Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,42

the Night knows. Like most Instrumentalities, I have trouble organizing that so it makes sense inside this world’s limitations. The toughest chore is to anchor information at the appropriate place on the tree of time.”

“The same problem your Old Ones had when they conscripted you to murder me.”

“Exactly. They read the causes and effects incorrectly, then misinterpreted the results. By trying to defeat the future they wrote their own downfall.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m trapped climbing the tree of time myself. I have places to go and things to do according to the workings of this world.”

“True. A point I wanted to make. The reason I wanted to see you. I am an Instrumentality, now. Almost a new thing. My eyes are open to the Night. But I’m still human enough to see how I could be of use to an enemy of the Night.”

“You’re volunteering to spy?”

“Sort of. First I have to undo what rage made me do after my suffering at al-Khazen.”

“So you said. Yes.” Hecht was not ready to take the Night at its word, or at face value. Slippery was a defining characteristic of the Instrumentalities of the Night, be they gods or woodland sprites.

“Trust you need not invest. Judge by results.”

“You want to help in the struggle, feel free. A window into the supernatural realm would be priceless. But I can’t manage it. The old man will have to do. He can get any really useful information to me quickly.”

“He could teach me that traveling trick.”

“He could. You never know. He’s always got another surprise up his sleeve. But I wouldn’t count on it.”

“We have an understanding?”

“I’m not sure. I’m not clear on what you want for you.”

“At its simplest, absolution. Asgrimmur Grimmsson, as Svavar, was a terrible man. Not as bad as his brother Shagot, but a waste of flesh. What Svavar became might be worse—though that was circumstance, not intent. The ascendant absorbed power from two major Instrumentalities—which left him the slave of the qualities that made Svavar so awful.”

“But you’re a changed man now.” Hecht could not suppress his skepticism.

“The power of the metal to burn out evil and self-delusion can’t be explained in any way that would make sense to you. For weeks I’ve looked for an explanatory metaphor. There must not be one. Just say silver ripping through me constituted a baptism of the soul and spirit.”

Soul and spirit? The remark bore a suspicious odor. Some heretics believed men had two souls, consciousness and spirit. Hecht did not know the details. He shied away from deviant thinking.

The ascendant guessed his thoughts. “There’s a saying to the effect that there are more things in heaven and earth than we know. That is true beyond mortal imagining. For every Instrumentality you know there are a dozen in the air, the water, and the earth below. You know nothing about them because they never interact with human beings. They’ve always been insignificant in the history of your world. And always will be if they’re left alone.”

Hecht was becoming impatient. What the ascendant really wanted was company.

“I’ll release you in a moment, Captain-General.”

Hecht could not move.

“Those like Kharoulke prey on benign Instrumentalities. That explains how the Windwalker gets stronger when the wells of power are dying.”

“Not a secret.”

“Of course. But the dark Instrumentalities have never been so efficient. Not even Kharoulke’s generation, before they were defeated and constrained. They’ve changed. They’ve become devourers.”

Hecht noted the use of “they.” “There are others? Besides the Windwalker?”

“Yes. They’re still blind and only beginning to waken. But mortals are looking for them, wanting to quicken them. Hoping to become them.”

“Er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen.”

“First try. Go. Enjoy your war. Cleanse the Connec of revenant Night. But your success won’t stay that nation’s doom.”

Hecht could move. He did so instantly, despite having a thousand questions.

The ascendant was amused.

Cloven Februaren should be careful. This thing was no dim pirate.

* * *

Brothe was calm. Pinkus Ghort told the Captain-General, “I almost wish you could stay around, Pipe. It’s so quiet.”

“Enforce that yourself. You have the power and the men.”

“And could be out of a job. I’m not on the payroll to keep the peace. I’m here to make sure Brothe runs the way Bronte Doneto and the Five Families want it to run. In that order. They could hardly care less if the lower classes murder each other. And they’re behind the Colors.”

Those political parties, once just passionate partisans of various racing teams, had been quiescent since the collapse of the hippodrome. Which