Surrender to the Will of the Night (6 page)

Holy Kelam and Lalitha was one of the great churches of the Grail Empire, rich in architecture, furnishings, and decorative detail. It was an object of pilgrimage. Relics of both Founder namesakes were buried beneath its altar. The lame and sick came to light a candle and pray to Lalitha, who had wrought miraculous cures while living.

The Captain-General spared little attention for the wonders of the church. He focused on the wedding party. On Princess Helspeth and King Jaime. There was little mystery about his interest in the Princess Apparent. The Adversary had found a foothold inside his soul. He did wonder why the Direcian monarch interested him, though.

Attitude? The man was sure to be trouble. Everyone watching could tell he was impatient to get this nonsense over. That he was eager to start throwing his weight around.

Jaime was headed for a world of disappointment. Katrin might be besotted, might be fawning over him, but she was Johannes Blackboots’s daughter. No pretty Direcian would win control of the Grail Empire simply by wedding her.

And if she did surrender all reason?

The Council Advisory would step in. A dozen grim old men and their grimmer women. They watched from the floor, afraid that they had erred by agreeing to this match.

They could tell that the Castaurigan had ambitions unfettered by reality. He expected to outshine Peter of Navaya, using his new spouse’s wealth and power.

Could he be that blind? His bride meeting privately with Boniface’s military commander had outraged him. He had no idea what might have been discussed, but was aware that the Church was little interested in glorifying Castauriga or its king. The Church was cozy with Peter of Navaya.

King Jaime would be in a tight place with the Church. The outstanding characteristic of his wife was her devotion to Brothe. That was her external strength and her great political liability inside the Empire.

Hecht leaned nearer the Archbishop beside him, Elmiro Conventi. Conventi represented several Imperial cities in northern Firaldia. “We need to watch this King. He’ll intrigue with the anti-Brothens if he can’t bully the Empress.”

The grossly fat Archbishop first showed annoyance, then grasped the suggestion. “Excellent observation. I’ll pass the thought along.”

The ceremony was a long one. It did not just join a woman and a man, it formalized an alliance and founded a dynasty.

Piper Hecht thought he had been in the west long enough to be acclimated to its weirdest customs. He was aghast when he discovered that the grande dames of the court were, at this late hour, jockeying to be chosen to witness the Empress’s defloration. There would be five. Tradition assigned the respective mothers and the bride’s aunts the task. Neither Jaime nor Katrin had a living mother. Jaime had brought no sufficiently exalted Castaurigan women. He tried to refuse the ceremony. The court harpies would have none of that.

They wanted to see the Ege chit humiliated.

Somehow, the Empress, Alten Weinberg, the Grail Empire, and the greater world got through the night. As did the Captain-General of Patriarchal forces.

Madouc assured him, “Only the highborn endure that. Before the conversion to Chaldareanism, girls lost their virginity early. They seldom married before they proved their ability to bear children. It’s still that way for the peasantry. But the nobility consider it imperative that there be no doubts about paternity. No man wants to leave his patrimony to a child not his own.”

“I understand.” Without fully comprehending. “Yet most women here young enough to be interested seem to indulge in liaisons with men who aren’t their husbands. Some with more than one man. While the men are involved with women not their wives.”

“The underlying consistency is hard for outsiders to grasp.” Madouc’s tone was caustic. “The romanticism of the jongleurs is to blame.”

“Meaning?”

“They say marriage is a business arrangement. Love is something else.”

The Praman world had its love stories. Its fables of deceit, betrayal, and cuckoldry, usually illustrating the weakness of the cuckold. In real life even the suspicion of infidelity could lead to a harsh death. Here, everyone winked at it — even when one’s own woman was concerned.

And yet, Piper Hecht could not see Helspeth Ege and keep his thoughts channeled into propriety.

***

The post-nuptial celebrations went on for days. Two passed before the Captain-General could leave without giving offense. He left the borrowed house in better condition than he had found it, with an effusive letter of gratitude to the younger va Still-Patter.

