Lord of the Silent Kingdom (66 page)

Hecht exchanged glances with his staff. De Herve noticed. “I see you agree.”

“I never understood why Sublime was so adamant about exterminating them.”

“Did you ask?”

“I did. I got a rambling answer that made no sense. But I’m not paid to ask questions. I’m paid to get things done.” The Witchfinder made a startled squeak and spun. Everyone stared. He said, “Must have been a flea.” But he did not believe that.

“Knock it off, old man,” Hecht said.

Now everyone stared at him, the Witchfinder with abiding suspicion.

De Herve said, “Pacificus Sublime wants the crusade shifted to Artecipea.”

“Which explains the fleet.”

“Yes.”

“You can’t manage Artecipea with the troops you have there now?”

The Principatè managed to appear baffled.

“King Peter has put several thousand soldiers in there. Sonsa is involved, too. And wasn’t there a significant victory not long ago?”

“Each victory makes it more difficult to manage the survivors.”

The Witchfinder said, “We’re convinced that the chaos in the Connec has Artecipean influence behind it.

That it was meant to be a diversion from what’s going on over there. What we found in Calzir, especially at al-Khazen, has led some of us to believe there’s a greater threat than Praman ambition. We first encountered the name Rudenes Schneidel there. We think that Schneidel developed his dread of the Captain-General after seeing what happened there. For some reason, the Night has decided that Piper Hecht is a walking, talking doom destined to destroy it. Unless he’s destroyed first.”

“What?”

De Herve nodded agreement. “Brother Jokai puts it plainly. All who commune with the Night know the Instrumentalities fear you irrationally and excessively.”

Hecht felt a chill. Those who communed with the Night might learn more about the Godslayer than he wanted known. “I don’t understand.”

Jokai said, “You don’t have to, Captain-General. None of us do. We accept what is and deal with that reality.”

A man from the Special Office of the Brotherhood of War talking about accepting the Night as it really was?

De Herve said, “That’s neither here nor there. The Patriarch wants to know if you’ll stay on if the crusade shifts to Artecipea, Rudenes Schneidel, and his corpse birds, these Asparas of Seska.”

That startled Hecht. Asparas were Sky Dancers. Minions of Kharoulke the Windwalker. Seska, the Endless, was an Instrumentality of the same ancient age and dark dominion, but from the pantheon that had preceded all other pantheons in Dreanger. “Seska? Asparas I understand. For the Windwalker they were like the ravens who brought rumors and whispers to Ordnan.”

Jokai explained Seska. Great Old Gods must be his specialty. He concluded, “Seska is something like an older, darker Adversary. Some think Seska has survived into modern times, in reduced circumstance, hiding parts of himself in the devils of our age.”

“All right,” Hecht said. “I don’t get it. But I don’t have to. I’m a soldier. I get paid to get things done.

Principatè, are we supposed to ship over to Artecipea right away?”

“Yes. Sorry. The campaign hasn’t gone well, lately. The thinking …”

“Excuse me. Titus, see what that man wants.”

The meeting would not be interrupted for trivialities.

Consent came back. “He didn’t say how the information came. There’s been some big sorcerous event in the catacombs in Brothe. Not as destructive as the one that destroyed the hippodrome, but Principatè Delari’s house fell into a hole. The catacombs collapsed underneath it.”

The temperature dropped suddenly and dramatically. Hecht’s ears popped.

De Herve asked, “What just happened?”

Jokai said, “Something left us. I felt it before. Now I don’t.” He seemed more worried than ever.

Hecht asked, “Could that be connected with this?”

“What happened in Brothe?”

“Yes.” Hecht watched closely. The Witchfinders were close to Bronte Doneto. Though Cloven Februaren claimed that Hecht and Principatè Delari had misinterpreted events in the catacombs badly.

That those Witchfinders had not been in league with the monster Delari slew under the hippodrome. The animosity between Doneto and Delari was, however, real. And there had been congress between the Witchfinders

and Rudenes Schneidel, the latter unaware that he was dealing with the former. Schneidel thought he was manipulating ordinary Special Office sorts, his goal the destruction of the Godslayer. The Witchfinders wanted to worm deeply enough into Schneidel’s scheme to get at the man trying to resurrect the horrors of antiquity. Hecht’s walk-through in Sonsa, with Pinkus Ghort, had started all that unraveling.

