"What are the chances they'd be spotted by the enemy and captured? I wouldn't want to show up and find an army waiting for me."

"They're good. They're used to operating inside Praman territory in the Holy, Lands. Those who don't learn how to do it don't live to try it again."

"I look forward to meeting these paragons."

Clej Sedlakova came round. "Stomach all right, boss? You don't seem as rattled as you were."

"I'm fine. Too busy obsessing about the deep trouble we could be in after we get there to worry about being seasick." Seasickness was troubling him not at all. Might Cloven Februaren be to blame?

He wished he could talk to the old man. But that could not happen. In his most private moments two lifeguards were within touching distance. Always. Even now. To them every Sonsan crewman was a potential a.s.sa.s.sin.

None of those men recognized Hecht. He wore his hair shorter now, affected a small goatee beard, and dressed like a Brothen n.o.ble. He bore no resemblance to the ragged, hirsute Sir Aelford daSkees. He did recognize several deckhands. None paid any attention to him.

Hecht consulted Drago Prosek often. Just three falcons remained functional. He wanted them instantly available for any confrontation with a major Instrumentality. He was sure something would come from the deeps to attack the fleet. There were old thala.s.sic Instrumentalities uglier than any revenants stirring ash.o.r.e.

A little voice told him he was wasting his worry. This enemy had no traffic with G.o.ds of the sea, nor with any lesser Night thing living on or under the water. Hecht refused to be rea.s.sured.

The first day the fleet followed the Connecten coast eastward, barely making headway. It was ninety miles from Sheavenalle to the mouth of the Dechear River. The fleet reached that around noon the second day. It hugged the coast thirty miles more, then turned directly south. The sailors expected to spy Artecipea before sundown the third day. Winds permitting. They would then follow Artecipea's western coast to the landing site.

Piper Hecht experienced it as a far longer journey ihan the actuality. The first day was intense, the second more relaxed. There was nothing to do but talk. He pulled rank and forced himself on the ship's master. He wanted charts showing the land he had to invade.

Horatius Andrade was cooperative. So much so that Hecht became suspicious. But he trusted almost no one lately, Consent reminded him.

The charts were reliable, Andrade insisted, but concentrated on the waters off Artecipea, noting only those land features useful as navigational aids. Hecht asked, "Have you been this way before? Have you seen these coasts?"

"A long time ago. On another ship. It's never been a friendly coast."

"You know Homre?"

"Only by repute. It's a glorified fishing village at the mouth of the Sarlea River. I haven't been past in over twenty years. Sea levels have dropped. But even then we couldn't have brought any of these ships into that harbor."

"Are there beaches we can use?"

"Not there. Farther south. Do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar. Have you been aboard Vivia Infante Vivia Infante before?" before?"

"No. But I did sneak through Sonsa on a secret mission last year. Caused a big stir around a sporting house with galleons in the name."

"Maybe. Strange. I remember voices better than faces."

"I used to not have the beard and wore my hair in the Brotherhood style. Thanks for your help. I don't think we'll land at Homre."

Clej Sedlakova joined Hecht late the second afternoon, after what little information anyone had about Artecipea had been talked to death. "Sir, I don't know how, why, when, where, any of those d.a.m.n things, but when I dipped into my locker to dig out something for supper, I found these under my stuff. Sergeant Bechter says he thinks we have a guardian Instrumentality."

Vivia Infante had scores of lockers on her main deck, in places out of the way, there so travelers could stow their possessions. had scores of lockers on her main deck, in places out of the way, there so travelers could stow their possessions.

"An interesting find, Colonel. An interesting find indeed. And so conveniently timed."

"Maybe Bechter is right. Maybe not all the Instrumentalities are our enemies."

"That occurred to me, too. Let's hope it's true." Sedlakova had discovered copies of several ancient maps. The commentary on them was in Old Brothen. Not the Church version, either. They showed Artecipea as two islands. In modern times an isthmus joined them. t.i.tus Consent said, "Sea levels have really dropped since cla.s.sical times. Which means the changes in the world have been going on for a long time."

The Unknowns had been following the process for centuries.

There were too many secret things going on. And too many perfectly ba.n.a.l, openmouthed evils driven by ambition or fanaticism distracting everyone from the creeping apocalypse.

Hecht saw no man in brown that day. Februaren must have polished his turn sideways trick. Neither Jokai Svlada nor Redfearn Bechter was particularly uneasy, either, so it might be that the old man was no longer aboard.

The Ninth Unknown had skills more frightening than those boasted by er-Rashal al-Dhulquarnen. And the man was his ancestor? How deep did this madness run? What had he stumbled into?

