Surrender to the Will of the Night (39 page)

“Something like the Ninth Unknown?”

“Probably. Grandfather says Hugo Mongoz knew a little but that was only because he’d been around so long he couldn’t help it. Bellicose knew nothing. Serenity won’t, either. Neither will whoever comes after him. That’s the way the old people want it. They’re thinking about sealing off access from the Chiaro Palace.”

Hecht wondered: How would that impact all those monks and nuns who worked on the project? Some had done nothing else for fifty years.

There were other ways to get to the Construct. For the dedicated worker. Of course. Since nuns were not supposed to be inside the Chiaro Palace in the first place.

“Did you have anything exciting to report?”

“Sure. We gave the Windwalker a bath. And the really old man thinks he’s found the place where the Bastard lives. Getting there and doing something with the information might be problematical, though.”

So. Someone had put a label on the man they sought. “Expand, please.” He had no idea what Heris, the Ninth Unknown, and Muniero Delari were up to. Only Heris was ever forthcoming. And seldom did she have much to say.

She told a long story now.

“You have been busy.”

“We’re going to get busier. I won’t be able to pop in here half a dozen times a day to spoon-feed you information. You need to use the pendant. That’s what it’s for.” She sounded like the mother of a stubborn child, patience exhausted.

“I was hoping I could get you to haunt Alten Weinberg the way you haunt Krois and the Chiaro Palace.”

“I’d like that, Piper. I really would. You think you could get them to do me the courtesy of speaking Firaldian or Church Brothen? Or maybe Melhaic?”

“All right. Sarcastic exposition of obstacle noted. I’ll do my own haunting.”

“I mean it about the pendant, Piper. I’m really busy.”

“I understand. It’s good for me, too. There won’t be so many questions about who I’m talking to in here.”

There had been questions. Concerned questions. Partial truths had sufficed, so far. He had a spy whose identity only he knew. The spy wanted it to stay that way. The staff worried about how she came and went.

An informal bodyguard had begun to form.

***

Empress Katrin was coming in from her progress. At last. Forerunners had been arriving for days, for their own purposes or hers. When word came that Katrin had reached the Eastern Gate Hecht ordered work stopped and the men turned out to line the way, to do the Empress honor. They were snappy, which pleased the Empress and her sister both.

The Imperials passed by.

Titus whispered, “They’re carrying her in that sedan so people can see her. But she doesn’t look like a woman about to give birth.”

Hecht agreed, though he had been distracted by the Princess Apparent. He could not help imagining having seen both hunger and promise there. He turned to say something to Consent.

Something slammed him violently from behind. He felt metal drive through the padded scale mail shirt he wore. Felt it enter his back, turn on his shoulder blade, and so miss his heart. There was no pain.

He had been wounded before. He knew it would be a while before his body began to protest the damage.

He staggered a few steps, aware of shouting. His first reaction was incredulity. There had been no warning from his amulet. But there would be none when the attack was worldly. He offered a silent apology to Madouc, wherever he might be.

The bad guys had gotten him at last.

He began to worry about his men, about Anna and the children, even about the woman in al-Qarn and her daughters. He had not been able to provide for them.

His right hand stole inside his shirt almost without conscious thought.

Hands caught hold of him. Bodies surrounded him. Shields built a turtle over him.

The shouting went on. He was not the only one hit. And the men were responding.

Confusion. His mind would not work right. His heart was not doing its job, either. Still, he tapped on his pendant till consciousness fled.

***

Piper Hecht wakened to find himself surrounded by grim-faced men, some with light wounds, all angry and every one frozen still as a statue. Time had not stopped, though. Several had fallen, stricken in midstep.

Heris said, “It’s working. He’s awake.”

Hecht could not see her. The Ninth and Eleventh Unknowns, though, entered his field of vision. The elder said, “The arrow was poisoned. Fortunately not with anything fast. There was no damage to your organs.”

Februaren was thoroughly unhappy. He could not express himself fully. There was no telling what the frozen men would recall when they recovered.

Heris said, “He’s starting to show some color.”

“The poison actually helped once his heart stopped.”

“It’s racing, now.”

