Surrender to the Will of the Night (4 page)

The humor and mischievous sparkle fled Cloven Februaren. “Wow. Seeds of an international epic. I’d better shelve my lesser concerns and concentrate on this wedding. It is still on?”

Hecht did not catch the gentle sarcasm.

“Katrin worships the ground Jaime walks on. Though Jaime needs a good solid ass-kicking, to borrow a notion from Pinkus Ghort.”

“Who is getting fat commanding the City Regiment. Bronte Doneto and Pinkus Ghort make quite a team. Lords of Brothe, now, those two. What’s wrong with Jaime?”

“He’s much too impressed with King Jaime. He worships the man. And thinks the rest of the world should join in.”

That brightened the old man’s evening. He said, “Sounds like an opportunity.”

“As may be. …”

Madouc invited himself into the Captain-General’s bedchamber. He glared around suspiciously. “Who are you talking to?”

“Madouc?”

The chief lifeguard had suffered this before. “Gerzina heard voices.”

“Did any of them yell for help?”

“No, sir. But it’s a given that the man we’re protecting doesn’t have the God-gifted sense to call for it.”

Hecht was irked. But did not have the strength of conviction to tell Madouc that he was wrong or was getting above himself.

Something had to be done. They were too much at loggerheads, letting personalities get in the way of common sense. Someday he would bring Madouc’s worst fears to fruition by thoughtlessly disdaining the man’s advice. Meanwhile, Madouc exaggerated every slight in his own mind.

Friction. It had to be overcome. Somehow. Madouc was a good soldier, wasted in his current assignment.

“If you were Master of the Castella Commandery, Madouc, what job would you see yourself best suited to do?”

“Sir?”

“If you could pick your job, what would that be?”

Hecht did not expect an answer. Unless as some formula. The Brotherhood of War had countless rules they did not share with outsiders.

“Given a choice, I’d master one of the commanderies in the Holy Lands.”

“And protect pilgrims? Interesting. Have you asked?”

“The Brotherhood has begun to turn its face westward. Maybe because the west has begun to turn away from the Holy Lands. You and I have been involved in two crusades, now. Neither overseas.”

Madouc’s anger at his principal had transformed itself into anger at his own order.

“Have you asked?”

“No.”

“You should. A man ought to do God’s work in a way that comforts his soul. He’ll do a better job.”

Madouc had nothing to say about that.

“I suppose I ought to start getting ready.”

“Sir?”

“Letter from the Empress. Commanding me to attend her in privy audience. After the evening meal. That’s all I know.”

“There’s one thing you need to address. We caught that man Bo Biogna trying to sneak in here. I know you go back a way so I’ll defer to your judgment. He’s been asking a lot of questions about you, here, in Hochwasser, and elsewhere.”

“Principaté Delari warned me about this. Principaté Doneto considers me a traitor to his personal cause. He wants to find something bad about me from before we saved him that first time in the Connec. I’ve given him no ammunition since. Except by faithfully serving each employer instead of being his secret agent.”

“Will he find anything?”

“I doubt it. I never stayed anywhere long. As soon as I got up a stake, I headed farther south. Well, wait. I did steal a sack of turnips once, right after I started. Some bullies took my knife and cheese. …” He stopped. Madouc was astonished, hearing him open up. “Where is Bo? I know exactly what he was up to.”

***

“Hard times?” Hecht asked when Biogna came in. Bo was never a big man. The rags he wore hung loose. Hecht recalled them when Biogna filled them out.

“Yeah, Pipe. How’s it going?”

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Been going some cold, harsh places.”

“So I hear. You know you got Madouc’s guys all flustered.”

“I just wanted to see Joe. I heard he was here with you.”

“I thought so. I sent for him. You’ll understand if we don’t give you the run of the place. These others don’t know you like I do.”

Biogna’s gaze turned furtive for a moment.

Hecht asked, “You run into anything interesting up north? Like wild riders with animal skulls braided into their hair?”

“Nothing that outrageous. Just the Night being busier than it used to. You’d better carry some charms if you need to go out after dark. It gets worse the farther north you go.”

“Find out anything interesting about me?”

Biogna grimaced. “You didn’t stay anywhere long. Hardly anybody remembers you. But there’s always good things about you in the records.”

