The Tyranny Of The Night Part 16

Bo Biogna asked aloud what Else had wondered in private. "How come, if they want to fight sorcery an' all that s.h.i.t, an' get rid of the invisible people, an' all that s.h.i.t, too, how come they're all big-time sorcerers an' necromancers, an' all that s.h.i.t?"

The question did not bother the old man a bit. "You don't send a pacifist priest to duel an enemy champion. Not if you want to come out on top."

For just an instant Else caught a glimpse of a man leaving the one tent still standing. He was dressed in worn Brotherhood field apparel but Else was sure he was the sorcerer from Sonsa.

"The witchfinder's name is Grade Drocker?"

"That's not his real name. Look, we need to move out. You have to make a decision."

"Rate of pay?" Else asked.

"Raw recruits, three and a half silver scutti monthly, with a boost to five when training is complete. That's the good Son-san scutti, too. Food, weapons, and clothing provided. We don't have mail or protective clothing available. Experienced soldiers will start at five scutti, be expected to lead and teach the greenhorns, and will get a kick up to six scutti when the training period is complete."

"What about guys what's been officers an' s.h.i.t?" Just Plain Joe asked. Just Plain Joe seemed to get smarter when he was in touching distance of Pig Iron.

"You mean you?"

"s.h.i.t. No. Piper. Lookit. Pipe don' say s.h.i.t 'bout what he done 'fore he hooked up wit' us, but even a dummy like me can see that he musta been some kin' a officer or a sergeant at least, once upon a time. He always knows what ta do an' the best way ta do it."

The old soldier turned to Else. "What do you have to say?"

"Joe is letting his imagination get away from him."

The Brother started to question Else more closely. Else was evasive, offering vague remarks about, "the fighting east of the Shurstula," "pagan savages," "the Grand Marshes," and whatnot. The more specific his story became the more likely it would be that someone would trip him up on a detail.

He was saved a harsher grilling by the fact that the real Brotherhood soldiers started moving out. Their recruits followed.

Pico Mussi said, "Nuts. I'm going. We won't get a better deal anywhere else." He and his brother and their friend Gofit started getting ready to travel. Bo Biogna joined them. Then a few more did the same.

Else was unsure why he joined the others. Did he feel responsible for the kids? Was it because the man now calling himself Grade Drocker had done so much evil during his brief sojourn in Sonsa? He was sure Drocker and that monster were one and the same.

"All right I had my heart set on finding something cushy in Brothe. But there's nothing all that nasty going on around here."

The old soldier said, "Right, then. If you're coming, get moving."

Else tried not to notice that his companions seemed relieved because he was joining them. He did not want to become responsible for them.

THE STORY WAS, SUBLIME HAD SENT A MEMBER OF HIS OWN family into the Connec to see to the details of ensuring that the True Church did not suffer any more outrages at the hands of the heretics so common in that province. The heretics had responded by slaughtering the legate's bodyguards and leaving the legate himself sprawled upon death's stoop.

Soon afterward a team of a.s.sa.s.sins invaded the Palace at Viscesment with the intention of murdering the anti-Patriarch, Immaculate II. By the grace of G.o.d and the competence of Immaculate's company of Braunsknecht lifeguards the a.s.sa.s.sins all died before Immaculate knew that he was in danger.

Sublime was, naturally, suspect. And was, naturally, expected to denounce such behavior as soon as news of the failure got back to Brothe. Sublime was as blatantly hypocritical in serving his G.o.d as his deadliest enemies could imagine.

ELSE DEVELOPED MORE RESPECT FOR THE ANCIENT ENEMY. THE warriors he had faced in the Holy Lands were created from men like these youngsters, never short on courage and hardiness.

There was little hardship in the Brotherhood camp. The survivors of the embarra.s.sment in Sonsa seemed to have everything they could possibly need.

Following his ejection from Sonsa, the sorcerer sailed to Brothe, where he gained an immediate audience with the Patriarch. He was on the road north the next day, with reinforcements out of Castella dollas Pontellas. He began recruiting immediately. Money was not a problem.

