“Don’t mention the Terliagans,” Michael Carhart said. “If Sublime finds out that Volsard didn’t wipe them out in his war with Meridian, he’ll put them on the suppression list with the rest of us. Right up top, probably.”
Brother Candle said, “We may be worrying too much. Remember who our Duke is. I’m thinking he’ll never get around to doing much. Except to put Count Raymone in charge of the expedition to Calzir so he and his hotheads won’t make things worse at home. If Calzir is as obstinate as it’s always been, Sublime won’t have time to worry about the Connec.”
Bishop LeCroes complained, “Sublime is young, though. He could be around for another thirty or forty years.”
Tember Sihrt sneered. “In that case, you’d better get in touch with your god. Beg him to nullify that last Patriarchal election.” His attempt at humor fell flat.
***
THE CONNECTEN EMBASSY TARRIED IN BROTHE NINE MORE days. For eight of them Tormond and Isabeth tried to gain another audience with Sublime, to reexamine those questions causing a furor. Sublime put them off until it became obvious that there would be no further discussion.
The Duke angrily ordered the embassy home following an announcement from Krois that Emperor Johannes would visit Brothe. Some thought that meant Hansel would bend the knee to Sublime in return for a Patriarchal decree that the Imperial succession be fixed in the Ege line. Much was made of the possibilities. Sublime seemed determined to force the future to fit to his personal vision. He had no time for whining bumpkins who refused to understand their role in his grand Episcopal reawakening. He did not fear the antagonism of the Instrumentalities of the Night
***
BROTHER CANDLE LOOKED BACK AS THEY CROSSED THE Teragi, knowing he would see nothing like Brothe again. Memories were all he would take with him.
So little gain. So little accomplished. They would go home and try to live as though nothing had changed. War with the Church had been averted. For the moment.
***
SQUABBLING AMONGST THE CONNECTENS NEVER CEASED. Brother Candle was tempted to make his way home alone, just to escape the bickering. Yet he did not. As long as his presence was acceptable amongst traditional Chaldareans there was a chance he could speak for peace and reason. He did have some influence but he could not change decisions already made.
The weather was little better than it had been during the eastward journey. Unless the Duke decided to take the day off. Then the weather was fine.
Tormond wasted little time. In the Connec a disgruntled Raymone Garete was assembling the force promised to Sublime. There were fears the hotheaded Count might use the troops to push the Connec in a direction of his own choice.
That fear was not unfounded. Raymone’s friends did hope that he would rebel. They tried to delay the embassy’s return. Duke Tormond would not be manipulated. Those who tried to stall he left behind. They always caught up. Tormond employed dozens of couriers to maintain contact with Sir Eardale Dunn and Count Raymone. Dunn reported no problems in Khaurene. But his news was always stale.
Count Raymone moved from Antieux to Castreresone. That city was more centrally located. His messages all showed proper deference and submission. They lacked the accusation and recrimination so common elsewhere. Raymone seemed wholly engaged with the practical difficulties of assembling twenty-eight-hundred armed men in a province unfamiliar with war.
The nationalist sentiment stirred by the Black Mountain Massacre had evaporated in disappointment and despair once Duke Tormond chose to visit the Mother City.
The people of the Connec had complete confidence in their Duke. He would let the false Patriarch bully him into surrendering their rights and properties. Time proved them clairvoyant. Yet they would not turn on Tormond.
Would they?
Brother Candle feared that answer might depend on choices made by men more animated by pride and ego than national interest.
26. Brothe, the Soultaken
Shagot slept for six days. Svavar slept for the first four of those himself. He was so weak when he wakened that he barely had strength enough to crawl into the kitchen of the home where they had gone to ground.
Pure disaster had befallen them when they tried to get the man the gods wanted destroyed. Two powerful sorcerers had gotten in the way. Not one, but two. The dispute that ensued should have been lethal. In fact, until Shagot awakened silent and almost insane from thirst and hunger, Svavar suspected that the encounter had, in fact, been fatal.
