Glen Cook - Surrender to the will of the night

That part of the story, Februaren saw, was no mystery to the girl. And nothing there needed hiding from eavesdroppers.

The visit in the quiet room was brief. Delari gave Heris the details of the raid. “They must have watched me for a long time. Sadly, I am a creature of habit. Mrs. Creedon isn’t. Her being out at the same time was sheer happenstance but lucky for her.”

Heris said, “You mentioned guests. Which is why we’re in here, isn’t it?”

The Ninth Unknown explained, “I rescued three prisoners from the Dometia woman’s cellar. I left two more who died not long enough ago to be skeletons. They hadn’t been robbed. They were Brotherhood of War. Muno thinks they were Witchfinders that Bronte Doneto considered dangerous witnesses. Maybe the last two men, besides Doneto, who knew what he was up to in the catacombs, back when. It’s an easy guess why he had the catamite, Armand, and Pella locked…”

“Pella? Our Pella?”

“The very one. He finally got out and had himself an adventure. He should be more pliable, now. If he has the sense God gave a toad. It’s pure luck he isn’t still down there.” Februaren mused, “I wonder… You think it might’ve been a better lesson if I’d left him there for somebody to find after the bodies are discovered? Might’ve made a huge political splash, too.”

Heris said, “They’ll find the dead Witchfinders, won’t they?”

Principat? Delari said, “I despair of the boy’s capacity to learn. He is recovering, though. The others aren’t doing as well. They might have been down there too long.”

Heris demanded, “The Patriarch meant to get at Piper and Grandfather through Pella and Armand?”

“Mostly your brother, I think,” Delari said. “Armand was another agent of Dreanger who came over before Piper did. They knew each other. Armand might have said something he shouldn’t and Doneto was saving him for the right time.”

Februaren said, “Pella says he wasn’t tortured. He can’t speak for the others. He was only there a few days, while Serenity was busy looking for ways to save his own ass.”

Heris sat quietly, digesting information. Minutes passed. Finally, “Are we going to let Serenity know that we don’t approve of his behavior?”

Even Februaren was startled. “Dear girl! You don’t think Donna Carmella was enough?”

“Oh. Yeah. I suppose. Was she really that important to him? Hell. Never mind. We’ll take a closer look once we’re done in the Realm of the Gods. I need time in a good bed and a good breakfast afterward, myself.”

Bronte Doneto, on becoming Patriarch, had not moved his personal household into Krois. No Patriarch did. The Patriarchal apartment in that great fortress was part of the mystery of the position. As all Patriarchs did, Doneto left his home in the care of trusted relatives, protected by powerful sorceries.

In the wee hours a cloaked figure materialized in the hallway outside the room Principat? Bronte Doneto had used as his personal work space and den, where he kept his most treasured possessions, including an extensive collection of rare wines and spirits. The office was guarded by an equally extensive collection of deadly spells. Anything living entering that room would die instantly. Fallen insects marked the kill line.

The cloaked figure carried a small barrel. Contents and all, that weighed thirty-five pounds. A foot of smoldering slow match protruded from one end. The figure set it down on its side, used a foot to roll it through the deadly doorway. The barrel wobbled and shifted directions but came to rest against the leg of an ornate chair.

The cloaked figure vanished.

The faintest forerunner of dawn’s light had begun to taint the overcast. An explosion ripped a hole through the south wall of the third floor of the Doneto town house. Fragments of gray stone flew a hundred yards. In the stillness following the explosion the structure creaked and groaned. Then the rest of the north face yielded to the seduction of gravity.

Fires burned inside.

The neighborhood panicked. Volunteers poured out. Fire was the bane of all old cities.

This fire failed in its struggle to live and grow.

Heris and the Ninth Unknown twisted into existence quayside in the Realm of the Gods, she seconds after he, though he had left the Delari town house twenty minutes ahead. He said, “I think I know why you look haggard this morning, girl.”

“I’m not used to a plush bed anymore.”

“Oh. Somebody got into the Patriarchal magazine at Krois last night. A keg of firepowder went missing. One of only six that Krois possessed.”

“Intriguing. Why would somebody do that?”

“Got me. But later an explosion took the whole north wall off Bronte Doneto’s town house.”

“Amazing. And it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving fellow. Here’s the welcome crew.”

Korban Iron Eyes and Asgrimmur Grimmsson were headed their way.

A dozen more dwarves were visible, all hard at work.

Cloven Februaren said, “Iron Eyes. I thought we were going to get your people out of here before we opened the way.”

“We will. Meantime, we keep on working to make sure everything goes right. Heris, everything you wanted is ready to go.”

“Even the spear?”

“Twelve spears. Two formulations. Held together by the same magic that binds the rainbow bridge.”

“Korban, I could kiss you.”

“Long as my woman doesn’t see.”

“That’s beautiful, Korban. Absolutely wonderful. You’re a genius. Now all I need is a way to get everything over there.”

Jarneyn actually winked. “No problem. It’s Andoray. Heart of the realm ruled by the Old Ones. Aelen Kofer can turn up anywhere in Andoray. And we have. The engines are in place. The spears are ready to go.”

Februaren asked, “What’s going on, Heris?”

“I had a lot of time on my hands while we were waiting for my falcons. I cooked up a way to sap the Windwalker’s strength.”

Iron Eyes chuckled. He approved. Definitely.

Februaren frowned. The girl was up to no good. Again.

Iron Eyes was more amused.

The ascendant seemed equally entertained.

Grimmsson seemed to have taken a vow of silence. He just stood there looking goofy.

Heris asked, “Where’s the Bastard?” Getting no answer, she demanded, “Did anyone bother to let him know we’re ready?”

“He’s hard to reach,” Iron Eyes said. “If you’re a short, wide, hairy person who has difficulty with the language. And Asgrimmur is likely to be attacked on sight.”

“Asgrimmur, if he put his mind to it, could walk into the throne room of the Grail Empire as anybody he wants to be. I smell a steaming hot pile of laziness. Double Great and I shouldn’t be the only ones who do anything.”

Iron Eyes just looked back blandly.

“You got a golden tongue on you, girl,” Februaren said. “Sorry, Iron Eyes. When she’s cranky she has this wicked knack for saying exactly the right thing.”

“I’ve gotten used to it.”

“The Bastard hasn’t been informed?”

“We don’t know. We’ve tried. My sense is, he’s ignoring us.”

“We’ll see about that.” Februaren faced the water. “Take me outside. I’ll snag the asshole by his twisty little piggy tail and drag him back.”

Heris said, “I never cease to be amazed by your confidence, Double Great.”

“You just make sure everything stays set.”

Cloven Februaren was gone. Heris collected Iron Eyes and Grimmsson and plied them with the best dark ale in the Aelen Kofer tavern. “So what do you think? Should we just hang around drinking? Or should we pass the time trying out my method?”

“I’m up for that,” the ascendant said.

Iron Eyes considered Asgrimmur with a veiled expression, then Heris. “My young bucks will be eager. But they’ll need to be called in and briefed. Then they’ll have to go back to our world to make the transit.”