The Ninth Unknown had reported all that in snippets during the Connecten campaign. He had discovered no real significance to Vali Dumaine, however. He could not even confirm old Bit’s claims about the girl’s origins.

“Probably. The Artecipeans have been active there. As you know.”

“Yes.”

“You seem particularly disturbed by this news.”

“I’ve been close to Principatè Delari. He’s been especially kind to me and mine.” In truth, though, what troubled him was confirmation that Cloven Februaren could move from one place to another without setting foot to the ground between.

There was much to learn about his guardian angel.

Principatè de Herve asked, “How long will you need to get ready for transport?”

“I could start some units loading tomorrow. But our animals might be a problem.”

De Herve said, “Transport won’t be any trouble. These crews know how to move troops and animals, both. Loading in this port could become an adventure, though. Sea levels have dropped so far that only smaller vessels can warp in to the wharves and still have water under their keels at low tide if they’re loaded. The pilot who brought us in said the dredges can’t take any more mud off the bottom.

Sheavenalle’s senate

has talked about building new wharves farther out. But if the Mother Sea keeps getting shallower they’ll have the same problem again in a few years.”

“They should build floating wharves that can be pushed out as the shoreline moves.” That seemed obvious enough.

“But they aren’t there now. It’s now that we need to load.”

Hecht made himself unpopular by talking about loadmasters and cargo other than human. His force came with an immense amount of duffel, weaponry, equipment, and animals. A lot of technical, dull business stuff had to be managed so the men with sharp steel could show up where they were needed, with tents to sleep in, food to eat, and horses to ride.

His lifeguards and the Brothers were relaxed, now. They no longer expected a head-butting contest.

Once he had bored the newcomers cross-eyed witty workaday details of army management, Hecht said,

“Colonel Smolens, assemble the officers. Explain what we’ve been asked to do. Be clear. I want them to poll the troops. Find out how many will stick with us.” There had been a lot of talk about seeing Brothe again, at all levels.

Smolens said, “I don’t think many will drop out.”

“We need hard numbers. We have ships to load. We have a new war to plan.” In a land almost completely unknown.

The Captain-General was tired. He was seeing double. It was deep in the night. He was studying bad maps with men from the transport fleet, none of whom had been to Artecipea. They knew only that the new Patriarch wanted them to land on the west coast of Artecipea, near Homre, a fishing port on the north lobe of the island.

Artecipea consisted of two distinct land masses joined by an isthmus at one point only slightly more than a mile wide. The northern mass was a third the size of the southern. The northern people spoke a language not unintelligible to the folk of the End of Connec. Those from the south could make themselves understood to outsiders only with difficulty. According to Principatè de Herve Artecipea strongly preferred the Seska revivalists, other pagans, Pramans, and several varieties of primitive Chaldareans, to the Brothen Episcopal Church. Brothen Episcopals controlled only a few port cities. God and the Church had a more solid grip up north, though the mountain peoples there were all pagans, too, and lately devoted to Rudenes Schneidel.

All the fighting, so far, had occurred on the southern lobe.

Pacificus Sublime wanted to land an army behind an enemy focused south and east. A powerful, veteran army commanded by a man who had scores to settle with Rudenes Schneidel.

Hecht understood the thinking. He could not find fault with it. He could not imagine Schneidel having anticipated what was about to happen.

A change of Patriarchs changed the world.

Titus Consent, scarcely able to keep his eyes open, brought news Hecht would have waited, willingly, years to hear. “It’s a day for harsh news, boss,” Titus said.

“Give it to me. I’m numb enough to take anything, now.”

“King Charlve suffered a massive stroke and died. It looks legitimate. Anne of Menand was nowhere around when it happened. But she was ready to go. She got hold of the instruments of power before anyone could catch their breath. That’s just in from Salpeno.”

“What’s it mean for us?”

“Not much. It may mean a lot for Arnhand and the Connec. Despite her loose behavior, Anne is very religious. And ambitious. The Connec, with its heretics, has already given her excuses to express the one through the other.”

Hecht frowned. “Oh? Which is which?”

