Lord of the Silent Kingdom (67 page)

Consent asked, “Why does the name matter?”

“Where I come from people worry about the names of ships. Crewman, do we have a veteran crew?

Men who have been aboard a long time?”

“Yes, sir. All experienced hands. We’ll get you there safely, sir. I promise.” He got away from the crazy man as fast as he could.

Consent said, “Sir, you’d better get hold of yourself. You’re being watched. The men have never seen you show fear or a lack of confidence. Headed into a war with a sorcerer of the apparent stature of Rudenes Schneidel is no time to strain their faith.”

“You’re right. Of course. You always are.” He had meant to mask his interest in the possibility that there might be someone aboard who could recall a down-on-his-luck, homeward-bound crusader named Sir Aelford daSkees. “But I can’t help thinking about what’s swimming around down there, waiting to eat me.”

“It’s good to see you have a human side, sir.”

“Sarcasm duly noted, Lieutenant. In your intelligence capacity, find out why Sonsa is suddenly best pals with King Peter. They’ve been in a halfhearted war with Platadura for the last hundred years.”

“That one’s easy. Economics. Sonsa lost. They’ve joined the winners. It’s their alternative to economic extinction.”

Probably true, Hecht thought. But … was there still some hidden connection with the Brotherhood of War?

Good thing it was Pinkus Ghort and the City Regiment who occupied Sonsa. Otherwise, these sailors might see a chance to pay off a grudge.

***

THE CROSSING WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO TAKE LONG. A little voice in Hecht’s ear promised him good weather all the way. He stayed out from underfoot and, when opportunity afforded, dipped into the letters from Anna and the kids. Over and over. Anna was stoically living the life of a woman whose man had a career that kept him away, a sort of benign, resigned, artificial widowhood. The children were living the excited lives of kids who had no wants and few fears. Pella’s letter was, in the main, a vehicle for showing off his rapid grasp of learning. Hecht was impressed but thought Pella needed to improve his penmanship.

Vali’s letter was brief and clearly a work of obligation. She was well. She hoped the war would be over soon so he could come home and make Anna smile more. Anna worried too much. There was a lot of rioting in the city, lately. She did not understand. She liked Lila, the girl he had sent.

And that was that. Except for the missive from Principatè Delari, which just told him to take care. To be prepared to undergo an intense educational experience once he returned to the Mother City.

Half of Hecht’s staff was aboard
Vivia Infante.
Colonel Smolens had been left behind. Hecht hoped to keep him in Sheavenalle, in control, indefinitely, as a logistical root for the Patriarchal forces in Artecipea.

Rather than having that support come out of Brothe, at the mercy of whatever political wind happened to be blowing there.

Staff work proceeded, as best it could with limited information. Hecht could not find anyone who had visited the area where he was expected to land. Some genius in Brothe had picked it off a map because it looked like a handy place to get behind the pagans. Brother Jokai — full name Jokai Svlada, from Creveldia — assured him that a Brotherhood team had crossed over from the Castella dollas Pontellas to explore the region. Quietly. They would be waiting for the fleet.

“That’s good thinking.”

“The Brotherhood has a lot of experience at these things.”

“What are the chances they’d be spotted by the enemy and captured? I wouldn’t want to show up and find an army waiting for me.”

“They’re good. They’re used to operating inside Praman territory in the Holy, Lands. Those who don’t learn how to do it don’t live to try it again.”

“I look forward to meeting these paragons.”

Clej Sedlakova came round. “Stomach all right, boss? You don’t seem as rattled as you were.”

“I’m fine. Too busy obsessing about the deep trouble we could be in after we get there to worry about being seasick.” Seasickness was troubling him not at all. Might Cloven Februaren be to blame?

He wished he could talk to the old man. But that could not happen. In his most private moments two lifeguards were within touching distance. Always. Even now. To them every Sonsan crewman was a potential assassin.

None of those men recognized Hecht. He wore his hair shorter now, affected a small goatee beard, and dressed like a Brothen noble. He bore no resemblance to the ragged, hirsute Sir Aelford daSkees. He did recognize several deckhands. None paid any attention to him.

