The Tyranny of the Night

by Glen Cook

  Starkden and Masant al-Seyhan, and the wickedness that stood behind them, were not discomfited by Johannes Black-boots. They were not worried by the surprisingly professional and competent force fielded by Sublime V. Nor were they rattled by the dramatic successes of the King of Navaya.

  The sorcerers of al-Khazen struck where they were least expected. “PIPE.” It was the middle of the night. Nobody honest had any excuse to be up. “What?” Ghort sounded stressed.

  “Bad news from the Imperial side. No details yet but it sounds like some important folks got themselves ambushed and captured. Including the Emperor’s daughters.”

  Once that sank in, Else said, “Makes me wish I was a swearing man. How do we know?”

  “We seem to have Deves under every bed. I got it from the dwarf. His people overheard the delegation fussing about it. Messengers are coming and going. Drocker has demanded an explanation from the Imperials.”

  “He hasn’t interfered, has he?”

  “Not yet.”

  “That wouldn’t be polite.”

  “The Brotherhood aren’t fond of the Empire. The Emperors won’t put up with their crap.”

  “And vice versa. Drocker isn’t stupid. He won’t anger the Emperor needlessly. If Hansel got mad enough he might create his own Patriarch, or bring Immaculate back from Viscesment.”

  “How’s your health?”

  “Not getting any better.”

  “Drocker wanted to come over and heal you himself.”

  “I’ll suffer a miracle recovery once the Imperials go away.” He did not ask how the conference had gone. He had had reports. The Deves did have an ear under every chair. Hansel had two things on his mind. How to get the Patriarchal troops to do most of the dying if any fighting took place and how to screw Peter of Navaya out of his conquests.

  “Keep your ear to the ground. Come back when you get some real details.”

  Else next wakened to the clatter of the Imperial delegation moving out, Lothar and his advisers grimly serious. An hour later a groggy Pinkus Ghort reappeared, accompanied by Gledius Stewpo and Titus Consent. “We been took, Pipe.”

  “Huh?”

  “Well, those guys. Lothar and his bunch. Those messages they got were fakes.”

  “What?” Else tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. Somewhere, Polo was rattling pots. “That business about the daughters. It was a hoax. By the guys in the city over there. Once the Principatés got to work they found out that Johannes and his family are snoring happily in a castle fifteen miles southeast of here. There never was any problem. The messages were all fakes.”

  “How long since the prince left? Any chance we can get help to him?”

  “It’s been over an hour. He was in a hurry. I sent riders but I don’t think they’ll catch him in time.”

  Else pictured a map, tried to judge the crown prince’s location and where the Pramans were likely to attack. “You’re right. But the Pramans will have to stray pretty far away from safety. Get the commando company ready. There’s a good chance we can get between the bad guys and the city. What are the Brotherhood and the Principatés doing?”

  Ghort shrugged. “The Principatés are running in circles and yelling.”

  “They should be trying to protect Lothar.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But they’re too busy worrying about how they’ll look. As for the Brotherhood, I have no idea.” Consent and Stewpo remained blandly silent. “All right. Arrange the commando thing. I’ll talk to Drocker.” Titus Consent asked, “Are you feeling better, then?”

  “No. But this is critical. Polo. Is that coffee ready?” Coffee caches had been discovered in several captured towns.

  Fifteen minutes later, still feigning intestinal discomfort, Else joined Grade Drocker. “My Deves tell me there’s huge mischief afoot Coffee?”

  “No. Thank you. I don’t indulge. That’s probably why you’ve got the stomach problem. Can you do your job?”

  “I’ll do what has to be done.” He explained what he had done already. Drocker nodded. “Good. But hold off. I’ve already sent my men to do exactly that. We don’t want yours tripping over mine. Plus, yours aren’t equipped. Mine are used to operating in environments where the Instrumentalities of the Night are active.”

  “A good point. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “I’m not making a grab for the glory.”

  “I understand. You’re right.”

  “Fear not. Lothar may be in less danger than you think. His party included two Brothers from the Special Office. They’ll be an unpleasant surprise for the Unbeliever.”

