Direcia. And more. Thousands of warriors have crossed the Gebr al Thar already. The news is spreading on our side of the Mother Sea. Pacificus will have to preach a real crusade, if he doesn't want Peter overrun.'
'A big war in Direcia should show us just how grand a champion King Peter really is.'
'And how strong his hold on his Praman allies is.'
'And my part would be?'
'No part. You'll be here, trying to exterminate Rudenes Schneidel. But if things go bad for King Peter you can expect to see Direcia before long.'
'I have family in Brothe. My men have families.'
'Next time you see the Patriarch ask him how much he cares.'
'Should I ask what his problem with us is?'
'You have the power to make kings. You have a large force of skilled, experienced soldiers who are loyal to you. He judges you by what he would do if he had what you have. It's a common weakness.'
'What's your advice?'
'Send people to Brothe to see what's what. There are plenty of local boats. Finish Schneidel fast. Then cross over to the mainland yourself. You'll be safe. Pinkus Ghort still runs the City Regiment. Which has gotten a renewed lease on life and a fattened budget since a foreigner managed to become Patriarch. You'll have Muno and me behind you, too.'
'Sounds good. You think Rudenes Schneidel might turn up tomorrow morning, ready to give up?'
'No. You'll have to lead these men into the High Athaphile and root him out of Arn Bedu. Which should be easier than it sounds. I'll be along.'
'You. Yes. I've seriously begun to wonder. What are you, really, great-great-grandfather?
'That. And the Ninth Unknown. Go back to sleep.'
Hecht had an angry question but sleep snatched him quick as a shark's strike.
The dreamstalker did not get close again.
The pagans learned, first disaster. No more confrontations. Their guerrilla efforts were ineffectual, however. The Patriarchals had learned the cure while in the End of Connec. Any village or fastness that caused trouble ceased to exist. Villages and fastnesses that did not resist suffered nothing more than disarmament. In each such Hecht made it known that his sole target was the sorcerer Rudenes Schneidel.
The Captain-General's advance into the High Athaphile was inexorable. And grew stronger with the arrival of the rest of his troops from Sheavenalle.
Resistance faded. Schneiders rebellion-if that was what it could be called-collapsed. Eighteen days after he landed near Porto Piper Hecht stood on a mountainside looking up at the sorcerer's final stronghold, Arn Bedu. The Mother Sea was an amazing blue expanse behind him, stretching away forever. Looking east, he could just make out Pramans serving King Peter making camp at the far foot of the mountain. His successes had eased their difficulties dramatically.
'What's so amusing?' Redfearn Bechter asked.
'Look. Good Pramans out there. Men we fought not that long ago. And good Chaldareans here. All of us about to get together to go up there and exterminate that pagan who got all uppity.'
'I don't see the joke. But I'm told I have no sense of humor.'
'You won't get an argument from me. How about you let Brother Jokai know I'd be ever so appreciative if his scouts took a real good look at this mountain. Tell him they should be careful. Not just because of the pagans but because King Peter's troops will be scouting, too. Hell, we need to get together with them and coordinate. Work it out so they can get most of the glory by doing most of the dying.'
'You're a cynical bastard. Sir.' That was Clej Sedlakova.
'I am. I'm thinking, based on what we've seen in the towns and villages, that nothing up there will be worth plundering. So why not let somebody else get busted up getting there first to claim it?'
'Somebody heading this way from yonder camp,' Bechter said.
Sedlakova observed, 'Looks like Colonel Smolens is about to catch up, too,' indicating people climbing the mountain from the west. Smolens had been evicted from Sheavenalle by Principate de Herve.
Smolens arrived first. 'Sorry I couldn't stand up to the Principate, boss. I just didn't have the horses.' He found himself a place to lie down. He surrendered to exhaustion instantly. Madouc was part of Smolens's party. He collapsed just feet from the Colonel. Hagan Brokke still labored up the slope with other invalids also expelled from Sheavenalle.
There would be regrets, someday.
The allied party halted, awaited a response. Hecht looked around for a flash of brown. He did not find it. 'Prosek. One falcon team with me. Plus four lifeguards. And Brother Jokai.'
Jokai started to protest. Hecht told him, 'We're supposed to cooperate with them. For now. You're no good at disguising yourself. So it won't hurt to show you off. Let them know how serious we are. We need horses. Somebody. We can't meet them on foot. It wouldn't look right.'
Moving at last. Two lifeguards out front. Two back behind Drago Prosek, Kait Rhuk, and another two falconeers. Jokai Svlada beside Hecht. Hecht wishing that Titus Consent were there instead of having sneaked into Brothe. Jokai asked, 'Is us bringing the smaller party a statement?'
'No. I wanted to come alone. But the lifeguards would have revolted.'
'You feel safe? You don't know these people?'
'I'm safe. As long as the man on top of the mountain is still up there.'
'The wind's got a bite to it around here.'
True. There was snow on the slope where shade lay most of the day. Local guides said snow was new this winter.
The other party resumed moving toward a grassy shelf not far away. Hecht caught the flash of brown he hoped to see. Cloven Februaren was the company he did want.
Hecht halted once his people were all onto the grassy shelf. The falcon team set up, trying not to look threatening as they did.
'Here's a ridiculous mix,' Hecht whispered to Brother Jokai.
Ten men came forward. Four were Direcian. One of those was a Chaldarean bishop. Two were heralds or squires. The other looked to be a noble of standing. Hecht did not recognize his colors. Brother Jokai was no help.
Hecht was not interested in the Direcians. He focused on the Pramans behind them. Bone and Az watched from beyond the edge of the grass. Not so big a surprise. He had known they were over here trying to unravel the Rudenes Schneidel puzzle. But he had not expected to see Nassim Alizarin al-Jebal on this side of the Mother Sea. He locked gazes with the Mountain briefly.
The Direcian Bishop urged his mount closer. He scanned Hecht's companions, recognizing the lifeguards as Brotherhood of War but not comprehending Prosek and Rhuk at all. Brother Jokai rated barely a glance. Then he saw something behind Hecht that left him with his mouth open.
'Bishop?'
The man could not talk.
Wait! Everyone had frozen. As though time had stopped. But it had not. Yonder, birds swooped over the Direcian camp. To one side Cloven Februaren perched on a boulder like an anchorite on his pillar. The old man grinned, gave him the thumbs-up, then pointed.
The Mountain, baffled and disturbed, looked around carefully.
'Sorcery,' Hecht said, trying his voice.
Nassim's gaze fixed on him. Confused.
Hecht got it. Februaren had frozen everyone but himself, Hecht, and the Mountain. But that would not last. 'What are you doing here?'
'They killed Hagid. That word did get through. Thank you.'
'You know who?'
'The one up there. Rudenes Schneidel.'
'And?'
'Yes. I know that, too. The Rascal. His turn will come.'
'They must be missing you in al-Qarn.'
