Part 43 (1/2)

Pure disaster had befallen them when they tried to get the man the G.o.ds wanted destroyed. Two powerful sorcerers had gotten in the way. Not one, but two. The dispute that ensued should have been lethal. In fact, until s.h.a.got awakened silent and almost insane from thirst and hunger, Svavar suspected that the encounter had, in fact, been fatal.

Svavar dripped water into s.h.a.got's mouth with a rag. He fed his brother by spending hours pus.h.i.+ng tiny wads of waterlogged bread past s.h.a.got's cracked lips.

Svavar was not in good shape. He had suffered more wounds and brutalities than s.h.a.got. But he had come back faster than his brother, this time.

In moments when he thought beyond immediate survival, Svavar wondered what became of those two sorcerers. He and Grim had not had the power to destroy them. The Old Ones had not been that generous.

Something was out of kilter. Something did not ring right. And had not since the band broke up. This mission should not be this hard.

Svavar had memory problems, too. Reliability problems. Meaning he could conjure up several different but equally convincing memories of what happened after he and Grim had burst into the house that Grim said the Old Ones insisted was the G.o.dslayer's hideout. That resulted in an unexpected battle with sorcerers and Calziran pirates. A ghost, a shadow, a something strolled through that savagery, crafting its outcome. It was in every version of the memory, but Svavar could not compel it to become concrete.

Svavar worried. And was afraid. The Old Ones might not be the only Instrumentalities involved. The Night was no monolith. Other powers might have a different interest in the G.o.dslayer. Though he believed those two wizards were only defending themselves. The G.o.dslayer was incidental.

Had the G.o.dslayer survived? A lot of people had not.

Grim would explain when he awakened. If he awakened.

s.h.a.got was a man on the brink of life's cliff, hanging on with two mangled fingers and a broken thumb.

Svavar's suspected that he and s.h.a.got owed that enigmatic shade their lives. How had they found a place to hide while they were unconscious?

Asgrimmur worried about being discovered before he recovered enough to fight back. These southerners were weak but not stupid. They knew something dark was afoot in Brothe. They were looking for a pair of blond strangers even before this latest dust up.

The hunt would be more serious, now.

Svavar did not know that Brothe remained preoccupied with the pirates. Sublime was not a forgiving man. He had threatened to excommunicate anyone who facilitated the escape of even one crippled old man or terrified teenage boy. The Patriarch, from the safety of Krois, was fierce and vengeful, much like his G.o.d in ancient times, before the Holy Founders redefined Him for a new age. So the pirates fought on.

Svavar would have found Sublime's att.i.tude familiar. It was the sort common among the Gray Walker and his kin.

WHEN s.h.a.gOT FINALLY CAME AROUND SVAVAR SAW NO sanity in his eyes. He was not sure what he did see. The mind of a mad G.o.d, perhaps. If that was not an oxymoron.

Awareness gradually entered the mind behind s.h.a.got's eyes. Svavar saw the rage fade, noted the exact instant when Grimur Grimmsson returned. Though Grim did not come across as sane himself once he emerged.

”Don't talk,” Svavar croaked. He had hardly trouble talking himself. ”I don't know how long it's been. A long time. I've been awake, off and on, for two days.” In parched s.n.a.t.c.hes he related the little he did know.

s.h.a.got understood the seriousness of his own condition. He did not pursue his usual mad recovery effort. He accepted water and bread mush the best he could, then went back to sleep. Never saying a word.

s.h.a.got slept for two more days.

Svavar slept a lot, too. He felt much better when Grim next awakened, though his strength was still less than half normal. His wounds still hurt badly. His joints ached. As did his soul.

This time s.h.a.got did talk, a few words at a time. ”It's been eight days, plus. The city has changed. We have to leave. They'll start looking for us soon. Seriously. House to house. Using the power of the Collegium. We can't take them on. So we'll go away and strike again after they forget us.”

”The G.o.dslayer survived?”