  “That’s good to hear.” There would be interesting confrontations out there. Given remote help by the Principatés, those Brotherhood operatives might fend off Starkden and Masant el-Seyhan. But the Brothers might be surprised themselves.

  The men sent to capture Lothar would be Sha-lug.

  Else asked, “Do you have time to tell me about the Imperial delegation?”

  “See Bechter. He’ll fill you in. And lend you a messenger so you can call off your hounds.”

  “I brought my man Polo. He can run the message. Where do I find Sergeant Bechter?”

  ***

  ELSE TOLD POLO, “FIND CAPTAIN GHORT. TELL HIM WE’VE been overruled on the rescue attempt but that I want the commando company ready to go anyway. Can you do that?”

  Polo bobbed his head eagerly. “Get going.”

  ***

  “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” DROCKER ASKED. “Latrine.” And he had been.

  “That long? Here. Take this. In ten ounces of warm water. I need you working, not riding the Holey Pine.”

  Unnerved by Drocker’s jest, Else accepted the packet. “I’ll be right back.” He went away, made a show of following instructions, rejoined the Brotherhood sorcerer. “Does that stuff cause cramps? Because I had a good case before I took it.”

  “You may have a wind problem for a while. Unless you’re so sick that nothing will save you. Sit. Get comfortable. The old ladies from the Collegium are supposed to let us know what’s happening out there.”

  Else nodded, then said, “Sir... I’ve noticed that you’re getting better at speaking. Seemingly at cost to your physical well-being.”

  “I’m touched by your concern, Hecht. But you’re wasting emotion. I know what I’m doing — though that may not serve the survival of this flesh.”

  “Sir, I...”

  “This worldly cask doesn’t matter, Hecht. I would’ve shed it ere now had I been able to bring you into the Brotherhood. You don’t recognize it but you’re exactly the sort of man to see our faith through the worst tribulations, then boldly carry God’s standard to the Wells of Ihrian.”

  “Sir? You... I...”

  “The problem is that your commitment to the faith isn’t of a depth equaling your abilities to inspire men to accomplish a common goal.”

  “Sir... Sir, you’re straining yourself needlessly. You’re fooling yourself, too, I think. I’m just a displaced foreigner who’s been lucky. Captain Ghort would’ve done just as well.”

  “Perhaps.” Drocker began to show the strain. “Think about what I’ve said. Talk to God. Consult your conscience.” Wishing he could go inside Drocker’s head, Else said, “God’s Will be done.”

  “Go. Do what you’re thinking of doing. Without straying too far from a latrine.”

  There were no witnesses to this meeting. Else left it thoroughly puzzled. Clearly, Drocker was trying to manipulate him in several directions.

  Worthy of reflection.

  ***

  “PINKUS. WHERE ARE WE?” FIRST COLORS OF FALSE DAWN were creeping over the eastern hills. Shortly, the advantage would no longer rest with those whose loyalties hinged on the things of the Night. “Ready to go?”

  “What did Drocker say?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. He did hint that he’d be looking some other way if we decided to go into the Imperial rescue business.”

&nbs
p; “Oh? Meaning?”

  “Meaning the guy has a private agenda. And he thinks we can help him get where he wants to go.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I intend to take advantage. Now, what have you got?”

  Ghort laid out a detailed plan for a raid into al-Khazen itself, through the storm water drain found by the Principatés. “You put this together in three hours?”

  “Hell, no. I been working on this since they found that drain. Just in case.”

  “Interesting. I see a lot of Deves on your manpower table. Especially in your reserve.”

  “Yeah. Who do you think will fight the hardest when we get there?”

  “We?”

  Ghort grinned. “You ain’t gonna stay behind, are you?”

  “Too many people are getting to know me too well.” Else reviewed Ghort’s plan. It was sound. It included two strong reserve companies meant to extricate the main force if it got into trouble. “Only thing missing is the name of the Principaté who’ll be going with us.”

  “Bronte Doneto. But you knew that.”

  “I guessed. Besides him being your main guy, he’s one of only about three of them spry enough to make the trip. Will he go?”

