Michael Carhart suggested putting Raymone of Antieux in charge of any force sent to Calzir. That notion won instant support.
Tormond's sister, Isabeth, remained quiet and thoughtful. A scheme like this would pull her husband in. Peter had veterans able to train and lead. Peter had access to the fleets of Platadura, Direcia's equivalent of Sonsa and Aparion.
A thousand questions flew. Tormond refused to answer them. 'We'll complete our journey to Brothe. We'll see Sublime. We'll convince Sublime to put his wickedness aside.'
There was no mention of Immaculate whatsoever. Immaculate had no value left, despite recent successes. And Tormond saw that.
No one cared. Not in the Connecten band. Even Bishop LeCroes did not protest.
The Duke's notion inspired his companions. No one raised questions or objections for a week. By then the embassy, enjoying reasonable weather, was just days from Brothe. And those feeble objections vanished when news came that Brothe was under attack by Calziran pirates.
Tormond tried to stir everyone up for a fight.
He was not that sort of leader. His people joked that even he would not follow him into the valley of the shadow.
Brother Candle thought the man looked a little odd again. 'I think the crazy is back.'
Mad or not, Tormond did not dawdle. He headed toward Brothe like an arrow toward its target.
23. Brothe, Fists of the Gods
Shagot muttered, 'Bel's Balls, little brother! How long was I out of it this time?'
“Two and a half days. I've got food warming. And you'd still be snoring if I hadn't started in on you. Here. Drink.'
'What's up?' Shagot felt it. Dramatic things were happening.
'Pirates are attacking Brothe.'
'Pirates? Sturlanger?'
'Not our people. Pirates who belong to that religion that hates the religion they have here. It's hard to explain. I can't get out and talk to people much so I can't understand what it's really all about”
Shagot sometimes doubted that Svavar could understand much of anything, even given his own tutor.
Svavar said, 'Grim, we're going to get pulled into it here, ourselves, pretty soon. The raiders are only a few blocks away.'
Shagot drank a cup of water and followed that with a huge, long draft of beer. Which he would have to honor his brother for having found in this pussy city infested by cowards, winners, faggots, and an all-time supply of effete snobs. All of whom did nothing but suck down wine, the preferred libation of boys who thought they ought to be girls.
Shagot said, 'We don't have much that they'd think was worth stealing.' He had gone to the trouble of ensuring that every spare copper he and Svavar accumulated went into the care of a certain Devedian investment specialist.
Asgrimmur growled, 'Grim, get a hold on reality. Right now nobody gives a fuck about investments. Not to mention that these Calziran fish-fuckers could end up stealing our fortune anyway if they end up looting the whole fucking city.'
Shagot hauled himself upright. 'You got a point, little brother. If they work the way we did, they'll haul away anything they can carry and wreck whatever they can't.'
'Now you're listening. So what do we do? They're headed this way. And getting closer while we talk.'
'Then I guess we'd better travel on.' Shagot shivered, unaccountably nervous.
'You need to eat first. But no screwing around.'
Shagot had not been out into the city since the killings. Svavar had, occasionally, after his wounds healed. In disguise, of course. He knew that some powerful men wanted to get hold of them.
Shagot ate, indifferent to what he stuffed down. 'How long do we have?'
'I don't know. Let's not tempt fate.'
'I guess not. What do we do? Dress me up like your wife?'
'You really are an asshole. How about we just shave, cut our hair and wear something besides reindeer hides?' Asgrimmur had acquired the tools and clothing. They could not stay denned up. The man they had to destroy would not come to them.
There had been no sign of their quarry. Unless Grim had dreamed something. But Grim did not talk about his dreams, much.
Grumbling, Shagot let Svavar dress him in local clothing, followed by a trim and a shave. 'You been busy, little brother.'
'Somebody had to do something. And you're always asleep.'
'Good on you. I always figured you could do something. If you really had to.'
'Yeah.' Grim was full of shit. 'You got any idea where to find our target?'
'It's a long reach for the Old Ones down here, little brother. They do know he's in Brothe. They do know that he doesn't know we're after him. They do know that we aren't the only enemies he has. And they insist that we'll know him when we see him. Which they know you've been wondering about.'
'Then we shouldn't be hiding out We should be looking. Like maybe about as soon as you finish gnawing that damned sausage.'
The old, familiar sounds of panic came from outside.
'You're always in a hurry. You need to relax. Aren't you done with the hair yet? The killing is getting closer.'
Svavar felt it, too. The pirates were moving fast. Meaning they were meeting little resistance.
That did not surprise Svavar. They had no guts, these Brothen girls in their funny pants.
There would be some cherries popped today.
Shagot and Svavar were still eating when they reached the street, each loaded with fetishes from that ancient battleground. Shagot raised a hand to signal a halt. That hand held part of a roasted chicken.
People ran hither and thither around them, not knowing where they were headed but painfully sure they had to get there in a hurry. Svavar had seen this before, in Santerin. Right after he and Shagot and Erief had come roaring over me hill.
Shagot listened for fighting. He said, 'This way.' He headed away from the excitement.
It was not their fight. They were here to winkle out the Godslayer.
Svavar determined to become more active in that search. It would take forever if they hunted only while Grim was awake.
The brothers rounded a corner and came face-to-face with a band of pirates who were making no noise because no one was resisting them. Shagot and Svavar were carrying stuff. Obviously, they were trying to get that stuff out of the neighborhood. That was all the evidence the pirates needed.
They were swarthy, hungry little men who would not have dared face the Grimmssons one on one. But there were a swarm of them.
'Shit,' Shagot swore softly, with no special heat. 'The Walker must be thirsty.' He discarded the chicken, shed his pack, produced his sword and the head of the dead demon. There was no doubt whatsoever that Shagot was touched by the gods. Svavar even wondered, sometimes, if his brother was still alive, in the generally accepted sense.
Shagot took the fight to the pirates. Perforce, Svavar stayed close, covering his brother's back.
Nineteen pirates were down when the handful still upright broke and ran. None were dead until Shagot removed their heads.
Shagot was in a state of communion with his gods. Svavar felt it. He sensed their attention, too. The Gray One himself was close. There had been blood and slaughter sufficient to span the occult abyss. A little more blood