“Yours would be, too. We got lucky. We were quick enough. He’ll make it.”

Delari mused, “I wonder how this will change him.”

Februaren grumped, “It might finally get the idea through that there really are people who want to kill him.”

“I meant changes because he’s been one with the Night.”

Hecht wanted to tell the Principaté that he was wrong. He had not had congress with the Night. He had been unconscious.

“Scrub those minds, Muno. Quickly. So we can get your ass out of here. We’ve been here too long already. It’s a miracle no one’s walked in on us.”

“No miracle. I spelled the door. Anyone who gets close forgets why he came. He’ll wander off trying to remember. There. That should do till they get a healer in. I’m ready.”

Heris appeared. She touched Hecht’s cheek. “Be more careful, Piper.” She and Februaren placed themselves to either side of Muniero Delari, locked arms with him. Somehow, despite the clumsy configuration, they managed the sideways turn.

There was a soft
poof!
as they vanished.

Sound and confusion. A dozen men all asking one another what had happened, helping one another get up, asking each other if they were all right.

“Holy shit! Lookit here! The boss is breathing. Hell, he’s awake!”

They crowded round, some helping others stay upright. Hecht noted several bandaged wounds, none as dire as his own.

“Ain’t this some shit?” Kait Rhuk demanded. “Ain’t this some I ain’t never seen the like of it before shit? The man was stone-cold dead. I was sure.”

Someone out of sight snarled, “About goddamn time your ass got here, padre!”

A healing brother entered Hecht’s field of view. He was old, certainly past sixty. He owned a round, ruddy face with a white furze of beard. A natural tonsure occupied the top of his head. He looked like a man who always had a smile in store. Though just one man, he gathered over Piper Hecht. He laid healing hands on while auditing the history of the incident. He became disturbed. He jumped away as though burned when told that his patient had died and returned to life.

Several men said they thought they remembered spirits moving among them while they were … Well, they could not explain what they were, other than able to do nothing. Most had no recollection of having been in that state.

The priest said, “My talents would be better applied somewhere else. Anywhere else. The dead who get up can only be creatures of the Night. Of that side of the Night ruled by demons, the undead, and the Adversary.”

Clej Sedlakova took station in the doorway. He had only one arm but lacked no skill with a blade. “Not this way, Brother. Turn around. Treat the man.”

Remarks from the others made it clear there was no other option. And once he finished with Hecht they would generously let him deal with the lesser injuries they had sustained themselves.

Hecht had fallen asleep. He wakened again when he felt the healing brother’s hands. The priest’s touch was almost sensual. It left good feelings, new energy, a sense of well-being. In minutes Hecht felt strong enough to sit up. And to speak. He rasped, “Talk to me, gentlemen. What happened? What did you do about it?”

He got frightened looks and silence in response.

He was strong enough to think. “Damn! You superstitious dolts! Look at me! I’m not dead. Obviously. I was never dead. What the hell is the matter with you? You’ll get people who don’t know any better thinking that I rose from the grave. You’ll get us all thrown into a pit of burning oil. Think! Don’t be superstitious morons. You! Priest! What happens when we die?”

The healing brother mumbled some confused Brothen Chaldarean dogma.

“None of which happened. No bright lights. No darkness. No angels, no demons, no voices. No black ferryman with his hand out. No nothing but a huge headache. I was unconscious. And in shock.” Sucking energy off the priest, he was becoming manic.

He saw flickers of a will to believe.

Hecht definitely preferred his current situation to the one that had obtained a short while earlier. But his resurrection was sure to complicate life.

Titus Consent, shivering, said, “We did get the assassins.”

“What? Plural?”

“A pair. Lovers, I think. We haven’t done anything with them. Except lock them up.”

“Separately, I hope. I’ll want to see them when I’m stronger. Priest. Do your sorcery on this wound. Who took the arrow out?”

“That would be me, boss,” Hagan Brokke said. Brokke was one of the men with lesser wounds.

“Thank you. You kept the arrow?”

“It’s in pieces. But yes.”

“Good. I want the arrowhead. For a memento. For God’s sake, priest! I won’t break. I just survived an arrow that went right … Oh! That hurt. The prisoners have anything to say?”

