Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,178

has to remind him about the incident with the rotting demons all the time. He should be out here with you.”

“He should find something better to do with his life.”

“Anna would agree. But, what? Think about his background. The best he can do is have your light shine on him. I’ll let you get back to what you were doing. I’ll pop over to the town house and steal a night in a real bed. Don’t forget to leave me my toys.”

“I won’t. How will you shift them?”

“Dwarf power. I’ve got troops of dwarves I can call in. All mythical and imaginary, of course. Me being a true-believing Episcopal Chaldarean.”

Heris turned sideways, leaving Hecht unable to ask further questions.

* * *

As with everything in life, departure took longer and was more aggravating than had seemed likely beforehand. Everyone wanted to know why Hecht was leaving a cache of firepowder and falcons in the barracks. He refused to explain.

While questions were asked and going unanswered a courier arrived. He bestrode a badly blown bay gelding. He was as bad off as his mount. He belonged to the party that had gone down to Liume. Hecht and Vircondelet helped him dismount. He had just enough will left to hand over a folded note. Vircondelet helped him lie down, which was all he wanted now.

“Vircondelet. I have something to do. You’re in charge till I get back. Keep things moving. And be ready for trouble.”

“The locals say there’re no …”

“Ready for trouble, Mr. Vircondelet. It’s stalking us now. Don’t let it surprise us.”

“Yes, sir. As you command.” Clearly puzzled.

Hecht strode through the ruins of the manufactory, bent by his burden. He found Katrin’s lifeguards in a frenzy of activity. They had no specific invitation, and seemed determined not to coordinate, but were not eager to be left when the Righteous departed.

Hecht cornered Captain Ephrian. “I need to see her. Now. Bad news.” Rather than argue, he presented the note.

“Oh, shit. Holy fucking shit. You think it’s true?” In a flat, stunned monotone.

“I can’t imagine my men sending the news the way they did if it was just a rumor.”

“I’ll take you to her, she likes it or not, because I don’t want to be the one who tells her.”

“Coward.”

“Damned straight.”

“She’ll take it hard.”

Ephrian growled, “She’ll go way beyond the bug-fuck she already is. I’m willing to bet.”

Hecht would not have stated it that colorfully but he agreed. Katrin would do something dramatic.

She was not pleased to see him. She tried to avoid talking to him.

“Your Grace. I’ve just received terrible news from my intelligence chief. You need to know. Right now.”

“Speak. And it had better be interesting, Commander.”

“There was a battle near Khaurene, in the Connec. Connectens and Direcians fighting King Regard of Arnhand, who invaded the Connec at the bidding of the Patriarch.” Underscoring the obvious.

Katrin went from imperious and impatient to pale, bowed, and bleak. “Tell me.”

“King Peter of Navaya and King Jaime of Castauriga were slain in the fighting.” He did not try to soften the reality. He wanted to get in quick, deliver the blow, get out, and let Katrin bring her Ege iron to bear.

Katrin barked, “Don’t toy with me, Commander! I made you. I can unmake you in an instant.”

“You can, Your Grace. I merely report. How you respond is up to you. But the fact remains, there’s been a disaster in the Connec.”

The Empress fixed him with a searing gaze. She did not speak. Her attendants began to shuffle and mutter, worried. Hecht met her eye steadily. He did not like what he saw, a huge internal collision between personalities, each demanding control of the mind’s interface with the exterior world. A momentarily dominant personality asked, “You hired ships to move the material you captured?”

“I did. With what success isn’t certain. The courier who brought this news knows. But he collapsed before he could report.”

“There’ll be ships, then. We’ll cross the Vieran Sea.”

“What? Your Grace? What?”

“Serenity’s mad greed has made a widow of me. Now I’ll make him long for the quiet, gentle affections of my father before I kill him.”

Hecht gulped air. He gurgled. He trembled. This was … He could not find an adequate metaphor. He looked to the heavens. For a sign? In an appeal for divine intervention? The heavens did not speak. He saw nothing but a low overcast. Rain was coming.

Katrin said, “Forget the Holy Lands, Commander. We won’t be going till my barons have had their fill of what they’ve