Glen Cook - The Tyranny of the Night

A deep sense of sorrow overcame Else. But he had to honor his promises. He sighed. They were alone in the gully, overlooked. This opportunity would not come again. "Principatй, years ago Freido Bruglioni and his brother did something blackhearted to Draco Arniena. Don Draco found them out. Don Draco told Don Inigo before he died. He made Don Inigo promise to extract a suitable revenge."

Principate' Bruglioni was confused. "That… That… I'd nearly forgotten … Draco knew?"

"Always."

"Then Inigo sent you?"

"He did, Principatй. I'm sorry. You've lived an exemplary life since."

"Hecht! No!"

"A man is only as good as his word." Else folded Bruglioni's own cloak and forced it down onto the old man's face.

Bruglioni struggled. Else's amulet tortured his left wrist yet again.

God was generous. No witness stumbled onto the crime. Else completed his task, then returned the antique dagger to the wound in Bruglioni's knee. He eliminated signs of his visit. Still unnoticed by men whose attention was focused elsewhere, he moved down the gully, away from Principatй Bruglioni.

He had debated breaking his word. He had grown fond of Divino Bruglioni. But there was little doubt that the loss of the Principatй would create huge problems for Sublime and the Collegium.

Ten minutes passed before Else spoke to anyone. He wandered the battlefield with the monster head under one arm and the bronze sword in the other, wondering what Divino and Freido had done to earn the abiding hatred of the Arniena.

He noted one of Ghort's men edging nearer. "Quintille? What is it?"

"Message from Captain Ghort, sir. Your ears only."

The man was shaking in his boots. Why? "Go ahead."

"The Emperor is dead. Slain in the fighting in the city. Lothar is emperor, now. Johannes's daughters have taken charge. Captain Ghort says we should expect confusion in the Imperial camp."

"No doubt. How's he doing?"

"That's the other message. He needs help. Some thunder-casters if you can send them. These things don't get tired and they don't give up until you cut them into pieces."

"They're on the way, soon as I round some up."

Quintille fled, obviously relieved to get away.

Else went looking for Gledius Stewpo. The dwarf was elusive. Nevertheless, Else dug him out.

"I don't recollect putting you in charge, dwarf. Nor anything in Captain Ghort's plan including what happened this morning. But it worked out. So far. Do you have firepowder and shot left? Ghort has a problem over yonder."

Stewpo and his henchmen did not protest though it was plain they wanted to. A couple of firepowder tubes swung Else's way.

"That wouldn't be smart. I'm the best friend you've got on this side of the Mother Sea."

"It's that sword, Colonel. You need to get rid of it. It's already begun to dress you in the same aura as the last man who carried it."

Else glanced at the running blind god, now smaller than he had been, said, "I see." He suspected the head more than the blade, though. "You have anybody trustworthy enough, and strong enough, to watch over the sword without trying to use it?"

"Is there one of us righteous enough to reject the tools of alien gods?" Stewpo asked. "I think so."

"Good. Find this paragon. We'll destroy the sword in the same fire as the undead. It's bronze. It should melt. So. If you'll round me up a relief force, I'll go extricate my overly optimistic number two."

As Else, the dwarf, and twenty deves headed for the brawl between Imperials and undead, Else asked, "How could you afford that much ammunition? They say you people have hoards to beggar a dragon, but you just shot off more silver than I can imagine."

"You're imagining wrong." Stewpo handed him a rough metal pellet the size of the end joint of his thumb.

"Iron."

"Yes. With a few thin patches of silver laid on."

"Uhm?"

"It doesn't have to be solid silver. The silver at the surface is all that's needed. And iron gives most creatures of the night terrible indigestion. The silver in one small coin is enough for a hundred of these shot."

Amazing. "How can we just be learning this? Why are firepowder weapons effective when traditional weapons aren't?"

"But they are. You saw us finishing the undead with silver-tipped swords. A healthy entity can dodge traditional weapons and missiles. They're too slow. The shot from a firepowder tube, though, moves too fast to see. We're almost there. You might want to hang back a few steps."

"One thing before you go get mauled by the undead. Just my personal curiosity. Why are you out here, openly directing Devedian forces? Grade Drocker knows your name. Why show your hand here, now? How did you know there'd be an outbreak from the Realm of Night?"

"That's several things, Colonel." Stewpo gestured at his men to deploy. "But it's all gone so well, I feel like crowing. My God is the True God."

"Excuse me?"

"An Angel of the Lord came to me at night many times, to tell me that Hell would open its mouth here. I choose to be seen exactly because the sorcerer will remember my name from Sonsa. If he presses my people, they can honestly blame everything on me. And I've told them that the original information about firepowder weapons came from the Dreangerean provocateur who died during me uprising in Sonsa."

Did a deeply veiled threat lie behind Stewpo's words?

"I don't expect Drocker to last much longer. He doesn't have the strength to give you much trouble. And no one else cares."

"You aren't Devedian, Colonel. You don't see things as all being part of the river of time. You barely see beyond yesterday, today, and tomorrow."

Else disagreed but kept his opinion to himself. Though the dwarf might honestly believe that he had been visited by an angel, not a rogue Chooser of the Slain arranging a cruel ambush for a father who had ripped out her heart.

Stewpo asked, "Is that it? I do have your clumsy associate to salvage."

"Go. Save." Else clambered up a rock outcrop. The hillside fell away from the wall steeply. The slope below was littered with dead and wounded men, along with bits and pieces of northern heroes. Seventy yards away a dozen Braunsknechts swayed in a clump around Elspeth Ege. Else felt that same thrill he had experienced in Plemenza. The girl seemed angry and fearless.

Ghort and his crew had failed to break through. They were surrounded themselves. Neither party had much resistance left to offer.

"Do your stuff, dwarf," Else muttered.

There was no thinking going on amongst the heroes. The Devedian fire teams fired their first volley from ten feet away. There were no misses. By the time the heroes realized that there was a threat the Deves had fired again. Heroes hit went down. And stayed down. It took only minutes to exterminate them.

"You took your sweet time," Ghort gasped. He was pale, his expression strained. “Ten more minutes and there wouldn't have had been nobody to rescue." "You're bitching so I'm guessing I got here soon enough."

"Oh, yes. I'm going to make your life miserable for a long time to come. Ow! Easy there, hairboy." A Dainshau physician had begun to examine Ghort.

Else told the Dainshau, "Those others need you more than this one. Let the vitriol leak out before you patch him up."

Chuckling, Else headed for the Imperial survivors. Most had collapsed once the need to defend themselves ceased. Only the Emperor's daughter remained upright, beside her fallen mount, with a light sword in one hand and her father's standard in the other, taken over from her fallen standard-bearer. She wore some sort of toy mail, a light breastplate, and no helmet. Her dark hair streamed in the wind.

Else inclined his head. "Princess."

"I remember you. But not your name."

"Piper Hecht, Princess. Of the Brothen city regiment"