Surrender to the Will of the Night (30 page)

The girls had Anna’s big copper bathing tub set up already, with water heating. Anna would not use the public baths. Nor would she let the children. A safety measure, that. She said. But Hecht suspected there was more to the story. She would not discuss it. It was not worth a squabble.

Settled in the tub, with females dumping warm water and Pella contemplating making a break for it, to avoid being next, Hecht observed, “The one thing I’ll miss, being on the outside, is the baths at the Chiaro Palace.”

“Really?” Anna asked.

“And there you go, letting your imagination get loose. The rumors aren’t true. Nothing ever happens there.”

“Really?” Again.

Hecht shrugged. “Don’t let me confuse you with facts.”

***

Heris turned up every day. She had little to say and did not press. “You’ll let me know when you’re ready. I just come down to see if you are. There isn’t anything crucial. Yet.”

But Heris and Principaté Delari were not the only people who wanted a slice of the former Captain-General. Representatives from members of the Collegium, from most of the Five Families, from the Castella, and from the Imperial embassy at the Penital, all turned up during Hecht’s first four days at home.

Only Titus Consent and his tribe were allowed in. And Heris, who could not be turned away at the door.

***

“You’ve started getting restless,” Anna observed. Voice carefully neutral. At a time when she thought the children would be occupied.

“Titus tells me I never learned how to relax.”

“Titus is outrageously smart, for his age. So. Is it time to talk?”

“I suppose.” He had been puzzling how to put it all together for her. “The Empress wants me to come work for her.”

“To help her fulfill a holy obligation. By leading an Imperial crusade into the Holy Lands. I know. That may be the worst kept secret of the age. It was all over Brothe within hours of the announcement that Bronte Doneto would become the next Patriarch. The Penital put it out. Doneto was upset. Pinkus sent some of his trusted men to look out for us. Not that he would brag about looking out for a friend. He was afraid Doneto might do something stupid.”

Hecht grunted. Ghort had not said a word. But that was Pinkus Ghort. Never say anything when he did something someone might construe as good or thoughtful. He did not want to tarnish his black reputation. “He’d know if the danger was real.” Hecht eyed Anna curiously. Why had she kept this to herself till now? Was she hoping the question of taking service with the Empress would go away?

Probably.

“It turned out to be a tempest in a teapot. Pinkus pulled his men out after Principaté Delari dropped a few one-ton hints on the right people.”

That sounded like something Heris would say. After rehearsing before she said anything.

“Muniero Delari and Bronte Doneto have a bitter history. Which I’m not free to discuss. I suspect Doneto will avoid reviving old quarrels now that he has his dream job. Delari is older than stone. Doneto can let time put an end to their squabble.”

“Piper, I won’t follow you if you go to Alten Weinberg.”

And there it was. Not unexpected but not understood. Despite having given the possibility plenty of brooding.

“You know we’ve only actually spent a few weeks together over the years we’ve been a couple.”

Was that question or statement? Whichever, she was exaggerating. Sort of. He did not say. Because there was a deep truth, down under.

“You’re always in the field. If I move I still won’t see you. And I won’t know anyone but the girls. Nor even speak the language. So I’ll just stay here and not see you because you’re in the field.”

“I’m not really going to lead a crusade into the Holy Lands. I’ll get the Empress to change her mind.”

“No doubt. You can do anything. You have a knack for getting people to do what you want. But, once all is said and done, you’ll be in the field. That’s who you are. So, as I said, I’ll stay here, where I’m comfortable, and only see you once in a while. I won’t have to upset the way I live.”

Hecht clamped down on his emotions. Stilled his inclination to pull male rank. He did not own that in this relationship, in this country. Irritably, he batted thoughts of Helspeth aside. This was not an opportunity. “I see.” He sensed the children lurking, out of sight but not out of hearing.

“I freely admit that I have more than most wives and many mistresses. Which leaves me too spoiled, besides being too long in the tooth, to take up the life of a camp follower.”

“I won’t argue. I can’t. You’ve put it perfectly. I am what I am and you, more than anyone, know the truth of that. But I did think Alten Weinberg might be more domestic.”

