Glen Cook - Surrender to the will of the night

In the event, Anselin of Menand proved as valiant and fierce an opponent as any warrior could want. Azim al-Adil and Nassim Alizarin avoided death in addition to humiliation only by being equipped with the faster horses.

The Praman infantry suffered. Those who survived did so by fleeing into terrain where their less numerous enemy dared not follow.

Having learned what he wanted to know, Indala sent reinforcements and orders to harass Gherig relentlessly. No traffic was to move westward out of Lucidia till he led the way himself, at the head of all the armies of Qasr al-Zed.

Azim admitted that there was a scheme afoot but he could not share details. He knew nothing. He had not been invited into Indala’s confidence.

Rogert du Tancret gathered his cronies in Vantrad. They laid wicked plans. Black Rogert made no effort to hide his ambition, which was to usurp the Holy Diadem, the supposed Crown of Aaron, which went to the kings of Vantrad. The Diadem, nominally, elevated Vantrad’s kings to lordship over the princes and counts of all the Crusader states.

King Berismond was fourteen, plagued by congenital infirmities, chronic diseases, and a marriage made out of political convenience. He always wore gloves and a veil. Clothilde, his queen, was twice his age. Her family had connections with the du Tancrets going back to the home countries. Clothilde had no objection to replacing her mostly useless, heirless, third husband with a fourth who had proven himself a real man.

The lords and knights of the Crusader states had strong feelings about Rogert du Tancret, and about honor. Individual interpretations led men to choose, to stand with Black Rogert or against him. Armed dispute seemed likely.

Both parties began wooing Gisela Frakier, du Tancret’s with less success. Some people did remember from one day to the next.

In Shamramdi Indala al-Sul Halaladin put in long hours rehearsing provocateurs who would try to get a deadly squabble started.

Nassim Alizarin underestimated Anselin of Menand just once. Thereafter he made the Prince’s life a hell on earth. Indala gave him the tools. He kept them sharp and used them often. 28. The Ninth Unknown: Castle in the Wilderness Pure misery. Misery rendered down, concentrated, coagulated, then force-fed to those experiencing it. Thus did Cloven Februaren think of his recent life. In a namby-pamby sort of way.

The decision to bring the Aelen Kofer to the fortress of the Bastard started the misery. That misery had not yet ended. That fortress had not yet been attained.

The Aelen Kofer could not be touched by the Construct. They could make no contact whatsoever with its powers. Neither Heris nor the Ninth Unknown had the strength to move the smallest, lightest dwarf using the Construct. They had to be sailed from the Realm of the Gods to the mainland. Then they had to walk. The sailing part took many trips over two weeks. The weather was that foul.

Iron Eyes insisted that his entire following make the winter trek. He feared the new middle world.

Cloven Februaren was expected to provide supplies.

He had no problem with the essential concept. It was winter. There was little to be had out there, by theft, hunting, foraging, or purchase. Most of which options would bring the Aelen Kofer to the attention of middle-worlders. Iron Eyes did not want to be noticed.

Cloven Februaren had a problem with the execution. The work involved was overwhelming. Supplies in quantity could be obtained unnoticed only in Brothe. Then they had to be transferred out to where the dwarf company labored across the icy landscape. Which going proved murderous early on.

Cloven Februaren and Heris put in eighteen-hour days just to keep the Aelen Kofer from starving.

It was a long journey and dwarves were hearty eaters. Weather never stopped being an evil challenge.

On the other hand, the Night was no trouble at all. The minor Instrumentalities seemed thoroughly dedicated to shunning the Aelen Kofer.

Dwarves were slow travelers. And reluctant, quarrelsome travelers. Some days the band did not move at all. Which left the Ninth Unknown thoroughly frustrated as well as exhausted.

Further complications arose once they reached lands where middle-worlders still lived.

Iron Eyes wanted to remain mythological. Forever, if possible.

Though the dwarves formed a sizable company, remaining unnoticed was not difficult at first. But that did take increasingly careful scouting. Which, of course, further slowed progress.

Februaren held off exhaustion long enough to get a meal inside himself. Iron Eyes intruded. “This would be easier if the Old Ones were still in charge. We could ramble around wherever we wanted and the folks would be eager to help.”

“Too bad they’re all sealed up, then. We could bust them out, easy, if they just weren’t all locked up.”

“You’ve got a sour attitude on you lately, you know that?”

“I expect it’s because of the company I keep.”

For sure. The Aelen Kofer were making him crazy. He was worried about his health. At his age he ought not to face prolonged stress and physical labor. Though he had the Construct to support him-he was, practically, part of that machine-there were limits to what he could overcome.

Most of today’s Grail Empire was wilderness. That had not always been the case. But the fall of the Old Empire and several passages of plague had reduced the population by two-thirds. The Aelen Kofer mostly went unnoticed when they stuck to the wilds.

There were incidents. Even deep wildernesses got visited by hunters, woodcutters, and just plain wild men who could not stand the stress of civilization. The more self-confident of those reported having seen dwarves.

The news caused no excitement. Country people knew strange beings lived in the woods. No local prince or count called up the levies.

The fortress had no name. The nearest village was eight miles away. No one there talked about the castle. The villagers seemed unaware that it existed. Few ever went into the forest more than half a mile. Yet a ghost of a road led to the fortress, a recollection of a way that might have been important in some century now forgotten.

Cloven Februaren used the Construct to be waiting at a gateway through what looked like an innocent boundary defined by a split rail fence. On his side, that frozen memory of a road, a biting wind, and scattered precipitation that felt like a shower of frozen needles. Beyond the fence, possibly a little less enthusiasm for winter. But only a little. Patches of ice and piles of snow were plentiful. There was a glistening glaze on otherwise barren branches. Some wore little icicles, like rows of teeth, on their undersides.

On the top sides there were crows.

The Ninth Unknown stared, only vaguely aware of the racket being made by the Aelen Kofer approaching. He tried to guess how many crows. How many hundreds of crows. Or maybe ravens. He could not tell the difference with them just sitting there. Nor did he much care when faced with the question of why they were silent and still.

Crows were never silent, and seldom still for long.

Sorcery.

“Of course it’s sorcery, you ass!” he muttered at himself. “The question is, what kind of sorcery? And to what point?”

“Double Great?”

Februaren jumped. Heris had turned into being beside him, unnoticed. “Just thinking out loud, child. You want to take a turn? Why are all those damned crows over there? And why are they so quiet? They ain’t sparrows but they still bicker in their damned sleep.”

“Somebody spelled them so you’d work yourself into an apoplectic lather worrying about why they’re quiet.” Then, in her best spooky voice, “Or maybe they’re not crows. Maybe they’re demons spelled to look like crows.”