by Glen Cook
"I see. That'll be handy." He placed no faith in Consent's conversion himself. "That will make my life easier." Maybe.
From Piper's viewpoint, unfortunately, there was too good a chance that Consent knew all about his shortcomings as a Chaldarean.
"How so?"
"I feared your connections might suddenly dry up. Just when we need them most."
Consent nodded. "That probably wouldn't happen even if the Deves did believe I'd converted. It's a tit for tat game, information moving both ways. They really want to know what the Patriarch is thinking."
Hecht understood. Everyone wanted to know that. "Why are they staying cooperative? The war is over." Deve espionage efforts during the Calziran Crusade had bought them immunity from the fury of the invaders there.
"Because they know there'll be more crusades. One after another while Sublime is Patriarch. Maybe longer if his peculiar brain disease transmits itself to his successors. There'll always be Deves who need shielding."
"I have two things for you. Clearenza is the most pressing. We're going to get orders to march. Maybe within a few hours."
"I've been on that since right after Duke Germa had his political stroke. You're in good shape. Move fast. The Emperor's people can't react right now. They're tied up with internal politics."
But Osa Stile was sitting in Principate Delari's lap. "They'll know as soon as we pull our boots on."
Consent nodded. Brothe was awash in Imperial spies and sympathizers. "And the other thing?"
"Somewhere there's a man who really interests the Brotherhood of War. Probably the Special Office. I don't know, who he is. His child has gone missing. The bad guys took her because they want to twist his arm until he helps them with some underhanded plot. I want to know who he is."
"And that's all you can give me?"
"That's all I've got. I was hiding in a shadow in Sonsa when I got it. Sonsa is where the plot is headquartered."
"We're out of Sonsa. You must know that. There's been enough crying about how unfair it is that Deves should stand up for themselves."
Hecht nodded but did not believe Consent. "At least one of the Three Families, the Durandanti, is involved. They had a relationship with the Brotherhood before. The plotters may be getting orders from the Castella dollas Pontellas. When Ghort and I went up they had us take a courier pouch."
"If it's underhanded and involves the Castella, then the Patriarch is probably involved, too."
"The notion has occurred to me."
Consent bowed slightly. "I'll do what I can, Captain-General."
Captain-General Piper Hecht, with two hundred men and two small brass cannons, camped a half mile outside Clearenza's east gate. Two hundred men could not impose a siege. They did interfere with traffic to and from the city, known for its embroidered linens and its exquisitely colored glassware.
Duke Germa chose not to fight. His family were devout Episcopals. He did not want to provoke the Patriarch to the point where he issued Writs of Anathema and Excommunication. But fon Dreasser made no attempt to treat with Sublime's Captain-General. His disdain for the Patriarchate was palpable.
Piper Hecht sat under a canvas awning. It was a miserable winter day. Another in a parade of cold, gloomy, drizzly days. He and Redfearn Bechter shivered and stared at Clearenza. The city was a gigantic gray boar shape behind the misty rainfall.
Bechter said, "We could occupy the estate houses south of town."
"Make it happen. I miscalculated. I thought the hardship of living under canvas would make the men bond. It's been more miserable than I expected."
"I like an officer who's flexible," Bechter said. "It would've taken Drocker longer to see the light." He went on to opine, "Bonded men aren't much use if they're dying of pneumonia."
Hecht grunted. That was an iron truth of warfare. Likely, more lives would be lost to disease than to any enemy effort. Thus had it been during the Calziran Crusade. Most conflicts operated at a low level of violence. The last big western battle had taken place at Themes, eight years ago.
Though Sergeant Bechter was the Captain-General's aide, he had acquired his own assistant, Drago Prosek. The youngster hailed from Creveldia, a province of the Eastern Empire that more closely resembled Firaldia in religion and culture. Prosek was an apprentice member of the Brotherhood of War. For generations most Brotherhood recruits had come from Episcopal Chaldarean enclaves inside the Eastern Empire.
