilda. She’s easy but she has standards. She knows wicked slime when she winds the stench.”

“Helspeth! What are you?…”

“I’m sorry, my lord. I am Empress, now. I don’t get much chance to be human. I fall apart when I try.”

Hecht heard divine laughter once more. Probably his imagination. The Instrumentalities of the Night could not penetrate a well-maintained quiet room. It had to be his guilt about his own obsessions.

Helspeth Ege was naïve about the interplay between man and woman but she did know that Piper Hecht was as captivated by Helspeth Ege as Helspeth Ege was enthralled by Piper Hecht. “There will be a hasty coronation next week. We want to get it done before the grandees go home for the winter. After that I can do pretty much whatever I want.”

“I know. That scares me. I’m a weak man. Sometimes I just can’t do the right thing. And this could hurt people who don’t deserve the pain.”

Helspeth nodded sadly.

Hecht said, “That old man who turns up in odd places at odd times would know right away. He knows my mind already. Others suspect.”

He was rehearsing the facts more to convince himself than to caution Helspeth. She had crossed her last river already. She might offer him no more choice than Katrin had.

But Katrin was between him and God, now. He had been profoundly lucky, there.

Those watching Helspeth were, no doubt, circling in hopes that something damning would happen right now, tonight.

“Anything that happens will touch more lives than yours and mine.”

“And if nothing happens, that will diminish lives as well.”

“We have to make choices, dearest. Amongst them are, who has to suffer the hurt caused by the attraction between us. Us, by denying ourselves? Or those who…?”

“Stop. I can do no more of this now. Go back to your demons. Catch Anselin. Let me get my heart under control. We’ll talk Imperial business later.” Helspeth had recovered.

“As you wish.”

A dozen palace denizens contrived to be close by when the Empress and new Grand Duke emerged from the quiet room. Each felt a letdown. Scandal had been avoided. The couple looked like they wanted to fight.

* * *

Hecht found Lila waiting at the Still-Patter mansion. She had brought Vali. He groaned.

Lila was quick to have her feelings hurt.

“Sorry, girls. It’s been a hard day. I was looking forward to bed. What is it?”

“Nothing important. This was Vali’s first long transition. We thought we’d see how you’re doing. There isn’t any real news except that Brothe has calmed down.”

Vali said, “And a lot of priests are yammering about there being something wrong with the churches. Some say it’s because God is turning away since the Church allowed a layman to overthrow an elected Patriarch.”

“Wasn’t the first time that happened.” Hecht sighed. “It might be heresy but I suspect that God could not care less about the Patriarchy.”

“We can go away if you want,” Lila said.

“No.” He needed contact with reality. “I don’t see you often enough. You remind me of what I have when I’m not Commander of the Righteous.”

Both girls were pleased.

Vali said, “We saw Pella on the way. Him and that dwarf are only about forty miles from here, now.”

“Dwarf?” Startled.

“Oh. No. Not like Iron Eyes. That Armand creature.”

“The freak,” Lila opined.

“Girls. Armand can’t help being Armand.”

“Yes, he can,” Lila said. “People have choices. Maybe limited, like ours in that place where you found us. But nobody has to embrace their own humiliation. Armand is a freak because he does. You’ll see. He gets here, he’ll find himself a keeper who’ll treat him like shit.”

Vali said, “That’s why he split with grandpa Muniero. Grandpa treated him too good.”

“May be, but I don’t care. Tell me how Anna is.”

Neither girl seemed eager to address that. Vali finally said, “She’s just Anna Mozilla while Piper Hecht is away. She goes along in kind of a daze.”

Lila said, “She’s doing better now that she’s back in her own house.”

Another twinge of conscience. But they had worked that out at the beginning.

Anna did not expect him to be faithful. She was a mistress, not a wife, and he was a man. But she would surely suffer from anything as public as a liaison with the Grail Empress.

“When you get back I want you to remind her that I think of her all the time.”

“We could take you.”

“That won’t happen, girls.”

