The Tyranny of the Night

by Glen Cook

  Drocker said, “There are three major sorcerers in al-Khazen. Plus the Masters of Ghosts that accompany Dreangerean formations. They don’t want us to know they’re there. But they won’t suffer many more failures.”

  Else responded, “Another outstanding reason for not attacking. They can conjure all the Instrumentalities of the Night.”

  “They would start small.” Principaté Bruglioni asked, “Is that true, Drocker? About the sorcerers?”

  “It is.”

  “Why wasn’t the Collegium made aware?”

  Drocker was blunt. “We didn’t want you people babbling the news all over Firaldia.”

  Easy to see why Drocker was not beloved by the Episcopal hierarchy. He smoldered with contempt for the self-serving pettiness of Church politics. “You’ll be needed when the Unbeliever summons the Instrumentalities of the Night, however.” For Drocker there was only one worthy struggle, the war against the Night.

  “You need to know now,” Else told Doneto. “Because they’ll come after you first.”

  Drocker clarified his position. “There will be no attack. Waiting, not wasting, let’s us develop a pool of veterans for the future.” Drocker’s longer speeches left his audience impatient. But no one tried to hurry him. This was war ground, the Brotherhood’s home country. Few members of that Brotherhood were more terrible than Grade Drocker.

  Drocker confided, “They think I’m hard.” He laughed. That brought on a coughing fit so violent that Else summoned the Brotherhood physician, who got Drocker inhaling exudations of herbs crushed in a leather sack. Redfearn Bechter helped Drocker with the bag. When the sorcerer recovered, he told Else, “I’m an altar boy. Wait till they meet Asher Huggin, Parthen Lorica, Alin Hamlet, or Bugo Armiene. They scare me.”

  “Then I hope I never meet any of them.” Drocker asked, “Does that worry you?”

  “Sure. It would worry anyone who isn’t one of you.” Drocker raised a questioning eyebrow. “If you’re an everyday sort who has to scratch for your next meal you find people who’re that absolute in their convictions really frightening.”

  Drocker seemed amused.

  Outside, snow fell lightly but steadily. The weather had settled into an unchanging pattern. Would it end with Calzir under a mile of ice, the way it was in the far north?

  Else shivered. Even a well-built structure like the lookout cottage could not keep the cold out. The chills, the drafts, all the talk about Praman sorcerers coagulated in Else’s mind. He left Drocker, found Ghort. “Pinkus, all the yammer has got me thinking. If those people over there send spooks to aggravate us, and we don’t get ready...”

  “I got ya, Pipe. What do we do to get ready?”

  “The stuff every family does when they live where the Night is always at the door. Plug up all the cracks.”

  “Plug up all the cracks,” was, in fact, an old saw from Duarnenia. Variants existed everywhere. Folk wisdom based on common sense. By plugging all the cracks you kept the cold out and you kept the things of the Night out in the cold.

  Plug up all the cracks. “Pipe, I’ve whispered that sweet nothing into every subaltern’s ear starting the first night we had to make camp.”

  “Then I don’t need to nag.” Plug up all the cracks. Else could not imagine anyone in a strange land not doing that automatically.

  ***

  TITUS CONSENT BROUGHT A PAIR OF LOCAL DEVES TO ELSE. He whispered, “These people have risked everything for us, Colonel. They can’t go back. But they still have family inside.”

  “I understand.” He wanted to shriek. He was trapped. These Deves wanted to betray his people to his enemies. And he had to protect and reward them. “Set up some kind of show trial. Script it so it looks like we’re lying about Calzir’s Devedians helping us. Condemn them to be hung, then grant clemency at the request of the Deves of Brothe.”

  “It’s uglier than a dead baby, but I can make it work. “Have they been noticed yet?”

  “No. We’re keeping them out of sight. They won’t talk to anybody but you.”

  “Keep on doing that. Bring them in. Why me?”

  “They’re worried about spies. They’ve heard that there’s at least one highly placed Praman agent over here.”

  “No doubt true. Human nature being human nature.” Else Tage was careful not to remind any Deve that his loyalty might not lie with the enemies of al-Prama.