“Not yet,” Titus replied. “They will.”

“No torture. Just keep them alone, in the dark. Let their imaginations wear them down. Ah! Back off, Clej. He’s doing his job.”

A subaltern came to the door. Sedlakova let him in. He made his report. And saw his commander being treated.

“Good on you, Clej,” when the boy left. “That should kill the craziest rumors. What did he say?”

“They want to know, downstairs, what to tell the people who keep turning up wanting news. He says the Empress and the Princess Apparent have been especially insistent.”

“Keep a log if you’re not already. Knowing who is concerned might be useful. How much longer, Brother?”

“Only a few minutes, sir. Then I’ll need to get you bandaged and to get your left arm immobilized.”

“Anything for pain? I’m starting to feel it.”

“I recommend inactivity. If you sit still and don’t put any strain on it the discomfort should be tolerable. If you don’t, enjoy the result.”

Hecht drew breath for an angry answer. Pain shot along the path the arrow had taken.

“Let nature do its work. Yours will get done without you. If you don’t take my advice you’ll suffer. And keep tearing it in there so it never heals right. And you end up losing use of the arm.”

“It will heal, though?”

“If you let it. I’ve given it the chance.” The healing brother bandaged Hecht slowly, letting everyone else see what needed doing and how it should be done. The dressing would have to be changed.

As he started to immobilize the arm, though, Hecht told him, “I need to get dressed first.”

“Excuse me?”

“I have to go out and show myself. To hearten some and dismay others.”

“Meaning you intend to ignore my advice already.”

“Just this once. It’s important.”

“Very well. And it will be important every time, won’t it? Fortunately, it isn’t Brother Rolf Hasty who has to pay the price. Though I’m sure he’ll hear a lot of whining about the arm not working right.” The healing brother refused to help Hecht dress.

Titus stepped in. “We’ll make sure it’s just this once, Brother.”

Hecht could not restrain a groan as Consent moved his arm to get a shirt on him. A fresh shirt. “You can cut it off when I get back out of it.”

Hagan Brokke presented the bloody scale shirt Hecht had worn when hit. He said, “You want this on, I’ll get it cleaned up.”

“I’ll do without. I couldn’t handle the weight. I’m beginning to get really sleepy, gentlemen.” He considered the mail shirt. “Didn’t slow the arrow down, did it?”

“Punched right through. The head was an armor piercer. For use at short range. Don’t see those used much by longbow archers.”

Minutes later Hecht was dressed and the healing brother had strapped his arm into place. Titus asked, “What now? Assemble the troops? It’s important. You told the healing brother.”

“Titus …” He found himself considering Piper Hecht with disdain. “No. I need a nap first. I have to face it. I won’t be able to stay awake. Have somebody trustworthy babysit me. All of you, get back to work. We’ve only got six months …”

He slept fourteen hours. Fitfully, if Titus was to be believed.

“Do I talk in my sleep?”

“No. You’re good about not doing that.” In a tone that set Hecht to wondering if Consent might not have tried to interrogate him.

“Where do we stand? The world didn’t end while I was snoring, did it?”

“It seems to have gotten on without you.”

“It would, wouldn’t it?”

“And it’s turned back normal since word that you survived got out.” Titus remained uneasy about that. “The Empress and Princess Apparent want in-the-flesh proof. They’re afraid the rest of us are covering up so we won’t lose our jobs. The Imperial treasury, by the way, handed over our start-up money.”

“I’ll see Katrin as soon as I’m able. A short visit. Unless she wants to come see me here. Where I still won’t last. I’ve been awake how long? And I’m ready to sleep again.”

Might his people be drugging him for his own good?

Titus said, “There was a letter from Buhle Smolens. He’s on his way. The weather will slow him. One of my agents says he had a real knock-down, drag-out with Captain-General Ghort when he resigned.”

“That’s not good.” Could it have been staged?

“Ghort took it personally. He wouldn’t listen to excuses about not being able to work for Serenity.”

“Again, not good.”

“Considering the loss rate among veterans he’s suffering, no. Those men have been to the Connec before. They don’t want to go back. The Connec doesn’t deserve what Serenity wants to deliver.”