Asher and Ashtoreth, the Bride of the Mountain, were recalled only in ancient bas-reliefs, notably on walls in Andesqueluz. But it would take only one mage, absent a conscience, to conjure evil into the world. Er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen had tried to resurrect Dreanger’s ancient horror, Seska, the Endless.
“Az?” the Mountain inquired. “Something on your mind?”
“Only what’s always there. Dread of the machinations of the Instrumentalities of the Night. And of the Night’s human pawns.”
The Mountain bowed his head slightly. “Thank you for reminding me. My great sin is selfishness. I think of my desires instead of the good of our souls.”
3. Alten Weinberg: Celebrations
The Captain-General had been assigned a three-story, eighteen-room limestone monstrosity for his visit to the seat of the Grail Empire. The house came with a staff of twelve. It belonged to Bayard va Still-Patter, son and heir of the Grand Duke Ormo va Still-Patter. Empress Katrin herself had ordered Bayard to vacate in favor of the Church’s leading soldier.
The Captain-General, Piper Hecht, and his party had come to Alten Weinberg in company with King Jaime of Castauriga. Who had dragged a sizable portion of his subjects hundreds of miles to celebrate his marriage to the most powerful western sovereign. The Captain-General, it appeared, was in favor with the Empress, though they had encountered one another only twice before, never to speak.
Three days after arriving Hecht listened as Kait Rhuk said, “We can’t figure it out but this woman definitely has something in mind for you.”
Nervous, Hecht paced and wondered if Katrin’s game involved her younger sister, the Princess Apparent, Helspeth. He had no one to share thoughts with. His intimates he had left in the Connec to manage the Church’s offensive against revenant Night. Those who had accompanied him here were lifeguards, clerks cum spies from Titus Consent’s staff, or belonged to Kait Rhuk’s weapons gang — the latter along in case the Night offered some unpleasant attention. And there was his adopted son, Pella. Plus Algres Drear, a Braunsknecht, or Imperial guard, who had been rusticated to Viscesment after offending the Empress and members of her Council Advisory.
Captain Drear told Hecht, “I’ve sneaked around as much as I dare. He’s right. She’s up to something. No one knows what. The Council Advisory are concerned.”
Empress Katrin was an Ege. Her father’s daughter. The Ferocious Little Hans frightened them still, though he was now years dead. Johannes’s unpredictable daughters frightened them more.
“I’m surprised they haven’t thrown you into the stocks.”
“People don’t see what they don’t expect to see. Algres Drear is off in Viscesment protecting the Anti-Patriarch. The few who do recognize me tell me I got a raw deal.”
Hecht had walked the streets himself. He had not learned much. He did not understand the language well enough. Nor did he have the time to fit himself in. More, he could not persuade his chief lifeguard, Madouc, that he would be safe wandering around.
Pella, though, had grown up on city streets and could slip his minders easily. His big problem was the language.
Alten Weinberg was more crowded and excited than any local could recall. The coming marriage had the world agitated. It might be the critical marriage of the century. It could render permanent the Imperial rapprochement with Brothe, ending centuries of warfare between Patriarchy and Empire. If Katrin produced a son to assume the Imperial ermine it would also give the Empire a foothold in Direcia. And would provide Jaime a shield against the ambitions of King Peter of Navaya.
***
“We saved him from a gang of thieves,” Presten Reges told Hecht. Hecht considered Pella. The boy was filthy, his clothing torn. “We don’t think it was political. The local soldiery wouldn’t let me bring the thugs along for questioning.”
“Tell me, Pella.”
The boy’s story supported Presten’s estimation. He had become too curious about something, then had betrayed himself as an outsider. An open invitation. “I messed up, Dad. I forgot where I was.”
“Lesson learned, I hope.”
“I’ll be more careful.”
“Did you find out anything for your trouble?”
“A lot of people don’t like this wedding. But that’s not a secret.”
Katrin Ege was unpopular because of her accommodation with the Brothen Church.