Though never treated as badly as Devedians and Dainshaus, Episcopals were a persecuted minority.
Prosek appeared. "Permission to approach, Sergeant."
Bechter waved him closer. Drago leaned down,'s swiftly and softly. Piper Hecht did not catch what he said. Prosek whispered for nearly a minute. Bechter nodded occasionally. Drago finished, stepped away. He did not volunteer to abandon the shelter of the awning.
Bechter said, "A courier just came from the Castella. He brought the usual sack-and some news. There's been rioting in Brothe. About food shortages and inadequate shelter. Somebody is provoking them. And the first chest of money from Arnhand has arrived."
Would that render the action against Clearenza obsolete? Sublime could buy back Duke Germa's love.
Drago Prosek brought the courier. He presented the document bag to the Captain-General. Verbally, he related more news. "Nobody knows how much Anne pledged but it looks like Sublime will retire all his debts. Even those left over from his election. With money enough extra to finance new mischief."
Not good, Hecht thought. Sublime could start lining up a whole new clutch of creditors. Getting ready to make more people die.
"Sergeant, I fear we'll be visiting the Connec again, before long."
"Sir, I wish I could say you're wrong. And I'm not looking forward to it. Our next visit isn't going to be nearly as sweet as the last one."
"It was sweet last time?"
"It should've been. And would've been. If the black side of the Night hadn't taken hold of Bishop Serifs."
"The man did do everything he could to make people hate him."
"The guys in there now are probably even worse."
"No doubt. Where's Sedlakova? I haven't seen him all morning. I need to know if we can make those hounds bark." He meant the cannons. Devedian artisans had cast and crafted them, based on a design he recalled from the east. The Sha-lug falcon was supposed to be a secret weapon. The Deves of Firaldia, though, had turned out to know more about firepowder weapons than ever he had, and understood them better.
Bechter said, "He's having trouble keeping his firepowder dry enough to go bang."
True. Sedlakova would handle that by baking the powder at a low heat, carefully keeping it away from any flame.
Hecht opened the courier packet. "Messenger. You see any of the rioting yourself?"
"No, sir. The Castella did go on alert. So did the Patriarchal Guard. But the City Regiment handled it."
"And they still won't keep Pinkus on," Hecht muttered. The Five Families wanted to shed the costs of the City Regiment, finding it not worth the price if they could not use it against one another. "Go ahead," he told the courier. "I'm listening." He read while the man talked.
Titus Consent was right about his former co-religionists. They remained cooperative.
Consent had joined the expedition. He was inside Clearenza now. No siege had been set. Hecht was mounting a demonstration meant to intimidate Duke Germa. If fon Dreasser remained stubborn, and his Imperial friends lent no more support than they had to this point, he would summon additional troops and lay a real siege.
The other side knew the plan as well as he did.
Word of Sublime's financial windfall would be spreading. The troops would be more cooperative.
Hecht's natural cynicism made him wonder if Sublime hadn't planted the story.
How could Sublime be thwarted if the Anne of Menand story was true?
How would that much specie be moved from Salpeno to Brothe? Any number of people might be tempted to interfere. Gro
lsach, in particular, would be dangerous. Those people were hungry enough to dare holding up the Church itself.
A roll of thunder off toward Clearenza got his attention. Sergeant Bechter, Drago Prosek, and the courier started, suddenly frightened.
They had not heard the hounds bark before.
Hecht said, "I hope that stone comes down somewhere that will impress the Duke." He had no real hope, though. The hounds threw a stone that weighed about ten pounds. That would not do the damage caused by traditional stone-casters. But the hounds were impressively loud and smoky and could hurl their missiles a lot farther.
"Unless we have a spot of luck they'll put holes in a few roofs and let in the drizzle," Bechter said.
"Tell you the truth, I'd as soon go home and get out of the weather."
"Sir, if I had a woman like yours I wouldn't ever have left."
"I'll mention your appreciation, Sergeant. I'm sure she'll agree."
