forthcoming as he could be. He glanced at the curious tide approaching. Most were distracted by distorted falcons, dead men and animals, and the gross impact of the god grub's demise.
From on high the devastation was appalling. Though mainly confined to nature. The abandoned castle was the only human construct to suffer extensive damage. The near countryside looked like the flank of a green and black zebra, the verdant stripes persisting wherever uneven ground provided protection. The breeze was removing the soot. Hecht asked, 'What do you think?'
'It's too hot down there. And we need to keep anyone else from acquiring it. Tell me what the other one was like.'
'A big amber egg. With shot from the falcon trapped inside.'
'Interesting.'
'You know what it is? What it means?'
'No. Suppose I intercept those two Principates and redirect their curiosity.' Instead, though, he tipped his head slightly and scanned the blackened hillside. 'What?'
'Checking for Grandfather. These two should be too young to recognize him. But why take a chance?'
Hecht had the feeling things were happening that he could not see. Too often he felt like a blind beggar in the streets of intrigue. 'All right. Here comes Kait Rhuk, too. I can't imagine how he survived.' The engine of his mind was turning again, as though fresh lard had been thrown on its wooden roller bearings.
There would be a lot to do. First and foremost, a muster to see who had survived and who had not.
Principate Delari headed toward his brethren from the Collegium. Hecht went to meet Rhuk.
'Mr. Rhuk. I can't say as I've ever seen such a demonstration of courage.'
Rhuk had a heavy accent. His speech was hard to follow. 'I don't know, sir. Meaning, I didn't know. Maybe did I before, I wouldn't a even come set up, let alone stood my ground and kept firing.'
'Everyone probably feels that way.'
'Yer old sorcerer, there. He have any idea what we just run into?'
'I'm not sure I believe him. A son of the Adversary. Trying to enter the world the way a butterfly does.' Most people had observed the cycle of the butterfly as children.
'Interesting times,' Rhuk understated.
'You all right?'
'Got a few splinters from a firepowder keg that went up. Otherwise, I'm fine. God loves me. I fell in a hole just in time.'
'If you can operate, then, I declare you lord of the falcon artillery. You're in charge of finding out how bad we were hurt. How many weapons survived? How much ammunition? We need work parties to recover as much spent shot as we can.'
Rhuk scowled.
'Success never goes unpunished in this army, Mr. Rhuk. I survived, too. So I get to do without sleep at all for the next few days.'
Rhuk managed a weak grin before he bowed slightly and headed back downhill. Hecht was surprised to see how many artillerymen had survived.
That was the way, though, usually. Even the most horrific events turned out less terrible than the mind anticipated.
He thought he caught the Ninth Unknown in the corner of his eye but saw nothing when he looked. What was the old man up to now?
He had chosen his officers well. Despite the magnitude of the event, they had begun to restore order. The commanders of the smaller units seemed to be gathering their men for a head count-even before his order reached them.
What could he do about what might lie in the gash?
He moved a few steps farther into the black at the crack's rim. The soil crunched underfoot. A paper-thin layer had melted and hardened. The earth beneath was dryer than desert dust. And those few steps were all he could take before the residual heat became too intense.
He spied Madouc, a hundred yards toward the mill, in a ferocious sulk. 'I forgot again. They'll have to kill me so I'll start staying where they can protect me.' No excuse to avoid it, he marched down and apologized.
'I'm going to put bells on you. Sir.'
The man was truly, richly angry.
Hecht was not contrite. If the bodyguards had been around he would not have gotten near the god grub.
Officers' call was over. Order had been restored. But morale was severely stressed. None of the men believed the monster had appeared coincidentally. Even long-service professional soldiers did not want to face surprises of that sort.
Hecht could neither argue nor reassure. He feared he had been targeted again. And he had survived by using the weapon the Instrumentalities so feared.
Lessons learned. On all sides.
This had been a close run, with ten falcons barking. It would take bigger weapons to fell… Don't even think that. Pray, instead, for Drago Prosek, who would have only two weapons when he met the monster in the Jagos.
The staff meeting following officers' call was glum. No one had much to say. Titus tossed in, 'The news from Brothe isn't good. Apparently we're not sitting still because of negotiations but because the Patriarch is deathly sick.'
Hecht figured his staff began rooting for Death. 'Who might replace him? How would that affect us?'
Not something anyone had thought about. Including the Collegium. Sublime was young.
'We're a forward-thinking lot, aren't we?' Hecht said. 'Get some sleep. We're looking at long days ahead. Titus. Stay. You know you don't need to sleep. You're not old enough.'
'Yes, sir.' Resigned.
Once the others cleared off, excepting Principate Delari, Hecht asked, 'What became of our assassin from Viscesment? I didn't get to question him.'
'Funny you should ask. He had the great misfortune to be the only rear echelon fellow to suffer a fatal event during the excitement.'
'Titus.'
'Somebody cut the asshole's throat.'
'Principate? Wasn't he in your keeping?'
'In theory.' Delari was angry. 'I'd better check on Bit and her daughter. And the hostages. You'll find them very useful soon.'
Consent told Hecht, 'You don't seem surprised.'
'I don't have much capacity for surprise left, Titus.'
The Principates all showed up next morning, Delari arriving first. He presented a heavy ring, its inside stamped with the birdlike trident. 'Not much else to say. If he hadn't been beaten half to death I'd let Armand find some other benefactor.'
'Bit and the others?'
'Bit is dead. The daughter is worse off than Armand. There was a lot of blood.' After a pause, 'The boy did put up a fight. He marked them. They'll be found and dealt with. The hostages weren't harmed.'
Gorin Linczski and Gervase Saluda arrived. They brought messages from the Collegium. In a shaky hand Hugo Mongoz wanted to know what the hell Hecht was doing, attacking Sonsa? That was the oldest letter. Another, from the Patriarch himself, in a hand shakier still, was enthusiastic about the capture of Viscesment and the Pretender Patriarch, but otherwise lacked substance.
Letters from various Principates ranged across a spectrum of attitudes. Hecht read them out of courtesy only.
Then Bronte Doneto appeared. 'I didn't know you were back,' Hecht said.
'I got in late. I should've left sooner. I missed the ruckus.'
'Be happy you did. What happened with Immaculate?'
Doneto's story did not vary from what Hecht already knew. In the end, Immaculate II was dead. By the hand of someone not serving the interest of the Brothen Episcopal Church.
