Glen Cook - Surrender to the will of the night

“Vircondelet. I have something to do. You’re in charge till I get back. Keep things moving. And be ready for trouble.”

“The locals say there’re no…”

“Ready for trouble, Mr. Vircondelet. It’s stalking us now. Don’t let it surprise us.”

“Yes, sir. As you command.” Clearly puzzled.

Hecht strode through the ruins of the manufactory, bent by his burden. He found Katrin’s lifeguards in a frenzy of activity. They had no specific invitation, and seemed determined not to coordinate, but were not eager to be left when the Righteous departed.

Hecht cornered Captain Ephrian. “I need to see her. Now. Bad news.” Rather than argue, he presented the note.

“Oh, shit. Holy fucking shit. You think it’s true?” In a flat, stunned monotone.

“I can’t imagine my men sending the news the way they did if it was just a rumor.”

“I’ll take you to her, she likes it or not, because I don’t want to be the one who tells her.”

“Coward.”

“Damned straight.”

“She’ll take it hard.”

Ephrian growled, “She’ll go way beyond the bug-fuck she already is. I’m willing to bet.”

Hecht would not have stated it that colorfully but he agreed. Katrin would do something dramatic.

She was not pleased to see him. She tried to avoid talking to him.

“Your Grace. I’ve just received terrible news from my intelligence chief. You need to know. Right now.”

“Speak. And it had better be interesting, Commander.”

“There was a battle near Khaurene, in the Connec. Connectens and Direcians fighting King Regard of Arnhand, who invaded the Connec at the bidding of the Patriarch.” Underscoring the obvious.

Katrin went from imperious and impatient to pale, bowed, and bleak. “Tell me.”

“King Peter of Navaya and King Jaime of Castauriga were slain in the fighting.” He did not try to soften the reality. He wanted to get in quick, deliver the blow, get out, and let Katrin bring her Ege iron to bear.

Katrin barked, “Don’t toy with me, Commander! I made you. I can unmake you in an instant.”

“You can, Your Grace. I merely report. How you respond is up to you. But the fact remains, there’s been a disaster in the Connec.”

The Empress fixed him with a searing gaze. She did not speak. Her attendants began to shuffle and mutter, worried. Hecht met her eye steadily. He did not like what he saw, a huge internal collision between personalities, each demanding control of the mind’s interface with the exterior world. A momentarily dominant personality asked, “You hired ships to move the material you captured?”

“I did. With what success isn’t certain. The courier who brought this news knows. But he collapsed before he could report.”

“There’ll be ships, then. We’ll cross the Vieran Sea.”

“What? Your Grace? What?”

“Serenity’s mad greed has made a widow of me. Now I’ll make him long for the quiet, gentle affections of my father before I kill him.”

Hecht gulped air. He gurgled. He trembled. This was… He could not find an adequate metaphor. He looked to the heavens. For a sign? In an appeal for divine intervention? The heavens did not speak. He saw nothing but a low overcast. Rain was coming.

Katrin said, “Forget the Holy Lands, Commander. We won’t be going till my barons have had their fill of what they’ve wanted since I took the ermine.” In a fainter voice, to herself, she said, “I can’t believe he betrayed me.”

Hecht concealed mild elation. He would not have to make war on his religious kin. For now.

Then he thought about Pinkus Ghort and other friends still active in the Patriarchal forces.

“That’s your decision, Your Grace?”

“Yes. Irrevocable. Serenity must be punished.”

“Then I’ll leave you. I have fresh work to do.”

The Commander of the Righteous watched unhappy soldiers board ships, none of those large. The horses were less pleased than the men.

Titus Consent arrived, gasping. “It’s really real, what I hear?”

“Yes. And completely off the cuff. Great job pulling the transport together.”

“Not really. I had only to say the Empress wanted to hire ships. There isn’t much work for these sailors, these days. That’s every boat and coaster capable of being bailed fast enough to not sink.”

“We’ll use them all. I’m taking four hundred men and the captured falcons. Messengers are headed for Glimpsz with orders for men there to get down to the coast so they can be brought along next.”

“You intend to invade Firaldia with four hundred men?”

“They won’t be expecting me. And Katrin will call out the garrisons of the Imperial cities.”

Consent grumbled, “I don’t believe it.”

“It’s a challenge.”

“Sounds like a suicide run.”

“The first Praman army to invade Direcia numbered seven hundred.”

“It isn’t so much the numbers. What gets me is, we’re getting distracted from our proclaimed task again.”

Hecht frowned. “Explain.”

“Once upon a time we were hired to help tame the Connec. You were, actually. I didn’t know you then. You ended up conquering Calzir instead. Then, a while later, you were back in the business of taming the Connec and doing a damned good job, thanks to my help. You had the eastern half in the bag. Then we get a new Patriarch and we’re off to pound on some pagans in Artecipea instead. So. Now we’re supposed to be getting ready for the biggest damned crusade ever to head into the Holy Lands. And we’re getting on with it really good. But. So. All of a sudden, here we go again, getting aimed in a different direction.”

“You could be on to something. Makes you wonder about divine intervention, doesn’t it?”

“Divine distraction, maybe.” Titus counted ships. “If I was inclined to worry, I’d wonder why God is suddenly pissed off at Serenity.”

“Maybe the Maysaleans are right. Maybe their Good God is stepping in.”

Titus was appalled. Titus took his faith seriously though he was no fanatic concerning points of dogma.

No one told the ship owners and sailors where they were headed till after the troops and cargo were loaded. The soldiers themselves were not informed till it was too late for news of their coming to beat them across the Vieran Sea. Thirty-two vessels put out with the feeble evening tide.

The Mother Sea was landlocked. Tides there were minimal. Only in very narrow places were they of much import.

There was vast confusion. The sailors had no experience sailing in convoy. Despite that, collisions were few and did no harm. Only one small vessel was lost. It went hard aground on an unexpected rock near the Firaldian coast. Crew and passengers survived. The weather turned no worse. The wind blew just hard enough to carry the fleet across quickly enough to let the landing start at sunrise, after forty-two hours at sea.

The landing took place on a beach of Vis Corcula, one of the least of the Patriarchal States, though a principality. It was not strong. Prince Onofrio was not fanatically devoted to the Patriarchal cause. He should do little more than go through the motions.

Ashore, Hecht polled his troops, looking for someone who knew the territory.

He settled for a peasant couple whose curiosity brought them too near and whose cupidity overruled their patriotism.

By midmorning a comfortable villa with a sea view had become Imperial headquarters. By noon the Empress herself had taken up residence, her presence undesired but her behavior beyond reproach. She did not interfere. Having declared the strategic objective she was content to let her Commander deal with operational details. For the moment.

Piper Hecht pushed on with two hundred men and fourteen falcons, toward Fuerza. His lieutenants took smaller bands to show the colors in the principality’s villages.