"Who are you talking to?" Consent asked.

"Huh?"

"You're muttering. You do that a lot these days. How come?"

Hecht told the truth. 'Trying to get advice from my grandfather's grandfather." t.i.tus would not believe him.

"All right. That might be useful."

"Tell the captain I want to talk. We're definitely going on down the coast." Would the Direcian Princ.i.p.ate accept that? How would he get word to the other ships?

The sailors were more clever than Hecht expected. They used signals and fast boats to communicate between ships. They had done this before.

The Princ.i.p.ate did not object. He asked Hecht to explain his thinking. The Captain-General did so. Ships forced to lighter cargo ash.o.r.e needed beaches more congenial than the dangerous, rocky coast around Homre, where sea levels had dropped a dozen feet since Andrade's most recent charts had been drawn. The boats would be too easily broken up in the pounding surf.

Landfall came the third day, just after noon. Soon pillars of smoke arose inland. Hecht said, "They were watching for us. So much for surprising them."

Brother Jokai observed, "Surprise shouldn't be necessary. There can't be two hundred thousand people on all Artecipea. A lot live in the cities and are good Brothen Episcopals."

"Or Deves, or Pramans, or Dainshaus, from what I hear. But I also hear that Rudenes Schneidel has found a lot of followers back in the mountains."

Another reason Hecht had moved the landing. The northern lobe of Artecipea featured an almost complete circle of mountains forming a vast natural fortress. Someone seemed to have thought he should fight through that and dispose of the Unbelievers there. Hecht saw no point. The soul and center of the problem lay inside Arn Bedu, in the western mountains of the larger southern lobe.

"Why are they fighting?" Hecht asked. "Any of them?"

"To restore Seska," the Witchfinder said, shuddering. "To resurrect one of the darkest, oldest Instrumentalities."

"I get that. But, why? The pagans in the mountains, maybe they've fallen under the spell of a glib talker. But what's in it for Rudenes Schneidel? What is he promising them? What does he get for opening the way?"

Jokai c.o.c.ked his head, considered the coast. "Immortality? Power? The things that turn up in all the stories about wicked sorcerers? Ascension? That sort of went out of fashion after Chaldareanism and al-Prama began promising an eternal afterlife."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"In ancient times a clever, powerful man, unenc.u.mbered by any concern for his fellows, could ascend to Instrumentality status. Could become a G.o.d. Which explains those old Dreangerean G.o.ds with the heads of animals and bodies of men. They started out as real priests who elevated themselves by preying on the rest of Dreanger. Facilitating their own ascension through alliances with older Instrumentalities. Seska was a particular favorite."

"Is that what Rudenes Schneidel is up to?"

"I think so. The Special Office thinks so. We've had no luck convincing anyone else. This expedition isn't about that. This is Pacificus Sublime paying off King Peter for making him Patriarch. Peter wants Artecipea for its location and resources. And because it will make him lord of more lands than any Chaldarean but the two emperors."

"Things to think about."

The fleet raised Homre late in the afternoon. Too late to land. The sh.o.r.eline was inhospitable. The bottom was muddy and not far down. The vessels closed up and anch.o.r.ed. The charts showed the mouth of a small river, the Sarlea, which was not obvious to the eye. There was none of the brown outflow common at the mouths of major rivers.

Brother Jokai went ash.o.r.e to find his Brotherhood compatriots. He returned with six lean, hard men within hours. Only one was injured.

Jokai said, "You're right to move the landing site. There are thousands of pagans in the hills up there. They mean to swoop down while we're landing tomorrow."

"Ah. So not only did they know we were coming, they knew where we were supposed to come ash.o.r.e."

Jokai's ripe henchmen nodded. They did most of their communicating by gesture. Their mouths were busy eatin.

"Interesting. You have to ask yourself how they managed that."

"Their great sorcerer leader can spy on people from afar."

Hecht thought Rudenes Schneidel had agents spying for him.

Jokai continued. "They tell me the sorcerer is desperate and frightened. He believes that Piper Hecht is the only thing that can thwart his ambitions. He believes that powers greater than you are using you to block every effort he makes to relieve himself of your threat."

"Good to hear. Though every time I turn around, here comes another Artecipean a.s.sa.s.sin."

One of the recon brothers paused long enough to say, That's how come the sorcerer thinks you got allies inside the Night. Clever things never get near you. Clumsy a.s.sa.s.sins do. Schneidel's followers were convinced that some great, grim sea Instrumentality would devour you during your crossing. It didn't happen. Nothing even tried. Now they're all terrified that you might be a revenant yourself. Maybe one of the old war G.o.ds who infested the lands around the Mother Sea in pagan times."