“Fraidy cat,” Vali said.

“Absolutely. Now scoot on out of here.”

They went, but not before needling him with observations between themselves about how attractive some of the younger officers were, especially that Carava de Bos.

De Bos had a definite reputation.

* * *

Piper Hecht did not participate in Helspeth’s coronation, even as a witness. He and his key staffers avoided the end of the political season by joining the expedition to Hovacol. Pella accompanied him.

Asked politely by a purported ambassador-Hourlr in mortal guise-King Stain refused to surrender Anselin. He summoned his host.

Perceived bullying by the Grail Empire guaranteed an excellent response despite Stain’s recent lack of intimacy with rational thinking. More than five hundred horse and a thousand foot awaited the Righteous in a sound foreslope position behind a stream spanned by a wooden bridge eight feet wide.

The consensus of Hecht’s staff was, “Oh, shit! What have we gotten into here?”

Kait Rhuk suggested, “Roll the falcons up to the riverbank. Take them under fire. That will make them come at us.”

Drago Prosek nodded. “I’m considering starting with half charges so they have time to watch the shot come in.”

And Rhuk: “Keep the falcons near the bridge so we can concentrate fire when they charge.”

“All good thinking,” Hecht said. He glanced at the sky. “We have two hours of light left. Pity that ridge is behind us. It wasn’t, the sun would come down in their eyes. Vircondelet. Break out twenty men. Start making camp. We’ll stay here tonight.” That should buoy their confidence. He checked the shadow of that ridge. It was creeping eastward.

The men set to work siting falcons and raising berms to protect their crews. Stain’s men first seemed puzzled, then uneasy. The invaders were behaving strangely. They should have turned back once they saw what awaited them. But the Righteous were, all workmanlike, preparing to become unpleasant.

Hecht summoned Kait Rhuk. “Kait, did you put my kid on a crew?” Pella loved the smoke and thunder.

“Over there. Last on the left. He’s the powder boy.”

“All right. Good.” He sighed. Powder boy was a dangerous job. On the other hand, Rhuk had sent him to the weapon farthest from the bridge.

The shadow of the ridge passed the Righteous. Hecht tightened his cinch, mounted up. “Be back in a minute.”

He crossed the wooden bridge and headed for the waiting army. Some looked like veterans. Their arms and equipment were better than he expected. King Stain might know what he was doing.

Hecht stayed behind the line of shadow, halted beyond bowshot. The men ahead did not know what to make of him. Had he come to parlay?

Hecht did not know himself. Intuition moved him.

The shadow began to claim the men of Hovacol.

Hecht raised his right hand high. “Now.”

Thunder rattled off the hills. A pair of horrors twice man-size swept out of the shade behind the Righteous, hurtled toward King Stain. Their shrieks melted spines.

Hecht felt himself being pulled in the ferocious psychic wake of Fastthal and Sprenghul, the Choosers of the Slain, this time come before the fight, spreading terror. Those men up ahead would not recognize them but would imbibe the dread surrounding them.

The animals were more frightened than the men. The formation began to crumble.

The Choosers came round again, sweeping in from the ends of the Hovacol line. That fell apart. Only King Stain stood his ground.

Hecht lowered his hand. He was confused. How had he caused all that?

Brokke, Sedlakova, and Consent joined him. Behind and below, the Righteous crossed the bridge.

Consent, eyeing bewildered stragglers ahead, blurted, “What the hell just happened?”

“What do you mean?”

Brokke said, “Something happened to you up here, Boss. And it was damned scary.”

Consent said, “You turned into a pillar of shadow. You had lightning in your hair.”

“I did not. Stop messing with me.”

Sedlakova said, “Boss, you ain’t going to bullshit nobody about this. Everybody saw it. On both sides.”

A makeshift lifeguard assembled around Stain, up the slope. The King of Hovacol was not short on courage.

Hecht was inclined to argue. “I don’t remember it that way.” He did not remember at all. “Clej, go up there and make sure they don’t have a surprise waiting across the ridge. Catch me a straggler. I want to know what they think just happened.”

