by Glen Cook
Count Raymone was the most dangerous man in the Connec, from the viewpoint of the Brothen Church.
Which explained why Antieux attracted so much attention from the Society.
Campfires appeared as darkness deepened, all round Caron ande Lette. They were too few to establish a blockade.
That could change.
Brock had no intention of letting an investiture develop. He collected a volunteer force of five. He and they went down ropes on the south side of the fortress, where the wall was shortest. Rault explained,
“They should be watching for a sally from the gate.”
Brother Candle spent hours, waiting, listening, watching. There was nothing to hear. And only lightning bugs to see. Brock was working with admirable stealth.
The old man wore out before midnight. His body still had a thousand repairs to make.
The Perfect wakened once, round what was called the witching hour. He had felt something terrible in the
night. But it was gone before he wakened fully. He drained his bladder, returned to bed. He shivered like it was the heart of a cold, damp winter till sleep returned.
Brother Candle rose with the sun. Despite all the sleep, he was weak and groggy and inclined to lie down again.
Thurm and Socia joined him for breakfast. That included fresh bread, preserves, and bacon in quantity.
Brother Candle felt compassion for the Grolsacher families outside.
Thurm said, “That thing was out there again last night.”
“Thing?”
“From before. Up the valley. The Lord of Maggots.”
Socia said, “Oh, stop pussyfooting and say it. Rook! Rook! Rook was out there, following Brock around while he exterminated the vermin.”
As Brother Candle opened his mouth, Socia barked, “Don’t even bother. You might be more clever than the average Episcopal priest but you just aren’t gonna twist things around so you can say that that wasn’t Rook.”
Brother Candle responded, “The Instrumentality we call Rook can’t exist in today’s world.”
“Go tell it that, dipshit. I’m sure it’ll be embarrassed and go lie down again.”
Thurm slugged his little sister on the upper arm. “A little respect there, girl child.”
Brother Candle said, “I’m not saying that something big isn’t crawling around in the dark. And it does present similarities to the old pagan god of corruption. But that god doesn’t exist anymore.”
Socia sneered. “If it looks like a turd, smells like a turd, and draws flies like a turd, I’m gonna call it a turd.”
Thurm said, “Maybe not all of Rook got bound. Or maybe part of him got loose. Something weird happened in the White Hills when the Amhanders came down on Antieux that time. The ones that ended up getting killed in the Black Mountain Massacre. They say a bunch of old graves opened up and evil things came out.”
Could be, Brother Candle thought. The White Hills, on the northeast edge of the Altai, were also called the Haunted Hills. For all its stench and psychic impact, the thing did not seem particularly powerful.
Could it be just a tiny shard of a god, driven by its original instinct?
Would it try to grow? Was that even possible? Would it hunt for scattered bits of itself? Would it free other old terrors from its youth?
“I’ll stop wishful thinking and defer to my own ignorance at this point,” the Perfect said. Though he despaired of the answer, he asked, “Did Brock enjoy any success last night?”
Thurm showed fresh excitement. “He did. He got into the Amhanders’ paddock and stole some of their horses. Which he killed where the Grolsachers could grab them and eat them.”
That ought to sow seeds of distrust.
Thurm’s face closed down. The Perfect sensed that there was more, of a nature so dark he did not want to share it with a holy man.
“I see. Maybe that’s all I need to know.”
Brother Candle made his way to the parapet over the gate. The invaders were digging a trench around Caron ande Lette. Piling the earth on its far side. If the siege lasted long a palisade would be raised atop that earth. Others worked on what, even from afar, was obviously a cemetery. And a few Amhanders were adding to the defenses of their camp.
Horsemen gathered in the small court behind the fortress gate. To the east, near the river, a file of ragged people trudged southward, ignoring Caron ande Lette.
The gate swung open. Socia Rault and a dozen youths burst out. They ignored besiegers. They galloped over and scattered the people by the river, killing the men, then ran away before the Amhanders could ready themselves for a light. Socia committed atrocities along the developing trench until the Arnhanders did come after her.
