by Glen Cook
He chuckled suddenly, surprising himself.
“What?”
“Just something about that situation.” He was the boss of the gods in these parts. Well, he was the boss of those a mortal could see and touch and engage in a canoodle or conversation.
Hourli wondered, “Are you having problems again?”
“I’m sure you know the answer to that.”
“So I do. I know the cure, too, but I doubt that I can get you to let it work.”
Tired of being tired, and at sleep’s mercy, he demanded, “Tell me!”
“A little intense there. It’s easy. Surrender. Come with me to the nearest Well of Power, lie down in the hot waters, and just surrender. Go to sleep and stay asleep till you don’t need to sleep anymore. This war will simmer right along without your nose in every little pot, everywhere, micromanaging, and making everyone who works for you angry about the excess supervision.”
Her remarks irked him more than was reasonable. He recognized that. And Hourli recognized both his response and his recognition of its injustice. She did not back off.
The Shining Ones showed him no special dread, Godslayer or no. They did defer in accordance with their contract but Hourli had grown less deferential lately.
He snapped, “You aren’t here to check on my health or start an argument.”
“Oh, yes I am. But the fun stuff doesn’t top my list. I wanted you to know about Pella and Iresh. Then I wanted you to know that we’ve successfully pulled together all the mystic tools salvaged from the Great Sky Fortress.”
“What?” Had he missed something?
“Heartsplitter. Red Hammer’s hammer. Geistrier, the rope that is always long enough and strong enough. Bottomless, the pail that always holds enough but is never too heavy. The necklace, the Brising Stones—though we don’t have that one in hand yet. That scatterbrain Aldi lost it in Antieux when she was out there trying to manufacture a way around the requirements of destiny. She’s never gotten a handle on the fact that the Twilight, the way it used to be foreseen, is as dead as Kharoulke the Windwalker. There could be a Twilight. There probably will be a Twilight. But it won’t be the Twilight we expected before Ordnan screwed up.” Softly, she added, “The old fool might have traded the wrong eye.”
“And the search for Grinling?”
“You’re so clever. Sneaking that in so casually.”
“Your answer?”
“The search is over. Grinling’s story has been discovered. In reality, the Aelen Kofer found it a long time ago. King Gjore hoped to use it to break the dwarves’ bonds.”
“So that’s why they became so bold and devious.”
“Bold and devious they always were, as well as overconfident but inattentive. The ring was stolen and taken to Eucereme by a clutch of half-breed girl-children who had Lucke for a father.”
“Oh.” Lord Arnmigal felt the ground sink. “That’s not good. Can they can use it to resurrect…?”
“Not even if they owned his soul egg. They could only revive a fraction of him using the combined magic of all the surviving worlds. Too much of Lucke expired with the Realm of the Gods. Which doesn’t mean that those nasty little bastards won’t try to fill their father’s shoes—though they’d probably end up fighting amongst themselves more than against the rest of us.”
“Still not good.”
“They can’t cause trouble here while they’re cut off in Eucereme.”
“But we have to open the way to Eucereme so Eavijne can start her new orchard.”
“That’s not a concern for tonight. We’re here, Grinling and the daughters of Lucke are there, and Korban Iron Eyes is sitting in the middle. The dwarves aren’t famous for their mercy.”
“Uhm.” As Hecht understood the mythological imperatives the Raneul and Shining Ones both were doomed if the middle world could not connect with Eucereme. Neither the Raneul nor Shining Ones could sustain their immortality without the golden apples.
Now potentially vengeful children of chaos might be amongst the threats the Shining Ones faced.
Hourli said, “The children of Lucke were always involved with the Twilight. Aldi and her brother Tug would handle them. The daughters of Lucke are ferocious but they lack their father’s cleverness and cunning.”
“If they were really cunning they would foster the illusion of being dim.”
“Don’t borrow trouble. The search for a way to Eucereme goes poorly, though Heris and Hourlr keep trying.”
Hecht growled.
