Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,16

what they call a bogon. A sort of prince of the Night. The way it was explained to me before. Why are you in such good shape? Compared to these others.”

“I was asleep behind that boulder. I guess it shielded me from the worst.”

Hecht eyed the boulder. He saw nothing special. Maybe it was laced with iron or silver ore. Maybe it had been shot up during Prosek’s adventure here and had rolled down the mountain since. Maybe rock was a solid enough barrier in itself. No matter. “Let’s see what we can do for these people.”

“Why are you up so easily?”

“I have friends in the Collegium. They gave me protections against this stuff. Though I’m asking for more, after this. I’m not feeling that grateful to be alive right now.”

“A bitching soldier is a happy soldier.”

Hecht managed a chuckle.

There were no deaths. No one had anything broken or torn. Nobody needed sewing up. But hearts and souls had been brutalized. Fear had found a home. Faith had suffered a severe strain.

Hecht told them, “Never forget. We survived. We won. It’s the Night that needs to be afraid. The Night that has to get out of the way.”

The pep talk helped. A little.

* * *

Hecht decided to invest another day in recuperation. He hoped for some sign from Cloven Februaren. None came.

Next morning Hecht got everyone moving as soon as there was light to see.

He squabbled with Madouc. He wanted to be out front. Madouc would not suffer it. The lifeguard carried the day.

Hecht had decided to give in whenever his own desires were not critical to the work at hand. He did not have to be out front, he just wanted to be. Acquiescence now would ease relations and make it easier to overrule Madouc when taking a risk might be useful.

Pella eyed him suspiciously. He asked no questions. Hecht suspected he understood. The boy was quick and smart. Too bad Madouc was just as smart and even quicker.

Progress was slow. The men out front were not eager to find what the travelers from the south had missed. Their Captain-General rotated the point frequently.

The Remayne Pass opened out some. Slopes curved up to either hand, covered with scrub and modest evergreens amongst scattered boulders tumbled from farther up. The peaks caught the rising sun first. Those shifted quickly from orange to a white too brilliant to look at.

A stream rumbled beside the road, carrying frigid meltwater.

The air grew thinner and colder.

Hecht dropped back to the pack train, fell in with Just Plain Joe and Pig Iron. He did not say much. Neither did Joe. Pig Iron kept his own counsel. There was no way Hecht could explain his need for time shared with Joe.

Just Plain Joe was one of his oldest acquaintances this side of the Mother Sea. Pinkus Ghort and Bo Biogna dated from the same time, and Redfearn Bechter from just days later. Only Anna Mozilla went back further than did they.

Joe had no agenda. Joe lived each day as it came. He made life easier for the animals. Hecht could relax with Joe. He didn’t have to explain anything, guess about anything, do any planning, be anything but a guy Joe knew.

Joe was in one of his social moods. Fifteen minutes after Hecht joined him, he asked, “You in a big hurry, Pipe?”

“Always. It isn’t necessary, though. Probably.”

“I keep looking at that river and thinking they ought to be some good trout fishing there. In one of them pools where the water takes a break before it goes charging off again.”

“You want to have a fish fry?”

“Been a while since I had a mess of good cold-water fish. Better than anything they got down in the lowlands.”

“When’s the best time?”

“Afternoon? After the sun warms the water some and there’s bugs out. Early evening is maybe even better since there’s more bugs then.”

“We come to a place that looks good, give a holler. Those men up front need a break.”

“They’re pretty worried, eh?”

“The monster had a bad reputation, back when. I think we’ll have trouble finding it now, though.”

“That wasn’t it the other night? That was rough on the horses.”

“Rough on all of us. No. That was one of those bogon things like the one in the Ownvidian Knot that Principaté Doneto chased off.”

“Uhm.” Joe went back inside himself and relaxed. Maybe half an hour later he emerged to chat briefly about ways to reduce disease amongst the army’s mounts.

A small party northbound had no news about