by Glen Cook
Februaren said, “Make the way safe for the mer. Even if that leaves only power enough to force a finger-size hole.”
Iron Eyes scowled. He muttered. He bobbed his head once, fiercely. “The alternative is defeat without having fought.”
And that, of course, was not to be endured. The fight was the thing. To battle without hope, yet battle on and battle well. Thither loomed immortality.
Korban collected a half-dozen dwarves. They formed a circle facing inward — excepting Gjoresson himself. He faced the harbor.
The mer made frightened noises. They crowded into the tight space between the barge and the quayside. They wept, sure something would winkle them out.
A shark’s fin broke water a hundred yards out. It headed straight at the dwarves.
Something brought mud boiling to the surface beside the quay. Tentacles followed. Cloven Februaren slashed one reaching for the Aelen Kofer. That fixed the kraken’s attention on him.
The Aelen Kofer were teasing the desperate hunger of the monsters of the harbor.
The kraken got no chance to taste the Ninth Unknown.
The shark arrived. The quay shook to its strike. Then another kraken materialized, rising into the death struggle.
Satisfied, the Aelen Kofer broke their circle.
“Better than any dogfight,” Gjoresson observed. “Son of Man, ask the mer if there are any more monsters out there.”
The answer was, there were no more known dangers.
The shark tore the first kraken apart. But the second got hold of the shark and hung on, out of the reach of lethal jaws. Its beak was sharp enough to slice through shark skin. Shark blood and kraken ichors filled the water.
Februaren remarked, “If there’s anything else out there that will bring it.”
Iron Eyes lamented, “Those krakens are as intelligent as us. But their minds are more alien than you can imagine. They were created by the Trickster. Accidentally. It’s a long nightmare of a story about giants and incest and revenge gone awry. The krakens hate the Old Ones, the more fervently because they could never do anything about it.”
“Uh …”
“They hate the Sons of Men almost as much. The mother of them all was a mortal fathered by the Trickster. These are the last of them. Unless some escaped to the middle world when the way was still open.”
The krakens out there were far bigger than these. These could not pull down anything larger than a coracle.
“The closing ought to put the Aelen Kofer on their list, too.”
“Oh, right at the top. Yes.”
Februaren muttered, “With the Night all evils are possible and most are probably true.”
The shark rolled, thrashed, then sounded. And that was that for several minutes. Then the killer fish broached so violently that for a moment it was entirely free of the water. It rolled, came down with the kraken between it and the water. Stunned, the kraken lost its grip.
“There’s the end, then,” Iron Eyes said. “The shark will finish the kraken, then bleed to death.” He gestured to his companions.
The dwarves boarded the ship, took in the rotten mooring lines. The mer protested vigorously. The combat continued out in the harbor. The kraken had to get back on and hang on if it hoped to live. It could not run to safety.
The dwarves found oars somewhere. Gjoresson explained, “The Aelen Kofer built this barge. Employing our finest arts. There’s more to it than what you see. Though you should have seen it when it was new and the magic was everywhere. It needed only to be told what sort of vessel to be and where to go. It didn’t have to be rowed.”
In its final throes the shark smashed into the side of the ship, breaking oars and leaving a hole at the waterline. The oars could be replaced. Februaren and Korban went below to get a patch on the breach.
The shark stopped thrashing. Two of the mer found the courage to look for the portal to the middle world. Which took only a few minutes to find. The problem became locating a good place to break through.
By then Februaren and Iron Eyes had been replaced at the breach by dwarves no longer needed at the oars. Gjoresson was in continuous conversation with the mer. Once, as an aside, he told the Ninth Unknown, “I see the outlines, now. But no weak spots. We did good work in the old days.”
Old days? That was just a few years ago.
“We’ll go for the best opening we can force and hope there’s magic enough to do.” Iron Eyes grinned behind his beard. “And if we fail, you can settle down with us back in our world. I have a grandniece who would find a human wizard endlessly fascinating.”
