Surrender to the Will of the Night

by Glen Cook

  “That looks like somebody trying to wave,” Rhuk said.

  Ghort said, “I’ll send somebody down.”

  “Have them do it from the sides, please,” Rhuk said. “They don’t want to get in my line of fire.”

  Ghort’s men were halfway down, descending from both sides. The wreckage began to shift.

  Hecht said, “Brilliant, putting your men on safety ropes.”

  Ghort’s response vanished in the roar of the falcon.

  As the ringing in his ears receded, Hecht heard Rhuk shout, “Am I good, or what? Took it out first go!”

  The Captain-General held his tongue. Rhuk could be given hell later. Then he smelled something, faint but familiar. That odor had been present elsewhere after a falcon had challenged some Instrumentality of the Night.

  Then the smell was gone. Rhuk’s team, using the City Regiment’s ropes, descended into the pit, armed with the jars they used to harvest the leavings of the things they murdered.

  After a while, Pinkus Ghort said, “Your guys are really good at what they do, Pipe.”

  “Yes. Rhuk scares me sometimes.” He scratched his left wrist.

  Rhuk scared himself, this time. While digging a smoldering hot egg out of the rubble he knocked a hole in a fragile wall, opening the Bruglioni family crypt. Where several desperate human beings had been trapped since the explosion. They climbed all over Rhuk, running to the light.

  It was about then that Hecht caught his first glimpse of the old man in brown moving amongst the onlookers. He needed to talk to the Ninth Unknown. His amulet had not warned him that danger was so close.

  ***

  Over a late meal Februaren remarked, “It wasn’t a full-fledged baron of the Night. But near enough. Your problem with the killing thing should ease up, now, Muno. This thing had been spinning off bits of itself to become foci for that monster parade.”

  Hecht did not understand. Principaté Delari did. That was good enough. Hecht said, “This morning may have exposed a problem. My amulet provided no warning.”

  Februaren frowned. “None?”

  “Nothing but a persistent itch. Which started after Rhuk shot it.”

  “They’re adapting. I’ll have to adjust. Maybe the ascendant can help.”

  Hecht asked, “How’re you doing with my pet Instrumentality?”

  “The soultaken?”

  “Only one I have. I don’t even know where you’ve moved him.” The old man had insisted that the soultaken be taken out of the Castella, away from the nosy Brotherhood. Especially the Special Office and its Witchfinders in particular.

  “He’s bricked up inside a tower. No doors. No windows. And nowhere you need know about. He’s teaching me about himself. And working on a plan to … But you don’t need to know that, either.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ve shown a terrible inability to keep your mouth shut lately.”

  Everyone fell silent. The whole table stared at Hecht.

  He awaited an explanation.

  “And you don’t even know it. Who swore an oath not to reveal what he discussed with the Empress inside her quiet room? Who has, since, told almost everyone who will listen?”

  “There was a crack?”

  “There are a dozen cracks. In the ceiling. In the floor. The place is old. It’s settled. They don’t keep it up. Why break your word?”

  “I’m sorry. I never thought about it. It wasn’t that big a thing.”

  “For you. For you, it’s a feel-good. Look at me! The Grail Empress herself wants me to be her Captain-General. But for her it could be crippling. She has enemies everywhere. Luckily, for both of you, I made the people you told forget. I hope. I don’t know what they might have written down.”

  Hecht felt like a small boy caught red-handed in a shameful act. He had promised. And should have had the sense to see the implications for Katrin. In fact, he had. But just had not thought about it.

  “Maybe I’m not equipped to operate in so rare a political atmosphere.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Februaren said. “If you focus on your work. And don’t get distracted by thoughts you shouldn’t be thinking.”

  Time to change the subject. “Have you seen my brother yet?”

  That got looks, all round.

  “No. I’m working dawn to dusk trying to put enough more hours into the day so I have time to do the things I have to do along with everything everyone wants me to do.”

  Heris demanded, “What brother are we talking about?”