Keeping low so as not to be seen, archers jostled Brother Candle as they took position. Others came to operate the ballistae.
Socia tried to lure the Arnhanders into range. They would not come.
Seuir Brock showed up. Livid. When Socia arrived, grinning wildly, he told her, “You won’t do that again. Am I understood? Brother Candle. Would you be violating Count Raymone’s instructions if you were to escort my sister out of here?”
Socia shut Brock out the instant he started telling her what she would not be doing anymore.
“Would that be wise? With all these lawless folk roving the countryside?”
Softly, Brock said, “They’ll be the lesser risk.”
“Seuir?”
“We can’t survive here. Not if this keeps on. They’re disorganized and incompetent. I’ll kill thousands.
But I’ll lose a man sometimes. And get no replacement. They’ll wear me down. Like a riverbank devoured by a never-ending stream. They’ll find the hiding places in the woods. I don’t want Socia here when that happens.”
Brother Candle opined, “If I take her to Antieux and you fall, don’t doubt that you’ll be avenged.” Socia struck him as the sort who would slash and burn all Arnhand if Charlve the Dim or Anne of Menand irritated her sufficiently. “She’ll find a way.”
“You might be right.”
“What are you two muttering about over there?” Socia demanded. “Are you talking about me?”
“In a way. I’m trying to get the Perfect to leave while he still can.”
“That’s a big puff of wind, brother. What are you really saying?”
“Every minute. She has to be contrary. Every minute of every day.”
Brother Candle nodded. That would be the way to get the girl to do the necessary.
Seuir Brock said, “Little sister, come share a bowl of wine. I need you to do something. Maybe the most important thing you’ll ever do.”
The heights of Artlan ande Brith fell behind. Brother Candle admired Seuir Brock Rault’s manipulative skills. Rault had sold him on saving Socia. Then he had sold Socia the notion that Brother Candle was too important a Maysalean philosopher to lose. He was a moral giant, to be preserved at all cost. Only she had influence enough with Count Raymone to see that he was protected.
Letters each carried to Seuir Lanne had convinced that worthy to send them on, disguised, accompanied by a pair of Tuldse nieces and two donkeys. Their horses remained at Artlan ande Brith.
Socia’s war gear, however, was in the packs on one of the donkeys.
The girl and nieces were disguised as peasant boys. Brother Candle wore what he had for years. All Perfect wore the same gray robe.
Care was necessary even south of Artlan ande Brith. Grolsachers had gotten past the Tuldse stronghold.
Seuir Lanne was every bit as pessimistic as Seuir Brock Rault.
Count Raymone was pleased to see Socia but not the Perfect Master. The Tuldse nieces did not enter the equation. Those had been delivered to local relatives.
Count Raymone was almost obsequious toward Socia while apologizing for having sent no troops north.
The man was smitten.
Then, “Nobody’s listening, Master. Tell me the truth. What happened? What’s really going on up there?”
Brother Candle left out nothing.
Count Raymone goggled at Socia’s behavior but asked only, “Rook? Really?”
“Some part of him, possibly. Or something that wants him remembered. Maybe something meant to spread fear and chaos by wakening our dread of the old evils.”
“I think it’s the real thing. A sliver of the real thing.”
“But …”
“I get news from a hundred sources, Brother. This tale of an awakening Instrumentality isn’t unique. It’s happening all over, wherever there are old stories about hauntings. I think there must be some truth in all the reports.”
Brother Candle asked, “Why didn’t you send troops to Caron ande Lette?”
“Because Sublime’s villains have kept me too busy here. These are some nasty churchmen. They adapt every day, finding ways to be irritating without offending temporal law to the point where I can round them up. And more and more keep turning up. I don’t know where they find them all.”
“The monastic orders are turning applicants away. You don’t go hungry when you belong to the Church.
