“Every word true, Lord General. She be like a water bug, skimming the surface of the water, touching only the tips of her feet to it, but everything she said be true. She knows much more than she tells, but what she tells be true.”
Brogan waggled his hand impatiently for Ettore to come forward. The man stiffened to attention before the table as his crimson cape swished around his legs. “Lord General?”
Brogan’s eyes narrowed. “I think we may have a baneling on our hands. How would you like to prove yourself worthy of the cape you wear?”
“Yes, Lord General, very much.”
“Before she gets out of the building, take her into custody. She be under suspicion of being a baneling.”
“What of the girl, Lord General?”
“Weren’t you watching, Ettore? She will no doubt prove to be the baneling’s familiar. Besides, we don’t want her out in the street crying out that her ‘grandmamma’ is being held by the Blood of the Fold. The other, the cook, would be missed, and that could bring troublemakers down around us, but this pair won’t be missed from the street. They be ours, now.”
“Yes, Lord General. I will see to it at once.”
“I will want to question her as soon as possible. The girl, too.” Brogan held up a cautionary finger. “They had better be ready to answer truthfully any question I ask.”
Ettore’s youthful face bent into a gruesome grin. “They will confess when you come to them, Lord General. By the Creator, they will be ready to confess.”
“Very good, lad, now be off, before they gain the street.”
As Ettore dashed through the door, Galtero stepped impatiently forward, but waited silently before the table.
Brogan sank down into the chair, his voice distant. “Galtero, you did your usual, thorough, good job; the witnesses you brought me proved up to my standards.”
Tobias Brogan slid the silver coin aside, unfastened the leather straps on the case, and dumped his trophies into a pile on the table. With tender care he spread them out, touching the once living flesh. Each was a desiccated nipple—the left nipple, the one closest to the baneling’s evil heart—with enough skin to include the tattooed name. They represented only a fraction of the banelings he had uncovered: the most important of the important; the most vile of the Keeper’s fiends.
As he replaced the booty one at a time, he read the name of each baneling he had put to the torch. He remembered each chase, and capture, and inquisition. Flames of anger flared up at remembering the unholy crimes to which each had finally confessed. He remembered justice being done each time.
But he had yet to win the prize of prizes: the Mother Confessor.
“Galtero,” he said in a soft, stony voice, “I have her trail. Get the men together. We will leave at once.”
“I think you had better hear what I have to say, first, Lord General.”
11
“It be the D’Harans, Lord General.”
After replacing the last of his trophies, Brogan flipped the lid shut on his case and looked up into Galtero’s dark eyes. “What about the D’Harans?”
“Early today, I knew something be afoot when they started gathering. That be what had the people in such turmoil.”
“Gathering?”
Galtero nodded. “Around the Confessors’ Palace, Lord General. At midafternoon they all started chanting.”
Astonished, Tobias leaned toward his colonel. “Chanting? Do you remember their words?”
Galtero hooked a thumb behind his weapons belt. “It went on for two full hours; it would be hard to forget it after hearing it that many times. The D’Harans bowed down, forehead to the ground, and all chanted the same words: ‘Master Rahl guide us. Master Rahl teach us. Master Rahl protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we be sheltered. In your wisdom we be humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives be yours.’”
Brogan tapped a finger on the table. “And all the D’Harans did this? How many are there?”
“Every one of them, Lord General, and there be more than we thought. They filled the square outside the palace, overflowed into the parks and plazas, and then the streets all around. You could not walk among them, they be packed in so tight, as if all wanted to be as close to the Confessors’ Palace as they could get. To my count, there be near to two hundred thousand in the city, with most gathered around the palace. While it went on, the people be in a near panic, not knowing what be happening.
“I rode out into the country, and there were a great many more who did not come into the city. They, too, wherever they be, bowed forehead to the ground and chanted along with their brothers in the city. I rode hard, to cover as much ground as possible and see all I could, and I did not see even one D’Haran who not be bowed down chanting. You could hear their voices from the hills and passes around the city. None paid any heed to us as we scouted.”