Anna definitely had an answer for that. She did not get the opportunity to deliver it. Heris turned around out of nowhere on the far side of the room. “You have to come this time, Piper. Things have happened. Supper. Anna. Grandfather would really be pleased to see the children, too.” She turned and was gone.

Anna caught her breath. “That was a polite invite to a command performance.”

“Yes?”

“You might say Heris and I have become friends. The way she carried herself … Our discussion might be moot.”

Again Hecht offered only an interrogative monosyllable.

“We have to see Principaté Delari before we make any other plans.”

A premonitory chill crawled Hecht’s back. His own desires could become so much chaff in the breeze should the Night be driving down some rigorous line of its own.

***

The Delari town house was in the throes of a dramatic makeover. Not just repairs to damage but a total renovation. The staff had expanded by a dozen, all hard-eyed rogues who were as alert as ever Madouc’s gang had been. Each hailed from the Principaté’s own clan. Which made them kin of Muniero Delari’s grandchildren.

Supper was served at the usual table by the usual servants, Turking and Felske. As the first course arrived, Delari explained, “Everything changed when Bronte Donte achieved his ambition. I expect him to resurrect the conflict that brought us head-to-head not so long ago.”

He said this in front of Anna and the children. Who looked to Hecht for an explanation. Hecht did not deliver.

He did say, “Two of us got you out of that. Whatever became of the other one?”

“Armand? I don’t know. The little weasel vanished seconds after Hugo Mongoz expired. I suppose it’s too much to hope that Doneto’s partisans did away with him.”

“What’s the construction all about?” Hecht asked. “What’s going on?”

“Forting up.”

“I get that. But what about us, here? This isn’t just me and the family stopping in for a friendly supper. You look almost guilty. Which tells me there’s something going on. Heris implied as much, the way she acted. Where is she, anyway?”

“She’ll be here any minute.”

Turking and Felske brought the courses with a noteworthy absence of enthusiasm. As though they were stalling.

Heris came in, roughly dressed. Turking and Felske hustled in the small courses she had missed. Even Mrs. Creedon took a moment to bring her a single marinated cheese and onion – stuffed mushroom. Heris grunted pleasure and dug in. Evidently her story would be shared only if necessary.

Principaté Delari became taciturn, his contribution to table talk vague questions for the girls about their progress at school. To which Lila was the unexpectedly enthusiastic respondent. She found intellectual pursuits more interesting than did Vali. Hecht was surprised.

People never stopped not being what you expected.

Turking and Felske came to life. In a trice they produced the clutter of another place setting as Cloven Februaren dragged in.

***

Hecht observed, “Borrowing from my friend Pinkus, you look like death on a stick.”

“No doubt.” Cloven Februaren did look like he had suffered extreme starvation.

Delari said, “He’s the picture of health, now. You should’ve seen him this morning. I thought his story was over.”

The Ninth Unknown settled. He picked at his food, ferociously. He made Vali and Lila uncomfortable. Anna needed to release those girls into the wild. They needed re-exposure to reality. They had developed amnesia about their own early romances with the harsh side. Februaren said, “I spent a night in Elf Hill. It was worse than any of the stories.”

Hecht said, “I don’t get it.”

Delari said, “You should. It’s part of the northern thing. Up there people believe that we share the world with lots of other races. The Hidden Folk, collectively. Pixies. Brownies. The Fair Folk. Light elves and dark elves. Goblins, dwarves, the People of the Sea. And dozens more.”

“Not to mention the evil dead,” Februaren grumped.

Delari ignored him. “The Hidden Folk get up to all sorts of mischief. Some good, some bad, according to their nature. More bad than good, of course. A favorite trick is to lure a mortal into their realm, where time passes differently.”

“Usually a lot slower over there,” Februaren said. “In the Realm of the Gods it was the other way around. I used up all my food and was starving. It’s true about the food, too. It helped me forget I was hungry but it didn’t provide enough nourishment.”

Delari said, “The point is, while he was there for months only a few days passed here.”

