The Tyranny of the Night

by Glen Cook

  ***

  THE FOLLOWING NIGHT BEGAN THE SAME. THE NIGHT-BORN attacks from al-Khazen sputtered sooner, however. Bronte Doneto and his cohorts turned the attack, with more vigor.

  Only al-Seyhan and Starkden were active. Did they think the third sorcerer was still a secret? The third night they turned to the Imperial forces. Ghort caught Else when they were free of Brotherhood watchers, Principatés, Polo, Deves, and the other plagues upon their lives.

  “You going crazy with this latest shit, Pipe? I am. These assholes... You think the great old-time conquerors had to put up with the horseshit we get every day?”

  “What makes stories from the old days seem so great is that they leave out the pettiness, greed, mean spiritedness, backbiting and infighting.”

  “Yeah, well. Screw it. You’re probably right. People are gonna be people. Which means they’re mainly gonna be assholes. I wasn’t really wanting to talk about that shit, anyway.”

  “But you do have something on your mind.”

  “Oh, yeah. There’s always something going on in there. But there’s a chance it might not be no more important than what goes on in the heads of all those morons who listen to a story but only hear what they want to hear.”

  “It’s cold out here, Pinkus.”

  “I do have a point. In the sense that I want you to tell me what you’re up to. I don’t want to get my ass shredded I because don’t know the plan.”

  Else swung an arm across Ghort’s shoulder. “Have you been testing the local spoiled fruit juice?”

  “That’s one thing these Unbelievers do right, Pipe. They ain’t ‘sposed to drink nothing that might maybe put them in a good mood. Their god must be one sour son of a bitch. But still they manage to make some fine wine.”

  “You have been sampling.”

  “Which don’t mean shit. What does is, what I want to know is, what’re we gonna do?”

  “What are you babbling about, Pinkus?”

  “You don’t even realize, do you?”

  “You’re right. I’m lost.” Ghort did some verbal exercises to get his tongue under control. “You don’t realize that you’re the number-one guy, here, now. Top dog, after Grade Drocker. Who plain ain’t gonna last much longer.”

  “You haven’t cleared the fog much.”

  “All right. Look. Here it is. We got what, eleven, twelve thousand men in the Patriarch’s army?”

  Else grunted. “Twelve thousand, two hundred. And some. Maybe eight thousand able to fight.” There was a lot of sickness. But that was worse in the city. “And your point?”

  “Haven’t you noticed in the big meetings how even assholes like Count Juditch va Geiso shut up when you talk?” He had not. He had seen that even the Principatés and most senior nobles deferred to Grade Drocker. “No.”

  “Sainted Eis’s Holy Hernia, Pipe! For a guy who’s so clever about shit in the field, you’re dumb when it comes to where you fit in the camp. Those guys have watched you on the job, Pipe. Some ain’t happy but they’ve seen you run the regiment. They’ve seen you fight it. They know none of their ruling-class types could do half the job. And none of them want any of the others telling them what to do.”

  Else had seen that. Plenty. “I don’t believe you but I see what you’re saying.”

  “You don’t got to believe. But we’ve done good. Them what don’t want to be cold and hungry and maybe dead on account of some idiot who knows jack shit about the war business....”

  Else shook his head.

  Ghort waved that off. “A lot of people think you’re the man who can keep everybody warm and fed and breathing if Drocker kicks the bucket.”

  “Then this discussion is moot. That nasty old man isn’t going away anytime soon.” Arguing against his own convictions.

  “Play a game of what if with me, Pipe. What next if you was in charge?”

  Else scowled. Was Ghort stupid enough to get involved in a conspiracy? “You’re serious? Of course you are. You don’t have the imagination not to be. Or so you’d like us to think. If I was in charge, what would I do? Exactly what we’ve been doing, Pinkus. Digging in, drawing the circle tighter, and not doing anything to get any of us killed stupidly. Maximum results for the least bloodshed. Our side and theirs. So what do you really want Pinkus?”

  “I ain’t blowing smoke, Pipe. I’m straight on. I think you’re the compromise guy. And I don’t agree about Drocker being in good shape.”