And a certain sort enjoys having petty power over the rest of us.”
“Not what I want to hear, Master. But I don’t get the good much anymore. Just yesterday I heard that the new Empress, Katrin, was crowned by Sublime himself. In return, she bent the knee to the Brothen Patriarchy.”
“That could mean civil war inside the Empire.”
“It could. It definitely means that the Empire won’t shield the Connec anymore. Which leads to the other bad news. Sublime is ready to preach a crusade against the Maysalean Heresy.”
Brother Candle shuddered and sighed. Seekers could be found everywhere but the Connec was where they were most open, numerous, and in control. The Connec would be where the main blow fell.
“One way or another, the false Patriarch will plunder our land.”
The Count said, “He’d better hurry. Before it’s all eaten up in our little country wars.”
The Society received instructions from Brothe. The latest Brothen Episcopal Bishop of Antieux issued an order for Count Raymone to present himself. But the Bishop’s messengers could not find him. And several messengers failed to return.
Count Raymone had handled two problems with one quick sidle, summoning those who were willing to join a small army he took north. Bernardin Amberchelle and his betrothed stayed to deal with the importunities and expanding arrogance of Brothe’s agents. Then Amberchelle, in turn, disappeared. But rumor saw his savage hand behind the killings and disappearances that continued to plague Antieux.
Fewer and fewer Society brothers came to the city. Those already there began wearing disguises and moving around in groups.
And still there were casualties. Some quite gruesome.
Amazing how much Church blood could be let when those doing the bloodletting were neither afraid of excommunication nor intimidated by their own consciences.
Socia caught Brother Candle several weeks into what she called her regency with her in charge. “It’s all a big damned conspiracy, Master! These people tell me I’m the lady of the city, now! They go through all the motions, asking me for orders. Then they go do whatever they want!”
“Raymone set it up that way, dear girl. So he can’t be blamed for the wickedness. He isn’t here to stop it And, of course, you can’t because you’re only a woman.”
After a pause during which she fought her anger, Socia said, “I can honestly say I understand that. It’s clever enough. What I can’t get a handle on is all the foreigners involved in the struggle with the Society.”
That baffled the old man. Count Raymone had hired no mercenaries. “Foreigners? You lost me, child.
What foreigners?”
“Being a girl I guess I’m supposed to be too dim to notice. Before he disappeared Bernardin was chummy with some outlanders who spoke a dialect harder to follow than Firaldian. Men who looked like they’d butcher and roast their own mothers if they missed a meal. Bernardin disappeared but those men are still around.”
“I haven’t been paying close enough attention, obviously. I haven’t noticed them.”
Naturally, when Socia tried to point them out not a one could be found.
But the war on Sublime’s running dogs never abated.
11. Brothen Homecoming
“Well?” Anna Mozilla asked as Piper Hecht collapsed onto a couch. “How bad is it?”
“It’s awful. It’s beyond awful. Sublime is a raving lunatic. The whole west will go up in flames if he has his way. He’s determined to invade the Connec. Anne of Menand seems to be in complete control in Salpeno. She takes the crusade idea seriously. She has people in the Connec already. She’s so focused on the south, you know Santerin’s surrogates will get busy elsewhere. If it goes badly for Arnhand in the Connec, King Brill might invade the Pail itself. To press his claim to the Arnhander throne.”
“No more politics, Piper.”
“How are the kids?”
“Getting fat. And in bed. Bechter sent word you were coming.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“What was the coronation like?” With a sharp edge there. The Captain-General’s mistress had not been invited.
Hecht said, “That was weeks ago.”
“And you haven’t been home since.”
“Uhn? I didn’t realize … We really are working hard.”
“You’re the man in charge, Piper.”
He sighed. He would not be able to keep much from Anna, anymore. Titus Consent had had to leave the Devedian quarter. He had moved in not far away. Noë and Anna vere getting chummy.