“If need be.” But he didn’t want to entertain that bleak a future. Instead, he began contemplating a possible alternate method of attack.
The world of the dwarves, in story, had its own connections with the middle world. Maybe the ascendant could be brought to the Realm of the Gods the long way round.
How would Korban Jarneyn respond to that suggestion? Maybe his grandniece would like to play with a newly minted Instrumentality.
Februaren glanced across the harbor. The dwarves from the mountain had returned to the quay. They did not appear to be filled with good cheer.
Gjoresson stayed focused on the gateway. He gathered his companions, muttered with them, then the lot put together something indistinct. They pointed it at the portal, right where it met the dead water.
A spot of ruby fire came to life.
Februaren stared. The bounds of the world could not be discerned by his eye. Harbor and sky seemed to roll right on. Yet ripples caused by the barge made little splashes against something right where the dot shone. Seabirds wheeled in the distance, fishing, but never came close. Clearly, they could not see the barge or harbor.
The dwarves broke up. Most went to the oars. The barge wobbled back to the quay. Iron Eyes said, “I need more help. Particularly from those who closed the way, back when.”
Curious. Gjoresson kept talking like those events had taken place in the remote past.
The barge hugged quayside just long enough for the other Aelen Kofer to board. Dwarves were a dour tribe but this klatch were unusually taciturn and grim. A few muttered with Iron Eyes while the barge crossed the harbor. Finally, Korban told Februaren, “The bridge can be restored. We haven’t lost the secrets of building with rainbows. But it will take time and require a lot of magic. Which we don’t have. We’ll have to bring it from the middle world. But, granting that we get the bridge restored, freeing the Old Ones may still be impossible.”
“Why is that?”
“Because the entangled sorceries sealing them in were written so that only one of the Old Ones, or one of their blood, will be able to thread a passage through the magical closure. Your soultaken must be a genius. How could he know? Did he know? He did better imprisoning them than they did imprisoning the wicked gods they overthrew. No one has to stay here to keep these spells working. I’m in awe.”
And more than a little dishonest, Februaren reflected.
Iron Eyes said, “Unless the soultaken himself gives us a tool, there may be no hope. Those who could open the way are all inside. Even the Trickster, which amazes me. He was always too clever to get caught.”
Februaren considered. The ascendant had elements of the All-Father and the Chooser of the Slain Arlensul inside him. He would have drawn on those to imprison the rest of their divine gang. Could their knowledge also bring the walls down?
Had to.
The ascendant would know. The Aelen Kofer were peerless magical architects and engineers. They just needed his direction.
The Aelen Kofer gobbled steadily, gesturing, showing unusual animation. Februaren could not follow.
That little floating ruby dot grew. It burned more brightly. Ruby droplets dribbled down an invisible surface into the dead, colorless water.
There was a crack! of an explosion. Water sprayed the barge. A small wind heavy with alien odors knifed in behind it. And kept on coming, whistling.
“Success! Of
a sort,” Gjoresson declared.
A vertical sword stroke of light three feet long, dropping into the water of the harbor, now hung in the air. It was an inch wide at its broadest, at the water level. Sunshine rushed in with the wind and odors. It was so bright!
Februaren said, “I didn’t realize how bleak it is over here.” His eyes adjusted. Blue water sparkled beyond the crack.
Where the breach met the harbor surface dull water began to show streams and eddies of color. Februaren felt gusts of power coming in with the wind and smells.
The Aelen Kofer started singing. Iron Eyes said, “The magic will return.”
From a world where the wells of power were drying up. Februaren wondered, was the power dying out of all the worlds?
He reminded himself that these worlds existed only to a few Instrumentalities and believers anymore. They were dying for sure.
The white shark broached feebly, halfway to the quay. It lived, just barely. Its eye fixed on the barge for one baleful moment.
Color continued to spread from the crack. Here, there, sparks of gold flashed for an instant on the rotten wood of the ship.