He had an elusive recollection of the Choosers. Startled, he looked around, saw nothing remarkable-except the attitudes of his companions.

“Hagen, go on and finish making camp. Let the creek be our moat. We’ll move on tomorrow. Drago. Kait. They’re not here? Remind me to tell them to watch their powder. It might rain.”

There were but a few wisps of cloud, set ablaze by the sun beyond the western ridge.

Hecht’s companions looked him askance again, probably more because he wanted to caution Rhuk and Prosek than because he was predicting the weather. Those two needed no advice in their chosen field.

Hecht said, “Gentlemen, the rest is yours. I’m going to lie down.”

* * *

Hecht was loosening his boots when Pella slipped into the tent. “You all right, Dad?”

“Just worn out.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. I wish people would stop asking.”

“Are you scared?”

He was. He did not like not being in complete control. “I’m just tired. I just need to lie down.”

“All right. I can take a hint.”

Hecht fell asleep concerned that he was pushing people away by keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself.

* * *

King Stain’s troops did not go home. They maneuvered. They tried to draw the Righteous into traps. They performed well but got no chance to take advantage of their numbers.

The Commander of the Righteous intuited their every move. The Choosers did not reappear. They were not needed. A vigorous cantata from the falcons discouraged every ambush.

Cholate was King Stain’s seat. The walled town sat on a short hill in a tight bend of the Vilde River. That hill rose just thirty feet at its highest. The Vilde was fifty feet wide, deep, and slow, a fine natural moat round the northern third of the town. Once, probably in antiquity, a canal had been dug round the other side. It had not been kept up. Today it was boggy ground backed by a wall that had not been maintained, either. Crude palisades had been thrown up in gaps where the stonework had collapsed or been plundered for building materials. The population and country alike were stunned by the appearance of invaders. Enemies visiting Cholate seemed vastly improbable.

A plain fronted Cholate outside the bog, with heavy forest in the near distance, to the right and down the Vilde. When the Righteous arrived the locals were salvaging what crops they could. King Stain’s army stood ready for battle between them and the invaders.

“Same tactics,” Hecht told his officers. “Get as close as you can, then dig in.”

Brokke asked, “You’re not going to attack?”

“I’m going to be flexible. They have the numbers. If we have to fight I want them to come to the falcons. Through pits, trenches, caltrops, tangles, and whatever else they give us time to prepare.”

Local soil was easy to shift. There was plenty of timber nearby. The Righteous trenched and raised ramparts. They made the ground bristle with sharpened stakes meant to break up and channel a mounted attack.

King Stain did nothing to hamper the work.

Titus Consent said, “They can’t decide what to do.”

Hecht replied, “They’ve never seen anything like us. And they don’t want to be part of another Shades.”

“Then they should try maneuvering. The falcons don’t get around so fast. And we only have so many.”

“Excellent thinking. Stain should find a way to come at us so our falcons don’t negate his numbers. Instead, he’s waiting for us to come to him.”

“That would work if we took the bait.”

“We won’t. Drago.” Prosek was passing. “Once we’re ready to receive an attack I want you to begin bombarding their formation.”

Prosek grinned. “Any special targets?”

“Equal opportunity, top to bottom and left to right. They’re rattled already. Let’s make them think even more. And be ready for a charge.”

Absent the grin, Prosek asked, “Should I have godshot loaded or standing by?”

“Standing by. Wait. Charge one falcon. Let’s make that doctrine. One weapon always ready for the improbable.”

Prosek nodded. So did Consent. Neither appeared comfortable with the word “improbable.”

Nobody was comfortable around Hecht anymore.

Falcon fire provoked anger but no aggressive reaction. At extreme range the weapons did little damage. Hecht expanded his earthworks till they shielded the Righteous on all sides. His officers worried that he might let them be surrounded.

There was no ridge behind the Righteous. No shadow to roll across the land. But Hecht had positioned himself so the sun would set behind him.

