Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,235

Commandery. Hauf was deeply interested in exploring the Imperial commitment to a new crusade.

“That answer is simple,” Hecht told Hauf. “We go next summer, barring disaster. And barring any shortage of funds.”

Hauf chuckled. “Catch that rascal Doneto. Hang him up by his ugly big toes. Make him pay. He must have chests full of bribe monies by now.”

Not so. One reason some Principatés were deserting Serenity was that he had not yet paid for their votes.

“He might not be so well off, now. Not getting any income out of the Empire since Katrin changed her mind.”

“Take it back.”

“Excellent idea. Easier said than done with him forted up inside Krois.”

Somewhere, remotely, a half-dozen falcons popped off. Probably weapons on the banks of the Teragi harassing Krois. The effort was psychological rather than practical. The projectiles were not massive enough to do serious damage.

Hauf said, “There are passages under the river.”

“And Serenity knows.”

“Death trap?”

“Absolutely.” Maybe. Principaté Delari was working on that. And having little luck.

“The Empire definitely is committed to a crusade?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Though even next summer may be too late.”

“Why is that?”

“While we’re fighting amongst ourselves here Indala is involved in a campaign to unite the kaifates so he can undertake a crusade of his own.”

“Really?”

“Really. Does that shock you?”

“It’s unexpected. And it can’t be good for us. But … He expects to prevail against Gordimer the Lion and the Sha-lug?”

“He’d have to, wouldn’t he? Or he wouldn’t have marched on Dreanger in the first place.”

“I suppose.”

Hecht had paid little attention to Gordimer, Dreanger, and the east these past few years. Could the Lion have sunk so far?

* * *

A summons came from the Penital, over the Ambassador’s signature. Terens Ernest and ten men in long mail shirts walked Hecht over. He did not see how they could prevent a repeat of what had happened last spring.

His wound still bothered him.

As they walked, Ernest said, “Sir, I’m your height and weight. I’ve been practicing walking your way, with that kind of shovel handle up the spine and ax handle across the shoulders posture. We should put me in your clothes when we’re outside, now. With things slowed down the bad guys will have time to plan all kinds of mischief.”

“Terens, I don’t know if I should kiss you or tell you you’re the stupidest man I ever met. You’re right. Extra precautions need to be taken. In fact, we all ought to wear our mail shirts and helmets whenever we go out.”

“Yeah.” Sarcastically. The Commander of the Righteous was the only man there not wearing a helmet.

Hecht said, “I’ll adjust my habits.”

* * *

The Ambassador greeted Hecht warmly. “Very pleased to see you again, Commander.”

“Tell you the truth, till ten days ago I wouldn’t have considered it possible. Your father has been doing amazing things.”

“Hasn’t he? And not that long ago we thought he was headed for the bone pile.”

“You may get to see the new man before long. So. To what do I owe the honor of the summons?”

“She wants to see you. She isn’t happy. You don’t consult her. You haven’t kept her informed since the Battle of the Shades.”

Hecht did not protest. That was true. Were Consent, Vircondelet, Sedlakova to operate that way he would knock some heads together. But …

That admission did not leave him less resentful of the identical attitude in his employer.

The Ambassador escorted him to a huge quiet room where the Empress waited—after a delay meant to remind him of who was master and who was servant.

He had yet to get it into his head that the Empress was always there, looking over his shoulder. She was not remote the way the Patriarchs had been when he was Captain-General.

The rich smell of coffee hit him when the door opened. His mouth watered. The odor seemed a good omen.

On the other hand … He saw no servants, no lifeguards, no ladies-in-waiting as he headed toward the source of the smell. Alone.

Bayard va Still-Patter had not come in with him.

Katrin Ege, at the mercy of kuf or alcohol, was also a slave to her insecurities and appetites. She wore nothing. Her frame was more gaunt than when last he had seen her unclothed. There were bruises all over her. Had someone been beating her?

“What the hell?”

“Commander, you know your duty.” She slurred her words. She must have been drinking. And he smelled kuf behind the marvelous stench of the coffee. So maybe she had done both to get into her present state. Meaning she must have been