After weeks spent crossing the confusion of princ.i.p.alities forming Ormienden, the Brotherhood force went into camp on the lands of a monastery in the wine country of Dromedan, a tiny Episcopal state tucked into a corner where the Connec, Grohlsach, the Firaldian dependency Seline, and the Sorvine Principiate snuggled up to one another. There were no clearly defined boundaries. The End of Connec was not alone in its near independence. Ormienden was equally on its own, although carved up into numerous smaller feudalities that had obligations in many directions, including to Hansel Blackboots.

"It's worse up north, in the Empire," a career mercenary named Pinkus Ghort told Else. Ghort was a fellow enlistee who had betrayed his military experience, though with considerably less reluctance. He and Else had charge of companies of inexperienced recruits the majority of their training hours. The members of the Brotherhood were too few to manage everything in a camp that kept growing by the hour. "Even one solitary little town in the middle of one lonely little county can owe its allegiance to somebody who really ought to be the ancient enemy. But up there the problem is because of dowries, not confused inheritance rules."

"The Grail Emperor will straighten it all out."

"Sure, he will."

"You fail to impress me with your pa.s.sion."

"Hansel can't do much. Almost anything he does try has to have the approval of the Electors."

"Uhm." Else tried to sound like he understood what Ghort was talking about. The west was far less monolithic and much more complex than had seemed plausible, viewed from al-Qarn.

"You got any guess what these lunatics are up to?" Pinkus Ghort was willing to take Brotherhood silver but did not think much of their divine ideology.

"I think we're just for show. The Patriarch wants to bully the Connec. The Connec keeps disdaining him. So he ups the ante by sending this crackpate Grade Drocker to conjure up a make-believe army as a boogerman to scare the Connec into line."

"Boogermen are real where I come from."

"n.o.body could seriously expect this mob to actually do anything useful militarily."

"Where have you been working? I've seen a lot worse. Not that long ago, either. These guys are trying hard because they're actually getting paid good and fed well and the Brothers keep whipping them up with those rah-rah speeches." There Ghort went being sarcastic again. "You should've seen what we had to work with when we went out to Themes."

"You were part of that?"

"And on the Duke of Harmonechy's side, too."

"You were lucky, then."

"I was fast on my feet. Also, I saw it coming. I was ready for it. My point, though, is that the men who followed the Duke out there were the worst sc.u.m you can imagine. The Duke made no effort to train them and very little to arm them. Or to control them. It was ugly. Santerin did the world a favor by exterminating seventeen thousand of its worst two-legged beasts."

"And their leaders? The n.o.bles?"

"They had horses, don't you know? Only a handful didn't get away. Those ended up getting ransomed."

The sorcerer remained invisible. But Else felt his presence constantly. Like the man was always right behind him, making his wrist itch. If he could just spin around fast enough... "Have you worked for the Brotherhood before?"

"No. n.o.body has that I know of. This is a big old first. And it wouldn't have happened now if we didn't have Sublime for a Patriarch."

"You know if we're going to get that weapons delivery any time soon? I don't have enough to go around, even for training."

"They don't tell me anything they don't tell you. I'm more concerned about food." Summer would be over soon. "We can't sit here sucking up the area's surplus forever." The force had been in place below the Dencite Monastery for more than a month, so long that wh.o.r.es, cheats, and sutlers had begun to build their own village just outside the bounds of the religious estate. "Here comes Bechter."

Redfearn Bechter was the Brother-sergeant responsible for the mercenaries. That was a huge load. He was willing to share it with Else, Pinkus Ghort, and several others. Else found him reminiscent of old Bone. He had seen it all. Only something truly unusual could shake him.

He seemed shaken now. His accent thickened. "Gentlemen, this cl.u.s.ter f.u.c.k is about to turn into the real thing. The wizard just got word that the heretics and their running dogs have the Bishop of Antieux treed in his manor house outside Antieux. The Patriarch himself says we have to do something about that."

"What?" Else asked in disbelief. "That's sheer lunacy."

Ghort said, "A local bishop has a manor house? In the wine country?" Ghort appreciated wine. He talked about it a lot. And experimented with it a lot because the Ormienden region was famous for its fine vintages. "Since when do priests ... ?"

