“I like to be ready for the worst.”
An outlook Piper Hecht approved. If you were prepared for the worst you would seldom be caught unready.
The Ninth Unknown appeared occasionally but there was little chance to talk.
It was a comfort, knowing the old man was watching.
Drear warned, “We’re coming up on where it happened.”
Those who had been with Prosek before began pointing out and explaining.
Hecht sent most of the party to make camp at Prosek’s old site. A caravan headed north soon filled the pass anyway. Hecht and the veterans of the previous encounter, with Madouc, pushed on against the flow.
They found little evidence of the previous encounter. Even the scars on the rocks had faded.
Hecht said, “Let’s get an early start tomorrow.”
Returning to camp, Hecht found the north-bounds settled not far off. He sent Kait Rhuk to ask if anyone had seen anything unusual.
No. They were too many for the monster to trouble.
“So are we,” Rhuk opined.
Hecht feared so. And did not know how to hunt the thing. “I didn’t think this through.”
The Patriarchals made such extensive preparations to resist the Night that the Firaldians nearby mocked them. Every ward got set out. Every man carried at least one handheld firepowder weapon. Both falcons were charged with godshot. Falconeers sat close by them, nursing slow matches. Huge fires illuminated the camp.
And still doom nearly had its way.
A severe itch gnawed at Hecht’s left wrist. He knew he was dreaming, yet knew the itch was real. He had to wake up. He could not. The sense of d?j? vu tormented him. He had been here before. Not in this place but in this situation. Aware but unable to respond as something terrible closed in.
Reason gained ground. This had happened before, in the Ownvidian Knot. He had awakened enough to shake Bronte Doneto out of the spell controlling him.
A falcon barked. Utter astonishment, like a living force, engulfed existence. Then black pain, followed by an instant of realization that the impossible, extinction, was at hand. Then a swift descent into a vacuum of never-will-be-again.
The impact was so brutal Hecht could barely drag himself out of his tent. He was soaked with sweat, shaking. His left wrist ached like it had been broken.
It was worse for the others. They had no protective amulets. The pale light of drained fires feebly illuminated men writhing, or so smitten they lay as though dead, eyes open and rolled back. Yards from the smoking muzzle of a falcon steam rose from a circle of blackened earth. An egg, still so hot it yielded red light, lay at its center.
“Good work, men,” Hecht tried to say. Nothing came out. His mouth was too dry. Nor, he saw, did anyone really deserve the accolade. The duty falconeers were down, in attitudes suggesting that they had fallen asleep.
That thing in the Ownvidian Knot had sent a wave of sleep before it, too.
Cloven Februaren. “Thank you, Grandfather.” He should see about Pella, now.
“What?” Algres Drear, stumbling, appeared. He offered Hecht a hand up.
“My ancestors were looking out for me.” A suspiciously un-Chaldarean thing to say.
“Maybe. It’s the same as that night in the Knot, isn’t it?”
“That would be my guess.”
“And it wasn’t the thing we’re here to destroy.”
“I doubt it. This would’ve been what they call a bogon. A sort of prince of the Night. The way it was explained to me before. Why are you in such good shape? Compared to these others.”
“I was asleep behind that boulder. I guess it shielded me from the worst.”
Hecht eyed the boulder. He saw nothing special. Maybe it was laced with iron or silver ore. Maybe it had been shot up during Prosek’s adventure here and had rolled down the mountain since. Maybe rock was a solid enough barrier in itself. No matter. “Let’s see what we can do for these people.”
“Why are you up so easily?”
“I have friends in the Collegium. They gave me protections against this stuff. Though I’m asking for more, after this. I’m not feeling that grateful to be alive right now.”
“A bitching soldier is a happy soldier.”
Hecht managed a chuckle.
There were no deaths. No one had anything broken or torn. Nobody needed sewing up. But hearts and souls had been brutalized. Fear had found a home. Faith had suffered a severe strain.
Hecht told them, “Never forget. We survived. We won. It’s the Night that needs to be afraid. The Night that has to get out of the way.”
The pep talk helped. A little.
Hecht decided to invest another day in recuperation. He hoped for some sign from Cloven Februaren. None came.
Next morning Hecht got everyone moving as soon as there was light to see.
He squabbled with Madouc. He wanted to be out front. Madouc would not suffer it. The lifeguard carried the day.
Hecht had decided to give in whenever his own desires were not critical to the work at hand. He did not have to be out front, he just wanted to be. Acquiescence now would ease relations and make it easier to overrule Madouc when taking a risk might be useful.
Pella eyed him suspiciously. He asked no questions. Hecht suspected he understood. The boy was quick and smart. Too bad Madouc was just as smart and even quicker.
Progress was slow. The men out front were not eager to find what the travelers from the south had missed. Their Captain-General rotated the point frequently.
The Remayne Pass opened out some. Slopes curved up to either hand, covered with scrub and modest evergreens amongst scattered boulders tumbled from farther up. The peaks caught the rising sun first. Those shifted quickly from orange to a white too brilliant to look at.
A stream rumbled beside the road, carrying frigid meltwater.
The air grew thinner and colder.
Hecht dropped back to the pack train, fell in with Just Plain Joe and Pig Iron. He did not say much. Neither did Joe. Pig Iron kept his own counsel. There was no way Hecht could explain his need for time shared with Joe.
Just Plain Joe was one of his oldest acquaintances this side of the Mother Sea. Pinkus Ghort and Bo Biogna dated from the same time, and Redfearn Bechter from just days later. Only Anna Mozilla went back further than did they.
Joe had no agenda. Joe lived each day as it came. He made life easier for the animals. Hecht could relax with Joe. He didn’t have to explain anything, guess about anything, do any planning, be anything but a guy Joe knew.
Joe was in one of his social moods. Fifteen minutes after Hecht joined him, he asked, “You in a big hurry, Pipe?”
“Always. It isn’t necessary, though. Probably.”
“I keep looking at that river and thinking they ought to be some good trout fishing there. In one of them pools where the water takes a break before it goes charging off again.”
“You want to have a fish fry?”
“Been a while since I had a mess of good cold-water fish. Better than anything they got down in the lowlands.”
“When’s the best time?”
“Afternoon? After the sun warms the water some and there’s bugs out. Early evening is maybe even better since there’s more bugs then.”
“We come to a place that looks good, give a holler. Those men up front need a break.”
“They’re pretty worried, eh?”
“The monster had a bad reputation, back when. I think we’ll have trouble finding it now, though.”
“That wasn’t it the other night? That was rough on the horses.”
“Rough on all of us. No. That was one of those bogon things like the one in the Ownvidian Knot that Principat? Doneto chased off.”
“Uhm.” Joe went back inside himself and relaxed. Maybe half an hour later he emerged to chat briefly about ways to reduce disease amongst the army’s mounts.
A small party northbound had no news about the monster but did report that all Firaldia was holding its breath over Boniface’s health. The Patriarch made good progress for a few days, then suffered grave setbacks. On his good days he pursued his work ferociously. He had made great headway with the Eastern Church. He was close to a modus vivendi that would soothe the factions in the Connec. The ancient peace of those provinces was about to be restored.