  Hecht said, “A soldier in Grumbrag is masquerading as Piper Hecht’s brother Tindeman. Bo Biogna found him. He convinced Bo. My guess is, they didn’t have a lot of language in common.”

  Pella said, “I thought all your family was dead, Dad.”

  “So did I. I still think so.”

  “Then who …?”

  “An imposter.”

  “But …”

  “No point speculating till we talk to him.” He could think of several explanations, all of evil intent.

  The Ninth Unknown said, “I’ll find him. After I deal with more pressing matters here. The transition to Bellicose has to go smoothly. And I want all of us to come out the other side healthy. Piper in particular.”

  Heris said, “I could go.”

  Februaren and Delari scowled ferociously. Both shook their heads.

  Heris grumbled, “You said I’m ready to manipulate the Construct.”

  “Not that ready,” Februaren said. “Not to go somewhere you’ve never been. Not somewhere that far away.”

  Principaté Delari, not unkindly, asked, “What language do they speak in Grumbrag?”

  Heris seemed even more deflated. “Probably several. Including Church Brothen.”

  “Could be. If you were going to interview a bishop, or someone educated, you’d manage.”

  Februaren said, “There’s plenty you can do here, Heris. But you have a long way to go, romancing the Construct, before you can go places you haven’t already been. Muno can’t do it.”

  Delari said, “Muno can’t do much of anything with the Construct. There’s something lacking in the man.”

  “If you tell the Construct you can’t connect with it, Muno, it takes you at your word.”

  “Yes, Grandfather.”

  Both old men checked their audience. This ancient dispute probably antedated the births of everyone in the room.

  It did not need airing now. It should not have taken place in front of the children. Hecht thumped the table.

  Februaren said, “You kids don’t repeat anything you hear in this house. Understand?”

  He got wide-eyed nods from Pella, Lila, and Vali, none of whom had seen the ancient this intense before.

  “Lives could depend on your silence.” He told Hecht, “Bragging is how criminals get caught and men with deep secrets deliver themselves to their enemies. It’s bonehead human nature. We all want to look special. Knowing something is one of the best ways.”

  Februaren glared at the children some more. “It would be your own lives, most likely. If somebody wicked decided you knew something he could use against Muno or Piper.”

  Hecht suggested, “That being the case, why not take steps?” He caressed his left wrist.

  “There may be hope for you yet, boy. Only, that means it’ll be even longer before I go take a look at your brother.”

  Anna was subdued in her lovemaking that night. She understood that she had slipped deep into the struggle with the Night. And those she cared for had been drawn in as deeply, or deeper.

  “Piper, the children don’t deserve this. They’ve already suffered too much.”

  “I know.” He did not remind her that all three had, already, enjoyed more good fortune than did the run of orphans.

  ***

  The Captain-General summoned Krulik and Sneigon to what Kait Rhuk bemusedly called a “Come to the Well of Atonement” meeting. It did not last long. Neither Krulik nor Sneigon had leave to speak. Rhuk, backed
by Brothers from the Castella, confiscated their sales records.

  The excitement was meant to prod the Deves into talking to one another. A man who turned sideways could eavesdrop and discover what secret sales contracts had been accepted off the books

  Hecht would not confiscate firepowder or weaponry sold on the sly. He lacked authority. But it might be useful to know where it had gone.

  The vast majority of what Krulik and Sneigon had sold behind the curtain had gone into the Grail Empire, to people who did not hold their Empress in high regard.

  Katrin was fortunate that her malcontents disdained one another too much to join forces. Internecine warfare was an ancient sport amongst the Imperial nobility.

  Johannes Blackboots had kept the peace. Lothar had not lasted long enough to make mistakes. Katrin’s peace was holding because every villain knew Ferris Renfrow was watching from the shadows.

  Would adding falcons make much difference?

  Unlikely. Even the best weapons were of little use against anything but the Night. Their battlefield value was psychological rather than practical. They made loud noises and a lot of smoke.

  ***

  When the end came for Boniface VII, despite the Ninth and Eleventh Unknowns, there was no dislocation. Bellicose was in the chamber, praying over Hugo Mongoz. As were physicians and key Principatés. History demanded witnesses.