He gathered his officers. “Got a volunteer to carry the olive branch over to those people?”

Silence.

“Somebody needs to go. You don’t want me to do it again.”

These men were more worried about Lord Arnmigal than they were about Stain of Hovacol.

“I’ll take it, Dad.”

Startled, Hecht asked, “Can you ride? You’ll have to ride.” Which seemed the stupidest question possible, though an approach on foot would insult members of the cavalier class.

“Just put me on a good-looking horse.”

“Forget that,” Clej Sedlakova said. “Send the one-armed man, Boss.” Pella used a hand to conceal a smirk. The sneak.

“The one-armed man’s gesture is appreciated but the job calls for someone who can carry a banner and steer a horse at the same time.”

To which Pella said, “I’ll carry the banner. Or the olive branch. He can do the talking.”

“All right. Clej, remind them that Anselin is all we’re interested in. They hand him over, we go away. They don’t, we take him. But say it politely.”

Hecht ground his teeth as Pella and Sedlakova rode off. Hagen Brokke muttered something about the boy growing up.

The encounter was brief. The locals were not demonstratively antagonistic. Sedlakova headed back. Pella lagged a moment. Hecht grumbled, “I hope he didn’t just say something obnoxious.”

Sedlakova did not bring good news. “The interpreter says everybody but the King is willing to give Anselin up but Stain has been more strange than usual, lately, and refuses to cooperate.”

Hecht grunted. He looked at Pella. The boy said, “I didn’t say anything, Dad. I just gave them the hard-eye.”

“Really?”

“It’s psychology. I’m just a kid. If I’m not worried…”

“Maybe. Clej. Find a way across the river. Pella. Go back up there. Tell them I’m challenging Stain himself.”

“Boss?”

“Dad?”

“Don’t argue. Do it.” Stain would be too cautious to accept. He would not test himself against a complete unknown.

* * *

Hecht’s confidence was misplaced. Pella brought word that Stain would meet the Commander of the Righteous tomorrow afternoon.

“I fooled myself,” Hecht confessed. But he felt no anxiety.

Not so the others. They wanted him to weasel out. “That’s what he’s counting on.” Hecht did believe that. “He called my bluff. Now I’ll call his. Rivademar, you can be a half-ass diplomat when you want. Make the arrangements. Avoid any mention of a truce.”

This would be a good time for the Shining Ones to contribute. Something. Anything. Where the hell were they?

Pella protested, “Dad, you don’t have any armor, or anything.”

Hecht shrugged. “The die is cast. Vircondelet. Go.”

“Yes sir, Boss.” Grinning through the dark brush that had sprouted on his face during the march.

Pella asked, “What are you up to, Dad?”

“Events should make a face-off unnecessary.” He wondered at his own confidence.

* * *

Clej Sedlakova, unwittingly guided by friendly spirits whose invisibility had Lord Arnmigal muttering, located an unguarded bridge. Hecht sent his cavalry and four falcons across and downstream, to face Cholate from the north bank of the Vilde. A stone bridge spanned the river. The last ten feet, however, consisted of a heavy drawbridge. The citizenry had tried to raise that. It had become stuck partway up. Sedlakova installed his falcons at the head of the bridge and raised earthworks to protect against a cross-river sortie.

His falcons did not speak. He believed they would be more intimidating, waiting quietly.

* * *

Sedlakova sent his commander a message in the heart of the night. The courier crossed the river by means of a taut rope running from bank to bank. Soon afterward forty men used the rope to cross in the opposite direction. Titus Consent led them. Lord Arnmigal tagged along, just to observe. Weapons, clothing, and gear crossed in captured boats. The noise seemed loud enough to disturb the dead but Cholate sounded no alarm.

Hecht stood by while Titus crouched with Sedlakova, considering Cholate’s river gate. “When did this happen?”

The gate was open. The drawbridge was down. A man who had stolen across reported that neither portcullis had dropped.