Bechter reddened.
"And here's a note from the boss himself. Wants us to be quick and wrap this up on account of he's got other work for us. Are you sneering at our master, Sergeant?"
"Not me, sir. He's the Infallible Voice of God."
Drago Prosek was appalled. Hecht said, "Prosek, go check out the houses south of the city. Find us a place. Duke Germa's would be good, if we fit. You. Courier. There's a mess tent about thirty yards back there. Go get warmed up. Get some sleep. I won't have anything for you to take back till tomorrow."
After a moment, Bechter asked, "Why did you get rid of them?"
"You were giving them apoplexy. They both really believe the Patriarch is the Living Voice of God."
"They'll get older. What else?"
Bechter was getting to know him. "Titus Consent is headed this way. He shouldn't be back this soon."
There was another boom. Different. Louder. Less directed. Hecht sighed. "I hope they were behind something before they matched that fuse. Because that sounded like it blew up." Which had been a big problem during the development of the weapons in Dreanger.
Titus Consent slipped in through the closed back of the tent, looking for eavesdroppers hiding in corners that were not there.
"You found out something special?" Hecht asked. "I didn't expect you for a few more days."
"Plans have to adapt to circumstance."
"Good news? Or bad?"
"Depends on what you want to do and who you are."
"You going to play games with me?"
"No. I came back because I thought we could… Shit!"
"Language, young man. Language."
Consent grinned, showing bright, perfect teeth. "What was that?"
"One of the hounds barking. I didn't think you'd be surprised." A second boom followed a moment later. Which meant that there had not been a blowup, after all. Hecht told Bechter, "Go check that out. Find out what that odd bang was before."
Sergeant Bechter nodded. "Of course, sir. Of course."
A moment later, Consent said, "You didn't need to send him away."
"That wasn't the point. I do want to know what happened. There was an explosion. It sounded like one of the hounds blew up. Those things are expensive. And almost as dangerous to their crews as to their targets. So. Why are you back already?"
"They aren't taking us serious. It's business as usual over there. The Duke's men and some advisers from the Grail Empire have been looking at the defenses and talking about reinforcing the gates, but they aren't in any hurry. Two hundred men don't scare them. They don't expect us to get help from our garrisons. And they expect reinforcements of their own."
"How soon?"
"I don't know. Because they didn't. But Lothar promised to send a company of Braunsknechts."
"Not good, that. But the first shipment of money from Anne of Menand has arrived. That should alter the balance of power."
Consent looked skeptical. "In that case, I recommend we move right now."
"Tell me what you're thinking."
Titus Consent had in mind jumping on Clearenza with both feet before anybody thought there was the least chance that the Captain-General would do anything but show the flag.
The night sky began to clear as the Patriarchals stole toward the city. They made very little noise, except by snarling at one another to keep quiet. A fragment of moon kept trying to peek through cold clouds that promised snow.
Clearenza's north gate was a minor one. It served agricultural traffic. The gate was shut, but not so the sally port built into it. That was not secured because illicit traffic, avoiding tariffs and customs duties, moved in and out by night. Titus Consent and several obvious Devedians took point. Those who were not Episcopal Chaldareans were subject to a weighty head tax by day.
The guards were not alert. So much not so that all the sneaking went to waste. The only guard awake enough to demand bribes was so focused on a jug of wine that he found himself tied up before he understood what was happening. His only comment was, "Oh, shit!"
Piper Hecht muttered, "Is this a trap? Can they possibly be this lax with an enemy outside?" Though he saw the same loose attitude every day, everywhere. There was no professional tradition amongst Firaldian soldiers. Maybe because they did not get into many real fights. "Please tell me this isn't a trap."
"They've been setting it up for ten years if it is."
"Really?" Did Pinkus Ghort's adventure here predate that time? Or was his story about service here another tall tale?
"This was the easy part," Consent said. "Now we have to reach the citadel without raising an alarm. If they lock us out…"
"Thought the Duke goes whoring every night."