  Life was not going well for the besieged, the spies reported, though al-Khazen was not yet under a complete siege. The slaughter of dray animals had begun. Cavalry mounts remained untouched but there was little feed for them. The granaries were empty. Execution of the officials responsible eased the strain on stores only slightly.

  Inhabitants of al-Khazen who did not share the religious enthusiasms of the majority suffered the most. Else listened to the horror stories. He began to glance askance at Consent. “Be patient,” Consent urged. “As you’re always telling us.”

  “I do hope to hear something that makes my indulgence worthwhile.”

  The Calzirans were an elderly couple who had been employed in Mafti al-Araj el-Arak’s palace, now occupied by the foreign captains.

  “They managed the books,” Titus explained. “So they have a special place in your heart.”

  “They had a special opportunity to be close to important discussions.”

  The old folks from al-Khazen were no more patient than Else. They were exhausted. They wanted to lay their old bones down and sleep. Though they were worried about their children and grandchildren.

  Else tried not to torment himself wondering why the old Deves preferred the mercies of unknown Chaldareans to those of known Pramans.

  Their big news was that the sorcerers of al-Khazen would come out of hiding soon.

  Else could not shake a conviction that he had missed some-thing once the interview ended. He snapped, “What did I just miss, Titus? You could’ve sent me a one-sentence note that would’ve covered all that.”

  Consent replied, “I wanted to put a human face on the Devedian tragedy. Obviously, I failed.”

  Else locked gazes with Gledius Stewpo. The dwarf shrugged. “The young only learn directly. But I do think those old people can help.”

  “How?”

  “They worked in the palace. They know the important buildings.”

  “I see. You’re right. I’ve grown impatient.”

  “Easy to do, I’d think, having to stand hip to hip with Grade Drocker.”

  “You have no idea.” He and Consent spent an hour discussing logistical problems. The worst being that other Patriarchal forces thought they could become parasites on the city regiment.

  ***

  EARLY ENCOUNTERS WITH THINGS OF THE NIGHT WERE SUBTLE. The sorcerers in al-Khazen were not eager to declare themselves.

  The city regiment handled the probes as men always had, with charms, spells, and by plugging all the cracks.

  The Emperor’s troops tightened the circle in the hills to the east and south. King Peter was less aggressive. His troops wanted to stay out of the weather.

  Else, Grade Drocker, several Principatés, and the commanders of contingents from several Episcopal States were studying the feasibility of infiltrating al-Khazen via a wastewater outlet discovered by Collegium sorcerers, employing the same sort of minor entities the Pramans used to scout their besiegers. Else asked, “Are we sure they don’t know this drainage system exists?”

  Bronte Doneto replied, “Not even your Deve captives knew about it. The engineering is Old Empire. Cassina was a major city of the Old Empire.”

  Pinkus Ghort interrupted. “Sorry, Pipe. Colonel. Principaté. Word just came. The foreign Pramans have started rounding up all the non-Pramans in the city.”

  Else exchanged glances with Doneto. “Does that mean they’ve figured out that the Deves are helping us?” Ghort volunteered, “Deves brought the news.” Else asked, “Have there been executions? Have...? Sorry, Pinkus. I won’t learn anything with my mouth open, will I?”


  “You might. You’re special. But that’s all the news there is. Nobody knows what they’ll do with the prisoners. There’s been fighting.”

  Bronte Doneto observed, “Too bad we aren’t set to exploit that drainage system. We could hit them while they’re distracted.” Would the Calziran Pramans tolerate the abuse of their minorities? Probably.

  Grade Drocker invited himself in. “That’s interesting. But is it germane? Let’s focus on the problem at hand. Can we get men inside to seize the gates or murder the Praman leadership?”

  Else told Ghort, “Make up a team of our Deves and some refugees to track the situation.” He told the others, “Something bigger may be going on. Where do we get out of the wastewater system?”

  The Deves of al-Khazen had provided excellent maps, some detailed they included the number of steps up to the door of important building.

