did seem to be inviting comment, however.
Else did nothing to attract any more attention.
Drocker said, 'You men stay here. Protect the Principal. And the bishop's property. If that's your inclination. I'll try to salvage Antieux. But I fear that God has turned His back.'
The moment Drocker was out of earshot, Ghort asked, 'Where you figure on heading when we're done here, Pipe?'
'Uh? I don't know. I haven't thought about it Why?'
'I'm thinking there's a good chance we might be out of work tomorrow morning. We might even be running for our lives.'
'What?'
'There's a big slaughter going on over there right now. Because them people did something really stupid. And then they panicked. But there's a lot more of them than there are of our guys. Who are just overgrown kids who don't really know what the fuck they're doing.'
'You think they'll get themselves killed?”
'I think there's a good chance. I also think that, no matter how it turns out, what's happening is going to decide how the Patriarchy and the Connec get along from now on. Meantime, let's go protect Doneto.'
'When did he get promoted? First I heard of him, he was just a bishop who had one foot in the Collegium door. But the sorcerer keeps calling him Principatл.” Which was the top title in the Church, after Patriarch. It came from an Old Brothen word meaning prince.
'Drocker came from Brothe. My guess is, Sublime gave him the title figuring it was a freebie because Doneto was going to croak in a few days, anyway.'
'You're a cynical bastard.'
'Absolutely.'
Drocker went to Antteux's main gate first. His party were refused entry. The city's defenders were active there.
Pesky archers compelled the Brotherhood soldiers to work their way around to the open postern. They followed the path Bishop Serifs had been forced to take a short while earlier.
Horror reigned inside the city. The invaders suffered wherever they encountered serious resistance. But the defenders were equally inexperienced, were scattered, panicky, and without credible leadership where the actual bloodletting was happening.
Hundreds of dead and dying littered the streets. The butchery was worthy of a historical epic. One of those where the gutters ran swollen with torrents of blood.
The greatest horror occurred in Bishop Serifs's own cathedral, where more than a thousand of Antieux's population, Episcopal and Maysalean alike, tried to find sanctuary.
The invaders broke down the cathedral doors and brought the slaughter into the house of the God whose work they were supposed to be doing.
The madness continued elsewhere as well, growing instead of subsiding. The invaders broke up into small bands and raced through the streets in search of easy victims and loot.
Bishop Serifs reached the cathedral while the killing there was still in progress. He made himself beloved of the people of the Connec, of all faiths, everywhere, when he broke down in a foaming-mouth rage over the damage being done to 'his' property.
There were few living people inside the Cathedral when Grade Drocker arrived. Bishop Serifs was among them, though his fat body bore witness that he had been punished severely by someone. His survival was a miracle. Maybe his God did love him.
Fighting continued but began to run out of impetus. The invaders were tending their wounds, looting, or were just too exhausted to go on.
Grade Drocker chose to exercise his right as commander. He sent Brotherhood soldiers out to remind the mercenaries that the distribution of booty was entirely at the discretion of the army commander.
Not the brightest move. He was surrounded by a city inundated in lawlessness. His only protection was a handful of men who did not think highly of him or the Special Office.
Several messengers were assaulted. But the truly awful response of the mercenaries was, in places, a decision to destroy everything if they could not take what they wanted for themselves. They started setting fires.
The Legate did not seem surprised to see Else, Ghort, and their companions when they bullied their way past his remaining two bodyguards. He murmured something.
'Drocker told us to guard you,' Ghort said. 'The way things are going, it looks like you might need some protecting.'
Doneto mumbled a question. He was drugged, obviously. Even so, his mind was working. He wanted to know what was going on.
Else said, 'You explain it, Pinkus. I'm going to look the place over, see if we can defend it.'
He knew the answer already. Thirty men, a mule, two nervous bodyguards, and a smattering of terrified servants who were disappearing fast would not be able to hold out. This house had not been built with defense in mind.
He wanted to find that boy. The catamite should be a treasure trove of information.
The house was vast. And richly appointed. And falling apart. And empty.
Empty. That struck home. A place this big needed a staff of dozens. But Else saw no one at all above the ground floor. Serifs was too miserly to employ an adequate staff.
Else found the bishop's personal quarters. The concentration of comfort and wealth there was astonishing.
Candles burned there already, though it was not yet dark. They were beeswax candles, too. The most expensive kind. They did not dispel the darkness completely. There were curious little twitchings in the corners that revealed an uncomfortable truth. Bishop Serifs had some small communion with the Instrumentalities of the Night.
They were not big enough or powerful enough to be threatening, but they were there. The Instrumentalities of the Night were always there. The wise man never forgot that, not for a moment
Else made no noise as he drifted through the apartment until he found a room where a small, slim form stood framed by a window, watching Antieux burn.
'Osa.'
The boy jumped as though slapped. He spun, looked for somewhere to run.
'There's no way out'
The boy eyed him more closely. 'Captain Tage.'
'Piper Hecht is the name.'
'What're you doing here in the Connec?'
'The Lion sent me to spy on the Chaldareans. What's your story? You were eleven and top boy in the Vibrant Spring school last time I saw you. That was eight years ago. But you're still eleven.'
'The Lion sent me, too. After I spent half a year in er-Rashal's hands. My body won't ever look any older than it does now.'
Else nodded. The Osa Stile he remembered was extremely bright and totally fearless, though he did not know the boy well and did not give it a second thought when he disappeared from the Vibrant Spring barracks. That happened.
'And you're supposed to do what?'
'Create chaos and dissension so the Chaldareans can't put together another crusade. I've been doing pretty well.'
'You've been poisoning Doneto, haven't you?'
The boy nodded. 'I set him up to be assassinated, too, but it didn't take. Now having him alive but not recovering is more useful than having him dead. He keeps the Patriarch looking this way.'
