Glen Cook - The Tyranny of the Night

Terrible fighting was going on in the drainage system. And in the city above, from the sound. Else could not follow its progress but it seemed that Imperial troops had entered the city. The combined efforts of Starkden, Masant al-Seyhan, and er-Rashal el-Dhulquarnen were inadequate to repel them.

There was sorcery afoot, for sure. Else's nearly forgotten amulet hurt more than it had at any time since me encounter in the Ownvidian Knot.

Er-Rashal not being able to do as he pleased, when it pleased him to do so, was nearly beyond the scope of imagination. Er-Rashal el-Dhulquarnen had been a distant, almost godlike presence in the Dreangerean world for as long as Else could remember. Not being able to do as he pleased likely strained the Rascal's imagination, too.

Over twenty-five years of training and wartime stress had gone into building Else Tage, the unflappable. But the unflappable Else made a noise like a startled little girl.

Something — that, initially, wore no shape familiar to the Sha-lug Else Tage … Something filled the overflow from the collection chamber below Waterhouse Two. Else felt something touch his soul, take cues from hidden recollections. Passing through several repulsive shapes first, it took the form of a woman … No. A girl. Heris … Sister of the toddler who became the Sha-lug Else Tage… But big. So big. Too big to push through the overflow.

That thing, whatever it was, winked. It raised a finger to its lips. Then it went away. A fog formed in the space it had occupied. The entrance became invisible.

Once his mind resumed function Else wondered how that thing fit the rest of the storm-water system if it could not get into this cistern… The amulet he wore reminded him that it was still there, this time blistering cold instead of hot and painful. Principatй Bruglioni's ring seemed to weigh twenty pounds.

What the hell?

Hell might have plenty to do with it. That was no woman. That was something vast and potent, far beyond human, though probably designed by human hope and fear. It would be the thing he had been warned about. A something that could brush aside the determined efforts of er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen. One of the Instrumentalities of the Night. Possibly a goddess to some unbeliever who had not found the True God.

Cautioning Else Tage to remain calm, quiet, and still?

This was a difficult hour. He did not need a caution from the demon. Everywhere else was less safe than here. And there was little he could do to affect the situation, whatever he chose to do.

The thing left long silence in its wake. But only where Else remained hidden, behind the glamour she had cast. There was fighting in the streets above. There was fighting in the drainage system. A lot of widows would be made tonight And Else Tage remained a blind bystander. He could not imagine becoming involved without feeling guilty. He would have to betray someone.

Eventually, he climbed back out of the cistern and deserted the waterhouse for the madness of al-Khazen's streets. Imperial troops were still arriving. Pramans fought on in hopeless desperation. Their sorcerers had failed them again, as they had at every turn since the Brothen raid.

Being cautious, avoiding confrontation, Else used memorized maps to reach a section of wall overlooking the exit from the storm-water drain. He was alone on the battlements. The rest of existence seemed focused on the struggle behind and

below. Except that the thing he had seen back there now was engaged in a ferocious confrontation with al-Khazen's defending sorcerers — rather as an afterthought on her part, like a man swatting at a particularly agile horsefly.

Else stared at the moonlighted hillside below. He picked out landmarks he had seen coming in. He saw no sign of the reserve companies. Which was good. He would have been disappointed if he had.

On reflection, he was surprised that he could see much of anything, even with a moon up.

False dawn had begun to creep in from the east. Already.

How could that much time have passed?

Else was so completely alone on the wall that he considered complaining to God about being lonely. There was no one to stop him doing whatever he wanted.

He began to search for some means of getting down outside. Maybe he could escape without going through that claustrophobic drain again.

Fate conspired.

He found a coil of rope inside a guard station. It was long enough to reach the foot of the wall. It had been reworked for climbing. It was knotted at regular intervals. Someone had used it to go raiding or consorting. Or deserting.

After tying the rope off, though, Else settled down to watch. He would have no part in the events. Fortune had moved him out of the way before the excitement started.

His commandos left the storm-water drain in good order. He had no trouble recognizing Ghort, hustling Crown Prince Lothar ahead of the main party. Else wondered how Bronte Doneto would play the game now. Surely his ransom demands for Lothar would exceed those that Hansel had made for him.

Else could make out some members of the reserve companies, now. A few were too restless, too eager. But they gave nothing away. They could be seen from no other vantage point. Had there been witnesses to discover the trap, still it would have been impossible to warn its prey.

The Praman pursuit tumbled out of the drain in a mix with the slowest Brothens.

The first Pramans out, Sha-lug and Calziran royal lifeguards, showed little interest in the people ahead of them, Except to mark what direction they ran before selecting an alternate line of flight

Something only marginally human came out of the storm drain. A huge man-thing, head lost in masses of tangled, filthy blond hair, hoisted an equally nasty mummified head on high and bellowed a challenge that stilled the morning. With his right hand he brandished a bronze sword that was, even to the uneducated eye, obviously enchanted. It was limned by a nimbus that could be sensed but not visually described.

There was power there, with that strange man, and with another of similar stamp who followed him into the light. Else saw no reason why anyone should run from them, though.

They must be the blond men who had caused the stir in Brothe. The men who had decimated the Brotherhood, who had subjected the Calziran pirates to such slaughter, who had turned up during his encounter with Starkden and Masant el-Seyhan. Principatй Doneto called them soultaken. They were living dead men serving the Instrumentalities of the Night. One of which had shielded him and suggested that he lie low.

Imperial troops raced out of the storm-water drain. Once in the light, though, they became indecisive. The Pramans had scattered. Pinkus Ghort and his cohorts had taken cover.

The two soultaken started toward the Brothen reserves. Then the one carrying the head and bronze sword halted.

Slowly, he turned. His gaze rose to Else Tage. Else felt the elation there. He felt the soultaken's thrill of recognition. The man hoisted head and sword aloft. He screamed at the sky in an unknown tongue.

A dense, dark mist gushed from the storm drain. It coalesced into something huge, ugly, foul, and dark, one moment not unlike a classic harpy, the next a monster mantis. Frightened Braunsknechts followed the example of the fleeing Pramans.

The thing wore a new shape but Else knew this was the demon from beneath Waterhouse Two.

She loomed over the soultaken. The one armed with head and sword was not impressed. He beckoned Else down.

Why?

To kill him. And thereby destroy the knowledge he carried.

What? That made no sense.

It does to him. It does to those who sent him. They do not understand that knowledge discovered cannot be undiscovered. Today they will learn.

Those words were not quite a voice in Else's head. They were knowledge that materialized there. He had been touched directly by the Night.