“It isn’t.” Hecht worried for Katrin’s sister. There were factions eager to move Helspeth into the top spot, hoping she favored her father’s policies. That put the Princess Apparent at risk from Katrin’s friends.
Helspeth tried to be neutral and to maintain her sister’s love. But simply by existing she became a fulcrum and rallying point.
It was early. Hecht had spent his waking time, so far, breaking his fast and studying dispatches from the Connec and Patriarchal garrisons in Firaldia. He had learned little to cheer him.
Carava de Bos approached with a small, black wooden tray on which lay three letters, their seals unbroken. De Bos managed the delegation’s clerical functions by day. The night clerk was Rivademar Vircondelet. Each doubled as a spy. Both were protégés of Titus Consent, chief spymaster and record keeper of the Patriarchal forces. And friend of the Captain-General.
De Bos said, “Recently arrived letters, sir. In order of arrival. Also, a gentleman named Renfrow has asked to see you. Shall I make an appointment?”
“You don’t know who he is?”
“He thinks he’s important.”
“And that would be true.”
“Shall I make an appointment?”
“No. Send him in. The rest of you, clear off. Madouc. I don’t want the servants eavesdropping.” Bayard va Still-Patter expected his people to spy. They tried hard. And were ferociously inept.
Renfrow was nondescript. He wore seasoned clothing like nine of ten people in the street, was average in height and unremarkable in his features. His hair betrayed specks of gray. Hecht had been close enough to smell the man’s breath on several occasions but could not recall the color of his eyes.
Hecht watched Renfrow approach. Renfrow was surprised to see Algres Drear. Pella, Hecht sensed, remembered Renfrow from the Knight of Wands a couple years ago.
That boy had a dangerous memory.
Hecht considered the letters. He recognized none of the hands. One seal was that of the Patriarch. The others belonged to the Empress and her sister, respectively.
These morning reviews happened around a table capable of seating a dozen. Hecht folded a couple maps and turned over two reports that had not gone away. Renfrow took it all in at a glance, lingering an instant on the letters from the Imperial sisters.
Hecht said, “Sit. If you’ll be more comfortable. I intend to.” He settled.
“I appreciate you seeing me so fast.”
“Our talks are always interesting. And I’ve grown bored. I should have waited and come here a week behind King Jaime.”
“I can’t imagine being bored in this political climate.”
“Not my politics.”
“You could be wrong. I think. There are secrets even I can’t ferret out. Secrets hidden from Ferris Renfrow in particular.”
“I can understand that.”
Renfrow flashed a conspiratorial smile. “If I asked, would you explain why Algres Drear is with you? I pulled a lot of strings to get him rehabilitated enough to go be one of Bellicose’s Braunsknecht guards.”
“Bellicose told him to come.”
“I hear you and Bellicose have developed a mutual admiration.”
“True. Is that why you’re here?”
“No. I wanted to warn you to be careful.”
Hecht merely raised an eyebrow.
“Dark things are stirring. Rumors reach me, second-or third-hand, from sources not even marginally reliable. The Night is abidingly disturbed by what you’ve been doing in the Connec.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“You have powerful enemies. Over t
here.”
Hecht, never quite convinced, nevertheless nodded.
Renfrow produced a folded paper from inside his shirt. Hecht winced, half expecting a crossbow bolt. Madouc would be watching. Madouc did not like sudden movements near his principal.
Renfrow opened the sheet, smoothed it.
“What is that?”
A talented artist had drawn a face, the side of a head, and an unusual pair of hands.
“Life-size,” Renfrow said. “Killed north of here some weeks ago, along with several barbarians who wore animal bones and skulls in their hair.”
“What was it?”
“I’d hoped you would know. You’re the man from Duarnenia. The veteran pagan fighter.”
“Not a pagan fighter. I left before I was old enough to visit the Marshes. But the Sheard had nothing like this helping them.”
“You’re a mystery wearing a cloak of enigma, Captain-General. The men with this thing had some connection to Kharoulke the Windwalker.”