“That’s the creepy part. I’m not sure. Schacter scouted it as soon as we noticed it. He got out as soon as he saw that it was all open.”

“Think it’s an ambush?”

“I’m thinking it’s something else altogether.” Sedlakova glanced back. “How could that stuff all happen without making any noise?”

“No noise? Sounds unlikely.”

“Not unlikely, impossible. It makes me nervous.” He looked back again but referenced no other recent unlikely events.

The Righteous operated in a fog of unlikely events.

Hecht observed, “It would be a sin to ignore that invitation.”

“But if it’s an ambush…”

“I’ll trigger it myself. Titus?”

“Ready.” Consent’s voice squeaked. Those nearby chuckled. Forcing his voice deeper, Consent said, “Make sure your gear won’t rattle, then let’s go.”

A rind of moon sometimes peeked through gaps between scurrying clouds. Its light seemed unable to reach the bridge, though it glistened off the river. Hecht moved ahead, sliding through the shadows. Those who followed maintained a silence no commander could fault.

Hecht’s confidence grew. He understood after he stepped into the darkness of the passage through the wall.

Three Shining Ones awaited him, invisible till he came within a few feet. Their semblances were not rigorously human tonight. He recognized Hourlr and Sheaf, barely. All three faded. Hecht covered Consent’s mouth, in case. No one else saw the Instrumentalities.

“Go on,” Hecht whispered. “I’ll watch.”

Titus sent men to find the gate guards. They were in a sleep so deep they seemed frozen in time. Consent had them restrained, then moved on.

The story was the same everywhere.

Soon all the men were inside and headed toward the citadel. Sedlakova grumbled, “I hope nobody kypes the falcons.”

Hecht assured him, “They’re safe.”

Consent demanded, “Everyone keeping their matches out of sight?”

Most of the men carried handheld falcons. For no reason obvious to Lord Arnmigal soldiers operating in the dark were more confident when armed with those.

A soldier impressed with how well things were going murmured, “The gods are with us tonight.”

Consent sent a team to see if a gate could be opened for the main force. The rest he led to the citadel, where that gateway was open, too. And the garrison, to a man-all three-were snoring.

The place contained neither King Stain, any of his court, nor Anselin of Menand. Nor was there any sign of the knights, nobles, and men-at-arms who made up Hovacol’s army.

“Colonel Sedlakova!” the Commander of the Righteous growled. “Come here! Tell me how Stain made a whole army disappear.”

“I want to, Boss. But I can’t. It’d be a handy trick to have. Maybe he has unseen friends, too.”

It was too dark for Sedlakova to enjoy his commander’s scowl.

“Titus, have you sent warning to the camp? Stain may be considering a surprise of his own.”

“I did send word when I saw that there were too few people around.”

“Would you care to exercise your imagination? Where is Stain?”

“We didn’t push hard because he did what we wanted by backing up instead of fighting. My guess is, he went in the gate we could see and right on out the one we couldn’t, up the river and into the woods. He hasn’t let any fires be lighted so he hasn’t attracted attention that way. I’m surprised he hasn’t launched a night attack. I would have.”

And would have charged straight into the talons of the Choosers. But Hecht could not admit that. Why had his supernatural associates not passed on the facts about the actual state of affairs? Though when they could have done so without attracting attention made for an intriguing question.

He had a sudden notion that he should have anticipated Stain.

He shook his head as though trying to rid it of cobwebs. “Gentlemen. Ideas. What is Stain trying to get us to do? He’s not stupid. He’s enjoyed a lot of military success the past few years.”

Sedlakova shrugged. “I’m out of my depth, Boss.”

“Titus?”

“Could he want to put us on the inside so he can close us up and starve us?”

Sedlakova liked that. “That would reduce the advantage of the falcons. They’re too clumsy to handle a shifting axis of attack. And, being on the outside, he’d have his whole kingdom to provide men and supplies.”

“That must be it.” Though it did not feel entirely right. “So let’s disappoint the man.”