The power from that sea burst, over there, must still be strong.
A great whale eye appeared at the gap.
The Ninth Unknown raised a hand in greeting.
A worm of flesh started wriggling through.
Color spread. It climbed the side of the barge. Cloven Februaren opened himself to what power there was.
***
The Ninth Unknown knew exactly when the Windwalker sensed that the Realm of the Gods had been opened.
Iron Eyes shrieked.
Kharoulke had not known about the burst of power in the west. He did now. His attention had been attracted by a sudden, ferocious threat.
17. Brothe: Brief Idyll
Piper Hecht’s return to the Mother City was uncomfortable for everyone. A thousand men accompanied him, men who did not want to work for Pinkus Ghort. Some Brothens wanted to celebrate their coming. Most did not want to attract the attention of the new Patriarch. Serenity’s cronies wanted to shut the gates but did not have the popular support. Hecht had strong backers in the Collegium. Serenity did not, to his abiding mystification.
The moment the Interregnum ended Serenity started swinging Mother Church back to the course long steered by Sublime V. No surprise to Hecht, but a shock to most Brothens, including several Principatés who had taken bribes to vote for him.
Bronte Doneto had done well pretending religious indifference when he lacked the power to enforce his convictions. Now he owned that power. Now he could feed the rage that had festered since the Connec humiliated and nearly killed him.
“I’m not comfortable,” Titus Consent said. While coming off the Blendine Bridge, watching Brotherhood members turn upstream toward their Castella dollas Pontellas. Leaving the former Captain-General without his lifeguard.
“As they tell us, be careful what we wish for.”
“Yes?”
“I resented every minute that Madouc was underfoot. Now he’s not.”
More than a hundred men did remain with them, headed the same direction. “We’ll be good for now. Later, maybe not so much.”
“Uhm. Pella. Stick close.”
A mile on, nearing their own neighborhood, with only a handful of friends close by now, Titus asked, “Made a firm decision yet?”
“What?” Hecht had been daydreaming about Anna. And the girls. Then, bemused, reflected that his true home and family were somewhere in the slums of al-Qarn. Possibly. What horrors might time, poverty, disease, Gordimer, and er-Rashal have worked there?
“About what’s next. You going to buy that vineyard? Or become Empress Katrin’s war tiger?”
“Oh. No you don’t. I’m not deciding anything now. It’s time for some plain old lazy drifting.”
Titus just smiled. He knew. The decision had been made, though Hecht’s motivations might not be clear. Even to Hecht himself.
The former Captain-General meant to head north, out of the Patriarchal States, possibly forever.
News of their coming had run ahead. Anna and the girls were out, waiting with Noë Consent and her brood. And with Heris. The Consents left immediately. Hecht went into Anna’s house. He had one answer for all of the first dozen questions. “I’m tired. I’m exhausted. Later.”
Pella took up the slack. He had plenty to say. And was disappointed when Anna and the girls did not share his enthusiasm for falcon warfare.
Again, “I’m so tired. I just want to vegetate. I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want to do anything.” That directed to Heris, who had hinted already that Principaté Delari wanted to see him. “Brothe and everybody got along fine without me. And can keep right on doing without me. Anna. Stop scurrying around. Come over here. Sit by me. Let me drink you in.”
Anna did so, managing to blush.
Leaning against her, sleepily, Hecht considered Lila and Vali. “What’s happened with the girls? Other than Vali filling out and both of them wearing better clothes?”
“School. The nuns on the girls’ side of Gray Friars.”
“Uhm?” A questioning grunt that Anna interpreted correctly. How had she managed to get two girls of questionable antecedents into so exclusive an academy?
“Your name and Principaté Delari’s. Plus a surprise legacy from Hugo Mongoz.”
“Hugo Mongoz? But …”
“Not money. Influence. Bellicose found a letter among his papers. Instruction to an illegitimate grandson that didn’t get sent before he died. In it he claimed he owed you a big debt. Not saying why. He wanted the grandson to repay you. The grandson is a monk at Gray Friars. So there you go.”