“Then you’re looking at the wrong pagan gods. The Sheard have nothing to do with Kharoulke. Or any gods of his generation. Kharoulke hails from the farthest north. From the lands of the Seatts. And beyond. Kharoulke was displaced by the gods that our God overcame when Chaldarean missionaries converted the north. I’ve heard rumors about the Windwalker returning.”
“You surprise me again by being so well informed.”
“I have friends in low places.”
“No doubt about that.”
“Sir?”
“I’ve found that while almost no one recalls a boy named Piper Hecht making his journey southward, to take service with the Patriarchs, records of his service with several local garrisons exist. He never stayed anywhere long.”
“Some captains kept records obsessively. I caught the habit myself. My people can account for every copper that ever touched our hands. Good record keeping lets you show your employer what you’ve accomplished and why it cost so much.”
“And still they complain.”
“Of course. This thing.” Hecht tapped the drawings. “You should’ve brought the corpse. That would cause a stir.” Maybe get some attention paid to some of the more serious threats to the world.
“Its flesh corrupted and melted within hours, though there was snow on the ground and ice in the trees. Neither ravens nor wolves would touch the flesh.”
“Something of the Night.”
“Undoubtedly. But what?”
“I’m not the man to ask. But I know who that man might be.” The Ninth Unknown. Cloven Februaren. Lord of the Silent Kingdom. Possibly the most powerful sorcerer alive. And the least predictable. “Unfortunately, he’s in Brothe. Like most of the Collegium, waiting for Boniface to die.”
“What do you hear about that?”
“Hugo Mongoz might outlive half the men who elected him.” Hugo Mongoz being the name of the Principaté who had chosen the reign name Boniface VII when he became Patriarch.
“Isn’t Bellicose supposed to succeed him?”
“That’s the deal. I have orders to enforce it if the Collegium tries to take it back. I’ll do what Boniface wants. Bellicose is a good man. Who may not last as long as Boniface has, despite being thirty years younger.”
“Drear should be with him, then. Not here.”
“Bellicose’s health will do him in. Not assassins. He sent Drear to be his representative at the wedding. As I’m standing in for Boniface.”
Ferris Renfrow kept his opinion to himself.
Hecht understood. “Bellicose knew what he was doing when he sent Drear. It’s because of how he was treated here when he was a bishop.”
Renfrow chuckled. “The pro-Brothen party were feeling their oats.”
“Is that all? I do have work to do.”
“I have ten thousand things. Nine thousand nine hundred you won’t help me with. So I’ll just leave you with another word of caution. You may have enemies you know nothing about.”
“You hear that, Madouc? Now you can nag me with the report of the Imperial spymaster himself.” Hecht felt less humor than he pretended. Madouc would, indeed, mention Renfrow’s warning every chance he got. It irked him that he would have to pay attention. He was exposed, here. And there were people who did truly believe the world would be a better place without Piper Hecht in it.
Madouc just smiled. More than did Hecht himself, the lifeguard looked forward to putting Alten Weinberg behind and getting back to murdering the Instrumentalities of the Night.
Ferris Renfrow said, “I’ve done what I had to do here. Which is warn you not to relax.”
“I do get lax, sometimes. Madouc never does. Madouc is an Instrumentality in his own right.”
“Cherish him, then. Honor him. Most of all, listen to him.”
Hecht asked, “Madouc, did you put him up to this?”
***
Hecht gathered Carava de Bos, Madouc, and Rivademar Vircondelet as soon as Ferris Renfrow left. Pretty blond Vircondelet could not stop yawning. Hecht stared at the letters on the black tray, longing to dive into them. “What have we found out about Renfrow? Anyone?”
De Bos and Madouc deferred to Vircondelet. The sleepy Connecten, a Castreresonese, had the potential to exceed his mentor, Titus Consent. “A Ferris Renfrow has been involved in Grail Empire politics for more than a hundred years. This Ferris Renfrow claims to be the son of the Renfrow who served the two Freidrichs and the grandson of the Renfrow who served Otto, Lingard, the second Johannes, and the other Otto. Every Ferris Renfrow frightened everyone around him. People won’t talk about them much. If a mortal can be considered an Instrumentality, Ferris Renfrow qualifies. He’s the living patron tutelary phantom of the Grail Empire.”