The Righteous drove the remaining population out into the gathering dawn, allowing them to take nothing but their clothing. Let King Stain carry the burden of so many women, children, and old people. Let him look homeward to see Cholate’s able-bodied men demolishing churches, walls, and public works. Let him watch the resulting debris be used to render the Vilde unnavigable.

Meantime, Hagen Brokke would create more tangles and pitfalls around the Righteous camp.

Lord Arnmigal kept most of his men there. He preferred to face any attack there, though he remained unsure of the advantage. He had found a flaw in Consent’s analysis of Stain’s intent. Stain did not have men enough to properly invest Cholate. The Righteous could escape using the bridge to the north bank of the Vilde.

* * *

Hecht was napping. He did that when there were no critical demands on his time. Pella interrupted. “Wake up, Dad. You need to get up.”

“Huh?” He had been deep into a strange dream where he roamed an unfamiliar cold waste with a band of blood brothers, hunting. Their quarry might have been a man. Might once have been a friend. Might have been the father of one of the blood brothers. The hunt might have taken place in the wild country Piper Hecht called his homeland. A lot of might-have-beens wisped away like breath scattering on a winter wind.

“It’s almost noon. That Stain guy says he’s ready to fight.”

Hecht could not help being confused. “I thought he went away.”

“He came back. He says he’s chosen lances.”

Hecht shook his head. “Lances?”

Pella explained. Lord Arnmigal had issued the challenge. The challenged got to choose the weapons. After that the outcome was in the hands of God. “He probably picked lances because everybody knows you don’t fight on horseback.”

“Not lately.” He consulted his nerves. He had none. He should have had, but he was dead calm. “I want to see Mr. Sedlakova.”

“Dad? You’re not gonna…”

“Of course I am.”

“But!..”

“Get Sedlakova, boy! Now!”

* * *

It took Clej a while to collect everything but Hecht did go to the contest equipped the way he wanted. He rode a small, agile horse instead of a charger. Nor did he carry the heavy lance westerners preferred. His choice was ten feet long, thin, light, like the lances used by the Sha-lug. He bore a small round shield on his left forearm. His helmet was light, too. For armor he wore a borrowed scale shirt over his own link mail.

The mind inside the head inside the light helmet, still glacially calm, wondered if his muscles would remember the moves they would have to make.

He sensed uncertainty at the far end of the field. Those people had not expected him to show up looking confident. There was uncertainty at his own end, as well. None of his people thought him even a rudimentary cavalryman.

He considered Pella and Titus. Titus held another two lances. If Hecht broke three he would be in trouble. Stain, yonder, had a more generous supply.

Pella was pale and shaking. He could see no good coming from this.

Time stopped.

Hourli and Hourlr stepped out of nothing. The goddess extended a hand. Her brother did the same. His held a short black spear. Hourli said, “Trade.”

It did not occur to Hecht to do anything else. He knew that spear. He surrendered his lance.

The spear was heavy. It dragged his arm down. It changed as he forced it back up. It became a light cavalry lance.

The Shining Ones vanished.

Time resumed.

Hecht endured the pre-fight ceremonies, though he saw no point to them. Hagen Brokke sidled close. “Boss, get him early. He’ll start out just trying to knock you off your horse. If he sees that you’re going to be stubborn he might decide to kill you. He’s had a bad temper the past few years.”

Hecht grunted. That agreed with what the Shining Ones reported.

Still, the Enterprise would come this way next spring. Stain ought not to provoke its backers.

The Enterprise would come. There would be a Commander of the Righteous and a mission to liberate the Holy Lands. Crusade fever had begun to course through the Episcopal Chaldarean world.

Piper Hecht had to stop woolgathering. King Stain had taken his position. He and his mount alike were richly caparisoned. His charger was immense. A feather plume wobbled in the breeze above his helm. “A noble vision,” Hecht said. “A shame to ruin all that finery.”

Men from both forces lined the edges of the field. Officers tried and failed to keep them out of the barley nearby. A priest in the odd raiment of the Eastern Rite stepped to the middle of the field. He carried a pole with a white pennon attached. He swung that down as though to punish the earth, sprinted off dragging the pole.

