Glen Cook - The Tyranny of the Night

The occasion was a gathering in the lookout cottage. Else and his staff spent their days there, now. Grade Drocker was a fixture. A continuously changing cast of Principatйs wandered through. Discussion concerned the feasibility of building a stockade around the city, then constructing small forts capable of laying fires on the approaches to al-Khazen's gates and sally ports.

Grade Drocker eyed Principatй Bruglioni like he was a lunatic. Ghort suggested, "We ought to talk that over with my boss." He indicated Bronte Doneto. Doneto stared at al-Khazen, dirty gray behind a fall of snow dust, like he wanted to smash it fast so he could get on home.

Drocker, wheezing and gasping as ever, declared, "If the Patriarch wants those walls stormed he can drag his craven carcass down here and lead the charge."

Ghort said, "Of course. Time will deliver al-Khazen. The Patriarch needs money, let him borrow it again."

He stated the plain truth about al-Khazen. The invaders' circle kept tightening. And the city's storehouses did not contain the grain shown by the records. Corrupt officials had sold it over the years.

Foraging parties had no success. Raiding parties failed to capture Chaldarean stores. In areas held by Episcopal troops, every Praman effort encountered disaster.

Drocker agreed with Ghort. "Sublime needs money, let him borrow it from the Deves." Then, "Doneto will hammer some sense into his head.”

"And if he can't?"

"We ignore the ignoramus. We took no oath to commit suicide for Honario Benedocto."

Else suspected there was a personal component to Drocker's relations with the Patriarch.

Drocker spoke in spurts punctuated by gasps for breath, but lately the spoken chunks were longer and the interruptions shorter. "You're being too clever with your ambushes, Hecht."

"Sir?"

"You've done well, anticipating the enemy. But he'll get the notion that he needs to try a more sinister tack."

"Sir?" Else spoke humbly. Drocker's stumbling, halting communications lately recalled every teacher he had had. Drocker had decided to become his mentor.

Drocker said, "You've fought them man to man and mind to mind and have had the advantage because of the Calziran Deves." Those people would pay dearly if the Praman leadership found them out.

Drocker said, "There are three major sorcerers in al-Khazen. Plus the Masters of Ghosts that accompany Dreangerean formations. They don't want us to know they're there. But they won't suffer many more failures."

Else responded, "Another outstanding reason for not attacking. They can conjure all the Instrumentalities of the Night"

"They would start small."

Principatй Bruglioni asked, "Is that true, Drocker? About the sorcerers?"

"It is."

"Why wasn't the Collegium made aware?"

Drocker was blunt. "We didn't want you people babbling the news all over Firaldia."

Easy to see why Drocker was not beloved by the Episcopal hierarchy. He smoldered with contempt for the self-serving pettiness of Church politics. "You'll be needed when the Unbeliever summons the Instrumentalities of the Night, however." For Drocker there was only one worthy struggle, the war against the Night

"You need to know now," Else told Doneto. "Because they'll come after you first"

Drocker clarified his position. "There will be no attack. Waiting, not wasting, let's us develop a pool of veterans for the future."

Drocker's longer speeches left his audience impatient. But no one tried to hurry him. This was war ground, the Brotherhood's home country. Few members of that Brotherhood were more terrible than Grade Drocker.

Drocker confided, "They think I'm hard." He laughed. That brought on a coughing fit so violent that Else summoned the Brotherhood physician, who got Drocker inhaling exudations of herbs crushed in a leather sack. Redfearn Bechter helped Drocker with the bag. When the sorcerer recovered, he told Else, “I'm an altar boy. Wait till they meet Asher Huggin, Parthen Lorica, Alin Hamlet, or Bugo Armiene. They scare me."

"Then I hope I never meet any of them."

Drocker asked, "Does that worry you?"

"Sure. It would worry anyone who isn't one of you."

Drocker raised a questioning eyebrow.

"If you're an everyday sort who has to scratch for your next meal you find people who're that absolute in their convictions really frightening."

Drocker seemed amused.

Outside, snow fell lightly but steadily. The weather had settled into an unchanging pattern. Would it end with Calzir under a mile of ice, the way it was in the far north?

Else shivered. Even a well-built structure like the lookout cottage could not keep the cold out. The chills, the drafts, all the talk about Praman sorcerers coagulated in Else's mind. He left Drocker, found Ghort. "Pinkus, all the yammer has got me thinking. If those people over there send spooks to aggravate us, and we don't get ready …"

"I got ya, Pipe. What do we do to get ready?"

"The stuff every family does when they live where the Night is always at the door. Plug up all the cracks."

"Plug up all the cracks," was, in fact, an old saw from Duarnenia. Variants existed everywhere. Folk wisdom based on common sense. By plugging all the cracks you kept the cold out and you kept the things of the Night out in the cold.

Plug up all the cracks. "Pipe, I've whispered that sweet nothing into every subaltern's ear starting the first night we had to make camp."

"Then I don't need to nag." Plug up all the cracks. Else could not imagine anyone in a strange land not doing that automatically.

Titus Consent brought a pair of local deves to Else. He whispered, "These people have risked everything for us, Colonel. They can't go back. But they still have family inside."

"I understand." He wanted to shriek. He was trapped. These Deves wanted to betray his people to his enemies. And he had to protect and reward them. "Set up some kind of show trial. Script it so it looks like we're lying about Calzir's Devedians helping us. Condemn them to be hung, then grant clemency at the request of the Deves of Brothe."

"It's uglier than a dead baby, but I can make it work.”

"Have they been noticed yet?"

"No. We're keeping them out of sight. They won't talk to anybody but you."

"Keep on doing that. Bring them in. Why me?"

"They're worried about spies. They've heard that there's at least one highly placed Praman agent over here."

"No doubt true. Human nature being human nature." Else Tage was careful not to remind any Deve that his loyalty might not lie with the enemies of al-Prama.

Life was not going well for the besieged, the spies reported, though al-Khazen was not yet under a complete siege. The slaughter of dray animals had begun. Cavalry mounts remained untouched but there was little feed for them. The granaries were empty. Execution of the officials responsible eased the strain on stores only slightly.

Inhabitants of al-Khazen who did not share the religious enthusiasms of the majority suffered the most. Else listened to the horror stories. He began to glance askance at Consent. "Be patient," Consent urged. "As you're always telling us."

"I do hope to hear something that makes my indulgence worthwhile."

The Calzirans were an elderly couple who had been employed in Mafti al-Araj el-Arak's palace, now occupied by the foreign captains.

"They managed the books," Titus explained.

"So they have a special place in your heart."

"They had a special opportunity to be close to important discussions."

The old folks from al-Khazen were no more patient than Else. They were exhausted. They wanted to lay their old bones down and sleep. Though they were worried about their children and grandchildren.

Else tried not to torment himself wondering why the old Deves preferred the mercies of unknown Chaldareans to those of known Pramans.