"Never mind," Bechter said. "Thinking isn't in your job description. Or mine. Anyway, I'm not saying we are going to go. I'm saying there's a chance we might go. It isn't official yet. Call it a warning order. So you can look like you know, what you're doing if movement orders do come down."

Ghort said, "I beg your pardon. My excitement overcame me for a moment." Pinkus Ghort was long on sarcasm and irony.

Else asked, "So what's the word on the arms? I've still got men practicing with sticks."

The great Patriarchal army now numbered almost eight hundred men. Each day ten, twenty, even thirty more men arrived. Else was surprised that there were so many. Ghort took the opposite view, being astonished that they were so few, particularly with the Brotherhood being so generous. Perhaps rumors recalling the Battle of Themes discouraged the more thoughtful potential volunteer.

Bechter shrugged, "On the way. So they keep telling me."

Else said, "We'd better tell our poor children that they now have some real motivation for learning their trade."

THE NEWS REMAINED RESOLUTELY UNPLEASANT. BISHOP SERIFS kept screaming for help. Else observed, "If this man whines any louder he won't need to use messengers."

Bo Biogna agreed, "If he was as bad off as he says he'd a been dead before he started hollerin'."

Two Brotherhood members sent to reconnoiter failed to return. Orders came from the sorcerer's tent Prepare for movement. Those were rescinded almost immediately, after Else, Ghort, and several others reminded Redfearn Bechter that a third of the troops had no weapons and the rest, in general, were armed very poorly. Then came word that the Grolsacher mercenary chieftain Adolf Black was going to join them. He would arrive within a week with five hundred veterans.

The possibility of real fighting had an impact. Those who had signed on just for the meals became invisible. Those who stuck around paid much more attention to learning lessons that might keep them alive.

The arms shipment arrived. Adolf Black did not. The Grolsacher had caught wind of the changed situation. He wanted more money.

THE LITTLE ARMY CROSSED OVER INTO THE CONNEC. THE Brothers made sure there was no plundering, nor any behavior the locals would find objectionable. There was no resistance, though the force was not welcomed anywhere. Even those few Episcopal priests oriented toward Brothe observed them with an abiding suspicion.

The Connec as a whole was deeply xenophobic.

Firm and absolute discipline had begun at the moment of first enlistment. The Brotherhood knew men. Amongst the low, crude sort who joined it was inevitable that there would be predators. The Brotherhood did not tolerate behaviors common in other camps. Bullying earned ten lashes in the first instance, followed by a severe caning and dismissal without pay if the bully did not learn right away. The one man caught forcing himself on one of the youngsters found himself face-to-face with the sorcerer before he could get his pants pulled up. Which interview proved fatal for the b.u.g.g.e.ry enthusiast. Although his final breath followed p.r.o.nunciation of his sentence by fully ten days.

A minor theft generated a severe caning.

The troops got the message, at least for the time being.

The column reached the Dechear River, below Mount Milaue. They spent a day crossing on the ferry there. The west fork of the main Inland Road from the north ran down the west bank of the Dechear. To the north and east that same Old Brothen military road marked the boundary between the New Brothen Empire and the states where some version of Arnhander was spoken. Farther north still, a branch of the road ran northeastward to Salpeno, seat of the Arnhander kings.

In the Connec, one branch of the ancient road ran westward, past most of the main cities of the Connec. Eventually it reached the Vierses River at Parliers. The Vierses, navigable from that point, ran northwestward, past Khaurene and on to the ocean.

Two days later the Patriarchal force left the road and turned south into rolling hills covered with vineyards. Before long, the little army settled on the estate of Bishop Serifs, overlooking Antieux.

The Bishop's manor was a vast sprawl resembling the old-time latifundia, mostly given over to vineyards. The manor house had a fine view of the tall walls of Antieux. That city clung to the flank of an ocher hillside within a loop of the River Job. Its fortifications were strong and in good repair and appeared to justify the confidence of its defenders, which the invaders had begun hearing about days ago.

Count Raymone Garete and the folk of Antieux, contemptuously disloyal to their bishop, openly told the invaders' scouts that they had stores enough put by to withstand a siege that would last all winter. They would be eating well, still, when the enemies of reason and sense outside their city were stewing their boots and eating mud because all the dogs, cats, and rats had been devoured.