“I wanted to get to Brothe. I worked when I needed money. When I ran into you guys was the first time I let myself get distracted from my goal.”

“Paid off, though. For all of us. Especially you and Ghort.”

His good humor abandoned Hecht briefly. It had not worked out for most of the men of their little band. They were buried near Antieux.

“Yeah,” Biogna said. “For them as survived that nonsense. And Plemenza, afterward. We ain’t doing so bad. Hey! I met your brother.”

Hecht could not have been more startled if Biogna had pulled a knife. “What?”

“Your brother. Tindeman. You mentioned him a couple times.”

“But he’s dead.”

“Looked pretty healthy to me. Gone gray in the hair, though. And he’s got a nasty purple scar across his face that makes it hard for him to talk. But he’s alive and kicking. He’s an artillery engineer in Grumbrag.”

Hecht was too surprised to improvise. How could the Ninth Unknown have placed live people to support his backstory?

“You seem overwhelmed,” Biogna observed.

“I am. I’ve never been so surprised. I always thought I was the only one left. The fighting was really awful that year. Almost everyone on the Grail Order side was killed. Even if the Sheard were broken.”

Hecht was saved the need to dissemble further by the arrival of Bo’s friend, Just Plain Joe.

Joe was a big, slow, dull man with a genius for managing animals. Though he was a private soldier — Joe wanted no more responsibility — Hecht considered him one of his dozen key men. Joe knew animals. The Patriarchal army could not operate without countless animals if he wanted it to remain an effective, modern force.

Joe had cleaned up. Which explained why it had taken him so long.

Hecht said, “Look who’s here.”

“Yeah. They told me. Hey, Bo. Hey! You don’t want to get too close. I didn’t get that clean.”

“Look at me, Joe. Do I look like I’m ready for parade?”

Hecht called for food and refreshments. His lifeguards watched, carefully blank, while one of the more powerful men in the Episcopal world relaxed with a stable hand and a would-be trespasser.

Hecht had formed strong bonds with these men, Pinkus Ghort, and others who had not survived. Their variable fortunes since had not broken that bond. Even when they worked at cross-purposes.

Carava de Bos appeared. “I’m loath to interrupt, sir. But you have to see the Empress in just two hours. You need to eat and dress.”

“Thanks. Joe, Bo, duty calls. You guys enjoy yourself. Cederig.” Speaking to one of the lifeguards. “Mr. Biogna can stay as long as he likes. But he’s to go nowhere except here and the stables.”

Biogna would want to say hello to Joe’s tutelary mule, Pig Iron. Pig Iron had been with Joe since the beginning.

Hecht considered that mule a sort of philosophical signpost. The beast had an attitude toward the world. It served him well.

Hecht considered himself stubborn and nasty, too. Though he had yet to take a bite out of any of his friends.

***

Cloven Februaren twisted into existence while Hecht was dressing. Without help. He insisted on dressing himself, as much as he could, despite the status he had attained. It was almost as good as having a slave whisper in his ear.

The old man said, “I overheard your friend’s report. About finding your brother Tindeman in Grumbrag. I’m not guilty of that. My contributions to your backstory consist of false entries on minor payrolls. Did Begonia say anything he couldn’t have gotten from what you’ve told him about your past?”

“Yes. That someone I made up is alive and kicking in a city halfway between here and the permanent ice.”

“You think he told the truth?”

“Bo? I don’t know. He’s a clever little weasel. He could be running a game suggested by Bronte Doneto. To see my reaction. Only, I’d be more inclined to suspect Ferris Renfrow.”

“You’ve told the same tales so often you believe them yourself — unless you stop to think. You had Muno doubting facts about which there was no question, you lied with such conviction.”

Piper Hecht was not one hundred percent convinced that his “true” origins had not been sold to him the same way.

“True, I suppose. And Renfrow has spies everywhere.”

“Or he’d like us to think he does.”

“Maybe not so many as when Johannes was alive, but plenty. He’s thoroughly dedicated to the Grail Empire.”

“I’ll try to see this Tindeman Hecht.”

“I have to call somebody to help me with these last few laces. Some things I just can’t manage alone.”

“I can take a hint.”

