thoroughly enough to regenerate a missing hand.
* * *
“What was that about?” Madouc asked once his principal was safely away.
“He has a message for our masters. From the Night side.”
“What?”
“He’s deserting. The Night. Because of horrors that are going to come. If we aren’t forewarned and prepared.”
“What?” Incredulous this time.
“I’m telling you what I heard. He talked me into taking him to the Collegium for examination.”
“He is the monster that has been plaguing the Remayne Pass?”
“And other areas across the south slopes of the Jagos. Yes. Though he’s been quiet since Prosek mauled him.”
* * *
The monster was right. He did heal fast. And made himself useful, too, once he recovered. But no one trusted him. Ever. Not even Just Plain Joe, who was incapable of seeing evil in anyone else. Pig Iron had nothing to do with him. And where Pig Iron led the rest of the animals followed. Asgrimmur walked every inch of the road to Brothe.
He wanted to be called Asgrimmur. He did not want to be Svavar, though he had been called that since childhood.
Asgrimmur Grimmsson had, at last, done something to win the approval of the elders of Snaefells. Two centuries after the last of them crossed over.
The road south passed through numerous counties, duchies, city-states, and pocket kingdoms. Some were Patriarchal States. As many more were Imperial. The most daring claimed to be free republics. Veterans of the Calziran and Connecten Crusades made up the Patriarchal garrisons. Hecht gathered those as he advanced.
Three thousand men went into camp in the hills northeast of Brothe, the troops under strict orders to do no damage to vineyards, olive groves, truck farms, farmers, or farmers’ daughters. The Brothen peoples, of all classes, were neither to be offended nor aroused.
The guards at the city gates had orders to prevent Patriarchals from entering. However, they lacked all suicidal inclinations. When Pinkus Ghort raked them over the coals later they would be healthy enough to enjoy his fury.
Hecht went straight to the Castella dollas Pontellas. The Fortress of the Little Bridges was the commandery of the Brotherhood of War in Brothe. The fighting monks had close ties with the Captain-General. For the moment.
Asgrimmur accompanied Hecht. As the great monuments and palaces along the Teragi came into sight, the Instrumentality said, “There is a cruel something hidden beneath this city. An evil something that feeds on fear.”
Pella said, “Dad, I thought Principaté Delari said he’d get rid of that.”
“He did say, didn’t he?”
“And he said he did it.”
“Maybe he was wrong.”
“When can we see Mom?” Pella hardly pretended not to be manipulating those who had taken him in. Hecht did not mind.
“Soon. I have to see Colonel Smolens first. I have to get our new friend set up where people won’t worry about him.”
Trouble was likely if anyone connected this man with the northerners who butchered their ways through Brothe during the run-up to the Calziran Crusade. The Brotherhood of War, in particular, nurtured an abiding grudge.
“Presten and Bags can take you if you just can’t wait. But you’ll have to stay inside once you get there. They can’t stay around to look out for you. They have families they want to see, too.”
“Can I? I can’t wait to see Vali and Lila.”
“Go. But remember. You can’t leave the house. You can’t !”
“I got it, Dad. I got it.”
4. Stranglhorm, at Guretha,
Shadowed by the Ice
Stranglhorm had been the seat of the Master of the Grail Order for two centuries. A sprawling fortress of small city size, it never faced a serious threat, though it had been besieged a dozen times. The fortifications expanded with the decades. Growth ended only after the Grail Knights pushed the frontiers of the faith so far out that countless subsidiary strongholds had to be built to protect roads and shrines, and to
* * *
“What was that about?” Madouc asked once his principal was safely away.
“He has a message for our masters. From the Night side.”
“What?”
“He’s deserting. The Night. Because of horrors that are going to come. If we aren’t forewarned and prepared.”
“What?” Incredulous this time.
“I’m telling you what I heard. He talked me into taking him to the Collegium for examination.”
“He is the monster that has been plaguing the Remayne Pass?”
“And other areas across the south slopes of the Jagos. Yes. Though he’s been quiet since Prosek mauled him.”
* * *
The monster was right. He did heal fast. And made himself useful, too, once he recovered. But no one trusted him. Ever. Not even Just Plain Joe, who was incapable of seeing evil in anyone else. Pig Iron had nothing to do with him. And where Pig Iron led the rest of the animals followed. Asgrimmur walked every inch of the road to Brothe.
He wanted to be called Asgrimmur. He did not want to be Svavar, though he had been called that since childhood.
Asgrimmur Grimmsson had, at last, done something to win the approval of the elders of Snaefells. Two centuries after the last of them crossed over.
The road south passed through numerous counties, duchies, city-states, and pocket kingdoms. Some were Patriarchal States. As many more were Imperial. The most daring claimed to be free republics. Veterans of the Calziran and Connecten Crusades made up the Patriarchal garrisons. Hecht gathered those as he advanced.
Three thousand men went into camp in the hills northeast of Brothe, the troops under strict orders to do no damage to vineyards, olive groves, truck farms, farmers, or farmers’ daughters. The Brothen peoples, of all classes, were neither to be offended nor aroused.
The guards at the city gates had orders to prevent Patriarchals from entering. However, they lacked all suicidal inclinations. When Pinkus Ghort raked them over the coals later they would be healthy enough to enjoy his fury.
Hecht went straight to the Castella dollas Pontellas. The Fortress of the Little Bridges was the commandery of the Brotherhood of War in Brothe. The fighting monks had close ties with the Captain-General. For the moment.
Asgrimmur accompanied Hecht. As the great monuments and palaces along the Teragi came into sight, the Instrumentality said, “There is a cruel something hidden beneath this city. An evil something that feeds on fear.”
Pella said, “Dad, I thought Principaté Delari said he’d get rid of that.”
“He did say, didn’t he?”
“And he said he did it.”
“Maybe he was wrong.”
“When can we see Mom?” Pella hardly pretended not to be manipulating those who had taken him in. Hecht did not mind.
“Soon. I have to see Colonel Smolens first. I have to get our new friend set up where people won’t worry about him.”
Trouble was likely if anyone connected this man with the northerners who butchered their ways through Brothe during the run-up to the Calziran Crusade. The Brotherhood of War, in particular, nurtured an abiding grudge.
“Presten and Bags can take you if you just can’t wait. But you’ll have to stay inside once you get there. They can’t stay around to look out for you. They have families they want to see, too.”
“Can I? I can’t wait to see Vali and Lila.”
“Go. But remember. You can’t leave the house. You can’t !”
“I got it, Dad. I got it.”
4. Stranglhorm, at Guretha,
Shadowed by the Ice
Stranglhorm had been the seat of the Master of the Grail Order for two centuries. A sprawling fortress of small city size, it never faced a serious threat, though it had been besieged a dozen times. The fortifications expanded with the decades. Growth ended only after the Grail Knights pushed the frontiers of the faith so far out that countless subsidiary strongholds had to be built to protect roads and shrines, and to
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