private matter.
Some murders always fell outside common understanding.
'I can't tell you anything more than I have. I don't get out to find out what the poor and the squatters are saying these days. I just know people are scared. And the Collegium won't take it seriously.'
'Is it like when the soultaken were here?' That part of his past Hecht understood only because his current mentor, Principate Delari, had taken pains to find out what he could about those divinely possessed butchers. Which had been very little.
'They just killed people to make money to get by till they could do whatever it was that their managing Instrumentalities wanted done.'
Only the soultaken knew they had been elected by their gods to destroy a mortal those Old Ones called the Godslayer, a slave-soldier of far Dreanger. Else Tage, one of the most capable captains among the Sha-lug. Sent to Firaldia by Gordimer the Lion on behalf of the Kaif of al-Minphet, to blunt Sublime V's lust for new crusades.
Else Tage never learned that he was a target of ancient gods. He did suspect that the Instrumentalities of the Night had a marked interest in him, however. With only the vaguest notion why.
Else Tage survived the soultaken. Else Tage now wore the name Piper Hecht. He had risen amongst the Episcopal Chaldareans to become Captain-General of the armies being raised by the one man most determined to loose fire and sword upon the Unbelievers of the Holy Lands.
Few knew the truth.
Piper Hecht would have been more comfortable if those few were fewer still.
Hecht said, 'Pinkus, you see Doneto all the time. Does he have any idea what's going on inside Sublime's head? Will he want Clearenza punished?'
'Probably. There's a history between Germa fon Dreasser and Honario Benedocto.' The latter having been the Patriarch's name before his elevation.
'These Firaldians have been dishonoring each other's wives and daughters and using that to excuse assassinations since…'
'Not to mention their sons and catamites.'
'Why are we going this way, Pinkus? Especially on a rainy day?'
They had entered an area of tenements so closely crowded that two horsemen could not pass in opposite directions. The unpaved streets were slick and deep in a mix of manure and human ordure. It made sucking noises when the horses lifted their hooves. Water filled their hoofprints instantly.
The grooms in the regimental stables would have plenty to do once these animals returned. 'Just Plain Joe will love you.' Hooves and legs would need special attention to prevent disease.
'Ogier! Aubero! What the hell is it with this romp through a shit pile? Who told you to go this way?' Ghort tried to bully his way forward.
Half a minute later Hecht emerged into a small square. Those who had preceded him were looking round warily, weapons drawn.
'Something besides the shit stinks,' Ghort declared. 'Ogier and Aubero have disappeared. Those assholes.'
'I deduced as much when I saw your blade bare to the weather.'
'Polo will rub the rust out. That's what he gets paid for. That and for spying on all of us for Paludan Bruglioni.'
Polo overheard. He did not protest. Ghort never showed any concern for his feelings.
Ghort gave orders. Men dismounted and moved out along the walls facing the square and its central cistern. The emptiness of the square was not a good omen. Ghort muttered, 'I never should've taken those two into the lifeguard.'
'Who?' Hecht asked.
'Ogier and Aubero. Twins, would you believe? From back home. They had a letter of introduction from my uncle Orisim. I should've listened to my gut instead of figuring I owed family.'
A nasty bumblebee whir silenced Ghort's lament. Like Hecht, he dove aside. He had heard the distinctive
You see where that came from?'
'No.' Piper Hecht had acquired similar shelter. Without getting filthy. His pillar was as thick as it was wide. A good thing, because one iron quarrel had bitten into the hard old wood already. 'But your men are on to something.'
Those Ghort had ordered forward rushed a doorway. They were professionals, all veterans of the Calziran Crusade and the fighting in the streets of al-Khazen.
Bolts continued to streak around and miss till one of Ghort's men got hit in the foot by a ricochet. His man Polo, who had been Hecht's servant at one time, crouched behind the Captain-General, wringing his hands and whining, not in terror but about the amount of work he was going to have to do after this was over.
'Put a stopper in it, Polo.' Hecht had located the snipers, now. There were three of them. He didn't think Ghort's wayward bodyguards were among them. No doubt those two were headed north in a hurry, arguing about how to spend their bounties.
Hecht picked a moment when all three snipers would be rewinding their weapons, surged up to go to the attack. Polo grabbed his right arm, trying to keep him from exposing himself. Hecht lurched left, trying to break the servant's grip.
A bolt of darkness streaked down from the rooftop. Hecht saw the spellcaster in momentary silhouette. The bolt was the size and shape of a hammer handle, in infinite black. It would hit him in the chest. He flung his left hand up. His left wrist exploded in sudden, fiery agony.
The clot of darkness curved aside. It struck Polo's outstretched arm. The man shrieked.
It happened in a blink. Polo's arm withered into a leathery, desiccated black stick, a dead mockery of a human limb.
The mutilation was complete before Polo finished his first scream.
One of Ghort's men appeared behind the sorcerer-assassin. A veteran for sure. He wasted no time. He grabbed the assassin and flung him off the roof.
The would-be killer landed on his head. He died instantly, neck broken and skull crushed.
'Shit!' Ghort swore. 'Now we'll never know what this was about. He'll be the only one who knew.' His men dragged a prisoner into the square. 'Can you make him stop howling?' He meant Polo. 'That shrieking could get on my nerves.'
Hecht said, 'Find the soldiers who led us here. You know who they are and where they're from. Have them brought back. Bo Biogna would be the man to send.' He massaged his left wrist. It had not been bad this time. 'I want to talk to them.' The amulet he wore, invisible since its installation by the Dreangean master sorcerer er- Rashal al-Dhulquarnen, protected him well but at the cost of harsh pain. 'Bring that corpse. Somebody in the Collegium may be able to get something out of it.'
Ghort did not argue although, strictly speaking, the Captain-General of Patriarchal forces had no standing with the Brothen City Regiment. 'What the hell just happened, Pipe? I mean, I'm fucking glad it did, but there ain't no way you shouldn't be all over looking like Polo's arm now.' Ghort had Polo down, now, trying to examine his arm. Polo would not lie still. 'That black bolt shoulda plugged you in the brisket. But it turned off. And got this poor bastard.'
'I don't know. I'm glad it did. Though I'm sorry about Polo's arm.'
'No shit. Hold still, goddamnit! Garnier! Arnoul! Get those damned horses under control! Aaron's Hairy Balls! They're worse than kids. You have to tell them everything.'
Piper Hecht burst into laughter.
'What?'
'Grade Drocker said the same about you not that long ago.'
'When? I was always a self-starter.'
'When we were in the Connec. At Bishop Serifs's manor, besieging Antieux.'
'That was different. You didn't want to stick your neck out around those Brotherhood of War assholes. They didn't care what you did, it was fucked up. You were always wrong just because you didn't belong to their crazy
