rubbed raw by interminable proximity.
'Maybe. But don't push your luck. What happened? Why the sudden turnaround?'
'Pirates.'
'What? You want me to brain you? What's with the cryptic answer?'
'I mean it. Pirates from Calzir are all over the place, suddenly. Raiding both coasts. I'm sure there's a story. But all I've heard is, the raiders are picking on the Church and the Benedocto family holdings.'
Piracy was an old-time favorite sport of Calzir's Pramans. At times buccaneering offered better prospects than any more mundane career. At least until the appearance of the Firaldian mercantile republics. Those ferocious capitalists were less forgiving than feeble counts and dukes and kings. The men they sent to scour out the pirates' home villages and harbors were deadly, cruel, and thorough.
Else said as much. 'They couldn't be that stupid. Could they?'
'Why ask me? All I know is, we're getting out of here. You want to argue about it, take it up with the Principatй. Or the Patriarch next time you see him. Or those lunatic Calzirans.'
'All right. All right. I'm just amazed at humanity's boundless capacity for making stupid choices.' How could the Calzirans have grown so contemptuous of reality? Sublime was looking for excuses to preach a crusade. Did they believe that Sonsa, Dateon, and Aparion would look away? Hell. Maybe they did. The Devedian uprisings, fomented by the Brotherhood of War and Patriarchal agitators, might have made the republics withdraw protection from areas not their direct dependents.
Else asked, 'Do you know where the raids were? Only Patriarchal States got hit?'
Ghort shrugged. 'They didn't call me into any councils, Pipe. They told me to wake your ass up and get ready to hike. And hike for real, because we ain't getting our horses back. So, if you don't mind, get shaking. I'll get Pig Iron and the boys stirring.'
They made a pathetic little band leaving Plemenza. The anonymous Braunsknechts captain watched from the gateway, as though to make sure they really went away.
There were seven of them. The Principatй, Else, and Ghort. Bo Biogna and Just Plain Joe. Plus Bergos Delmareal and Gadjeu Tifft. The spy who had intended to stick with Doneto, Gitto Boratto, was too sick to travel. Which was a genuine coincidence. Boratto came down with the runs the afternoon before the ransom arrived. Bo thought Boratto's troubles were due to a rich diet that was his reward for spying.
So Delmareal and Tifft were reliable. Delmareal was an exile from one of the smaller Chaldarean kingdoms in Direcia, absorbed by Navaya shortly after Peter became king. Delmareal had no inclination to go home.
Gadjeu Tifft hailed from Croizat, a tiny state on the Creveldian coast across the narrow Vieran Sea, east of Firaldia. The details of his story were protean. Men did stupid, impulsive things when they were young.
Tifft did not seem bright enough to be an agent of the Rh?n, though Croizat and all of Creveldia belonged to the Eastern Empire.
No matter. The shores of the Mother Sea crawled with displaced men who, often in some way that they did not comprehend, found themselves far from anyone or anything they knew. They survived by signing on with some warlord.
The Bronte Donetos were always there.
Doneto was in good health now and eager to get home. He pushed as hard as Pig Iron allowed. And Pig Iron was in a mood to put Plemenza behind him.
Pinkus Ghort started grumbling before the first day was halfway done. 'Good thing we spent so much time staying in shape, eh? That's paying dividends now.' Else was one of few prisoners who had made an effort to stay fit. Ghort was not.
Even the Principatй had to walk. Possibly, Hansel thought, that might inspire him to rein in his natural arrogance.
Only a brace of ancient donkeys had been given the privilege of becoming Pig Iron's associates in the transport department.
Doneto wanted to plot against the future. He told Else, 'As soon as we get to Brothe, before anybody even sees you, I'm going to set you up with Draco Arniena. He'll take you on because, although he opposes Sublime publicly, in secret he's our ally.'
Doneto bubbled with eagerness to plunge into Brother's ferocious political dialogue.
19. Andorayans in Brothe
Shagot and Svavar survived by theft and violence while they learned enough Firaldian to get by. Then they worked their way up the ranks of strong-arm men. They started as bouncers in one of Brothe's more riotous waterfront dives, then became wholesale butchers on behalf of an association of shopkeepers grown weary of paying protection to gangs who did not protect them from other gangs demanding protection money.
They had a miraculous knack for surviving. Their coldbloodedness intimidated the most hardened Brothen criminals. It took just months to convince a superstitious underworld that they could not be touched but would happily obliterate anyone who even thought about getting in their way.
Shagot learned that producing the monster head while using weapons from the old battlefield in the White Hills left him and Svavar invulnerable. He did not understand why. He did not care. It was sufficient that he was doing the work of the gods.
The brothers had no trouble being coldly murderous because they were so far out of their own time that they did not see people of the present as entirely human.
This was like butchering chickens. When Shagot could stay awake. Shagot slept up to sixteen hours a day.
Their work came to the attention of Father Syvlie Obilade, who had a special place in the household of the Bruglioni family. The Bruglioni were one of the Five Families of Brothe. They were long-time enemies of the Benedocto. Father Obilade told the brothers they would enjoy an easier, more profitable life if they put their talents on retainer to the Bruglioni.
Shagot had nothing but contempt for Father Obilade. 'They're all oil and slime, these Chaldarean priests,' he told Svavar. 'I'd love to see them delivered to the mercies of the Old Ones. Especially these shit-for-brains Brothen priests. All they're interested in is getting hold of power. Their screams would be sweet music.'
Svavar did not reply. He seldom spoke anymore. He did what Shagot required of him, however bloody, insane, or cruel, while abiding his release from his obligations to his gods.
The biggest handicap endured by the brothers was Shagot's sleep compulsion. That worsened almost daily.
Sylvie Obilade was not a blood member of the Bruglioni. He was a boyhood friend of Soneral Bruglioni, who would be the Bruglioni chieftain today if he had not somehow managed to swallow a fatal dose of poison during the maneuvering prior to the election of Honario Benedocto. The priest's apparent loyalty now lay with Soneral's brother, Paludan.
Paludan Bruglioni overflowed with rage and hatred. Paludan Bruglioni's whole being revolved around those. All Brothe believed Father Obilade did nothing to soften Paludan's dark obsessions. Indeed, perhaps, he nurtured Paludan's abhorrence of those who favored the Benedocto Patriarchy.
Sylvie Obilade tried to be a good priest. But he had wrestled with his own faith for years.
Shagot and Svavar entered Father Obilade's small, dank room. The stench of mold and mildew beset them. Discarded clothing lay in the corners, damp and decaying, gifts never worn.
The priest never changed his filthy, tattered smock, His personal odors were powerful, too. 'Thank you for coming.' His voice was raspy, damaged permanently by the mold in the air.
Shagot exchanged glances with his brother. This ragged old skeleton was one of the more powerful men in Brothe. Which was why Shagot had listened when the priest recruited him.
The view is always better from a high place. From a high enough vantage Shagot thought he could see all the way to the man he was supposed to find.
