Those girls would need to be strong and clever.
Lothar ought to be under special guard. Sublime might have the boy murdered as an expedient means of dulling the Grail Empire's teeth.
That could not be allowed. Sublime must always have the threat of me Emperor behind him.
Al-Khazen was dead except for the excitement at its heart. Sorceries flared there. But the efforts of the denizens of the citadel were ineffective. The Collegium had begun harrying them, leaving them little attention to spare for the dead heroes.
A last band of Calziran fugitives eluded the foreign Pramans and dead warriors alike. Mafti al-Araj el-Arak and his courtiers, their families, and certain formerly resolutely stubborn lords of the Calziran kingdom were making their escape. In an exchange of messages they had promised to surrender to King Peter of Navaya at al-Negesi. They had sworn their paroles against the Written. Else thought the weather would keep them honest. They had nowhere else to go if they wanted to be warm and fed.
Else watched them move out, shielded by his troops. He hoped the hint had gotten through, that there would be familiar faces among the refugees.
Ah. There were. Bone and the Master of Ghosts, Az, who needed help from his companions. Looking very Calziran today. Bone had found a loophole in their oath.
Wait! There was another face he knew. Not included in the offer of parole. 'Stop that man. Chiotto. Brench. In the gray jebalah, with the hood. Cut him out.'
The Mafti's chief chamberlain materialized. He had initiated negotiations originally. 'A thousand pardons, Lord!' he gasped at Else. 'Forgive the Mafti! This gray rat forced himself upon us. He was desperate to escape the mad Dreangerean. It was not the Mafti's plan to violate our parole.'
'I see. You drugged him somehow?'
'Indeed. Yes, Lord.' His evasive eye suggested that poison was more likely.
'Is this Masant el-Seyhan?'
'The same, Lord. He is a terrible man. We didn't dare …'
'Enough. You lie like a dog. But I have no complaint now. Remind the Mafti that he'll be followed to el-Negesi. I've ordered that no mercy be shown parole breakers.'
'Your generosity is heroic, Lord. Worthy of a Believer. Your mercy won't be forgotten.'
'Go. I can still be overruled by my superiors.' There would be, for sure, an outcry about his having let potential ransoms get away. Foo on how many soldiers' lives the arrangement saved.
There were always more soldiers.
He was improvising, not only to save lives but to give old friends a chance to elude the doom er-Rashal al- Dhulquarnen wanted to call down on the remaining Sha-lug.
Else was angry. The Rascal had betrayed al-Prama and Dreanger on behalf of some obscure ambition of his own. But he would pay, in time. Maybe even here, at the hands of Devedian fusiliers. They would be eager to get off a shot at the man who had invented firepowder weapons. They loved irony as much as gold. Or maybe the payback would come later, after news of his treachery crept back to Gordimer the Lion.
Once the groggy man in gray had been hustled off for an encounter with Grade Drocker, Else settled in for a siege of the citadel. Which did not happen.
Private soldiers not as weary as he, still able to reason, saw an opportunity to penetrate al-Khazen's citadel through the some postern the Mafti had used to get away. The undead paid no attention. They were occupied elsewhere.
Er-Rashal el-Dhulquarnen could not be found. Likewise, the commanders of the Dreangeran and Lucidian expeditions. Nor was much treasure discovered. The few servants left behind were so resolutely ignorant that it was obvious their memories had been bewitched.
'Here's what you do,' Else told one of his captains. “Put the servants into a slave coffle. We'll question them again later. Then set the citadel on fire. If they're hiding in some secret place that'll bring them out. You can let them surrender if they offer.'
He settled down, then, out of the way, and napped. He had but to crack an eye to see a hundred Brothen soldiers doing the same. He nodded off reflecting on how much of his life he spent alone. He was alone even while he commanded ten thousand men.
He would be with Anna Mozilla again, soon, though.
It began to snow. That respite was over.
Exhaustion dogged Else mercilessly as he climbed from one trail marker to the next, while the snow fell, after dark, making his way back to camp. He was part of a chaotic stream. Younger men passed him. He passed older men. Polo met him and worried around him like a nervous puppy. 'Just feed me and put me to bed,' he said. He was too tired to worry about the state of a Patriarchal camp that had suffered several days of Titus Consent's tyranny. The confusion could be sorted out later. Polo shielded him faithfully till well after sunrise, though everyone wanted a chunk of his time. He pushed them away himself, then, and went to see Grade Drocker.
The Brotherhood sorcerer looked dreadful.
'Glad you came out, Hecht. Dramatic things have been happening. I need to know what you can tell me. I have decisions to make.' Drocker needed two minutes to get all that out.
'Ask the questions. I'll do my best to answer.'
'First, tell me what happened. I recall discouraging you from rescuing the crown prince.'
'We did back off and leave that to the Brotherhood.'
'Yet men from the city regiment brought Lothar into camp.'
'Your soldiers didn't get the job done. Without my men grabbing him when they did Lothar would've died in captivity.'
'Just as well you showed the initiative. We lost the Brothers sent to retrieve Lothar. All of them, sadly.'
'They fought well. From the little I saw, they made the Pramans pay a terrible price to keep hold of Lothar.'
'I'm pleased. I'm exhausted, Hecht. Nearing the end. I have almost nothing left. Not even my usual little kingdom. I'm alone except for Bechter. I should be in a rage about our losses. The behavior of our Deves, down there, should've made me insanely furious. Weapons of that same sort did this to me. But I'm too weak. There is a passage in the Good Book. One of the Unattributed Prophets. 'I am weary unto death.' I won't last the week, Hecht. I may not witness another sunset. I've borrowed all the time that God will loan me.' The long speech, made with few interruptions, left Drocker looking like a corpse.
'Shall I send Polo for a physician, sir?'
'No. My time is short. I've done what needs doing. Sergeant Bechter will become your aide. An unimaginative but steady man, Bechter. He'll have all the information and materials you'll need.'
'Sir?'
'You will succeed me as commander of Patriarchal forces. The Principatйs have accepted my wishes. They'll encourage the Patriarch to make the appointment permanent.'
'I'm not worthy.'
'Possibly not. There is much about you that I find disquieting. And more that says there is in you a steadfastness of character more important than lip service religiosity.'
Else shifted ground. 'Did you get anything out of Starkden or Masant el-Seyhan?'
'The woman was too long dead. I'm no necromancer. Worse luck. We had our grievances. The Principatйs are working on the other one. It doesn't look promising. His brain has been damaged by drugs and poison. Only Special Office experts could open him up. But the two we have in camp were with Lothar. They're unlikely to recover from their capture.'
'And the other sorcerer? The one who came from overseas?'
'Gone. Vanished. Claimed seriously damaged by the undead warriors before he finished them off. That's enough for now. I must recuperate. If I can. As you leave tell that old woman to come in. I need changing.'
Drocker was not speaking in jest. He had a nurse, a Calziran Chaldarean so old they might have built the