  Also present were Hugo Mongoz’s children, fathered before the old man began to prefer boys to women.

  Two score more people waited outside the dying room, among them the Captain-General of Patriarchal forces. And Boniface’s toy, Armand. Who seemed wary of the Captain-General. And very worried.

  Hecht waited with Addam Hauf, one of the Masters of the Brotherhood. Hauf had come over from Runch, on Staklirhod. He was a tall man in his early fifties, all muscle and sun-baked leather. Neither man realized they had crossed swords in the Holy Lands, long ago. Hauf observed, “The Princess fears for his sweets and pretties.”

  “Don’t waste pity on him. He’s been underfoot forever. He always finds another keeper.”

  Hauf grunted an interrogative. So Hecht explained. Without revealing what Armand really was.

  Hauf asked, “He seems afraid of you.”

  “I’m close to Principaté Delari. The lover he abandoned so he could catch himself a Patriarch.”

  “Hard feelings?”

  “Not on my man’s part. He was glad to get shot of the boy. It was a strain keeping up.” And keeping Armand away from secrets. For Principaté Delari had known that Armand spied for Ferris Renfrow.

  “You know this man from Viscesment.” A statement that asked a question.

  “I was impressed. He’s another like Boniface. He talked fire and brimstone early. He went after the Society with amazing ferocity. He reined it in when Boniface showed that he’d be reasonable. His liability is the same as Boniface’s. Bad health. He won’t last long. And I see no reasonable successor. There’ll be the traditional dogfight amongst a lot of bad choices.”

  The remark about suppressing the Society sparked a nod from Hauf. There was no love between the Society for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy and the Brotherhood of War. The Brotherhood did not like the Society’s obsessive focus on heresy in the Connec. That diverted resources from the fight for the Holy Lands. That was the struggle that needed concluding, favorably, before all others.

  Principaté Flouroceno Cologni stepped out of Boniface’s dying chamber. Four Principatés from the Five Families waited attendance on the dying Patriarch. Gervase Saluda was not recovered enough to take his place on behalf of the Bruglioni. Principaté Cologni said, “His Holiness has passed over.”

  Servants and lesser priests scurried out. The forms of mourning had to be observed. They would commence immediately.

  Among those who hurried out Piper Hecht particularly marked Fellau Humiea, an odd creature recently nominated to become Archbishop of Salpeno by King Regard. Meaning Anne of Menand. As always with the leading men of Arnhand’s capital, Humiea stood accused of having lain with the King’s mother.

  “Trouble?” Hauf asked, noting the Captain-General’s stare.

  “Possibly. I don’t know what they’re thinking in Salpeno.”

  “I wouldn’t be disappointed if a boulder fell from the sky and smashed Anne of Menand. The only help we’ve gotten from Arnhand lately is her son Anselin and six knights.”

  “She sees no personal advantage from freeing the Holy Lands. Offer to make her Empress of the combined Crusader states.”

  Hauf chuckled. “That might work. Though she’d probably strip the Holy Lands of treasure and sacred artifacts and abandon them to the Unbeliever.”

  Hecht nodded. An exaggeration. But where Anne of Menand was concerned, every canard contained an element of truth. “My vigil is complete. I should get back to the Castella, see if there’s news from the Connec.”

  “Difficult, managing a campaign from hundreds of miles.”

  “Difficult, indeed. I had almost unnatural luck putting together a competent, trustworthy staff and officer corps. They don’t miss me much when I’m gone.”

  “An interesting phenomenon. Unseen outside the warrior orders, at least since the Old Empire.”

  The Captain-General grew uncomfortable. Master Hauf might be implying something. Might even be accusing. “Sir?”

  “Just reflecting on the unique thing you’ve created these past few years. An army that doesn’t disperse during the winter, planting, or harvest. An army not structured around leaders who command by right of birth.”

  Hecht interrupted, “My little heresy. So long as my employer doesn’t object, I’ll choose my officers based on talent. Too, no one of exalted birth ever asks to become one of the Patriarch’s men.”

