Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,200

came out in force, scattered Nassim’s raiders, drove them back into Tel Moussa and the desert, then headed for the coast. Untroubled.

* * *

News came up from Dreanger. It was not good. Gordimer and er-Rashal had faked a withdrawal from Nestor. Indala and his generals had believed what they saw. Indala took half the remaining troops and scurried off to see al-Qarn. He was forty miles south of Nestor when the Sha-lug attacked the troops he had left behind. The surprise was complete. The slaughter afterward was very nearly so.

The Dreangerean success put Indala in a position where he had to win his war to survive politically.

His dead all had families to mourn them. Many had relatives of standing who could raise difficulties if they believed lives had been wasted. Further, the unity existing inside Qasr al-Zed did so because of the respect and admiration Indala’s family had inspired by their many successes. Indala must continue to succeed to retain that respect.

Following his triumph the Lion did leave Nestor. He used the great fleet ported at Iskendemea to leapfrog the mouths of the Shirne to that second greatest of Dreangerean cities. There he reorganized and refitted. His intent was to march up the west bank of the Shirne, hoping that Indala would come over and fight. The numbers lay with the Sha-lug and Dreangerean forces.

Indala had achieved most of his goals. He held al-Qarn. He had possession of Kaseem al-Bakr. In the Lucidian mode of thought that should have ended it. But Gordimer and er-Rashal gave those facts no special weight. They were annoyances. Inconveniences. They could be rectified.

The world awaited an outcome.

In the Holy Lands the lords of the Crusader states got ready to jump on the back of the winner.

* * *

The Mountain was drafting his monthly activities report for the clerks in Shamramdi when old Az appeared. “Big news, General. And it isn’t good.”

“Indala got his head handed to him?”

“No. Not that. That’s still in the hands of God. I’m talking about Queen Clothilde bullying Berismond into giving Gherig back to Black Rogert.”

“Oh.” Nassim sat in glum silence for more than a minute. Then, “What do we know? Where will he be coming from? And when?”

38. Vis Corcula, the Shades

It was a beautiful summer dawn in the Shades. It started chilly. That would change dramatically once the sun climbed high. It had rained off and on all night. A mist now concealed the wildflower-strewn ground out in front of Piper Hecht. Somewhere beyond that, a few miles downslope, lay the encampment of the army sent to clear Vis Corcula of this tumor called the Righteous.

Hecht, Titus Consent, and Rivademar Vircondelet had slipped down there in the darkness and rain. They had not gotten a good look because of the weather but what Hecht had seen assured him that he faced big numbers, entirely disorganized. Heris had been right about Serenity being able to roll out a large mob.

The rain had made hearing unreliable. They avoided getting too close, fearing they might stumble into a sentry post because they could not hear the sentries complaining about having guard duty in foul weather.

There had been a lot of fires, both inside of and outside a low stockade meant to manage sheep and cattle. The camp centered on a longtime livestock operation belonging to the Benedocto family.

Wherever Hecht wandered next morning, willfully alone, the soldiers watched nervously. They wanted to believe he could work a miracle. They wanted to believe they were the best of the best and invincible. But they were daunted by the numbers. A disparity still growing as more troops arrived down below. A plan was in place but was so weird the men did not believe it could be the real plan. It had to be a plan the Commander wanted the Patriarch’s spies to discover.

And that was true. With Hecht hoping the enemy gave it less credence than did his own men, who understood the concept despite its departure from doctrine.

Clej Sedlakova joined Hecht between hummocks that might have been faded recollections of prehistoric burial mounds. “They’re getting nervous, boss. You still haven’t told anybody the real plan.”

“Smoke and mirrors, Clej. That’s the way it stays. What our men don’t know those people down the hill can’t find out. Tell them to do what I say when I say it. What about the meadow?”

“It gets soggier by the minute.” Drainage was not good. Hecht saw several sheets of water, none deep enough to overtop the