  “Now you’ve heard it Pinkus. Tell Doneto I’d go right on doing it Drocker’s way. Letting time work. Like making wine. Though I might do a little more than he has to talk the Pramans into surrendering.”

  “You could shit a shitter, all right, Pipe. You ain’t really told me shit that’s worth snot.”

  “Pinkus, I don’t know what more you want to hear.” Ghort growled and pretended to yank out his hair. “How come you can’t just give me a straight answer to a straight question?”

  “I did.”

  “I bet the reason you left Duarnenia was, they ran you off on account of you’ve got a stick up your ass.”

  “I don’t understand what you want.” Ghort demonstrated his characteristic flexibility by shrugging, saying, “Guess I lose. I thought I could get you to give me something. Hey. Guess who — or what — turned up? That nasty little sword swallower that used to polish Bishop Serifs’s knob.”

  Startled, Else blurted, “Osa Stile? The catamite?”

  “I thought his name was Armand.”

  “You’re right Stile. Where did I get that? He’s here? How did that happen?”

  “He’s hooked up with one of them Collegium characters. One of the really quiet, spooky, shadowy old ones.” Meaning one of the more powerful Principatés when it came to working the Instrumentalities of the Night. One of those men for whom the Night was a place of romance and adventure, not a realm of terror. Which suited Osa’s spy role perfectly.

  The Collegium was the stoutest bulwark that Sublime could place between himself and the ambitions of Johannes Black-boots. But his party held only that narrowest of edges there. Ferris Renfrow would want to keep a close eye on the Collegium.

  “Watch him, Pinkus. There’s more to that boy than meets the eye.”

  “Yeah. Any chance we’ll do anything but sit here?” Back to that. “Not if I can help it. If you’re feeling suicidal, though, I’ll give you a note introducing you to Starkden and Masant al-Seyhan.”

  “Bored is the word. Not suicidal.”

  “Bored? You don’t have enough work to keep you busy?”

  “I’ve got plenty. Don’t go getting no silly-ass ideas about piling on. But I am a man of action.”

  “Pinkus, I’ve never seen you make the least effort to put yourself in harm’s way.”

  “Yeah. But a guy does get antsy when all he does is sit.”

  “Sitting pays exactly the same as getting pieces chopped off.”

  “When you put it that way...”

  “Bottom line, Pinkus. Final sums. Getting out of all this alive. Staggering under the weight of all the treasure. That’s what I want.”

  “In that order, old buddy. Alive first, then rich.”

  “And after we’re done here?”

  “I go back to Brothe and be Doneto’s number-one guy. You go be the Collegium’s best boy. Maybe in charge of some permanent Patriarchal regiment. We’re in, Pipe. Long as we don’t fuck up.”

  “That’s true. That is true.” He had Drocker as his mentor and champion. “You sigh, Pipe.”

  “I sigh. Because we’re good soldiers. And nobody will remember that.”

  ***

  THE WEATHER SOFTENED. THE PATRIARCHAL TROOPS LEFT their shelters to resume work on raising a palisade just outside the reach of Praman artillery. Else wanted the circumvallation extended in both directions. King Peter appeared disinclined to come within sight of al-Khazen on his end.

  Grade Drocker preferred to ignore the Direcian-Connecten army. Those people had done their part. And then they
had snapped up way more than their share of the spoils. “If I had my way, we’d make the Connectens storm al-Khazen so they get used up.”

  Else did not venture an opinion. Later he enjoyed a tense discussion with Titus Consent. Consent had begun to understand his own value. And that had begun to go to his head.

  “This isn’t a threat,” Else told him. “I don’t do that. But the man in charge here does. And he has no love for anything Devedian. And isn’t just hard and smart, but deep. He’s watching you.”

  Not humbled, Consent said, “Your leaders have been complaining about us wasting food on the people who got driven out of the city.”

  “Ignore the whining. Those Deves helped us. A lot.”

  “As you command, Colonel.”

  “You don’t like the way things are, take it up with the Brotherhood.”

  Titus Consent went away because Sublime’s devoted Principatés had found the commander of the city regiment. Divino Bruglioni isolated Else. “There’s something I’ve wanted to ask for some time, Hecht.”