Bishop Serifs came out of the manor while the invading force was setting up camp. He was livid over the damage to his vines.

Else was not far away when the bishop encountered Grade Drocker. He was not close enough to overhear their exchange. But the sorcerer had an immediate impact. The bishop gulped air, became pale, sputtered. The sorcerer stalked away. The bishop gradually regained his breath and went red again. He stormed back into the manor house.

Grade Drocker must have some real power behind him. The bishop was supposed to be one of the Patriarch's favorites.

Else settled his bunch where he could see the sorcerer's tent, the manor house, and still had a good view of Antieux. Else considered the city and concluded that its denizens were justified in their confidence. Those tall walls could withstand the attentions of this incompetent mob forever. Even if Grade Drocker chose to invest the full extent of his remaining sorcery.

THE PATRIARCHAL FORCE HAD BEEN IN PLACE FOUR DAYS. Those who had besieged the bishop were a problem no longer.

The force's only intercourse with Antieux was a regular exchange of insults. The Patriarchal soldiers were young and intemperate and would have gotten themselves badly hurt had anyone inside the city had the sense and smarts to exploit the fact that the besiegers were so inexperienced they still could not yet stay in step.

Of course, the folk of Antieux had no need. They could sit back and let winter drive the besiegers away. Count Raymone Garete, in fact, issued proclamations to that effect, confident that it would be possible to end the siege with the only casualties being the bishop's vineyards and the Brothers' pride.

GRADE DROCKER a.s.sEMBLED HIS OFFICERS. HE WANTED THEIR opinions before making any decisions. At Else's level no one saw the point. The man would do what he wanted. Why waste time on voices that would not be heard?

Else was now a brevet officer who held his position only because none of the Brotherhood soldiers wanted it. He did not rate a chair in the room Bishop Serifs provided so the meeting could be held safe from the drizzle outside. That room had been stripped of everything crude men might steal or sully. Else leaned against a cold, damp wall, out of the way in the rear, beside Pinkus Ghort. It was ironic. He had slipped right into the same role that he had played at home. He was G.o.d's company commander.

Ghort murmured, "Brother Drocker seems a tad disgruntled, don't you think?"

"I'd say." And almost completely incapacitated, too.

Rumor was right. That blast of silver shot had left Drocker damaged dramatically and permanently. Spots of raw bone could be seen on the left side of his face.

Ghort observed, "Man, he's totally f.u.c.ked up. He looks like he spent about four hours on the wrong end of a toothless tiger."

Else had heard Drocker wore a mask most of the time. He wondered why the sorcerer had not done so today.

Drocker needed a.s.sistance seating himself at the high table. And he was angry. His voice was not weak when he said, in breathy, three-word bursts, "Bechter. Find Bishop... Serifs.

And Princ.i.p.ate ... Doneto. They were ... told to be here."

Ghort murmured, "I hope Drocker reams them two a new set of a.s.sholes. Them f.u.c.kers got us up to our t.i.ts in the s.h.i.t and think they're too f.u.c.king good to show up when we're going to fix it?

Else kept his expression blank. Ghort must have had wine for breakfast He had stated his opinion loudly.

Ghort was not so tipsy that he failed to recognize his gaffe. He shut up. He stayed shut up. For a while.

The bishop arrived. Else saw a sizable man showing obvious signs of prolonged and diligent dissolution. His fat face was florid, suggesting an old, long-term acquaintance with drink and a current case of apoplexy. There was somewhere else he would rather be.

He arrived full of bl.u.s.ter. That vanished under the force of one cold, grim look from Grade Drocker.

It had to be hard to whine while face-to-face with Drocker, soldiering on despite his injuries.

Drocker said, "There's a chair for you on the end, Bishop. Where is Princ.i.p.ate Doneto?"

The legate arrived shortly, aboard a litter carried by his guards and a borrowed member of the bishop's household. The rest of Doneto's bodyguards had deserted him. Which did not bode well for Doneto if he got into another unfriendly situation.

Else feared Ghort might say something about the Princ.i.p.ate, too. But it was obvious immediately that the legate was getting around the only way he could.

That ambush had injured him much worse than had been made public.

The bishop began to vent his displeasure, suggesting that Sublime himself would get an earful.