Svavar dripped water into Shagot’s mouth with a rag. He fed his brother by spending hours pushing tiny wads of waterlogged bread past Shagot’s cracked lips.
Svavar was not in good shape. He had suffered more wounds and brutalities than Shagot. But he had come back faster than his brother, this time.
In moments when he thought beyond immediate survival, Svavar wondered what became of those two sorcerers. He and Grim had not had the power to destroy them. The Old Ones had not been that generous.
Something was out of kilter. Something did not ring right. And had not since the band broke up. This mission should not be this hard.
Svavar had memory problems, too. Reliability problems. Meaning he could conjure up several different but equally convincing memories of what happened after he and Grim had burst into the house that Grim said the Old Ones insisted was the Godslayer’s hideout. That resulted in an unexpected battle with sorcerers and Calziran pirates. A ghost, a shadow, a something strolled through that savagery, crafting its outcome. It was in every version of the memory, but Svavar could not compel it to become concrete.
Svavar worried. And was afraid. The Old Ones might not be the only Instrumentalities involved. The Night was no monolith. Other powers might have a different interest in the Godslayer. Though he believed those two wizards were only defending themselves. The Godslayer was incidental.
Had the Godslayer survived? A lot of people had not. Grim would explain when he awakened. If he awakened. Shagot was a man on the brink of life’s cliff, hanging on with two mangled fingers and a broken thumb.
Svavar’s suspected that he and Shagot owed that enigmatic shade their lives. How had they found a place to hide while they were unconscious?
Asgrimmur worried about being discovered before he recovered enough to fight back. These southerners were weak but not stupid. They knew something dark was afoot in Brothe. They were looking for a pair of blond strangers even before this latest dust up.
The hunt would be more serious, now.
Svavar did not know that Brothe remained preoccupied with the pirates. Sublime was not a forgiving man. He had threatened to excommunicate anyone who facilitated the escape of even one crippled old man or terrified teenage boy. The Patriarch, from the safety of Krois, was fierce and vengeful, much like his god in ancient times, before the Holy Founders redefined Him for a new age. So the pirates fought on.
Svavar would have found Sublime’s attitude familiar. It was the sort common among the Gray Walker and his kin.
***
WHEN SHAGOT FINALLY CAME AROUND SVAVAR SAW NO sanity in his eyes. He was not sure what he did see. The mind of a mad god, perhaps. If that was not an oxymoron.
Awareness gradually entered the mind behind Shagot’s eyes. Svavar saw the rage fade, noted the exact instant when Grimur Grimmsson returned. Though Grim did not come across as sane himself once he emerged.
“Don’t talk,” Svavar croaked. He had hardly trouble talking himself. “I don’t know how long it’s been. A long time. I’ve been awake, off and on, for two days.” In parched snatches he related the little he did know.
Shagot understood the seriousness of his own condition. He did not pursue his usual mad recovery effort. He accepted water and bread mush the best he could, then went back to sleep. Never saying a word.
Shagot slept for two more days.
Svavar slept a lot, too. He felt much better when Grim next awakened, though his strength was still less than half normal. His wounds still hurt badly. His j
oints ached. As did his soul.
This time Shagot did talk, a few words at a time. “It’s been eight days, plus. The city has changed. We have to leave. They’ll start looking for us soon. Seriously. House to house. Using the power of the Collegium. We can’t take them on. So we’ll go away and strike again after they forget us.”
“The Godslayer survived?”
“Of course. You doubted that he would?”
“I was pretty sure he had.”
“Want a real kick in the ass? We saved the asshole’s life by attacking when we did. The way it came together, the Gray One suspects the Trickster’s meddling. But I don’t think the Trickster has that kind of reach.”
“Something weird did happen, Grim. There was another power there, a shade, maybe. Something besides us and them sorcerers. Bigger than us and them put together. I think it would’ve kept us from killing the Godslayer if we’d tried. It saved us from getting dead, too, though. It even protected the sorcerers from us. No matter how hard I try, though, I can’t figure out who or what it was.”