“Act your age. Heris is a grown woman. She can make rational choices.” With a hint that Heris might be better equipped for that than was her brother. Heris had no foolish dalliances hanging over her. “She and your daughters are immune to Hourlr, which he finds cosmically frustrating.”
“I suffer from prejudices impressed too deeply at an early age. I can’t be comfortable with the lax western morality.”
“You always were a tight-ass.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. The tools have been gathered. We can keep them together if we concentrate. We should keep the kids on that. They remember better.”
“The young have their own distractions.”
“Ha! You noticed! Even Aldi and Eavijne are only human when it comes to their boom-boom—though Evie gets embarrassed when you ask about hers.”
Like Grinling, other mystical artifacts crafted by the Aelen Kofer had a knack for disappearing. Hecht was sure that was inbuilt. The dwarves had produced to order but made sure the toys they created were useless most of the time because they could not be found.
Hecht was in no mood to banter. However, he did feel better. He did not wonder why, nor did he see that, as he accumulated more responsibilities, he became less engaged with everything immediate. “Is that all?”
“Pretty much. I do wonder if you’ve had any inspiration on how to handle the Empress’s situation. Her women have begun to wonder. Most aren’t smart enough to figure out how it happened, but Lady Hilda knows.”
He slumped. “An induced miscarriage would be easiest, ugliest, and least morally acceptable. Hiding her till afterward seems more sensible. The child could be attributed to one of her court women.” Lady Hilda might volunteer, for a dear price.
“We could have Aldi or Eavijne assume her aspect and cover for her while we put the real her away on Mount Athos.”
Hourli laughed. “Either would be happy to play Empress. But they might want all of the Grail Empress’s roles. Evie especially.” Her full meaning evaded him. “Or I could do it. I’ve regained enough strength to make myself look young enough. And I wouldn’t be as demanding as the girls.”
That might work. Hourli doing it.
Her hint about Eavijne finally sank in. Disgusted with his thoughts, he said, “I’ll discuss it with the Empress. Substitution might be the only way to save her the Grail Throne. The least potential for complication would be for you to do it.”
“You couldn’t behave with those two?”
“Considering my record? Why take the chance?”
“Really? They’d giggle like children if they heard that. Well, self-denial was never in our nature. And even Evie would consider it a challenge if you turned her down more than once.”
Evie was shy but, like the life she was aspected to, she was stubborn.
“You’d be safer if we could get Hourlr to do it. But he couldn’t play it in your presence.”
“He wouldn’t keep his hands off Lady Hilda, either, and that would complicate things even more.” He shuddered. Hourlr in the Helspeth role was a creepy idea.
“You’re right. He can’t help it. Better idea. Wife. She’d keep her skirts down and her hands to herself.”
Hecht shivered again. Having Wife play Helspeth was almost as uncomfortable as having Hourlr do it, yet she might be the real best choice. She was around Helspeth a lot without making the Empress aware of the protection.
Lord Arnmigal asked, “May I get some sleep, now?”
Hourli faked an internal struggle, then shrugged and nodded. “You were right, really. There isn’t anything so critical that it can’t wait till morning.”
Somehow, Hecht suspected, her real opinion differed. Not for the first or even one hundredth time did he wonder if his peerless helpmeets were not pursuing an agenda entirely their own.
But what? They were open about feeding on the Wells and wanting to kick down the gates of Eucereme. What else could they want or need?
Believers?
But …
This reach of the middle world was too isolated from those parts that had known the Shining Ones. They were here for the Wells, feeble as those might be. They left only scraps and dregs for the lesser demons, djinn, and ifrits plaguing the region. Believers in the God Who Is God might soon be right when they denied the existence of those Instrumentalities.
Believers in the Shining Ones were next to nonexistent. Conversions seemed unlikely.
* * *
Titus Consent said, “Would you believe I got an actual physical letter from Noë? A courier brought it from Ghort’s camp. She got a City Regiment messenger to bring it out.”