”Of course. You doubted that he would?”

”I was pretty sure he had.”

”Want a real kick in the a.s.s? We saved the a.s.shole's life by attacking when we did. The way it came together, the Gray One suspects the Trickster's meddling. But I don't think the Trickster has that kind of reach.”

”Something weird did happen, Grim. There was another power there, a shade, maybe. Something besides us and them sorcerers. Bigger than us and them put together. I think it would've kept us from killing the G.o.dslayer if we'd tried. It saved us from getting dead, too, though. It even protected the sorcerers from us. No matter how hard I try, though, I can't figure out who or what it was.”

”Which is why the Gray One thinks his nephew must be involved, if not directly, then through somebody he conned into doing his dirty work.”

”The All-Father doesn't know what's going on?”

”Some things are hidden from the G.o.ds themselves, particularly when other G.o.ds are involved.”

”What?”

”The presence you sensed must have been somebody who came through from the Great Sky Fortress during the fight. I think somebody seized the power of the blood just when some of the Chosen were going to come help us finish the G.o.dslayer.”

Svavar did not understand. ”We were supposed to be done with it?”

”Yes. We were that close. But somebody, probably from the Great Sky Fortress, sabotaged us. Somebody kept me from conjuring the Heroes.”

That clarified nothing for Svavar. He did not think the presence of the unknown was something new. He thought they had picked it up as long ago as at that old battlefield in Arnhand. But s.h.a.got's speculation did offer a glimmer of the divine plan as s.h.a.got understood it.

s.h.a.got said, ”That somebody is still here, little brother. Out of the Night. On the mortal plane. And not far off. We need to be more careful, at least till we understand what's going on.”

THE OWNERS OF THAT HOME MUST HAVE BEEN KILLED IN THE fighting. n.o.body reclaimed the place. n.o.body tried to loot it, either. People stayed away by the thousands.

Svavar found a razor. He shaved his face and head. He shaved s.h.a.got, too. He appropriated clothing for himself. It did not fit right but he did not need to be a dandy.

”Grim, I can limp around, now. I'm gonna go see what I can find out.”

”Be careful, brother. I'm still too weak to tell if you get in trouble.”

”You bet, Grim.” He was careful. Always more so than Grim could imagine being. Grim had complete confidence in the favor of the G.o.ds. Everything had to work out when you had the Instrumentalities of the Night behind you.

Svavar, though, was deeply aware that they were in a land with alien G.o.ds. In Brothe the Old Ones were rats in the mystic walls. Noisy, malodorous, unpleasant, unwanted supernatural vermin.

SVAVAR FOUND BROTHE LITTLE CHANGED PHYSICALLY, BUT possessed of a new att.i.tude toward the rest of the world, Calzir in particular. Everyone had a hate on for Calzir, now. And those who made decisions intended to take the suffering right back to the pirates' homeland.

Fighting continued in a half-dozen areas where trapped Calzirans battled on. The Brothen strategy urged patience. Pirates were isolated, then ignored. Hunger would bring them out eventually.

There were a thousand rumors afoot. The Patriarch would proclaim a crusade against Calzir. The Grail Emperor would let his subject kingdom Alameddine become a jumping-off platform. He would partic.i.p.ate himself.

Of more interest were rumors about the hunt for two blond sorcerers. Proclamations had been posted in public squares and nailed to the doors of churches. Svavar got their gist from literate pa.s.sersby.

Svavar could ask questions safely as long as he pretended to be one of the immigrant mercenaries fighting the pirates. He returned to s.h.a.got knowing as much as any Brothen in the street.

”We do need to move out, Grim. They're putting together a gang to hunt us down. Two hundred men. They're training right now. They've got a crew of sorcerers coming in, too. From something called the Special Office at the headquarters of the Brotherhood of War. They're going to toss the whole city once they get here.”

”We'll need a coach. Or a wagon. Something that can move me. I've got a while to heal yet.”