Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,7

interested in all that. And even more interested in finding out about Renfrow.” He related what little de Bos and Vircondelet had unearthed.

The longer Hecht talked the more agitated Februaren became.

“You’re disturbed. Why is that?”

“An unhappy suspicion. Has anyone accused the man of sorcery?”

“No. But he scares everybody. And has done for as long as you have. And he does things he shouldn’t be able to do.”

“Which you would accuse me of, too. I’ll check his record, then. As he seems to be checking yours.”

“More than once he’s told me he believes I’m Else Tage, a captain of the Sha-lug pointed out to him in al-Qarn when he was visiting Gordimer the Lion and his wild sorcerer.”

“That would be when he acquired the boy. Armand.”

“Yes. Osa Stile. Muniero Delari’s erstwhile bed pet. Now playing night games with Hugo Mongoz himself.”

Flash of the Februaren mischief. “And getting nothing to his friends outside Krois. The Dreangereans think he’s dead.”

Hecht steeled himself. “Have you seen Anna? And the girls?”

“No. But Muno has them to the house regularly. Anna misses you. She and Heris have become friends. And Heris has become adept with the Construct.”

Hecht was surprised at how emotional he was about his makeshift family. Anna Mozilla was not his wife but he ached with longing for her. Vali and Lila were not his flesh but he missed them more than his true daughters. Of whom there were two. Almost forgotten. Along with a real wife. Whose face he could no longer picture. None of them seen in years, and then usually only for a few brief hours before the Lion sped him off on some other deadly mission.

Cloven Februaren told him, “You’re not a bad man, Piper Hecht. Neither was Else Tage. We’re all slaves of circumstance. And circumstance can be crueler than any devil.”

Hecht understood. It was what he needed to hear at that moment. Except: “The Adversary is determined to drag me down.”

“And? Are you going to claim some special place on the Rolls of Temptation?”

“Helspeth.” He had said nothing to anyone, ever before. “The Princess Apparent. I have an obsession. From the first time I saw her, as a captive in Plemenza. I saved her life at al-Khazen. The insanity is mutual. We’ve exchanged guarded letters. I’m here, now. In Alten Weinberg. With Helspeth less than half a mile away.” Hecht was astonished. He was confessing what he was barely able to admit to himself. “I’m terrified that I’ll do something mad. That I’ll ruin myself and drag the Princess with me.”

The humor and mischievous sparkle fled Cloven Februaren. “Wow. Seeds of an international epic. I’d better shelve my lesser concerns and concentrate on this wedding. It is still on?”

Hecht did not catch the gentle sarcasm.

“Katrin worships the ground Jaime walks on. Though Jaime needs a good solid ass-kicking, to borrow a notion from Pinkus Ghort.”

“Who is getting fat commanding the City Regiment. Bronte Doneto and Pinkus Ghort make quite a team. Lords of Brothe, now, those two. What’s wrong with Jaime?”

“He’s much too impressed with King Jaime. He worships the man. And thinks the rest of the world should join in.”

That brightened the old man’s evening. He said, “Sounds like an opportunity.”

“As may be.…”

Madouc invited himself into the Captain-General’s bedchamber. He glared around suspiciously. “Who are you talking to?”

“Madouc?”

The chief lifeguard had suffered this before. “Gerzina heard voices.”

“Did any of them yell for help?”

“No, sir. But it’s a given that the man we’re protecting doesn’t have the God-gifted sense to call for it.”

Hecht was irked. But did not have the strength of conviction to tell Madouc that he was wrong or was getting above himself.

Something had to be done. They were too much at loggerheads, letting personalities get in the way of common sense. Someday he would bring Madouc’s worst fears to fruition by thoughtlessly disdaining the man’s advice. Meanwhile, Madouc exaggerated every slight in his own mind.

Friction. It had to be overcome. Somehow. Madouc was a good soldier, wasted in his current assignment.

“If you were Master of the Castella Commandery, Madouc, what job would you see yourself best suited to do?”

“Sir?”

“If you could pick your job, what would that be?”

Hecht did not expect an answer. Unless as some formula. The Brotherhood of War had countless rules they did not share with outsiders.

“Given a choice, I’d master one of the commanderies in the Holy Lands.”

“And protect pilgrims? Interesting. Have you asked?”

“The Brotherhood has begun to turn its face westward. Maybe because the west has begun to turn away