Lord Arnmigal grunted, having trouble wakening.
“She’s pregnant again.”
“I am astonished.”
“Aren’t we all. There was no message from Anna. Noë says she’s fine but depressed. Never leaves home. Everybody has to go see her. She did give Addam Hauf a letter. He is supposed to relay it through Madouc.”
“Why not have Heris or the girls bring it?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they can’t reach us because we’re too far away.” Titus knew a lot about the Unknowns now. There was not much that he did not know.
He did remain ignorant of Helspeth’s condition. But how secret could that be from the Night?
Lord Arnmigal and the Empress might become hostage to the whim of the Night.
A rumor or two, not satisfactorily refuted, could leave them facing disapprobation worse than any showered on Queen Clothilde and Black Rogert. More virtue was expected of the Grail Empress. She and the Commander of the Righteous were mistress and master of God’s most holy Enterprise of Peace and Faith, abjuring wickedness and the temptations of the world.
More or less.
“Boss?”
“Sorry. I was treating myself to a reverie filled with high drama.”
“If you say so. There’s something.” Consent dropped to a whisper, as though that would help should the Shining Ones be determined to eavesdrop. “You ever make up your mind if we can trust our Old Ones?”
“The only answer is that we can trust them one hundred percent to be what they are and have always been.”
“That doesn’t help much, going forward.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
“Uh…”
“As long as it suits their perceived needs—like being able to stay alive and healthy till Heris finds a way to connect with Eucereme—we can count on them to be helpful. They’ll keep their word to the letter but the spirit will be malleable. They’ll leap through a loophole if they see one that looks good.”
“Exactly what I’m thinking. And more so each time I talk to Eavijne or Aldi. They’re quite open about it.”
Hecht gave Consent a quick, sharp look. No! Titus would never respond to Eavijne. Likely, he was even immune to Aldi. He could see no one but Noë in that light. “You have a reason for asking?”
“Something is going on that they don’t want to discuss. It takes a paranoid ear to hear it but it’s there under the conversation, now.”
“Some aren’t as clever as they think. Any idea what it is?”
“No. But you asking Pinkus and the Widow to go help Madouc makes them uncomfortable.”
“Why? Sorry. Rhetorical. That makes no sense. Why should they care what happens at Gherig? They should be glad those two are out from under foot. What’s out there besides Gherig?”
“Been thinking about that. Their reports from that area aren’t as crystalline as most. Ghort and the Widow are difficult people but they still ought to be able to work with Madouc’s gang. Madouc, though, is supported by some top men from the Special Office. That may be what makes the Shining Ones uncomfortable.”
“Really? There must be something more. We just haven’t recognized it. And it won’t be the Faithful. The most dangerous Believers are sealed up in Shamramdi.” Could a new Praman host be gathering in Lucidia, unnoticed? Not likely. The Shining Ones would not hide that. Just the opposite, in fact.
Titus mused, “What else? How about er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen?”
Lord Arnmigal stiffened. “Er-Rashal?”
“A sorcerer. Sometimes called the Rascal. Used to be the court wizard for Gordimer the Lion. They called him something else because Believers can’t consort with necromancers, sorcerers, or diviners. He ran for it after Indala’s victory. He headed up the Shirne toward tomb country. They cut him off, so he turned back north. Nobody noticed till he attacked a Lucidian watchtower near Gherig, where he got his ass handed to him. He lost his henchmen and animals and ended up injured himself. He scuttled into the Neret Mountains. Some renegade Sha-lug went after him.”
Titus knew more than he realized. “Into the Idiam,” Lord Arnmigal breathed. “Into the land of ghosts. To the Dead City.”
There had been hints before, of course. Soldiers loved their rumors. He had paid no attention because neither the Rascal nor Andesqueluz ever got mentioned directly. Nothing suggested that the rumors were based on anything real.
The Shining Ones had reported nothing.
That was suggestive itself.
“Into the Idiam.” In mildly wondrous dread.