The Braunsknecht captain, Algres Drear, rode with him. “My greatest appreciation for your efforts on my behalf, Captain-General,” he said, on the road south of Alten Weinberg. “The Princess Apparent would’ve had me back if she could. But her sister won’t forgive me. Nor will those old men she made look like fools and cowards in the Remayne Pass.” Having mentioned the pass, Captain Drear became nervous.

“I’m glad you’re along. You were there before. You can help plan.”

“You truly intend to deal with the monster?”

“I told the Empress I would. Kait Rhuk says we’re a hundred times more ready now than Prosek was then.” He glanced over his shoulder. There were four falconeers back there who had survived the last ambush. They had been injured, then taken captive by the Imperials, who had hoped to pry the secrets of the falcons out of them. They had betrayed nothing because they knew nothing.

“I’d apologize,” Drear said, following his glance. “But you’d know I wasn’t sincere. The Princess Apparent was livid. She has an overly developed sense of honor.”

“Something like her father?”

“Johannes Blackboots could put his sense of honor aside if the stakes were high enough.”

“I suspect the Princess would, too, given a real need. We’re few of us morally and ethically inflexible. Those who win the great reputations are those who are least obvious about it.”

“A cynic.”

“Perhaps. I count myself a realist. I’d forgotten these mountains are so big.”

The Jagos climbed to the sky, each peak clad in a cape of permanent ice.

Drear said, “They’ve changed a lot, just in my lifetime. There’s a lot more ice and snow now.”

Princess Helspeth’s folly in the pass had earned her no detractors among the people of the region. Their livelihoods depended on having travelers use the pass.

The Captain-General paused to rest his animals and ready his gear before entering the pass. The village was called Aus Gilden. It was unlikely ever to be known for anything but its utility as a jumping-off point.

A courier from the Connec overtook the Captain-General there.

He gathered the band in the evening. “I’ve had a message from Lieutenant Consent. Our brothers in the Connec had a productive few weeks while we languished in Alten Weinberg.”

Laughter. Every man had seized the opportunity to do everything but languish.

“Prosek cornered and dispatched Hilt and Kint on consecutive nights. He’s close behind Death, now.”

Someone called, “Let’s hope that goes well.”

“Hagan Brokke twice destroyed large gangs of bandits, with the assistance of Count Raymone. Clej Sedlakova cleared several towns
and
ambushed Rook. Who, unfortunately, managed to slide away again. But badly weakened. That leaves only Shade running free and uninjured.” Skilen and several lesser revenants had fallen already.

The men did not cheer. They were not that sort. But they had pride in accomplishment. Kait Rhuk said, “Let’s hope it’s as easy up ahead.”

“You foresee problems? The monster can’t offer anything like the threat it did to Prosek.”

“I like to be ready for the worst.”

An outlook Piper Hecht approved. If you were prepared for the worst you would seldom be caught unready.

***

The Ninth Unknown appeared occasionally but there was little chance to talk.

It was a comfort, knowing the old man was watching.

Drear warned, “We’re coming up on where it happened.”

Those who had been with Prosek before began pointing out and explaining.

Hecht sent most of the party to make camp at Prosek’s old site. A caravan headed north soon filled the pass anyway. Hecht and the veterans of the previous encounter, with Madouc, pushed on against the flow.

They found little evidence of the previous encounter. Even the scars on the rocks had faded.

Hecht said, “Let’s get an early start tomorrow.”

Returning to camp, Hecht found the north-bounds settled not far off. He sent Kait Rhuk to ask if anyone had seen anything unusual.

No. They were too many for the monster to trouble.

“So are we,” Rhuk opined.

Hecht feared so. And did not know how to hunt the thing. “I didn’t think this through.”

***

The Patriarchals made such extensive preparations to resist the Night that the Firaldians nearby mocked them. Every ward got set out. Every man carried at least one handheld firepowder weapon. Both falcons were charged with godshot. Falconeers sat close by them, nursing slow matches. Huge fires illuminated the camp.

And still doom nearly had its way.

A severe itch gnawed at Hecht’s left wrist. He knew he was dreaming, yet knew the itch was real. He had to wake up. He could not. The sense of déjà vu tormented him. He had been here before. Not in this place but in this situation. Aware but unable to respond as something terrible closed in.

Reason gained ground. This had happened before, in the Ownvidian Knot. He had awakened enough to shake Bronte Doneto out of the spell controlling him.