Horns sounded, Hecht supposed for the benefit of the blind. He consulted his courage. He remained unafraid, relaxed and confident, and that made no rational sense. His opponent was famed as a tiltyard bully and scrapper.

He urged his mount forward.

In these passages knights crossed their lances behind the necks of their mounts and tried to unseat one another as they passed left side to left side. Thus, their lances did not cross and become entangled. Hecht had witnessed a few tournaments. He had not understood the formalities. Tilts were, at their base, practice for war. In war the rule was, you strove to be the man still standing when the fighting came to an end.

Stain was a traditionalist. He couched his lance under his right arm and crossed it behind his mount’s neck. His form was exquisite.

Hecht grasped his lance two-thirds of the way back, shaft tight against his forearm, the whole raised to shoulder height, arm cocked back to thrust, lance head slightly low. When Stain drew close he swerved to pass right hand to right hand. He drove his lance’s head at Stain’s face.

In the Vibrant Spring School a lancer learned to use the tip of his weapon to snatch rings off moving targets. Else Tage had been a magnificent student. Piper Hecht was fifteen years out of practice. Heartsplitter did not find the gap in King Stain’s visor.

Hecht did push the man backward in his saddle. He did remember to whip his lance round so the sharp edge of its head scored the flank of Stain’s mount. Not done to perfection, but done.

He trotted on, unaware of the uproar from the sidelines.

His mount seemed to approve of the proceedings so far.

He turned, let the beast catch her breath. Yonder, Stain was complaining. Hecht waited. He remained comfortable and confident but doubted that he had yet made his point.

Stain readied himself for another pass. His gelding was not as engaged as he. It favored its right rear leg. Blood stained its white caparison.

Hecht waited.

Stain refused another pass to the right so Hecht gave him what he wanted.

As he closed with the King, he swerved right, increasing the angle Stain must use to place his lance on target, took its head on his shield, pushed it past him. At the same time he drove his own lance down at the outside of Stain’s left thigh. The King’s mail took a long, deep, smoking, cherry-red score but held. Heartsplitter skipped to the gelding’s caparison, opened a gash in its side two feet long.

Stain’s mount stopped. It screamed. It dropped its rear end as though it meant to sit. Then it tried to throw Stain.

Hecht slowed, turned in a tight circle, came back, gave Stain a solid thump in the back of the helmet with Heartsplitter’s butt. He circled again. Stain tried desperately to control his gelding.

Hecht passed right side to right side. Stain could not get his lance up nor his shield across. Heartsplitter penetrated Stain’s mail, pierced his right shoulder to the bone. Hecht withdrew to his end of the field. Sedlakova and Pella stared, eyes wide. The uproar along the sidelines was deafening. Hecht did not hear it. He faced King Stain, waited.

He sensed disbelief behind him. Sedlakova found his voice. “That was amazing, Boss. You made it look easy.”

“Let that be a lesson. Don’t underestimate me.” As Stain finally got his mount under control, Hecht asked, “Is he stupid enough to keep on?”

“He won’t see that he has much choice.”

Some unfathomable western pride stuff must be at work. “I don’t want to kill him, Clej. He’s able. He could be a valuable ally. Go ask them not to make me kill him.”

Sedlakova was confused. “What are you talking about, Boss? This isn’t about anybody killing anybody. It’s about getting somebody to yield.”

Hecht said, “I said go tell them I don’t want to kill him.”

“All right.”

Pella took off running up the left side of the field. He did not reach the far end in time.

Stain got his dappled gelding moving, slowly. The animal no longer wanted to play.

Hecht sighed. Neither did he. Could he manage this without killing Stain or doing the gelding further injury?

Stain cast his lance aside, drew his sword. Hecht suspected he was expected to do likewise.