Titus said, “To a ruined city remembered in sacred texts as Andesqueluz, home of one of the uglier Instrumentalities of the god times.”
“To Asher. The Mountain. And Ashtoreth, which means Bride of the Mountain. I’ve heard that much.”
“Then you paid closer attention than I thought.”
“Maybe. I like to know about those things.”
“I have no concrete evidence but—based on rumors and the circumstances of this er-Rashal’s association with Rudenes Schneidel—he may be trying to resurrect Asher.”
“Plausible. And our divine associates have neglected to tell us.”
“I would assume they’re not hiding anything, they’re just failing to point fingers.”
“Oh, those clever devils.”
“Could they possibly want Asher back?”
“No. They wouldn’t want to share what little magic is left while they’re finding a way into Eucereme. It must be something else.”
“Any suggestions?”
“No. Keep your ears open. There are facts missing. The Shining Ones may have them. If so, they must be inconvenient somehow.”
“Shall I sneak out there myself?”
“You’d never get away with it. Go to the horse pasture east of al-Sar. Find Just Plain Joe. Tell him what we need.”
Consent saw his thinking. “I’m on my way.”
Hecht wondered if it was worth the bother, trying to keep a low profile, hoping the Shining Ones would not consult the Choosers of the Slain, who were always with him.
They were abidingly disdainful of Fastthal and Sprenghul, who seldom gave anyone an excuse to see them in a better light.
It might be worthwhile to create some diversions.
There was always something diverting him from pursuing the triumph of the Enterprise. Oft times it was difficult not to believe that a malignant Night was meddling.
He had seen Gordimer the Lion succumb to that kind of thinking, abetted by the Rascal’s whispers. In his more rational moments Lord Arnmigal saw himself starting to externalize blame the way Gordimer had.
He was in the first stage of creating his own demons.
And was that not one way tadpole Instrumentalities came into the world?
* * *
Hecht started.
&nb
sp; Titus was long gone. Hourli had come in. She had just snapped her fingers under his nose, a gesture outright disrespectful. “What?” he barked.
“You always were broody. It’s part of your manly charm, though I don’t find it particularly endearing. Put your mind’s house in order, quickly. We have no time to waste.”
Lord Arnmigal was confused. “What?”
“The Empress.”
“Oh. Got you. I’ll ask for an audience.”
* * *
Helspeth ordered everyone out.
Hecht said, “Lady Hilda needs to stay.”
“I’m not that concerned about my reputation, Lord Arnmigal. I’m already considered a freak for being here. I understand that the locals call me the Iron Virgin.”
Lady Hilda made a face, and leered.
“Chaperonage isn’t why she’s needed. She knows our troubles. She was involved from the start. We can’t get by without her now.”
Seconds passed. “Oh? You’re probably right. Stay, then, Hilda.” Helspeth’s sudden desperation begged Hecht to be sure.
“There is no getting around it.”
“You have some fresh ideas?”
“Some. Let’s not discuss them here. Too easy to eavesdrop.”
“There are no quiet rooms handy.”
“There’s another option. It won’t thwart Instrumentalities but it will keep the mortal sneaks off.”
“The candle?”
“Exactly.”
Helspeth needed less than a minute to locate and light the time candle. That did not have the elusive nature of many artifacts associated with the Shining Ones. It had not been made by the Aelen Kofer.
The candle blazed up. Blushing, Helspeth talked to her friend. Hilda said, “I thought it might be that, though I prayed that I was wrong.” She hugged Helspeth, for the moment no more than an empathetic friend.
Helspeth said, “You must be sure of your suggestions, my lord, or you wouldn’t have insisted we meet.”
“I have an idea loosely based on something Hourli suggested.”
“She knows?”
“She’s known since the quickening. She is what she is. I don’t like it, either. It gives her leverage. But that’s the way it is with the Instrumentalities of the Night.”
Helspeth blew out a chest full of exasperation. “Of course. Sure. All right. We know how to deal with that, don’t we? Go on.”