  “Even if Grade Drocker vetoes it.”

  “He’s got an angle of his own, then.”

  “They all have, all the time.”

  “Only one question left, then. Who do we leave in charge here?”

  “I’m thinking the Deve kid. Titus Consent.”

  “Nobody will stand for that. Not for long. Not even his own people.”

  “Exactly. And he won’t be underfoot out there with us.”

  “How soon can we start?”

  “Less than an hour.”

  “I’ll go see if Polo wants to go on an adventure.”

  ***

  POLO’S HUNGER FOR ADVENTURE HAD BEEN SLAKED. HE WAS willing to stay in camp and keep an eye on Titus

  Consent. Else chuckled as he eased down an icy rock face into a gully that would let the raiders approach al-Khazen unseen by watchers on the wall. Ghort had scouted well. Snow in the gully made for slow going, though.

  Ghort walked point. Twenty-six men followed, including Else and Bronte Doneto. Doneto was uncomfortable surrounded by so many Devedian fighters. The reserve force fell behind, slowed by elderly but feisty members of the Collegium. Divino Bruglioni was among them, riding in a sedan chair.

  Ghort led the band up out of the gully and ordered a halt. “We need the sun to move a little so we’ll have better shadows.”

  “Why?” Doneto asked. “We need to cross this ridge and slide down the other side. We’ll be visible from the wall. Until we have the cover of those shadows. Or we could wait till dark. When the enemy would have his nighttime eyes.”

  “I see. Good work, Captain.”

  Good work indeed, Else thought. Ghort showed unexpected flashes of competence. Given his head in an elite crew he might amount to something. “Pinkus, you could make yourself the next Adolf Black.”

  “I could cut my own throat here and save the world the trouble, too.”

  Sensitive. “How long?” Else hoped to get inside the city before the crown prince’s captors.

  What then? Become Sublime’s leading field officer? That would be good. He could do so much. But the risks were rising. Those Brothers from Runch... He had to stop looking like Sir Aelford daSkees — without arousing curiosity here.

  “Now,” Ghort said. “One man at a time. Stay in the shadows, against the rocks, and go slow till you can’t see the wall anymore.”

  “What about pickets?” Else asked. “Patrols haven’t run into any lately. The top guys over there are afraid they’ll keep on going once they get outside the gates.” Calziran soldiers still succeeded in deserting frequently. The band assembled at the foot of the slope. Ghort was the last man down. While they gathered, Else asked Principaté Doneto what the Brotherhood company was doing. And how the Emperor was responding to the news. Ferris Renfrow, too.

  Doneto told him, “You clearly don’t know how things work. I can’t just snap my fingers and have some know-all devil tell me whatever I want to know. I wish it did work that way. A man who could find out anything could rule the world.”

  “You don’t know anything, then?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. Just nothing useful.”

  “I suppose not.” Else watched Ghort get the troops moving again.

  The next point of risk lay a hundred yards from the base of the wall. Ghort said, “If they’re alert we will have to wait till dark.” Bronte Doneto said, “There isn’t anyone there.”

  “Your Grace?”

  “Look. There’s nobody on the wall. No. I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s so damned cold. Maybe because they don’t think it’s worth the bother. Maybe because they’ve all gone to see something else.”

  “You sure?” Ghort demanded.

  “At this range? Look. Your eyes are better than mine.”

  “Not exactly a sure thing, then. Oh, well. Follow me.” The band pushed through brush and clutter into the mouth of the storm drain, enjoying cold, wet feet and plenty of stink. The arched drain was four feet high and five wide. It had been roomier. The floor was deep in muck and detritus washed down from above.

  Else crept forward, wondering when the trap would snap. Although that drainage outlet had been hidden by ages of overgrowth, and although most fortresses and cities that were captured were first penetrated by some similar means, Else did not want to believe that Sha-lug could be so sloppy.

  There were partial collapses that, however, had not impeded drainage much. The slope was steep enough to wash most detritus past the choke points. Nevertheless, many hours went into conquering the drain.

  Else stayed close to Bronte Doneto, out of Ghort’s way. Pinkus seemed to know what to do and did it well. Else asked, “How are we doing, Your Grace?” He croaked his words. The fetor was overwhelming.