Hecht shook his head. "We've stumbled into a superst.i.tious age, haven't we?"

Jokai and the recon brothers eyed him narrowly, themselves not entirely sure that he was not more than just a man.

Hecht said, "It's dark enough. Time to move on."

Men began making a racket all through the fleet, singing to mask the sounds of capstans hoisting anchors. Carefully, showing stern lights that could not be seen from ash.o.r.e, ships drifted southward.

Silence returned. Though silence was never complete where wind moaned through rigging and timbers creaked as a vessel rose and fell upon the seas. Hecht rejoined Jokai. "On a completely different tack, do you know anything about people called the Unknowns?"

"Librarians for the Collegium, I think. I've heard that they keep a big map of the Chaldarean world. Why?"

"I'm not sure. I heard some talk when I was working at the Chiaro Palace. Princ.i.p.ate Delari had a connection with someone he called the Eleventh Unknown. I'm not sure why that got to nagging me right now. I never thought much about it before."

"A long time ago, the Special Office thought the Unknowns were an unholy cabal inside the Chiaro Palace. I suppose they found out differently. This is the first I've heard them mentioned since I was a student."

It was a tense sea pa.s.sage, that night. The move was supposed to deceive people ash.o.r.e. Would it?

Hecht slept only fitfully.

Dawn came. The right number of mastheads were visible. None had gone missing. Andrade guessed they had moved them thirty miles down the coast.

Signal smokes rose ash.o.r.e. Hecht thought they seemed panicky.

He was thirty miles from where he was supposed to be. The rising breeze would push him along faster than his enemies could run.

Unloading began shortly after noon. Only a handful of men were ash.o.r.e when friendly locals pointed out that just a mile back north the ships could move closer insh.o.r.e and dramatically shorten the landing process. These people were Brothen Chaldareans. They had been persecuted lately. The arrival of the fleet had deluded them into believing that the Patriarch wanted to rescue them.

The Captain-General went ash.o.r.e as soon as his lifeguards permitted. Earth underfoot, he sighed, said, "This is pure chaos. There must be a better way. If there was anyone here to resist us we'd be getting slaughtered." He spoke to no one in particular, though Redfearn Bechter, Drago Prosek, t.i.tus Consent, and Jokai Svlada were all close by. 't.i.tus, talk to these people. Get a feel for the ground. Hire some guides. I expect to have to fight off a major attack. Will we need to include the Night amongst the enemies we expect? Keep Prosek in the know."

By nightfall the ships were headed back to Sheavenalle. A solid camp had been established, in the Old Empire fashion. It had a timber wall with a ditch at its foot. Scouts with local guides crawled all over the surrounding countryside.

Two miles up the coast, on the south bank of a creek the locals called a river, was a fishing village cleverly named Porto. It had been called something else in Imperial times and had been bigger then, anchoring the north end of trade across the narrow strait that had existed at that time. The villagers were proud of their history, religion, and dialect, which resembled Old Brothen more closely than did modern Firaldian. They had suffered numerous turns for the bad since the fall of the Empire, as Artecipea pa.s.sed through the hands of frequent conquerors. With, always, the hinterlands' pagan storm just over the horizon.

Piper Hecht spent his first night on Artecipea as a guest of the leading men of Porto. They insisted that he was a deliverer. He wasted no time disagreeing.

The people of Porto delivered intelligence enough to show Hecht what he must do to withstand the approaching pagan storm. In numbers that astonished everyone. Somehow, Rudenes Schneidel had gathered almost eight thousand men to throw the Patriarchals back into the Mother Sea.

The local chieftain's son, going by the unlikely name Pabo Bogo, told Hecht, "You destroy this bunch, you've won your whole war, Lord. There can't be many more down south. They say the Sonsans and Platadurans and King Peter's soldiers have cleared two-thirds of the High Athaphile. Only the evil sorcerer's witchcraft keeps them from complete success."

"I'll do what I can." Hecht hoped to use the lay of the land to get the better of an imbalance in numbers.

The transports were gone. Two Plataduran warships anch.o.r.ed close insh.o.r.e, to be artillery platforms.

The first pagans arrived in the afternoon. They were a wild and ragged lot, reminding Hecht of Grolsacher refugees seen in the Connec. They were overheated from their rush south, and were tired, thirsty, and hungry. Hecht had positioned his visible force with the afternoon sun behind them. The pagans saw only a few men between themselves and the food and water inside the Patriarchal camp.