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 selfpity.
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 good reason for appearing in person, in the rain.
“It must be.” Hecht went to the door. Anna had admitted no one. Only Piper Hecht and one maid ever entered her home. Ghort and his man Polo waited on the tiny stoop.
The warm rain had wakened the rich aromas of the street. Sadly, it was not heavy enough to wash anything away.
“Some major shit coming down, Pipe. We need to jump on it. Fast.”
“What?”
“Clearenza. Fon Dreasser repudiated his oaths to the Patriarchy. They haven’t heard at the Castella.
Yet. Sublime’s gonna shit himself.”
There would be more. Clearenza’s defection was not unexpected. Duke Germa fon Dreasser was inconstant, to be generous. His allegiance shifted between the Grail Empire and the Patriarchy with every change in the political breeze. But this time the change could have more than indifferent consequences.
Sublime V owed Germa and the syndics of Clearenza eighteen thousand
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 selfpity.
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 good reason for appearing in person, in the rain.
“It must be.” Hecht went to the door. Anna had admitted no one. Only Piper Hecht and one maid ever entered her home. Ghort and his man Polo waited on the tiny stoop.
The warm rain had wakened the rich aromas of the street. Sadly, it was not heavy enough to wash anything away.
“Some major shit coming down, Pipe. We need to jump on it. Fast.”
“What?”
“Clearenza. Fon Dreasser repudiated his oaths to the Patriarchy. They haven’t heard at the Castella.
Yet. Sublime’s gonna shit himself.”
There would be more. Clearenza’s defection was not unexpected. Duke Germa fon Dreasser was inconstant, to be generous. His allegiance shifted between the Grail Empire and the Patriarchy with every change in the political breeze. But this time the change could have more than indifferent consequences.
Sublime V owed Germa and the syndics of Clearenza eighteen thousand
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