"Not every night. He's not as young as he used to be. But a lot."
"None of us are as young as we used to be. Send your lead teams."
Three teams of three men each headed for sporting houses Duke Germa was known to frequent. They would do nothing but find out if the man was there. That would be obvious. He dragged a retinue everywhere he went. A runner would carry word from each location to Consent. He would be waiting outside the citadel. If fon Dreasser was out, they would try to capture the citadel gate. The Duke always left it open when he went out on the prowl. Or such had been his custom since the advent of the Patriarchals had forced him to abandon his manor outside the wall.
Hecht told Bechter, "If we don't bring this off, I'll make him hurt by using his manor for our headquarters."
"Aren't we supposed to respect his properties? Sublime wants him back in the fold."
"I must've misunderstood my instructions."
Bechter grunted. He was recovering from the hike from camp. He was in shape for his age, but he was his age, trying to keep up with men mostly younger than the Captain-General.
Hecht said, "That's enough head start." Consent's band was five minutes gone. "Move out by squads. Quietly." The group leaders had been briefed by Titus Consent but Hecht was sure somebody would get lost. Clearenza was not vast but it was old and had grown organically. Streets meandered and were not marked.
Confusion was the natural state of combat. Hecht hoped to cause more of that on the other side than plagued his own. His men supposedly knew what to do even if they got turned around.
Hecht offered an encouraging word to each departing team leader. He did not want anyone getting killed.
He shuddered suddenly, touched by an unexpected chill. It was not the weather. Maybe it was his imagination.
Or maybe not. Sergeant Bechter murmured, "You felt that, sir?"
"Sergeant?"
"You shivered. It was a cold presence. I don't know how else to put it. Like there's something here. Right behind you. Looking over your shoulder."
"And there's nothing there when you look."
"Yes, sir." That almost defined the Instrumentalities of the Night. "I've been feeling that a lot, lately."
"As have I." But that just puzzled him more. If there was something of the Night out there, close by, of the magnitude suggested by the creeps h
e and Bechter felt, his wrist ought to be hurting so bad that he would be thinking about cutting his amulet off.
"Stay alert," Hecht told the men who would stay at the gate. "Let those guys tied up in the guardroom be your inspiration. Sergeant, let's go."
In the dark street, headed for the citadel, Hecht concluded that there was only one way his amulet would not function in the presence of the Instrumentalities of the Night. Because er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen, the man who had created it, did not want it to work.
Only Gordimer the Lion and the Rascal knew the amulet existed. Gordimer would not know how to get around it.
But why would the sorcerer want to kill Else Tage?
Hecht had not been able to work that out. He was sure er-Rashal had been trying from the moment he had left Dreanger. And possibly from even earlier.
Someone had raised that bogon in Esther's Wood, near the Well of Calamity, beside the Plain of Judgment. He had slain it. And by doing so had demonstrated a hitherto unsuspected vulnerability of the Instrumentalities of the Night.
Death had stalked him ever since.
There was fighting at the citadel entrance. There were occasional pops inside, suggesting that the men were discharging their handheld firearms in spite of orders to save them for something supernatural. Hecht understood why. Those weapons could bring an enemy down while he was still too far away to hurt you back.
One of his subalterns reported, "We surprised them, sir. But we had some bad luck. They surprised us back."
"How?"
"There are Braunsknecht guards in there. We don't know how many, but they aren't staying neutral."
"What about that, Titus? You didn't know they were here?"
"I knew there were advisers. I told you. I thought there were only a few. That's what people outside thought. We don't have to take the citadel, though. The Duke is holed up in a sporting house. I've sent men to dig him out."
Rapid popping inside signaled a counterattack by the defenders.
"Good." Hecht gathered his officers. "We don't push back unless Lieutenant Consent has his signals crossed. But we'll hang on here till we have the Duke. Titus. Don't wander off. Bechter. I need stuff to start a fire." That ought to win Sublime a new crop of hatred.