Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,18

ahead? I can’t remember.”

Again, Algres Drear volunteered. “There’s a marshy meadow about three miles on. It was a campground before the monster came.”

Hecht said, “We need to dress this man. I’ll buy from whoever is willing to give something up. Something that will fit, Carolans.”

The soultaken was big. The soldier Carolans barely came up to his chest.

Size and the fact that few of the men bothered to carry extra garments around made clothing the naked man a challenge.

The man devoured every crumb given him. His color returned. He got his feet under him. He dressed himself.

He submitted while silver was placed round his neck, while his wrists were bound behind him and his ankles were connected by a leather hobble.

Before resuming movement, Hecht asked, “You have a reason for what you’ve done? Other than trying to engineer my murder?”

The captive grunted. “Must talk.” But that was all he said that day.

* * *

They had no leg irons or fetters. A need had not been foreseen. The prisoner made do with hobbles while he traveled. In camp his captors attached a rope to a stake driven deep into the earth and tied the other end to his left ankle. Another rope ended up tied around his waist. A ready falcon always pointed his way—even after the rain arrived.

The Captain-General had a tent raised to shelter the sentinel falcon.

The prisoner remained in the weather.

Camp set, watch posted, men fed, animals settled, Hecht went to talk to his guest. His lifeguards were close by, armed with firepowder weapons charged for use against the Night.

Hecht brought a camp stool. He settled out of the line of fire. “I’m ready to talk.” Drizzle fell.

The prisoner pushed emptied bowls to the limit of his reach. No one blocked any line of fire collecting them. “This will take a while. The change drained me more than I imagined possible. I’d forgotten how to be human.”

Hecht was surprised. The man was articulate. But his accent was brutal.

“You knew we were coming.”

“Yes. And why. There are few secrets from the Night. But Instrumentalities don’t understand human time. If they did, the Godslayer never would have been born. Till he acted the first time, though, the Night could never be certain that he had been.”

A theory previously proposed by Muniero Delari and Cloven Februaren.

“If the Night knows the future, why try to direct it?”

“There are countless futures. Some elements are unavoidable. At the same time, countless possibilities have to be eliminated.”

Hecht sat silently. The prisoner was content to wait. And indifferent to the weather. He did lean back and open his mouth to catch what liquid fell to him.

He had been given nothing to drink.

Hecht said, “I can’t help thinking you’re too articulate to be Asgrimmur Grimmsson from Andoray.”

“Svavar suffered on behalf of his brother and his gods. Like a sword thrust into the furnace repeatedly, then hammered hard on the anvil. Most of this Asgrimmur came from those gods, garnered unwanted as they died. This Asgrimmur has seen much that that Asgrimmur never suspected.”

“If the Night can’t tell time how did you manage to get into my way at the right moment?”

“I’m not that far removed from humanity.” Talking was a strain. This man never was a talker, nor much of a thinker. But slow waters carve deep canyons, given time.

“Let’s get to the heart of it. Why put yourself in my hands?”

“Kharoulke the Windwalker. In too many potential futures the wells of power keep weakening. The earth grows colder. The Windwalker waxes stronger. He could become greater than he was before. There are no Instrumentalities capable of contesting what he might become.”

“How can this be?” That was really a gasp of disbelief. God Himself would crush the devil.

But. The God of the Chaldareans, of the Pramans, of the Devedians, of the Dainshaukin, was a God fragmented into all the thousands of places where He was worshipped. Some believed there was no longer any way that He could pull Himself together again.

“The ice will keep spreading. Someday, no power will be able to challenge Kharoulke within that realm. Already he’s found souls willing to work his mischief beyond the ice. The gods of the hot lands will weaken as their believers die and their churches are crushed by the advancing ice.”

“And you care, why?”

“The Windwalker’s return is largely my fault. The events that created the modern me filled me with insane rage. That drove me to avenge myself on the gods who made soultaken of me and my brother