Hecht asked, “Is there a woman in any of the Renfrow lives?”
Vircondelet said, “I haven’t connected any Renfrow with any particular woman. Maybe they do like you and adopt.” Pella had just stuck his head in. He saw that he would not be welcome.
Maybe Renfrow’s family was like the Delari. Each generation produced out of wedlock, one after another.
Vircondelet kept on. “The princesses, Katrin and Helspeth, are the only women in his life of late. That’s because he’s the guarantor of Johannes Blackboots’s will and Bill of Succession.”
“Proceed on the assumption that all Ferris Renfrows are the same Ferris Renfrow. And keep digging. Find out who his enemies are. They’re bound to gossip.”
Carava de Bos said, “No one here has made much of it, but Renfrow appeared at court, filthy and wounded, with news of the victory, only hours after Los Naves de los Fantas.”
That startled Hecht. He hoped it did not show. “How could that be?”
“The critical question, right?”
“Keep an eye on him.” Hecht glanced at the letters. He could wait no longer. “All of you. Back to your duties. Vircondelet. Go back to bed.”
***
The Captain-General tormented himself. He opened the letter from Boniface VII first. He had no interest in it whatsoever. It told him its author had had a premonition that his hour on the stage was about to end. And begged him to make sure the agreements with the Viscesment Patriarchy were honored. By force if necessary,
In Hugo Mongoz’s estimation, most of the Principatés of the Collegium were slime weasels interested only in filling their own pockets. They would ignore the agreements if they thought they could.
Hecht burned that letter. It was a waste of paper. Though Boniface could not be sure that his will would be executed. Unless he watched from Heaven as his Captain-General enforced his wishes.
Hecht read the letter from the Empress next. He dreaded what might lie inside that from the Princess Apparent.
Katrin Ege, Empress of the Grail Empire, with a string of subsidiary titles that filled half a page, requested the attendance of the Captain-General of the Patriarch of the Brothen Episcopal Church. …
The flattering crap went on and on. Piper Hecht was not one to be turned a
nd shaped by that. But he let it play. And composed an equally florid, disingenuous, and dishonest response. Yes. He would see Her Grace, the Empress, Katrin. … Time and place, Katrin’s choice.
Katrin’s request was echoed by Princess Helspeth in her brief letter. Which he read over and over, looking for the slightest nuance.
***
In one hour Hecht would present himself to the woman who, at the moment, was the most powerful ruler in the western world. He was trapped in speculations about what might be on her mind. Alone. Pella was away wandering the city with one of his handlers. Madouc had expressed serious reservations.
Alone he might be. In the room where he slept. But one of Madouc’s men was right outside.
Some things needed no doors to get inside.
Hecht was rereading Helspeth when the flames of his candles danced briefly. “Cloven Februaren?”
“You’ve grown more sensitive. We get you more time in the Construct, you’ll be able to smell me coming.”
Hecht looked toward the voice. He saw nothing till the man materialized by turning to face him. He was old, small, weathered, all clad in brown. His eyes, of uncertain color in that light, sparkled with mischief. His hair needed a trim. And combing.
Cloven Februaren. The Ninth Unknown. Grandfather of Principaté Muniero Delari, the Eleventh Unknown. Who claimed to be Piper Hecht’s natural grandfather. Cloven Februaren was more than a hundred years old. Probably more than a hundred fifty. But he lied a lot. And he had the sense of humor of a ten-year-old.
Hecht glanced at the door. Who was on duty? Madouc’s men knew their principal sometimes became involved in spirited discussions with himself. Only Madouc dared step in to make sure they did not turn violent.
The old man said, “Well?”
“Uhm.”
“So it’s going to be one of those intellectual discussions?”
Hecht smiled. Which felt odd. “Philosophical, perhaps. I just realized that I seldom smile.”
“Your sense of humor has atrophied. What is it?”
“Sir?”
“You summoned me. You must have a reason.”