***

For the after-dark walk to Winterhall, the Ege manse in Alten Weinberg, Madouc insisted on a guard that included both Kait Rhuk’s falcon teams, their weapons charged with godshot. Every man carried a brace of primed hand falcons and a burning slow match. Madouc absolutely expected an attack. An enemy would get no better chance.

Madouc thought not only about guarding his principal but about what potential assassins really hoped to accomplish.

Assassinations, in Madouc’s estimation, were highly symbolic, meant to make a mighty declaration. If he could guess what that might be, he should be able to guess when and where a killer would strike.

And he was not wrong. Though tonight’s would-be killer was but one starving, deranged spearman who charged out of the darkness, shrieking, intent on throwing his weapon.

“What did he say?” Hecht asked after the man had been rendered unconscious, tied, and turned over to local troops drawn by the bark of a hasty hand falcon.

“Something about Castreresone. We did something there that he didn’t like.”

Winterhall resembled the va Still-Patter house, built larger. Why did the Empress want to meet away from her palace? The grandeur there would overawe a beetle like Piper Hecht.

Madouc opined, “She knows you’ve seen Krois. You’ve seen the Chiaro Palace and the Castella dollas Pontellas. Her palace wouldn’t intimidate you. And she might want to be away from all the eyes and spies that go with a palace. Here she can talk with only a few noses poking in. Here she can get away from her fiancé.”

Rumor had King Jaime making himself thoroughly unpopular by acting like he was in charge. Katrin supposedly would not admit his bad behavior but had taken steps to neutralize it.

“Be interesting to see how much control she lets him have after the wedding,” Hecht said. Katrin Ege was used to having things her way. Often even over the objections of her Council Advisory.

“Indeed,” Madouc replied.

“What is that?” Hecht indicated construction they were passing. It could not be seen well by torchlight.

“Something being built by bankers from the Imperial states in Firaldia. Their own private fortress. You see more and more of them in northern Firaldia. Just round stone towers with only a few windows up high and just one small entrance maybe fifteen feet above the street. Good enough in family and city politics, where you don’t see heavy weaponry or extended sieges.”

Hecht recalled capturing a somewhat similar citadel in Clearenza, when Sublime V wanted to punish the local Duke. That place had had a ground-level entrance, though. And a larger footprint.

The Captain-General had to shed most of his party outside the Ege palace. And all of his weapons. Unarmed, Madouc was allowed to accompany him as far as the doorway of the sizable room where the Empress had chosen to see Hecht. He remained outside with a brace of humorless Braunsknechts.

The room was drawn from an eastern potentate’s fantasy, all silken pillows in bright colors. The air was heavy with rare incense. Six women were present. Hecht recognized the Empress and her sister. Katrin had aged badly. The other women were unfamiliar. They would be ladies-in-waiting, wives or daughters of important nobles.

It was a torment, avoiding staring at the Princess Apparent.

One of the women seemed aware of his problem. She looked him straight in the eye, mocking and flirting.

“Captain-General, come forward,” the Empress ordered.

Hecht pushed himself. He was able to pursue ceremonials under fierce pressure. He did those things an empress would expect, but once he completed his obeisance he dared say, “This is irregular in the extreme, Your Grace.” He understood that honorific pleased Katrin, though it was more suited to a Prince of the Church.

“It is. Yes. Sit. Be comfortable.”

The Captain-General did as instructed. The Empress had gained a regal air along with the haggard look. Helspeth had gained … something dangerous. More magnetism than in his frightened fantasies.

Katrin continued, “There are matters I want to raise with you. I couldn’t, elsewhere. As it is, my Council Advisory will fulminate and bluster when they hear about this. Jaime will be petulant. But not enough to endanger his chance to become Imperial Consort.”

The woman with the challenging eyes approached the Captain-General. She brought coffee in a little cup so thin the fluid level was evident from outside. The odor said this was the finest Ambonypsgan, smuggled through Dreanger and so expensive that only kings and princes dared enjoy it.

There was a message in the appearance of that cup. The Empress knew a lot about Piper Hecht. Including his fondness for coffee.

The woman who brought the coffee murmured, “Compliments of the Princess.”

She knew.

A glance at Helspeth. The Princess Apparent was not behind that message. She had best hope this woman was a true friend.