  “Men of noble birth come to us. Or raise forces of their own to take into the Holy Lands. Do you hear much about our comrade order, the Grail Knights?”

  “Last news I had from up there was that one of my brothers might still be alive. Which I’m not prepared to believe. I left in the worst season. The pagans had found a war leader acceptable to most of the tribes.”

  He stopped, shivered as though retreating from painful memories.

  Master Hauf nodded. “Some new horror is afoot up there. News came down the amber route, through the Eastern Empire, about an attack on a Grail Order stronghold called Stranglhorm. The Grail Knights were victorious. But the behavior of their attackers, and the sorcery supporting them, is unsettling.”

  Hecht was moving now, headed for the Castella, slowly. Addam Hauf paced him. The Master was headed the same way. “We faced strangeness and sorcery in Calzir and Artecipea, both. We’re still cleaning up a mess in the Connec.”

  “I’m guessing this is more of the same.”

  “Kharoulke the Windwalker.”

  Master Hauf looked startled.

  “There’s been talk. The Principatés are interested. So were people in Alten Weinberg when I was there. So. Work is being done. Of what value time will tell.”

  “Include the Brotherhood when you learn something interesting. If you can.”

  “Of course. Though you seem better informed than I. I hadn’t heard about an attack on Guretha. How bad was it?”

  “The pagans were particularly destructive.”

  “I’ve never visited Guretha. It was supposed to be a great city. By the standards of that part of the world.”

  “I suppose the ice will have it before long, anyway.”

  ***

  Piper Hecht closeted himself with his cronies inside one of the Castella’s quiet rooms. Force of habit. He did not expect to share any secrets but you never knew what someone would say to excite an eavesdropper.

  “I want to know more about Master Hauf. He doesn’t have a reputation that precedes him.”

  Buhle Smolens said, “Bechter says he was new to the commandery at the Castella Anjela dolla Picolena. He came to Runch out of the Holy Lands with a solid reputation as a battlefield
leader. His family has connections with the lords of several Crusader states but he’s no politician himself. His claim to fame is that Indala al-Sul Halaladin counts him a friend.”

  “How could that be?”

  “They’ve had chances to do malicious harm but never dishonored themselves. Bechter thinks Hauf was promoted because he’s too honest and honorable. There were men who wanted to get him out of the Holy Lands. Where a lack of scruples, morality, and honor has begun making the Brotherhood look bad. Bechter thinks Hauf is here looking for a few good Brothers to help scour out the corruption.”

  “Interesting. Strange, but interesting. Slip him what we know about the Witchfinders in Sonsa. Tell me more about Hauf and Indala.”

  Colonel Smolens launched a convoluted tale of treachery and chivalry centered on one Rogert du Tancret, the violation of a holy truce, the kidnapping of Indala’s sister, and the Brotherhood’s intercession. In the person of Addam Hauf. Whose effort forestalled a war that might have pulled in Pramans from across all three kaifates. As it was, several mountain counties in the northern Holy Lands passed from Chaldarean to Praman control.

  Rogert du Tancret remained unabashed. He continued to provoke the Pramans.

  Smolens said, “Rogert fears no one because his fortress, Gherig, is unassailable.”

  Once, when he was Else Tage, Hecht had seen Gherig. And even from many miles away that fortress had been grimly intimidating.

  Some — most — strongholds were just piles of rock, however big they became. Gherig, though, had a personality. It lay crouched on its stony mountaintop like the home of earthly evil. It radiated the sense that something terrible could happen at any moment.

  No. Evil was not right. Gherig was more like the Night. Neither good nor evil, except as one chose to behold it. Gherig simply was powerful and predatory. And, evidently, was these days in the hands of a master suited to it.

  “Not important to us,” Hecht said. “We have troubles of our own. In the Connec.”

  “Letter from Sedlakova came this morning. They’re having real trouble cornering Rook. Who gets a little stronger and smarter each time they take out some other revenant.”