“Oh. I guess that’s good. Heris. Heris?”
Vali looked past Pella, said, “She did that turn sideways trick, Dad.”
Lila said, “I wish I could learn how to do that. I’d get rich.”
Anna told her, “You are rich. Your father has gathered up more prize money than the rest of us can spend in three lifetimes.”
Hecht laughed. “I sincerely doubt that.”
“What are you going to spend it on? And none of your nonsense about vineyards and latifundia. What you know about agricultural management I could tuck into a thimble with room left over.”
“You think? I’d surprise you, heart of my heart. I spent a long time in prison in Plemenza. The only way to pass the time was read old texts about farming.”
That gave Anna pause for scarcely an instant. “Which means nothing, practically. You’ll never be a farmer.”
“You could be right. We need to talk about that. But not now. I just want to wallow in the luxury of having no demands on me.”
“Oh, there are going to be demands. But first you’re going to have a long wallow in hot, soapy water.”
The girls had Anna’s big copper bathing tub set up already, with water heating. Anna would not use the public baths. Nor would she let the children. A safety measure, that. She said. But Hecht suspected there was more to the story. She would not discuss it. It was not worth a squabble.
Settled in the tub, with females dumping warm water and Pella contemplating making a break for it, to avoid being next, Hecht observed, “The one thing I’ll miss, being on the outside, is the baths at the Chiaro Palace.”
“Really?” Anna asked.
“And there you go, letting your imagination get loose. The rumors aren’t true. Nothing ever happens there.”
“Really?” Again.
Hecht shrugged. “Don’t let me confuse you with facts.”
***
Heris turned up every day. She had little to say and did not press. “You’ll let me know when you’re ready. I just come down to see if you are. There isn’t anything crucial. Yet.”
But Heris and Principaté Delari were not the only people who wanted a slice of the former Captain-General. Representatives from members of the Collegium, from most of the Five Families, from the Castella, and fro
m the Imperial embassy at the Penital, all turned up during Hecht’s first four days at home.
Only Titus Consent and his tribe were allowed in. And Heris, who could not be turned away at the door.
***
“You’ve started getting restless,” Anna observed. Voice carefully neutral. At a time when she thought the children would be occupied.
“Titus tells me I never learned how to relax.”
“Titus is outrageously smart, for his age. So. Is it time to talk?”
“I suppose.” He had been puzzling how to put it all together for her. “The Empress wants me to come work for her.”
“To help her fulfill a holy obligation. By leading an Imperial crusade into the Holy Lands. I know. That may be the worst kept secret of the age. It was all over Brothe within hours of the announcement that Bronte Doneto would become the next Patriarch. The Penital put it out. Doneto was upset. Pinkus sent some of his trusted men to look out for us. Not that he would brag about looking out for a friend. He was afraid Doneto might do something stupid.”
Hecht grunted. Ghort had not said a word. But that was Pinkus Ghort. Never say anything when he did something someone might construe as good or thoughtful. He did not want to tarnish his black reputation. “He’d know if the danger was real.” Hecht eyed Anna curiously. Why had she kept this to herself till now? Was she hoping the question of taking service with the Empress would go away?
Probably.
“It turned out to be a tempest in a teapot. Pinkus pulled his men out after Principaté Delari dropped a few one-ton hints on the right people.”
That sounded like something Heris would say. After rehearsing before she said anything.
“Muniero Delari and Bronte Doneto have a bitter history. Which I’m not free to discuss. I suspect Doneto will avoid reviving old quarrels now that he has his dream job. Delari is older than stone. Doneto can let time put an end to their squabble.”
“Piper, I won’t follow you if you go to Alten Weinberg.”
And there it was. Not unexpected but not understood. Despite having given the possibility plenty of brooding.
“You know we’ve only actually spent a few weeks together over the years we’ve been a couple.”