  “Not sure,” Ghort said. Drocker asked Bronte Doneto and Divino Bruglioni, “Are you really sure the Pramans don’t know about this? I’d use it as a trap.” Drocker was so weak now that he had to be carried. But he was able to speak almost normally. Else did not expect him to last till spring. And had mixed feelings about that. Because Drocker had become his patron. And Drocker might get him next to Honario Benedocto himself.

  ***

  THE MOTIVE BEHIND THE ROUNDUP AND SUPPRESSION OF minorities made itself evident immediately. Most were driven out, intended to become a burden on the besiegers. Criminals, prostitutes, old people unrelated to anyone important — anyone who could not materially contribute to the city’s defense — were ejected along with the minorities.

  Before the next day’s end the Dreangereans and Lucidians began ejecting fight-worthy Pramans they did not trust, too. Else had patrols round up a representative sample of disgruntled ejectees and offered them the opportunity to get even. Grade Drocker cautioned, “Be careful, Hecht. I’ve seen this in the Holy Lands. Some of these refugees will be enemy agents.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  ***

  “NO. I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN MY PROMISE,” ELSE TOLD ROGOZ Sayag. They were walking in darkness, between the observation house and the regimental camp.

  “I ask only because Salny tells me the Don is fading.”

  “The thing weighs on my mind. A commitment is a commitment.”

  “But.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I understand. You’ve become one of the key men in the crusade.”

  “I don’t know. I was born in the wrong place and time. No doubt if I was amoral enough to murder my father and sell my sisters into prostitution.” One of the heroes of Brothen antiquity had done just that.

  Rogoz chuckled wickedly. “Brothens aren’t nastier than other people. You just hear about the ones who do the nastiest shit.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I’m just asking. Like I said, the Don is failing.”

  “Which one of the Bruglioni do you suppose the Don admires the most?”

  “The Principaté. Divino was almost as close to Draco as Freido was.”

  “That makes sense. But we are in a war here.” Meaning that a senior member of the Collegium was not an asset to be wasted while Brothe’s enemies remained standing.

  “I understand. I’m just seeing if you remember my father and the Don.”

  “You have no worries. I won’t forget their generosity.” A sentry challenged them. Else gave the countersign. “Hey! Pipe? Is that you, you old pudthumper?”

  “Bo Biogna. Bo, this is Captain Sayag of House Arniena. Bo went into the Connec with us when Captain Ghort and I were trudging around behind Grade Drocker. Bo is a good man. I hear he’s even shown flashes of having what it takes to be a good soldier.”

  Bo had grown since last Else had seen him. “Thank you, Pipe. Uh, Colonel.”

  Before Else could get inside the little wine-pressing building Polo had turned into comfortable quarters, Bronte Doneto and several Collegium allies swooped down.

  “Principatés,” Else said, “however much I owe you, and however important you are to the faith, I can’t help right now. I’m exhausted. I need sleep. Now.”

  Doneto said, “I’m sorry. But there may be an important new angle. We’ve only begun to see it this past hour. There may be something deeper than the old war between faiths at work.” Else refrained from informing the Principaté that he was a major repository for camel dung. “You need to be more specific.”

  “Bluntly, Hecht, to the east of us somewhere, in or around the Emperor’s camp, there’s an interested power that could be a fully fledged Instrumentality of the Night.”

  “You have the advantage of me, Principaté. I don’t understand.”

  “Recall the thing in the Ownvidian Knot. The one we survived because you thought fast enough to wake me up.”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a power out there, perhaps following the Emperor, that makes that bogon look as dangerous as a pet weasel.” Else stared at Doneto, wondering if the man’s sanity had become suspect. Doneto said, “Times like this strain the faith of God’s most devout Children, Colonel. This thing out there — Primitive peoples might consider it a lesser god.”

  Else nodded and shrugged and twitched. “And you’re telling me about this because?”

  “Because, like it or not, we’ll have to deal with it. You and me. If it has an interest in this struggle.”

  Else indulged in several seconds of deeply felt wishing that the nonsense would go away. “Say you’re right. Why is this awful godling here? If it isn’t Praman or Chaldarean, why does it care?”