Brogan closed his mouth. “Then he must be here, this Master Rahl.”
Galtero shifted his weight to his other foot. “He be here, Lord General. While the D’Harans chanted, the whole time they chanted, he stood atop the steps of the grand entrance and watched. Every man was bowed to him, as if he be the Creator Himself.”
Brogan’s mouth twisted in disgust. “I always suspected the D’Harans were heathens. Imagine, praying to a mere man. What happened then?”
Galtero looked tired; he had been riding hard all day. “When it ended, they all leaped into the air, cheering and whooping for a good long time, as if they had just been delivered from the Keeper’s grasp. I was able to ride two miles around the back of the crowd while the shouting and acclaim went on. Finally, the men made way as two bodies were carried into the square, and all went silent. A pyre was thrown up and set ablaze. The whole time, until the bodies were ash and the ash at last taken to be buried, this Master Rahl stood on the steps and watched.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
Galtero shook his head. “The men were packed tight together, and I feared to force my way closer lest they set upon me for interrupting their ceremony.”
Brogan rubbed his case with the side of a thumb as he stared off in thought. “Of course. I wouldn’t expect you to throw your life away just to try to see what the man looks like.”
Galtero hesitated a moment. “You will see him yourself soon enough, Lord General. You have been invited to the palace.”
Brogan looked up. “I don’t have time for pleasantries. We must be off after the Mother Confessor.”
Galtero drew a paper from his pocket and handed it over. “I returned just as a big group of D’Haran soldiers were about to enter our palace. I stopped them and asked what they wanted, and they gave me this.”
Brogan unfolded the paper, and read the hasty scrawl. Lord Rahl invites all dignitaries, diplomats, and officials of all lands to the Confessors’ Palace, at once. He crumbled the paper in his fist. “I don’t take audiences, I give them. And, as I said, I don’t have time for pleasantries.”
Galtero lifted a thumb toward the street. “I reasoned as much, and told the soldiers who gave it to me that I would pass the invitation along, but that we be busy with other matters, and I didn’t know if anyone from the Nicobarese Palace would have time to attend.
“He said that Lord Rahl wanted everyone there, and we had better find the time.”
Brogan waved off the threat. “No one is going to cause trouble, here in Aydindril, because we don’t attend a social affair to meet a new tribal leader.”
“Lord General, Kings Row be shoulder to shoulder with D’Haran soldiers. Every palace on the Row be surrounded, along with city administration buildings. The man who gave me the paper said he be here to ‘escort’ us to the Confessors’ Palace. He said that if we are not out there soon, they would come in and get us. He had ten thousand troops standing behind him, watching me, as he said it.
“These men are not shopkeepers and farmers playing at being soldier for a few months; these be professional warriors, and they look very determ
ined.
“I have faith in the Blood of the Fold to go against these men, if we could get to our main force, but we brought only a fist of the Fold with us into the city. Five hundred are not near enough men to fight our way out. We would not make it twenty yards before every one of us would be cut down.”
Brogan glanced at Lunetta, standing against the wall. She was stroking and smoothing her colored patches, not paying any attention to the discussion. They might have only five hundred men in the city, but they also had Lunetta.
He didn’t know what this Lord Rahl’s game was, but it didn’t really matter; D’Hara was aligned with, and took orders from, the Imperial Order. It was probably just an attempt to put himself in higher standing within the Order. There were always those who wanted power, but didn’t want to concern themselves with the moral imperative that went along with it.
“Very well. It will be dark soon, anyway. We will go to this ceremony, smile at the new Master Rahl, drink his wine, eat his food, and make him welcome. At dawn we leave Aydindril to the Imperial Order and be off after the Mother Confessor.” He gestured to his sister. “Lunetta, come with us.”
“And how will you find her?” Lunetta scratched her arm. “The Mother Confessor, Lord General, how will you find her?”
Tobias pushed his chair back and stood. “She be to the southwest. We have more than enough men to search. We will find her.”