“Write it yourself. It doesn’t matter.”

“We’re out of it now, though, aren’t we?”

“We should be.”

“Are you going home? Or are you coming with me?”

“I’m going to Artecipea. Reluctantly. I have a child I’ve never seen.”

“Noë deserves sainthood. On a throne in Heaven right beside Anna.”

“Anna is more used to being her own mistress.”

“Do you wonder about the Night determining times of drastic change? About what forces might be in motion?”

“You just lost me, Captain-General.”

“In an historically minuscule time span we’ve lost a powerful Grail Emperor, a driven Patriarch, and the sovereign of the most militantly religious Episcopal Chaldarean kingdom. All harbingers of dramatic change. Especially considering the advance of the ice.”

Titus grunted indifferently. He was too tired to worry about it. “I’m going to bed. Court-martial me if you want. Execution is starting to smell sweet.”

“So waste your life on sleep, weakling.” Hecht settled into a chair, out of the way, and tried to relax, rest, and recuperate while he eavesdropped on his deputies and the men from the fleet.

Hecht’s ears hurt suddenly, briefly. For one instant the air. seemed dense and oppressive. He did not care. He was too tired.

“False alarm,” someone breathed into his ear. “Muniero is fine. Heris is fine. Anna and your children are fine. I’ve brought letters from all of them. There was some damage to the town house. Likewise, certain other properties. There is little likelihood of further problems. In the short run. Joceran Cuito has a new vision for the Church.”

Piper Hecht pretended he heard the voices of distant ancestors, out of nowhere, all the time. “What will the new situation in Arnhand mean?” Hoping to catch the Ninth Unknown out He did not. “Misery for the End of Connec. In time. You’ll be able to throw up your hands and say it wasn’t your fault You were gone before the real wretchedness started.”

Hecht had no idea what the ancient was babbling about. He did have brainpower enough to realize that his mutterings were attracting attention. Jokai, in particular. The Witchfinder had that constipated look again. Hecht said, “Gentlemen, I need to go lie down. I’ve started talking to myself.” His staff could see what needed doing and could get on it without detailed instructions.

Hecht removed his boots before lying down. Nothing more. “I meant what I said about resting. There’s nothing that needs talking about so desperately that it can’t wait till I’m able to uncross my eyes.”

“I brought letters.”

“They’ll be there in the morning. Go away.” He closed his eyes. Briefly, he wondered how Februaren accomplished so much in so little time. Then his lifeguards were rousting him out. One told him that Madouc would survive his wound. Again. “The man needs to retire. You can’t win, you keep throwing the bones with Death.”

That got him some looks.

Despite obstacles and confusion, a dozen loaded ships warped out next day. To Hecht’s surprise, most of the Patriarchal soldiers had chosen to stay. He blamed that on the harsh times.

Those who had become part of the army during its progress through the Connec were those most inclined to leave. Men with families did not want to leave them behind.

***

HECHT WAS ABOARD SHIP AND EXTREMELY UNCOMFORTable. He did not like travel by ship. And this ship in particular disturbed him.

Titus Consent joined him at the rail, in the waist of the vessel, where he stared back at Sheavenalle. “It’s official, sir. The ships will have to make two trips. We’re moving more people and animals and stuff than I would’ve thought possible.”

“It’s pretty impressive when you lump it all together.” Hecht caught a glimpse of a man in brown trying to avoid notice on the crowded deck. That was good for a boost.

Consent asked, “Why the bleak look?”

“Ever been out on the Mother Sea?”

“No.”

“You’ll figure it out.”

“When were you ever out?”

“When Ghort and I sneaked off to Sonsa.” Sonsa? The wrongness about the ship hit him. He had been aboard her before, coming over from Staklirhod.

“What now?” Consent asked. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“I just remembered how awful it got when we hit bad weather. Pray there aren’t any storms. Are there storms sea this time of year? Do you know?”

“No. Of course not.”

Hecht caught a passing deckhand. “Are there storms out there this time of year? What’s this ship’s name?”

Head cocked, not quite sure about the Captain-General’s sanity, the deckhand said, “Not so many storms this time of year, sir. In another month, month and a half, maybe. Her name is
Vivia Infante,
sir.”