  “They don’t seem to be aware of us yet. But there’s a lot of excitement. It’s getting dark. I should have a better idea what’s going on, soon.”

  Else went forward to help move fallen stonework. He told Ghort, “I hope I’m in half as good a shape as him when I’m a thousand.”

  “How old are you, Pipe?” Else Tage was not sure. He did know that Piper Hecht would have no doubts. “Thirty-three. And six days. Unless my mother was a liar.”

  “You just worry about making it to thirty-three and seven, not no thousand. You shitting me? You had a birthday the other day and you never told anybody?”

  “It’s not important.” And in Dreanger, amongst Sha-lug, it was not. There, you celebrated the anniversary of your ascension into the full rights and responsibilities of a warrior slave of the Kaif of al-Minphet.

  “Shit, Pipe. I don’t believe you’re real. Hey! Look at this.”

  “This” was a larger, taller space where half a dozen lesser drains collected. Only one was big enough to let a man through. Ghort said, “You’re a skinny little rat, Zaino. Take a candle and slither up that drain.” Then he observed, “This isn’t looking so good, now. Unless we find how workmen used to get in and out.”

  Bronte Doneto announced, “There’s a celebration starting up there. The Pramans think that having Lothar will turn everything around.”

  “Where are they holding him?” Else asked. He knew al-Khazen as well as a man could from maps. “He isn’t here yet. They’re in a running fight with the Brotherhood. Have been all day.” Ghort said, “That puts us in better shape than I hoped.

  They’ll all be focused on that kid and how to use him to confound the work of the Lord.” Even Doneto seemed taken aback by Ghort’s sudden passion. He grinned. “Got you going, eh? But am I wrong? Principaté, what we need is a way out of here. When you guys found this, back when, you said there was one.”

  Zaino came sliding out of the large drain. His candle had gone out. He had a gray cast to him. He did not like being in tight places in th
e dark. He rasped, “That goes on for maybe a hundred feet, uphill, curves left, goes past these big cistern things. There’s ladders in those. It goes on to the downhill end of a dead-end street that looks like it runs through the middle of everything.”

  Ghort asked, “Can we get out that way?”

  Zaino glanced around. “I could. Some of you would have to be greased up, though. All the water from this one long street is supposed to run down to this drain thing that’s about ten inches high by three feet wide.”

  “Say no more,” Ghort said. “I’ve got you. Can we get into the cisterns?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. We’re on our way.”

  Fifteen minutes later Else peered out the cracked doorway of what his memorized maps labeled Waterhouse Four. By twilight al-Khazen appeared to be an abandoned ruin. Nothing bigger than a rat moved or made a sound. “Move! Sir,” someone said behind him. There was not much room. People were supposed to come get water and go.

  Else slipped outside, followed Ghort. “You know where we are, Pinkus? This is almost too good to be true.”

  The party moved into a cramped structure that, until recently, had housed Devedian jewelers, letter writers, and moneylenders. “Pinkus, you’ve done an incredible job.”

  “But you’re gonna take it away from me now, eh?”

  “In part, yes.”

  “You’re the boss, Pipe.”

  “What were you going to do next?”

  “Me?” Ghort grinned. “You want the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “I figured whoever was tagging along, you or somebody from the Collegium, would take it away from me before this.”

  “Eis’s balls, Pinkus, you’re the sorriest, most cynical bastard on the face of the earth.”

  “Does that make me wrong?”

  “No. Principaté. What’s the story now? Does it look like we can steal Lothar back and make the Grail Emperor love us?”

  “Yes. And no. And yes. And no.” Ghort said, “Women love a man who’s confident and knows right where he stands.”

  Doneto gave Ghort a look that suggested the Principaté was considering rendering him down for fat. “I take it back if I’m wrong.” Doneto told Else, “We’re perfectly positioned. When they bring their captives in they have to pass by here to reach the palace and the citadel. We can jump them, grab Lothar, and run like hell. I’d leave booby traps to slow them down while we escape back to our covering force.”