He retained Heartsplitter. Trotting, he closed and thrust at Stain’s face again, which the man expected. He chopped ferociously, sword ringing as it bounced off the divine spear. Hecht spun that, to use as a club. He whacked Stain on the back of the neck, leaving him wobbly.

Another brisk passage, sword against spear. Stain could not force Hecht to his shield side. And Hecht had the reach by a yard.

The mare seemed to read Hecht’s mind. Every move she made was exact and perfect. Hecht thumped and poked, hit the King’s feet, knees, elbows, hands, and prodded the gelding’s wounds. He wanted to limit the harm he did but feared those watching would think he was toying with Stain. That would not be good.

He landed a solid blow behind Stain’s right knee, poked the gelding’s worst wound. It screamed, reared, successfully shed Stain this time, limped off and refused to let anyone come near.

Hecht dismounted. Stain got his feet under himself and tried to get himself up but when he lifted his shield his right knee buckled. He dropped again, supported himself on the shield.

“Do you yield?” Hecht asked.

“Never. You did not fight as a gentleman.”

“I’m not a gentleman. I’m a soldier. Combat isn’t play. That’s the lesson here. I will win. Yield.”

“I will not. I won’t dishonor…”

“You mean to die over this?”

“Kill me here. Otherwise, I won’t rest until…”

“If that’s the way it’s got to be.” Hecht raised Heartsplitter. “I don’t want you haunting my back trail.” He thrust.

Stain managed to deflect the spear. Heartsplitter itself seemed surprised. So. Stain was more than just a man.

A circle formed. Men from both forces begged the combatants to stand down.

Hecht said, “He insists that I kill him. He won’t stand for anything less.” He thrust again. Then again, and pushed through Stain’s guard. Blood leaked from all of the King’s wounds. The thing that possessed him could not stop his flesh from growing weaker. “He has a bad case of the stubborns.” Hecht saw no need to note that Stain had surrendered himself to the Will of the Night. Behind the wicked presence Stain felt like a good man worth saving.

Clej Sedlakova said, “No doubt he finds all this hard to believe. He has a huge reputation. You have none.”

Hecht delivered a butt stroke that turned Stain’s helm sideways. The man could no longer see.

Pella said, “Step away, Dad. Let it go.”

A shadow swept across the field. A lone, massive thunderhead moved in front of the sun, pushing a frigid gust front. Men of every allegiance cursed it.

The cold was bitter around the King. Stain straightened his helmet. He looked around wildly.

A woman stepped round Hecht and approached Stain. Hourli. Men asked, “Who is that?” and, “Where the hell did she come from?”

Good questions both, sure to rattle the Righteous further.

The thunderhead stopped moving. That distracted attention from Hourli.

Stain strained to raise sword and shield. He could not. His knee gave way again.

Hourli rested a hand on his shoulder. He released a long groan. An icy spin devil swirled round the pair, snatching up leaves and bits of grass. A fading shriek startled everyone. The baby whirlwind raced toward the nearby woods as though desperate to escape. Traces of dark smoke twirled inside.

Rain began to fall. It included bits of ice.

Stain found the strength to rise. He removed his helmet, shambled forward, dropped to his good knee, presented his sword to the Commander of the Righteous. “An end to this, Lord Arnmigal. I yield without reservation. God’s Will is clear.”

Lightning flashed. It smashed into the wood, shattering trees. The rain grew heavier and more hail-laden. Hecht told Stain, “We need to get in out of this before that lightning walks over here.”

A dozen blistering bolts had struck the forest already.

Somebody asked, “Where the hell did that woman go?”

Another immediately demanded, “What about the mare the Boss was riding? Where the hell is she? Did the thunder scare her off?”

A carronade hammered the woods. Stain said, “I have to get my people under cover.” Two were helping him keep his feet. He seemed a different man.

Hecht’s were headed for shelter already.

The downpour increased. Hailstones made the footing treacherous. Hecht joined the general flight for shelter.

The lightning pounding the forest moved away from Cholate.

He wondered who was wielding the hammer. Then he wondered why he was wondering that.