Surrender to the Will of the Night Page 5

  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 suf
fered 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.

  Joe was in one of his social moods. Fifteen minutes after Hecht joined him, he asked, “You in a big hurry, Pipe?”

  “Always. It isn’t necessary, though. Probably.”

  “I keep looking at that river and thinking they ought to be some good trout fishing there. In one of them pools where the water takes a break before it goes charging off again.”

  “You want to have a fish fry?”

  “Been a while since I had a mess of good cold-water fish. Better than anything they got down in the lowlands.”

  “When’s the best time?”

  “Afternoon? After the sun warms the water some and there’s bugs out. Early evening is maybe even better since there’s more bugs then.”

  “We come to a place that looks good, give a holler. Those men up front need a break.”

  “They’re pretty worried, eh?”

  “The monster had a bad reputation, back when. I think we’ll have trouble finding it now, though.”

  “That wasn’t it the other night? That was rough on the horses.”

  “Rough on all of us. No. That was one of those bogon things like the one in the Ownvidian Knot that Principaté Doneto chased off.”

  “Uhm.” Joe went back inside himself and relaxed. Maybe half an hour later he emerged to chat briefly about ways to reduce disease amongst the army’s mounts.

  A small party northbound had no news about the monster but did report that all Firaldia was holding its breath over Boniface’s health. The Patriarch made good progress for a few days, then suffered grave setbacks. On his good days he pursued his work ferociously. He had made great headway with the Eastern Church. He was close to a modus vivendi that would soothe the factions in the Connec. The ancient peace of those provinces was about to be restored.

  If Boniface just had the time.

  That alone should have the poisoners swarming, Hecht believed. Too many people, inside the Church and inside Arnhand, had become deeply invested in abuse of the End of Connec. Thieves, all, except for a handful of fanatics.

  The column halted. Kait Rhuk and the men up front spread out, getting ready for trouble. Hecht hurried forward. His lifeguards closed in but did not stop him. This needed doing.

  “Rhuk. What do we have?”

  “Injured man up ahead. Maybe dead.”

  Rhuk had the man covered from several angles, no one closer than twenty feet. One falcon was sited so that it could fire at anything coming out of the only cover nearby.

  “He’s breathing,” Rhuk said. “I see that now.”

  The man lay sprawled among the rocks like he had fallen out of the sky. He was large and wore nothing but a massive growth of washed-out reddish hair. The dense rat’s nest around his head and face contained streaks of gray. He had not been eating well.

  “Been in a few scrapes, looks like,” Madouc said. “I’ve never seen so many scars.”

  “Missing his right hand, too,” Rhuk said. “Want me to go wake him up?”

  “No. Nobody get in the line of fire.”

  Everyone eyed the brush up the hillside. Was this man bait?

  Hecht said, “I’ve seen this man before. I’m trying to remember where.” The memories came in a rush. He did not want to accept them. “Below the wall of al-Khazen. This was one of the soultaken.” Whose death tussle with Ordnan and the Choosers of the Slain had cursed him with ascension to Instrumentality status.

  “Target both falcons on him. Have every hand weapon ready.”

  “Sir?”

  “That’s our quarry. The man who became the monster.”

  That caused a buzz. And brisk preparations.

  “Say when, sir,” Rhuk said, slow match in hand.

  “Not yet. Only if he does something threatening.” This needed closer examination. He was aware of no instances of this soultaken returning to human form. There must be a reason. “Pella. I have a job for you.”

  “Dad?”

  “Round up some throwing stones. Chunk them over there. Try not to hit him in the head.”

  “All right.”

  “Rhuk. The rest of you. No firing without my order.”

  Pella threw. He did not miss. The body yonder twitched.

  Where was the Ninth Unknown?

  The hairy man shuddered. He forced his way up off the rocks. His naked skin bore fresh abrasions, several extensive and evidently painful. He got into a sitting position, shuddered again, rested his hands and chin on his knees.

  “What now?” Kait Rhuk asked.

  “Wait. Pella. That’s enough.”

  The wait was a long one. At last the naked man shuddered, lifted his head, peered round with bleary eyes. He showed his palm weakly, in response to the martial display.

  “Don’t anybody relax,” Hecht said. “Don’t take any of this at face value.” He told the naked man, “Speak.”

  Hecht could not decipher the answer. He did not move closer. The soultaken had been created specifically to destroy him. It might not be able to abort its mission.

  “Captain-General?” Rhuk wanted instructions. Again.

  “Wait.”

  “Food,” the soultaken gasped. That was clear enough.

  “Toss him a loaf. And a hard sausage. Somebody. Don’t get in the line of fire.”

  Algres Drear volunteered. He approached the naked man from uphill, avoiding the sight lines of the falcons. He tossed a loaf and a sausage into the man’s lap.

  The soultaken ate with glacial haste. A party came up from the south. Threats kept them moving. The news they carried was not encouraging. The Five Families of Brothe were maneuvering heavily, determined to reject the ascension of Bellicose. They might try to lock foreign Principatés out of the Chiaro Palace to keep them from voting in the next Patriarchal election.

  The news angered Hecht. He wanted to rush ahead to the Mother City. Those idiots! Was it impos
sible for them to deal honorably? Impossible to stand by agreements already made?

  But this situation had to be explored first.

  He could just blast the soultaken. In this form he could be torn apart easily. But. There must be a reason for his having changed shape.

  “This may take a while. Anybody know this pass? Is there a good campsite up ahead? I can’t remember.”

  Again, Algres Drear volunteered. “There’s a marshy meadow about three miles on. It was a campground before the monster came.”

  Hecht said, “We need to dress this man. I’ll buy from whoever is willing to give something up. Something that will fit, Carolans.”

  The soultaken was big. The soldier Carolans barely came up to his chest.

  Size and the fact that few of the men bothered to carry extra garments around made clothing the naked man a challenge.

  The man devoured every crumb given him. His color returned. He got his feet under him. He dressed himself.

  He submitted while silver was placed round his neck, while his wrists were bound behind him and his ankles were connected by a leather hobble.

  Before resuming movement, Hecht asked, “You have a reason for what you’ve done? Other than trying to engineer my murder?”

  The captive grunted. “Must talk.” But that was all he said that day.

  ***

  They had no leg irons or fetters. A need had not been foreseen. The prisoner made do with hobbles while he traveled. In camp his captors attached a rope to a stake driven deep into the earth and tied the other end to his left ankle. Another rope ended up tied around his waist. A ready falcon always pointed his way — even after the rain arrived.

  The Captain-General had a tent raised to shelter the sentinel falcon.

  The prisoner remained in the weather.

  Camp set, watch posted, men fed, animals settled, Hecht went to talk to his guest. His lifeguards were close by, armed with firepowder weapons charged for use against the Night.

  Hecht brought a camp stool. He settled out of the line of fire. “I’m ready to talk.” Drizzle fell.

  The prisoner pushed emptied bowls to the limit of his reach. No one blocked any line of fire collecting them. “This will take a while. The change drained me more than I imagined possible. I’d forgotten how to be human.”