“Which is why the Gray One thinks his nephew must be involved, if not directly, then through somebody he conned into doing his dirty work.”
“The All-Father doesn’t know what’s going on?”
“Some things are hidden from the gods themselves, particularly when other gods are involved.”
“What?”
“The presence you sensed must have been somebody who came through from the Great Sky Fortress during the fight. I think somebody seized the power of the blood just when some of the Chosen were going to come help us finish the Godslayer.”
Svavar did not understand. “We were supposed to be done with it?”
“Yes. We were that close. But somebody, probably from the Great Sky Fortress, sabotaged us. Somebody kept me from conjuring the Heroes.”
That clarified nothing for Svavar. He did not think the presence of the unknown was something new. He thought they had picked it up as long ago as at that old battlefield in Arnhand. But Shagot’s speculation did offer a glimmer of the divine plan as Shagot understood it.
Shagot said, “That somebody is still here, little brother. Out of the Night. On the mortal plane. And not far off. We need to be more careful, at least till we understand what’s going on.”
***
THE OWNERS OF THAT HOME MUST HAVE BEEN KILLED IN THE fighting. Nobody reclaimed the place. Nobody tried to loot it, either. People stayed away by the thousands.
Svavar found a razor. He shaved his face and head. He shaved Shagot, too. He appropriated clothing for himself. It did not fit right but he did not need to be a dandy.
“Grim, I can limp around, now. I’m gonna go see what I can find out.”
“Be careful, brother. I’m still too weak to tell if you get in trouble.”
“You bet, Grim.” He was careful. Always more so than Grim could imagine being. Grim had complete confidence in the favor of the gods. Everything had to work out when you had the Instrumentalities of the Night behind you.
Svavar, though, was deeply aware that they were in a land with alien gods. In Brothe the Old Ones were rats in the mystic walls. Noisy, malodorous, unpleasant, unwanted supernatural vermin.
***
SVAVAR FOUND BROTHE LITTLE CHANGED PHYSICALLY, BUT possessed of a new attitude toward the rest of the world, Calzir in particular. Everyone had a hate on for Calzir, now. And those who made decisions intended to take the suffering right back to the pirates’ homeland.
Fighting continued in a half-dozen areas where trapped Calzirans battled on. The Brothen strategy urged patience. Pirates were isolated, then ignored. Hunger would bring them out eventually.
There were a thousand rumors afoot. The Patriarch would proclaim a crusade against Calzir. The Grail Emperor would let his subject kingdom Alameddine become a jumping-off platform. He would participate himself.
Of more interest were rumors about the hunt for two blond sorcerers. Proclamations had been posted in public squares and nailed to the doors of churches. Svavar got their gist from literate passersby.
Svavar could ask questions safely as long as he pretended to be one of the immigrant mercenaries fighting the pirates. He returned to Shagot knowing as much as any Brothen in the street.
“We do need to move out, Grim. They’re putting together a gang to hunt us down. Two hundred men. They’re training right now. They’ve got a crew of sorcerers coming in, too. From something called the Special Office at the headquarters of the Brotherhood of War. They’re going to toss the whole city once they get here.”
“We’ll need a coach. Or a wagon. Something that can move me. I’ve got a while to heal yet.”
“But you always heal so fast.”
“This time, too. But this time I’ve got to get over death itself.”
“What?” Was Grim joking?” No.
“There’s no way I should’ve survived, little brother. Too much happened to me. It took the joined will of the Old Ones to blind death till my flesh recovered.”
Shagot sounded deeply disturbed. Maybe he did not understand that they were not wholly alive anyway. But death held no terror for Shagot. Never had. Ah! He did fear life as a cripple.
He had no choice while he remained touched by the gods. He would hunt the Godslayer forever, dragging himself forward with the one finger left on his one remaining hand.
“I’ll find out what we can do. I might have to buy something.”
“Do what you have to. Fast. We need to get a head start on those Special Office sorcerers.”
“You know about them?”
