Adolf Black had joined the ill-fated Arnhander
incursion that ended with the Black Mountain Massacre. Two years before
that, thousands of Grolsachers, again in service to Arnhand, perished
in that kingdom's defeat at Themes, when the King of Arnhand tried to
enforce his dubious rights in Tramaine.
Brother Candle joined Brock Rault and his siblings, Booth, Socia,
and Thurm. Brock and Booth were thoughtful, Thurm unsettled. Socia was
totally bloodthirsty. She wanted to put heads on poles facing the
Grolsach border.
Brother Candle observed, "The human species has an attention span
like that of a bluebottle." Flies became more numerous by the hour. Had
Brother Candle entertained any strain of paganism he might have
recalled that pre-Chaldarean Instrumentality known as Lord of Flies,
Lord of Maggots, Prince of Ravens, or Rook. Rook was the last god who
visited battlefields. He followed Ordnan, god of battles, Death, and
Hilt, or the Choosers of the Slain. The latter collected the greatest
heroes, whole. Hilt collected only the souls of those deemed unworthy
of the Hall of Heroes.
Rook was Corruption incarnate.
Rook's thoughts summoned all flies and carrion eaters when men
gathered for war. Before the coming of the Episcopal Chaldarean faith.
Those old Instrumentalities were gone, now. Supposedly. More or less.
Modern man hoped. And prayed to his newer, gentler gods.
The ghosts of the harsher gods never left the collective
consciousness. They would be reborn if enough people needed them and
called them forth. If the wells of power produced sufficient surplus
for Instrumentalities to grow.
Socia offered a disquieting thought. "Maybe the Connec itself is a
corpse, drawing flies."
Brother Candle shuddered. There was a mad edge to the girl-child's
voice. Perhaps she was sensitive to the Instrumentalities of the
Night. He observed, "The Grolsachers never learn. Their adventures all
turn into catastrophes. The people who hire them will not learn,
either. Why don't they notice that anyone who hires Grolsachers always
stumbles into a disaster?"
Socia laughed. "You'd have to figure they're due for a win. Wouldn't
you?"
Brother Candle exchanged looks with the girl's brothers. Brock Rault
shook his head. Socia had seen the elephant nose to trunk. She had
helped abuse the mercenaries cut down in front of the gate. None of
that had disturbed her in the least.
The girl had no grasp of Maysalean principles. Brother Candle
reminded himself that all religions came plentifully stocked with
people who paid no attention to what they were about. Some became
powerful in the hierarchy of their faith. And had to swim rivers when
their villainy flashed back in their faces.
The Usurper Patriarch Sublime V was the man Brother Candle had in
mind, though the accusation could have been laid at the feet of most of
the Brothen Episcopal Collegium.
On another level, Brother Candle was deeply concerned about the
supernatural impact on the conflict. There had been a sharp increase in
encounters with things of the Night since the Black Mountain Massacre,
in that region. The violence and emotion here was sure to attract the
eyes of the Night, as well.
2. Brothe, with the Captain-General
Piper Hecht swore in the Episcopal fashion. "God's Blood! Can't those
people leave me alone for a single night?"
Anna Mozilla's full lips twisted in a sneer. "You missed the night,
eh? And the afternoon before it? And this morning? I'm wondering if my
feelings ought to be hurt, Mr. Captain-General."
Piper took a second to make certain his mistress was teasing. Anna
did demonstrate occasional, unpredictable fits of self-pity.
She said, "It's Pinkus Ghort. His own self." Imitating Ghort's
Grolsacher speech habits. "So it must be serious."
Hecht's old campaigning companion commanded the Brothen City
Regiment, a task as thorny and thankless as herding cats. Ghort faced
constraints and demands as distracting as those plaguing the
Captain-General himself. Ghort would have a