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Osa gave every indication of enjoying his life.
Er-Rashal had known what he was doing when he chose the boy.
Principate Delari returned, still angry. "They knew nothing. Of course. They were hirelings. Two belonged to the City Regiment, Colonel Ghort. The deathmage and his brother were outsiders."
Pinkus Ghort showed color in throat and cheeks, anger and embarrassment alike. "Who paid them? Who recruited them? Would the two who got away know anything more?"
"Unlikely," Delari said. "But we do know where they're headed, now. The Knight of Wands. An i
Hecht and Ghort produced skeptical scowls. Both knew Alicea. They had first met not far from Alicea. Hecht said, "The West Way runs through the town. Crossing the trace ru
"I changed my mind. They know Bo. They'd recognize anybody I trust."
"You have to send somebody who'll recognize them."
"I don't know. I'm thinking some of your Deve pals might be the answer."
Grumbling from Donel Madisetti reminded them that I hey were not brainstorming in their quarters.
Hecht's too-friendly association with the Devedian community did cause stress with some Collegium members. "Won't work. They're only trying to stay out of the way of a crusade themselves." Which was true, well known, and no doubt would, someday, constitute sufficient excuse itself for a Patriarch with Sublime's twist of mind to go after them.
Devedians, and their less numerous and far stranger religious ancestors the Dainshaukin, were loathed by Episcopal Chaldareans. The more because western society could not function without them. Deves provided an inordinate proportion of the lettered and artisan classes. They kept the records and wrote the letters, made the paper those were written on, and manufactured the pens that did the writing. Not all, of course, but better than anyone else. And so they were hated.
Hecht mused, "Then again, I know one who might. But we're here because of Clearenza. Where do we stand?"
He hoped there would be no punitive expedition. The Patriarchal army was not up to it. As always, it was tied up in garrison wherever Sublime feared rebellion or some encroachment by the Grail Emperor. It was a purely defensive force and the Captain-General was not being given the resources to change that. Not fast.
Principate Doneto broke Hecht's heart. "I'm sure my cousin will insist on something. As a demonstration."
"It can't happen. Not now. He's too far in arrears to the troops."
"He'll send the City Regiment, then."
Ghort snorted.
Hecht said, "The City Regiment isn't his to send. It was raised for the Calziran Crusade. That's over. The men who financed it didn't get any loot out of that. They won't take the same hook twice."
Doneto replied, "I know. But I have to read my lines."
Interesting. The Patriarch's number one supporter was not inspired by his cousin's behavior.
"Would it help if someone he trusted drove each point home?"
"He pays no attention to what I say if it's something he doesn't want to hear."
"I was thinking more like his father or mother. Or somebody he especially respected when he was a kid."
"That hadn't occurred to me. I'll do what I can. But don't expect much."
Hecht nodded, disgruntled. This gathering, slapped together with such suggested high drama, was typical. Every day he had to deal with crises that existed only in the minds of the Patriarch and his henchmen. And with their implacable blindness to the needs of the men they expected to work their wills.
One irony of the world round the Mother Sea was that only during periods of peace and security was there economic activity sufficient to generate the revenues princes needed to finance their wars. The Church, in particular, needed money because the Patriarchy did not have enough fiefdoms whose feudal obligations could be exploited. The Church used mostly hired soldiers. But those mercenaries were seldom dedicated or reliable. Or even very effective. As all the defeats suffered by Grolsachers so frequently demonstrated.
Principate Doneto suggested, "Let's break this up. We've done His Holiness's bidding. We agree that punishing Clearenza may be more painful for us than them. Hecht, put together the best show you can. Ghort, catch your traitors. Donel. Wake Mongoz so he can close this officially."
Several Principates wanted to protest but were not inclined to argue with the Patriarch's cousin.
PRINCIPATE DELARI TOLD HECHT, "COME WITH ME, please."
Hecht did so, though he wanted to stay with Ghort, to manufacture a scheme for catching the fugitives. He was uncomfortable being alone with Muniero Delari. Despite his intellectual confidence that the man was not interested in him. He was far too elderly. He was thirty-five.
Principate Delari sensed his discomfort. And did nothing to allay it. "It's time to bring you into the i
"Your Grace?"
"The Collegium is more than a clatch of doddering old farts squabbling over bribes." A popular notion underlying an entire cycle of contemptuous jokes.
"Well, of course."
"We occasionally do things we hope will do some good for humanity. Some of us. Sometimes. Even people here in the Palace don't realize."
"All right."
"You sound skeptical."
"Your Grace, I judge only by what I've seen."
"And that is?"
"What the man in the street thinks. Only more so. Because I've met the beast face-to-face."
Delari chuckled. "And that isn't far off the mark. Particularly my brethren from the Patriarchal States. They exist to indulge their own pleasures. They have their capes and miters because they bought them. Or because they're Brothens whose families always have members in the Collegium. If for no better reason than to make sure the Patriarch is always Brothen."
"Yes. I've never understood how Ornis of Cedelete got elected." Hecht meant Worthy VI, the first Anti-Patriarch. Worthy VI was elected legitimately – then run out of town by the Brothen mob. The people of the Mother City believed the Patriarchal seat was Brothen by right and preeminent over the Chaldarean world. In fact, however, the earlier Brothen Patriarchs had been but one of nine equal Fathers of the Church. The Praman Conquest overwhelmed five. Three others went with the Eastern Rite in the schism after the Second Synod of Hypraxium.
"He was elected because an angry Collegium, including Principates from the Five Families, were fed up with a string of arrogant Bruglioni Patriarchs."
Hecht did not comment.
"The lesson seems to have gone to waste."
Hecht held his tongue. Delari held Honario Benedocto in high disdain.
The Principate led him to the baths for which the Chiaro Palace was infamous. In Hecht's eye. He used them himself only to avert suspicion. The way he ate pork and broke countless other religious laws. So he told himself.
Never again would he be the hard, razor-edged warrior who had captained the best company of special fighters ever fielded by the Sha-lug. Brothe had ruined him.
Delari's boy Armand awaited his master. He smirked as he helped Delari disrobe. "Would you like someone to assist you, Captain-General?" The boy's voice had yet to break. He was an excellent singer.
"Herrin and Vernal will be along." Those being the youngsters who bathed him regularly. He made no personal demands on them – though the rules did not permit a bather to force himself on the orphans who served there.
The baths were a sort of charity, providing employment for Brothe's more comely orphans.
The rules were tested occasionally. Principate Delari was in mild violation by bringing his own catamite in. There would be no complaints. The whole Chiaro Palace feared Muniero Delari. He was reputed to be a powerful sorcerer.