A falcon barked. Utter astonishment, like a living force, engulfed existence. Then black pain, followed by an instant of realization that the impossible, extinction, was at hand. Then a swift descent into a vacuum of never-will-be-again.

The impact was so brutal Hecht could barely drag himself out of his tent. He was soaked with sweat, shaking. His left wrist ached like it had been broken.

It was worse for the others. They had no protective amulets. The pale light of drained fires feebly illuminated men writhing, or so smitten they lay as though dead, eyes open and rolled back. Yards from the smoking muzzle of a falcon steam rose from a circle of blackened earth. An egg, still so hot it yielded red light, lay at its center.

“Good work, men,” Hecht tried to say. Nothing came out. His mouth was too dry. Nor, he saw, did anyone really deserve the accolade. The duty falconeers were down, in attitudes suggesting that they had fallen asleep.

That thing in the Ownvidian Knot had sent a wave of sleep before it, too.

Cloven Februaren. “Thank you, Grandfather.” He should see about Pella, now.

“What?” Algres Drear, stumbling, appeared. He offered Hecht a hand up.

“My ancestors were looking out for me.” A suspiciously un-Chaldarean thing to say.

“Maybe. It’s the same as that night in the Knot, isn’t it?”

“That would be my guess.”

“And it wasn’t the thing we’re here to destroy.”

“I doubt it. This would’ve been what they call a bogon. A sort of prince of the Night. The way it was explained to me before. Why are you in such good shape? Compared to these others.”

“I was asleep behind that boulder. I guess it shielded me from the worst.”

Hecht eyed the boulder. He saw nothing special. Maybe it was laced with iron or silver ore. Maybe it had been shot up during Prosek’s adventure here and had rolled down the mountain since. Maybe rock was a solid enough barrier in itself. No matter. “Let’s see what we can do for these people.”

“Why are you up so easily?”

“I have friends in the Collegium. They gave me protections against this stuff. Though I’m asking for more, after this. I’m not feeling that grateful to be alive right now.”

“A bitching soldier is a happy soldier.”

Hecht managed a chuckle.

There were no deaths. No one had anything broken or torn. Nobody needed sewing up. But hearts and souls had been brutalized. Fear had found a home. Faith had suffered a severe strain.

Hecht told them, “Never forget.
We
survived.
We
won. It’s the Night that needs to be afraid. The Night that has to get out of the way.”

The pep talk helped. A little.

***

Hecht decided to invest another day in recuperation. He hoped for some sign from Cloven Februaren. None came.

Next morning Hecht got everyone moving as soon as there was light to see.

He squabbled with Madouc. He wanted to be out front. Madouc would not suffer it. The lifeguard carried the day.

Hecht had decided to give in whenever his own desires were not critical to the work at hand. He did not have to be out front, he just wanted to be. Acquiescence now would ease relations and make it easier to overrule Madouc when taking a risk might be useful.

Pella eyed him suspiciously. He asked no questions. Hecht suspected he understood. The boy was quick and smart. Too bad Madouc was just as smart and even quicker.

Progress was slow. The men out front were not eager to find what the travelers from the south had missed. Their Captain-General rotated the point frequently.

The Remayne Pass opened out some. Slopes curved up to either hand, covered with scrub and modest evergreens amongst scattered boulders tumbled from farther up. The peaks caught the rising sun first. Those shifted quickly from orange to a white too brilliant to look at.

A stream rumbled beside the road, carrying frigid meltwater.

The air grew thinner and colder.

Hecht dropped back to the pack train, fell in with Just Plain Joe and Pig Iron. He did not say much. Neither did Joe. Pig Iron kept his own counsel. There was no way Hecht could explain his need for time shared with Joe.

Just Plain Joe was one of his oldest acquaintances this side of the Mother Sea. Pinkus Ghort and Bo Biogna dated from the same time, and Redfearn Bechter from just days later. Only Anna Mozilla went back further than did they.

Joe had no agenda. Joe lived each day as it came. He made life easier for the animals. Hecht could relax with Joe. He didn’t have to explain anything, guess about anything, do any planning, be anything but a guy Joe knew.