Hecht consulted Drago Prosek often. Just three falcons remained functional. He wanted them instantly available for any confrontation with a major Instrumentality. He was sure something would come from the deeps to attack the fleet. There were old thalassic Instrumentalities uglier than any revenants stirring ashore.

A little voice told him he was wasting his worry. This enemy had no traffic with gods of the sea, nor with any lesser Night thing living on or under the water. Hecht refused to be reassured.

The first day the fleet followed the Connecten coast eastward, barely making headway. It was ninety miles from Sheavenalle to the mouth of the Dechear River. The fleet reached that around noon the second day. It hugged the coast thirty miles more, then turned directly south. The sailors expected to spy Artecipea before sundown the third day. Winds permitting. They would then follow Artecipea’s western coast to the landing site.

Piper Hecht experienced it as a far longer journey ihan the actuality. The first day was intense, the second more relaxed. There was nothing to do but talk. He pulled rank and forced himself on the ship’s master.

He wanted charts showing the land he had to invade.

Horatius Andrade was cooperative. So much so that Hecht became suspicious. But he trusted almost no one lately, Consent reminded him.

The charts were reliable, Andrade insisted, but concentrated on the waters off Artecipea, noting only those land features useful as navigational aids. Hecht asked, “Have you been this way before? Have you seen these coasts?”

“A long time ago. On another ship. It’s never been a friendly coast.”

“You know Homre?”

“Only by repute. It’s a glorified fishing village at the mouth of the Sarlea River. I haven’t been past in over twenty years. Sea levels have dropped. But even then we couldn’t have brought any of these ships into that harbor.”

“Are there beaches we can use?”

“Not there. Farther south. Do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar. Have you been aboard
ViviaInfante
before?”

“No. But I did sneak through Sonsa on a secret mission last year. Caused a big stir around a sporting house with galleons in the name.”

“Maybe. Strange. I remember voices better than faces.”

“I used to not have the beard and wore my hair in the Brotherhood style. Thanks for your help. I don’t think we’ll land at Homre.”

Clej Sedlakova joined Hecht late the second afternoon, after what little information anyone had about Artecipea had been talked to death. “Sir, I don’t know how, why, when, where, any of those damn things, but when I dipped into my locker to dig out something for supper, I found these under my stuff.

Sergeant Bechter says he thinks we have a guardian Instrumentality.”

Vivia Infante
had scores of lockers on her main deck, in places out of the way, there so travelers could stow their possessions.

“An interesting find, Colonel. An interesting find indeed. And so conveniently timed.”

“Maybe Bechter is right. Maybe not all the Instrumentalities are our enemies.”

“That occurred to me, too. Let’s hope it’s true.” Sedlakova had discovered copies of several ancient maps. The commentary on them was in Old Brothen. Not the Church version, either. They showed Artecipea as two islands. In modern times an isthmus joined them. Titus Consent said, “Sea levels have really dropped since classical times. Which means the changes in the world have been going on for a long time.”

The Unknowns had been following the process for centuries.

There were too many secret things going on. And too many perfectly banal, openmouthed evils driven by ambition or fanaticism distracting everyone from the creeping apocalypse.

Hecht saw no man in brown that day. Februaren must have polished his turn sideways trick. Neither Jokai Svlada nor Redfearn Bechter was particularly uneasy, either, so it might be that the old man was no longer aboard.

The Ninth Unknown had skills more frightening than those boasted by er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen. And the man was his ancestor? How deep did this madness run? What had he stumbled into?

“Who are you talking to?” Consent asked.

“Huh?”

“You’re muttering. You do that a lot these days. How come?”

Hecht told the truth. ‘Trying to get advice from my grandfather’s grandfather.” Titus would not believe him.

“All right. That might be useful.”

“Tell the captain I want to talk. We’re definitely going on down the coast.” Would the Direcian Principatè accept that? How would he get word to the other ships?

The sailors were more clever than Hecht expected. They used signals and fast boats to communicate between ships. They had done this before.

The Principatè did not object. He asked Hecht to explain his thinking. The Captain-General did so. Ships forced to lighter cargo ashore needed beaches more congenial than the dangerous, rocky coast around Homre, where sea levels had dropped a dozen feet since Andrade’s most recent charts had been drawn.