  “Sir?”

  “It’s about the reward purse Paludan was supposed to give you before you came to the Collegium.”

  “Yes?” This would be about the ring. “You know I gave him that to give to you?”

  “Thank you, then. A man needs affirmation of his work — even if the only measure is coin.”

  “True. But... How do I phrase this? Straightforward is the only way. Did you find a ring in that purse? It would be plain gold, well worn, rather old. Nothing special. But of sentimental value to me. It came to me from my grandfather, who got it from his. I’ve been trying to find it for months. I know I had it when I made up that purse. I can’t remember seeing it since.”

  “Ah.” Else said, “There was a ring. A gold band. And some foreign coins. I sold it all to a money changer who said he’d resell everything to his nephew the goldsmith. He was making something for the Patriarch’s mother.”

  Divino Bruglioni spat a curse. “That damned tiara!... I know who... How could you? Sainted Founders! The Fates are heartless.”

  “What did I do, Your Grace?” A Prince of the Church whining about the cruelty of pagan forces? “Hell, nothing. You couldn’t know the ring wasn’t part of your reward.”

  “You’ve lost me completely, Your Grace.”

  “No doubt. I fibbed. The ring was special. It was magic, in lay terms.”

  “Wow! Like in stories?”

  “No. Not like in stories. I don’t suppose the man you sold it to might be one of our Devedians here?”

  “No. He was more exotic. I think he was Dainshau. And at least eighty years old. I needed a translator. He was from the old country.”

  “Dainshaukin all try to make you think that, Hecht. Their purported inability to speak the language gives them an edge. You’d be stunned at how fast they learn when there’s money to be made.”

  “A magic ring? Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I never believed in them.” Else wondered how many times Polo had searched his things.

  “Most people don’t. Most urbanites have no idea what goes on in the wider world. They’d void their bowels if they were aware of a tenth of what they can’t see.”

  “You’re scaring me, Your Grace. What did the ring do?”

  “Its main power is that it makes itself and whoever is wearing it hard to notice. By creatures of the Night. If I put it on I could stand amid a pack of Night wolves and they wouldn’t notice me. But the ring also affects whoever uses it. You forget about it. Then you lose it.”

  “That’s what happened to you?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I can see where that would be a handy trinket. I’ll take you to see that Dainshau when we get back to Brothe. Just in case the ring didn’t get melted down.”

  “There wouldn’t be much point. He’ll have forgotten the whole incident, probably.” Excellent. The perfect excuse registered for him, up front. “I’m sorry.”

  “Stop saying that. Never mind. Tell me. Is there any plan to do anything but sit here and freeze our butts off?”

  “The weather should start growing warmer before too much longer.”

  “I mean, will we do anything about al-Khazen? Besides sit here?”

  “Not if I can help it. Time is the best weapon we have. They get weaker every day. A few of them defect every day. Defections will increase once they hear we’re letting the common soldiers go home to their farms and families.”

  “I’m not sure I like that.”

  “It’s something my great uncle taught me. Always show your enemy a Golden Path. A way out that gives him a chance to get away. Because if he’s sure you’re going to kill him, he’s going to make you work real hard to get it done. He’s going to hurt you bad.”

  A runner came, whispered in the Principaté’s ear. “I see,” Bruglioni said. “Yes. I’ll be there right away.” Once the messenger was out of earshot, Divino said, “There’s an Imperial delegation headed our way. They’ve been getting hurt by the Praman sorcerers. They want to know how to ease the pain. And get some sleep at night.”

  Uncle Divino hurried away. Else retreated to his quarters. Why was the Emperor not better prepared? The man had Ferris Renfrow covering his back.

  Else decided to nap while the opportunity was there.

  Polo wakened him, it seemed only moments later. “They’re coming, Colonel.”

  “Who?”

  “The Imperials. They’ll pass right by us.”

  Fine. Drocker would have them led through the camp to impress them. “Let’s sneak a look, then.”

  Polo bounced outside, stood gawking in the bitter wind. Else held back because it was cold out there. And he needed Polo’s help to get into his heavy winter blouse.