  “You’d have to take that up with it. It’s one more symptom of the agitation among the Instrumentalities of the Night.”

  “Maybe I should be glad I’m not sensitive to that.”

  “Most people drift through life indifferent to the Night until the Night reaches out and smacks them.”

  “Like that thing in the Ownvidian Knot.”

  “Like that I still don’t know what that was about. I have no enemies who’d go to that much trouble. Far easier to have me murdered in the Emperor’s prison.”

  “Maybe you offended the Adversary Himself.”

  “Hardly. There was a human agency behind that bogon.”

  “What’s that noise?” He knew what it was, though. The racket raised by men unexpectedly attacked. Doneto went pale. “That can’t be... We’d know ahead of time if they sent troops out.”

  ***

  THE PRAMAN SORCERERS WERE ATTACKING THE BROTHERHOOD. Which suggested lapses in their intelligence in both senses of that word. The Brotherhood contingent was no major threat to al-Khazen.

  The uproar ended before Else reached the scene. Something like the monster from Esther’s Wood had been driven off by the Principatés. Three Brothers fell to the thing’s fury. None died. Plainly not what those who sent it intended.

  Else spotted several key Devedians watching. Was it coincidence that the first blow fell on those who had done the Deves so much hurt? They controlled what both sides knew. Or thought they knew.

  The foe tried again, launching point attacks meant to spread terror. Else asked Doneto, “Is this the thing you warned me about?”

  “No. It’s a lesser bogon. Entirely foreign.”

  “Foreign?”

  “The overseas Pramans must have brought it. There’s nothing like it in Calzir anymore.”

  “So. Is it the point? Or a diversion?”

  “Diversion?”

  “What else is going on while we’re watching the loud show?” That would be traditional Sha-lug strategy. A fireworks display here while the critical attack went in elsewhere.

  “Good thinking, Hecht. I’ll look into it. Meanwhile, you should see to your troops.”

  The city regiment needed no seeing to. The men were nervous but disciplined. Sitting at the center of the sprawl of Patriarchal forces, the regiment enjoyed a moat of human flesh. The probes never came close.

  Nevertheless, fear
remained an abiding presence through the night

  ***

  GRADE DROCKER OPINED, “LAST NIGHT WAS A SETBACK FOR the Pramans.” The Patriarchal commanders had lost the habit of calling their enemies Calzirans. The Calzirans were no longer in charge. “The Night bent to our will instead of theirs.”

  Else learned that small, cruel things had been sent to still the hearts of Patriarchal commanders. Those deadly clots of shadow had been exterminated. The Principatés had been waiting. Especially clever men like Bronte Doneto turned some back on al-Khazen’s native Pramans.

  The soldier’s life consisted mainly of waiting, or of marching somewhere in order to wait. Siege work meant concentrated waiting. Else found himself growing impatient. But never so impatient that he lost sight of the fact that impatience was the mother of stupid decisions.

  Ghort turned up. “You get the casualty report for last night, Pipe?”

  “Not yet. I didn’t think we had any. Did we?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve seen a few men who say they were but it looked more like they had too much liberated wine and got hurt running around in a panic. Then there’s that guy who runs the Arniena company. Sayag. He’s your pal, isn’t he?”

  “Not really. We worked together. I saw him last night. What happened?”

  “I’m not sure. He isn’t, either. He thinks something tried to get him. Yet that doesn’t seem likely.”

  No, it did not. Unless Divino Bruglioni had found out that the Arniena had it in for the Bruglioni. “I don’t know. It’s a world full of cold miseries, Pinkus.”

  “And getting colder fast. Everywhere. You don’t want to go back home. That end of the world will be under the ice in our lifetimes.”

  “The whole world will be under the ice, Pinkus. In our lifetimes. If half the rumors are true.”

  From the observation house, later, Else stared across the snowscape at the walls and roofs and towers of al-Khazen. They seemed darker and more dangerous this morning. Those were his people. But he could summon no sympathy. He was sure there was no sympathy for Else Tage stashed behind those walls, either.

  Would the whole world go under the ice? Or would the Wells of Ihrian start to flow more strongly, as might have happened in the past?