“They hunt and kill people like us. People touched by what they call the Instrumentalities of the Night. They want to destroy the gods themselves. Every god, every hidden thing, even the least little brother, except for their own god.”
***
SHAGOT WAS AWAKE WHEN SVAVAR RETURNED FROM TOWN. He looked better. “What’s wrong, little brother? You look like you swallowed a bug.”
“A big-ass stinkbug, Grim. We don’t have any money anymore.”
“Huh?”
“That asshole Talab that you picked to take care of it? He fucked us, Grim. He figured out who we are. He reported us to the Collegium. They took our money. Except for twelve percent that he got as a reward.”
“And?”
“So I killed him. After I made him tell me about it. I took money he had laying around. He wanted to pay me not to hurt him.” Shagot frowned, worried. “You got away with it?”
“I shook the guys chasing me before I crossed the river.”
It had not been easy. He had had help. There had been a woman, put together in the northern style. A woman Svavar was sure he had seen before but could not place. He knew no women here. During his sojourn in Brothe he had been more celibate than any Episcopal priest.
The woman had cast a glamour on the Deves chasing him. First, they lost their emotional edge. Then they became confused and vented their anger on one another.
The woman bewitched him when he tried to approach her. She seemed amazed that he had noticed her. She was his guardian angel? He did not tell Shagot. He did not know why. But he was sure Grim would be pissed off when he found out. Shagot said, “I still have some money in my bag.”
“All right. We’re out of time. Me killing that Deve asshole will get them stirred up all over again.”
“You’re right. Did you round up anything to eat? I’m fucking starving.”
“Good. I was worried.”
***
SHAGOT AND SVAVAR DEPARTED BROTHE FOUR DAYS AFTER Svavar gave the Deve money man what he had coming. They left via the gate they had used to enter the city. The guards there were not concerned about people leaving. Particularly people who did not look Calziran. Nor were they alert for three men, a dog, and a mangy mule pulling a wreck of a wagon. The third man soon stopped being part of the group. “Get the money back,” Shagot said from the wagon.
“As soon as this damned dog... Shit. Give m
e a sword. I’ll chop the fucker’s head off.” Svavar was not afraid of the mongrel, though it was large and still had most of its teeth. After the Great Sky Fortress it would never occur to Svavar to be afraid of any mortal hound.
He was in a foul temper. “Shit! He must’ve left the money with his woman.” He was not kind to the dog. “Don’t sweat it. We can always come up with money. Get shut of the bodies before somebody comes along.” Svavar did so, just in time. They had not traveled another two hundred yards before the vanguard of a cavalry force appeared ahead. Svavar guided the mule off the road in order to be out of the way.
“Recognize those standards?” Shagot asked.
“No. But the one with the keys must have something to do with the Patriarch.”
The soldiers were from Maleterra, where their job had been to hold the road to Brothe if the Emperor decided to lash out at Sublime.
Svavar wondered who was poking it to whom in the romance between Johannes and the Patriarch. The going was slow while the soldiers hogged the road. The Brothers turned east when they reached a road that ran across the Firaldian peninsula. Later, they turned south on the eastern coast road. Vondera Koterba was still hiring in Alameddine. His army would become their hideout.
Shagot remained immersed in his obsession. Shagot was confident that they would encounter the Godslayer again in Calzir. Svavar, no longer in control, lapsed into despair.
Svavar began to see things. Things that may have been there, following wherever he went — or maybe things that were just in his mind. Things that men who had not passed through the Great Sky Fortress would never notice.
***
THE WOMAN WAS TALLER THAN ANY OF THE SOLDIERS. SHE was attractive but not in the lush style favored in Firaldia. She was solidly built, well-muscled, without fat. She wore golden hair in braids rolled up at the sides of her head. Her stride was long and businesslike. The troops paid her little heed, which was remarkable for their sort.
The woman left the road. She moved some dead brush. Flies swarmed up, buzzing, angry about being disturbed at work. She considered the corpses of an old man and a headless dog.