isn’t telling you is, most of his men have deserted.”
Hecht hid his surprise. “Captain, what was the ultimate purpose for this meeting? And why are all these people here?”
“They came with the army. To observe, I’m told. I think they hoped for a disaster as ugly as what we got. Our Patriarch is no longer loved by his own class.”
“I understand the politics, more or less. But you haven’t said why you wanted to meet.”
“I have. I want the killing to stop. And, then, these people insisted.”
Hecht glanced at Titus Consent. Might Consent know something about Bucce?
Bucce said, “The way I understand it, these people want you to be able to drive toward Brothe unhindered, for a showdown with Serenity.”
“I presume you’ve all changed your minds about your votes, last election.”
No one responded. They stared at something in the darkness behind him. Had Prosek manhandled a few falcons down to strengthen the Imperial argument?
He glanced at Cloven Februaren. The old man was not concerned. “Tell me more.”
“That’s it. From me. Talk to them.” Bucce was frightened. He stared past Hecht, too. “I won’t interfere as long as you let us manage our dead and wounded and go.”
He was repeating himself. For whoever was back there.
Voice tired, strained, feeble, Paludan Bruglioni said, “He speaks for Serenity’s hirelings. We’ll talk once you’re done with him.”
Hecht eyed Bruglioni, then Gervase Saluda, as though Saluda might explain how Paludan could have survived.
Paludan did not notice. He was fixed on the presence behind Hecht.
A ghost whispered in Hecht’s ear, “The Empress is back there.”
“I thought so. Your Grace failed to heed the advice of her Commander of the Righteous.” Not looking back.
“It was advice, only, Commander. I have more confidence in you than you have in yourself.”
This was no time for an argument. “Thank you for your faith, Majesty. Have you heard enough to understand?”
Katrin stepped up beside him, to his left. He glimpsed an abashed Ephrian behind her. “These people have decided they backed the wrong racing team. They hope to save themselves and maybe snatch some of the spoils by changing Colors.”
Even after years in Firaldia Hecht did not fully grasp the concept of Colors, which tied together fan support for famous racing teams at the hippodrome, local politics, and, more broadly, made a statement about one’s position on the long power struggle between the Brothen Episcopal Patriarchs and the Grail Emperors.
Katrin’s statement was bare-boned truth.
But they could still crush the Righteous. And in grand style because they could grab the Grail Empress herself.
The Ninth Unknown whispered, “You rate yourself too small. You changed the world today. Again. But you recognize it no better than you did in Esther’s Wood.”
Hecht neither understood nor believed. But it was worth some thought.
“Acton Bucce of Bricea, of the Free Will Swords, I am here. Her Most August Imperial Majesty. What do you have to say?”
“I thought I was clear, Your Majesty.”
“You said you won’t bother me if the Commander of the Righteous lets you go. Which has its appeal. On the other hand, exterminating you all so we don’t have to deal with you again later also has its charm. Too, we wouldn’t have people like these here if somebody wasn’t fishing for special consideration.”
Paludan Bruglioni admitted it. “You’re right. We came here in anticipation of your success. We hope to negotiate the safety of our houses.”
Cloven Februaren muttered, “Bullshit. But he does mean it when he says it.”
Saluda took over. “We all pledge to provide no aid or comfort to Serenity. Nor will we impede the Righteous in any way.”
The Empress laughed, a peal with a donkey’s bray edge on it. “It won’t be that easy. It won’t be that cheap. There’ll be no lurking on the middle road till you can jump in on the winning side. Choose. And let the world know. Your lives, your fortunes, your honor. I want them declared, dedicated, committed.”
Februaren murmured, “Somebody is a little overconfident.”
“Just a bit,” Hecht agreed.
But Katrin had not overplayed her hand. Nobody stomped away.
The spokesmen for the Five Families agreed to negotiate articles of association after the Patriarchals dealt with their dead and wounded and headed home.
Titus said, “I’m not sure about this, boss. Feels like we’re letting them off too easy.”
“After what we did to them?”
“The Empress said it. We might have to deal with them again.”
Next day Righteous scouts pushed down toward the plain, advancing as the Patriarchals buried their dead. Reinforcements arrived, two hundred men come over from Glimpsz. More were en route. An army was assembling in Alamedinne. Imperial garrisons were demonstrating in every north Firaldian city that owed allegiance to the Empire. The same was not happening in the Patriarchal States.
News of the slaughter in the Shades spread fast and grew with the telling. People who should have known better took the wildest stories as gospel.
The whisperers of Krois murmured canards against the Empress and her Commander of the Righteous: They had surrendered to the Will of the Night. There would have been no disaster had not all darkness answered the conjuring of the witch queen and her mercenary familiar.
Journeymen rumor-tinkers of an opposing view charged Serenity with consorting with the Night and with being the man behind the monster that kept returning to the catacombs, however often the good Principat?s put it down. Those accusations found the popular mind more welcoming. Almost as far back as the collapse of the hippodrome there had been gossip connecting Bronte Doneto with events in the underground world.
Such was the news Cloven Februaren brought back from his Brothen visits, where his espionage was less subtle and clever than Heris’s had been.
He enjoyed sabotage too much.
Clej Sedlakova surfaced after three days. Only eighteen men accompanied him, most all injured. They had been ambushed by an enemy who had known they were coming. Sedlakova and these men were the last survivors of a long running fight.
The Righteous buried their dead. They examined their firepowder weapons for defects. They brought up ammunition and supplies, and welcomed further reinforcements.
The Commander of the Righteous twice eluded halfhearted advances by the Empress. Her self-control seemed to be slipping again.
Hecht was not alone in noticing.
Rivademar Vircondelet stuck his head into the tented space Hecht had taken in the Patriarchal camp. Vircondelet had begun to assume some of Titus Consent’s duties as Consent became more intimate with field command. “Captain Ephrian is begging to see you, boss. Can you spare a minute?”
“Send him in, then.”
Ephrian came bearing bad news.
“Sit, Captain, and tell me the problem.”
“The Empress. Of course. I can’t take much more. She won’t cooperate. She will do what she wants, when she wants.”
“Kind of goes with the job.”
“I understand that. I remember how Johannes could get. But he was never like her. No matter what happens,