Neither woman had an extended family to give her support.
Anna had become uncomfortably domestic. She was older than Hecht. Maybe the adventure had gone out of her.
She did have plenty of domestic adventure left.
Lying in the post-prandial glow, half asleep, Hecht tried to get the coronation out of his head. It was stuck like a song that would not go away. Like the latest love song from some Connecten jongleur.
Princess Helspeth had stared at him throughout the ceremony. It was so obvious that several people asked about it. He explained that he had saved her life at al-Khazen.
He hoped he was more subtle than she.
The girl fascinated him.
But it was only a fancy. Helspeth Ege was Princess Apparent of the New Brothen Empire. He was a sword in the pay of her father’s favorite enemy.
The Imperial party still had not left Brothe. But the Captain-General had seen nothing of those people since the ceremonies.
Nor would he have had time.
Sublime wanted to send an army through Ormienden into the End of Connec. He had more backing than Hecht had thought possible. Many supporters, disappointed by the Calziran Crusade, were willing to throw more wealth down another rathole hoping they could fatten up in the Connec.
Titus’s reports made it sound as though there would be little left to take. Bad things were happening out there.
Sublime still had received only a quarter of the money promised by Anne of Menand. As much more was supposed to have disappeared in transit. And there were rumors that Anne was financing Arnhander incursions to the Connec using the rest of Sublime’s bribe as security for loans for her own warmaking.
Brothen moneylenders had become reluctant to deal with the Patriarchy.
Sleep came. Helspeth haunted his dreams. She did so every night. He had gotten no chance to speak with her. Then, or since. The Imperial party would leave soon. The Empress Katrin wanted to cross the Jago Mountains while the passes were in their best possible state.
Anna rolled over and buried her face in his chest. Her hot breath wakened him. “Can’t you relax?” she murmured. “Can’t you just push it all out of your head for one night?”
He could not. When not obsessing about Helspeth Ege he worried about Principatè Delari, Osa Stile, recruiting troubles, the next assas
sination attempt, and what had become of al-Azer er-Selim. He wanted a long talk with his onetime Master of Ghosts. But Az had not revealed himself again.
He had not had news from Bo Biogna yet, either. No one had seen Bo for a long time.
Piper Hecht was worried.
Dangers circled like impatient vultures.
“I’m trying, darling. Truly, I am, But …”
Sleep finally returned. Almost that suddenly.
Pella and Vali made breakfast. And did a creditable job. They brought it in to Hecht and Anna, still lying entangled. Neither child was troubled. Privacy was not that common.
Hecht was not comfortable with the situation although, intellectually, he knew that here in the west, even among nobles, whole families slept in the same room, often in the same bed. The usual business between men and women proceeded anyway.
Hecht asked, “Has our little girl said anything yet?”
“No. But her motives have changed. It isn’t about hiding anymore. Now she’s just being stubborn.” Anna leaned in to whisper, “I heard her talking to Pella. She didn’t know I was in the next room.”
“She’ll come around.” After a few minutes lying there, fed, enjoying the holding and being held, Hecht said, “They’re good kids.”
“Amazingly so, considering their backgrounds. Yes.”
“Aren’t we all? Pella ever show signs of homesickness? Does Vali?”
“Pella? Not that I’ve ever seen.”
“He knows when he’s got it good.”
“He mentioned his sister once.”
“The prostitute?”
“He’s asked if he can read the book that has him and her in it. I don’t know what he means.”
Hecht explained. “Bronte Doneto has a copy. According to Pinkus. Who claims to have read it. I doubt that Doneto would let us see it. It’s banned in the Patriarchal States. It pokes fun at the Church. Supposedly.”
“You haven’t found out anything about Vali?”
“Only that her real name can’t be Vali Dumaine. Titus can’t find Dumaines anywhere who are missing a daughter. Nor are there any girls named Vali missing anywhere, at least at a level where there would be any notoriety.”