“So you did what you went off to do. You released the …”

“I did not. Not even close. The Old Ones are locked up like olives inside a cask closed inside a sealed barrel. My success amounted to opening the way between the middle world and the Realm of the Gods. This being what those involved with the northern thing call the middle world. Because of where it stands in relation to the other worlds involved in their concept of the universe. Oh. Success number two. I talked the Aelen Kofer into helping break the Old Ones out.”

Hecht resisted a conditioned response, reminding himself, yet again, that all beliefs were true inside the Night.

The children had grown bored. The Ninth Unknown had not described his adventure in epic terms. Which was a little out of character.

Februaren said, “After all that positive news you just know there’s got to be a catch.”

Principaté Delari seemed to be hearing all this for the first time, too. “Grandfather. Please.”

Februaren’s grin was a ghost of itself. “All right. Time is important. The way is open. The magic is flowing in. The Aelen Kofer can rebuild the rainbow bridge to the Great Sky Fortress. We can get that far.”

“But?” Delari, with a scowl.

“But the Windwalker is on his way. And we can’t get inside. Only someone with the blood of the Old Ones can crack the last barrier.”

Delari said, “And those of the blood are all inside.”

“Basically. I thought the ascendant could manage. He has chunks of the knowledge of Ordnan and Arlensul. And he shut them in. It seemed logical that he could undo what he did.”

“But not so,” Delari guessed.

“No. He did the job too damned good. And there is some mythological imperative at work. One even a freethinker like me, because I spent my life immersed in Brothen Episcopal Chaldarean culture, can’t get to make sense. What it comes down to is, if we’re going to spring the Old Ones so they can stop the Windwalker, we need someone of their blood to kick down the door.”

Anna startled everyone by chiming in. “From what I’ve heard, the male Old Ones doinked every farmer’s and woodcutter’s daughter they ran into when they visited our world.”

“It would be hard to find those descendants,” Delari said. “They haven’t done that sort of thing for four hundred years. The blood would be pretty thin.”

Februaren said, “There’s another option. According to the ascendant.”

“Gedanke,” Hecht guessed, wondering why he even recalled that name. Was he damned eternally because he had acquired that kind of wicked knowledge?

“Right road.” Februaren was startled. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess. That and the fact that most of what happened below the walls of al-Khazen had to do with the feud between the Banished and her father, over Gedanke.”

“Most of what happened had to do with the hunger of the Old Ones for the blood of the Godslayer. Arlensul took the opportunity to get revenge. Also, Gedanke was Arlensul’s lover. Not the child they created. The ascendant says Gedanke himself was there for the showdown. As one of the undead heroes. Which gave Arlensul added incentive in the fight.”

No one said anything. Hecht wondered why Februaren chose to discuss this over dinner. In the normal course, it would await withdrawal to the quiet room. He began peering into shadows and watching Turking and Felske closely.

The Ninth Unknown recognized the moment realization struck. He grinned, nodded, said, “The part of Arlensul the ascendant incorporated offered very useful information about her half-mortal bastard. She did her best to watch over him. He was still alive at the moment of her own demise.”

“That should narrow the search. There can’t be many men who have been around longer than you and who show the occasional burst of divine power. He would have some of that, wouldn’t he?”

“Excellent, Piper. He would, yes. But, chances are, he doesn’t know what he is. His mother never told him. He never saw her. He should think he’s just a very strange orphan.”

Principaté Delari interjected, “He’d have to suspect. If he had any familiarity with the mythology. If you grew up in that part of the world, were an orphan, had unusual abilities, and seemed to be immortal, wouldn’t you suspect something?”

“Of course, Muno. As far as I know — the Arlensul part of the ascendant isn’t completely forthcoming — the bastard should be a long-lived peasant or woodcutter somewhere in the northeastern part of the Grail Empire. The infant was abandoned in the sacristy of a forest church in the Harlz Mountains of Marhorva, a hundred miles from Grumbrag.”

Anna asked, “Could he be the one pretending to be Piper’s brother?”

Cloven Februaren chuckled, made a sign indicating that subject ought not to be pursued. Hecht asked, “And you know all this because?”

“Because the ascendant knows most of what the mother knew. Though she couldn’t provide any help locating him today. Or wouldn’t.”