The boats would be too easily broken up in the pounding surf.

Landfall came the third day, just after noon. Soon pillars of smoke arose inland. Hecht said, “They were watching for us. So much for surprising them.”

Brother Jokai observed, “Surprise shouldn’t be necessary. There can’t be two hundred thousand people on all Artecipea. A lot live in the cities and are good Brothen Episcopals.”

“Or Deves, or Pramans, or Dainshaus, from what I hear. But I also hear that Rudenes Schneidel has found a lot of followers back in the mountains.”

Another reason Hecht had moved the landing. The northern lobe of Artecipea featured an almost complete circle of mountains forming a vast natural fortress. Someone seemed to have thought he should fight through that and dispose of the Unbelievers there. Hecht saw no point. The soul and center of the problem lay inside Arn Bedu, in the western mountains of the larger southern lobe.

“Why are they fighting?” Hecht asked. “Any of them?”

“To restore Seska,” the Witchfinder said, shuddering. “To resurrect one of the darkest, oldest Instrumentalities.”

“I get that. But, why? The pagans in the mountains, maybe they’ve fallen under the spell of a glib talker.

But what’s in it for Rudenes Schneidel? What is he promising them? What does he get for opening the way?”

Jokai cocked his head, considered the coast. “Immortality? Power? The things that turn up in all the stories about wicked sorcerers? Ascension? That sort of went out of fashion after Chaldareanism and al-Prama began promising an eternal afterlife.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“In ancient times a clever, powerful man, unencumbered by any concern for his fellows, could ascend to Instrumentality status. Could become a god. Which explains those old Dreangerean gods with the heads of animals and bodies of men. They started out as real priests who elevated themselves by preying on the rest of Dreanger. Facilitating their own ascension through alliances with older Instrumentalities.

Seska was a particular favorite.”

“Is that what Rudenes Schneidel is up to?”

“I think so. The Special Office thinks so. We’ve had no luck convincing anyone else. This expedition isn’t about that. This is Pacificus Sublime paying off King Peter for making him Patriarch. Peter wants Artecipea for its location and resources. And because it will make him lord of more lands than any Chaldarean but the two emperors.”

“Things to think about.”

The fleet raised Homre late in the afternoon. Too late to land. The shoreline was inhospitable. The bottom was muddy and not far down. The vessels closed up and anchored. The charts showed the mouth of a small river, the Sarlea, which was not obvious to the eye. There was none of the brown outflow common at the mouths of major rivers.

Brother Jokai went ashore to find his Brotherhood compatriots. He returned with six lean, hard men within hours. Only one was injured.

Jokai said, “You’re right to move the landing site. There are thousands of pagans in the hills up there.

They mean to swoop down while we’re landing tomorrow.”

“Ah. So not only did they know we were coming, they knew where we were supposed to come ashore.”

Jokai’s ripe henchmen nodded. They did most of their communicating by gesture. Their mouths were busy eating.

“Interesting. You have to ask yourself how they managed that.”

“Their great sorcerer leader can spy on people from afar.”

Hecht thought Rudenes Schneidel had agents spying for him.

Jokai continued. “They tell me the sorcerer is desperate and frightened. He believes that Piper Hecht is the only thing that can thwart his ambitions. He believes that powers greater than you are using you to block every effort he makes to relieve himself of your threat.”

“Good to hear. Though every time I turn around, here comes another Artecipean assassin.”

One of the recon brothers paused long enough to say, That’s how come the sorcerer thinks you got allies inside the Night. Clever things never get near you. Clumsy assassins do. Schneidel’s followers were convinced that some great, grim sea Instrumentality would devour you during your crossing. It didn’t happen. Nothing even tried. Now they’re all terrified that you might be a revenant yourself. Maybe one of the old war gods who infested the lands around the Mother Sea in pagan times.”

Hecht shook his head. “We’ve stumbled into a superstitious age, haven’t we?”

Jokai and the recon brothers eyed him narrowly, themselves not entirely sure that he was not more than just a man.