  The clatter and rattle of tack and armor, and the rumble of hooves impacting cold mud, moved nearer. Else decided to stay right where he was. Ferris Renfrow would be with this bunch for sure. Else did not want to attract Renfrow’s notice.

  He opened shutters a crack. And spotted Renfrow immediately, along with several Braunsknechts from last year. The nameless captain rode at Crown Prince Lothar’s right hand.

  Lothar! Rumor said Johannes had his children with him. Else had not believed it. Why take the risk? But here was the weakest of the three, leading a delegation, getting a chance to show what he could do.

  Else was deeply disappointed. Helspeth Ege had not accompanied her little brother. Then he was embarrassed by his disappointment.

  “Polo! Get in here!”

  “Colonel?”

  “Inside. Now. I need you.” Else sealed the shutters and hoped the Imperials would not investigate. “Colonel?” Polo sounded concerned. There were moments when Else suspected him of caring. “Polo... that rabbit... I’ve got stomach cramps. This is bad. Get Captain... Ghort back. He’ll have to... stand in for the regiment. This is going to start... coming out the other end soon.”

  “Sir? Are you sure?”

  Else groaned. “Polo, if you don’t get Ghort in here in the next... three minutes I’m going to find you a... Oh! A special assignment with the people who manage the drayage teams.” Polo had met Just Plain Joe. “Do... Uhn! Do you really want to improve your skills... with a shovel?”

  That kind of work — and there was a lot of it because this force included more animals than it did men — was handled by Calziran day laborers. Polo did not know that. Polo did not wander around seeing who was doing what.

  “I’m on my way, Colonel.”

  While Polo was away Else thought up an errand the man could handle after he returned with Ghort. “What’s up, Pipe?” Ghort asked, but not until Polo had scampered away. “Is he gone? For sure?”

  “Yeah. Tell me. I ate the same stuff you did.”

  “There are a couple of nightmares out of my past in that bunch that just rode in. I don’t want to run into them until I have time to change my look.”

  “You already cha
nged a lot since I met you.”

  “Yes. But by changing back to what I looked like before I headed south. Look. I don’t want to talk. I’ve already told you more than you need to know. Go to the meeting. Stay out of the way. Don’t tell anybody anything unless they ask. Nobody but Drocker, Uncle Divino, and Principaté Doneto are likely to miss me. If they do ask, say it looks like food poisoning. Or maybe regular poisoning, since you ate with me.”

  “Sure.” Ghort grinned “Which ones don’t you want to see?”

  “You don’t need to know that.”

  “I figured that’s what you’d say.”

  Else pretended to be exasperated. “Just go be the eyes and ears of the regiment.”

  “I’ll put on a show.”

  “No. Don’t be Pinkus Ghort. Be invisible. They might not miss me.”

  “There’s some wishful thinking that maybe turned up in a too-much-wine dream. All right, Pipe. Anybody asks, you’re dyin’ of the drizzlin’ shits. I’ll beg them to use their powers to save you. I’ll get them to bum Polo at the stake for poisoning you.”

  “Pinkus.”

  “I’m calm. Your ass is covered. If anybody notice you’re missing.”

  “There you go. That’s what I wanted to hear.” Ghort went off to do his job.

  Else did not want to participate in any meeting with a delegation that included men who had shared a meal with Sir Aelford daSkees in the Sonsan factor house in Runch.

  ***

  THE ENEMY IN AL-KHAZEN COULD SPY ON THE IMPERIAL CAMP, some. The Emperor had failed to enlist any major sorcerers.

  The Patriarchal forces, though, enjoyed the protection of two dozen members of the Collegium. They kept turning up, determined to grab some of the glory.

  The Pramans were intimate with the Instrumentalities of the Night. Their chieftains recognized a huge opportunity when they learned that a delegation had been sent to confer with Sublime’s crusader commanders.

  Hansel held just a quarter of the siege line. His works were not close to the city. They were not connected with the crusader works, nor were they as well developed. That despite the fact that his troops, with Vondera Koterba’s contingent, substantially outnumbered those of the Patriarchy. But Hansel had had to leave numerous garrisons behind. The falls of al-Healta and al-Stikla were too recent for the troops there to break away and join the siege of the last Praman stronghold.