Members of the Collegium not on hand for the initial vote could not participate in subsequent polls. The rule helped keep the Patriarchy in the hands of members of the Firaldian primates.

"You've been sharing wine with Pinkus Ghort."

"With my grandfather. I don't see him often enough." Nor sounded like this opportunity had gone that well.

"I'll miss you. I'll feel naked, having you go just when the Night has begun this escalation."

"You'll be protected. He'll be out there somewhere. Hovering. Trying to make the world run according to his own weird prejudices."

"I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about the other twenty thousand men…"

"Talk to him about that. I need to get busy. I'm way behind."

"Take a boat down to Sheavenalle. Then a ship across to Brothe. You'll get home weeks ahead of everybody. You can fix it up to be the next Patriarch yourself."

"I don't want it. Wouldn't take it if it was handed to me."

"If you get a chance, see Anna and the kids. I think that would mean a lot to them." He did not know what else he could do. "I'll give you a letter for them before you leave."

Hecht told Ghort, "I liked it better down in Inconje. This place is dark, dank, and smells bad." He exaggerated. The keep had not been built for comfort. The offending smell was the result of generations of cooking with unfamiliar spices.

They were alone except for a couple of lifeguards. Ghort was sampling local vintages.

Hecht asked, "What's really on your mind?"

"I don't know if we can take Antieux. An assault would just get a lot of people dead. They aren't getting hungry in there. They aren't getting thirsty. The walls won't come down. Winter is closing in. We're starting to see sickness in the camp. Probably brought in by all the hangers-on we've accumulated. And we're having trouble with Night things. Trouble that looks like it could get bad."

"We have that here, too. I've got a man, Drago Prosek, who seems to be on track to controlling it."

"I heard the falcons."

"That's for the big ones. I've got more falcons being cast, including a test kind that can be fired faster. But that's in Brothe. Which doesn't do us any good here. Where he is doing good, here, is with traps. You should see the things he's caught. A whole menagerie of stuff that should've been extinct since the Old Empire. Stuff no one's ever seen before."

"But not dangerous?"

Hecht shrugged. "I don't know. I'm short my adviser on those things."

"Delari? Yeah. Doneto was useful that way, too. When you figure on moving west?"

"It'll take a week to get organized. Then it depends on the weather. Much more snow and mud, I may just sit down here and keep warm. May just wait to see what happens in Brothe." If Sublime went, would all his lunatic drive to rid the Chaldarean world of heresy and Unbelievers go with him?

Should Sublime's successor be indifferent to goals set by the present Patriarch, what would become of the Captain-General and his army?

"My guys aren't going to like winter… Oh! This is awful!" Ghort shoved an earthenware bottle away.

"Have you been getting ready?" Pinkus Ghort, Hecht suspected, had let things slide on the assumption that long-term thinking was a waste of time for a soldier.

"Probably not enough," Ghort confessed. "Sedlakova, more than me."

"Then you know what you need to do."

"Winter is coming. We don't have a lot of stores. Count Raymone cleared the countryside."

"You're on a river, Pinkus. And there's a road to Sheavenalle. I have no trouble supplying my people." That Ghort was less than fully prepared was no surprise. He was not a born manager. Which was why Clej Sedlakova was in charge at Antieux. Sedlakova recognized his own weaknesses and chose under-officers to deal with them. "Is Sedlakova having trouble? Are you managing things separately?"

"I've got to, Pipe. Even working for pay, I'm City Regiment, not Patriarchal."

"Point. But the fact remains. You need to do the scut work. Or find yourself a Titus who can."

Admonished, Ghort nodded. Understanding the message behind the message. Friendship could not trump the welfare of the soldiers. Not with Piper Hecht. Who stared pointedly at the wine in front of his friend.

He had reason to believe that Pinkus spent too much time sampling the vintages at Antieux. Time better spent preparing for winter.

Ghort asked, "What do we do if Sublime does die?"

"We may have to look for work. If Joceran Cuito succeeds."

"The Fiducian? Why him?"

"I don't know. I've heard he's the front-runner. Backed by King Peter."

Madouc, the lifeguard captain, entered. "Hagan Brokke has arrived, Captain-General. You asked to be informed."

"Thanks. I'll see him as soon as he feels up to it."

"He isn't in good shape. He may need time with the healing brothers."

"Then I can go to him." He shifted to Ghort. "Any chance you'll take Farfog with you when you head back?"

"You don't have muscle enough to bully me into that, Pipe. That guy is the worst asshole I've ever met. He makes old Bishop Serifs look like a fairy-tale princess. It's too bad the Connectens didn't kill his ass when they had the chance."

"I've avoided him so far. I won't be able to forever."

"Something to look forward to, then. If we're lucky, the next Patriarch will get rid of him. Hell, if we could just get him up in front of the Collegium… He'd make such an ass of himself, they'd appoint him chief missionary to the Dreangereans. Or something bad. You got anything for me to take back when I go?"

"Just find Prosek. Have him tell you how to handle your Night things. If you need to, tell Sedlakova he should bring in people from the Special Office. I'm sure he knows a few."

"If he isn't one himself."

Cloven Februaren appeared as Hecht was crawling into bed. The feather bed being the one thing he found positive about having moved into the keep. He groaned. "I was hoping to get an extra hour tonight."

"I'm only here to tell you I won't be around for a while. You'll need to stay closer to your lifeguards."

Hecht suspected that Februaren had a severely inflated notion of his own importance. Yet the old man might have stopped any number of attempts to assassinate the Captain-General. How would he know about attempts that failed? "I'll try to remember."

"They only need be successful once. It's important that they not be."

"I'm glad you share my viewpoint."

"I worry that you aren't serious enough about sharing mine. Very worried. It's important that you survive."

Hecht agreed. But he and the old man were not talking about the same thing. It was not personal with Februaren. Februaren was a man with a plan. And that plan hinged on a supposed remote descendant.

Again, "I won't be out there. So you have to think about your own safety whenever you choose to do something. Every single time."

"I've got it. Really."

Februaren did his turn-around thing. Hecht snuggled down into the warmth of the feather bed. He fell asleep wondering if he had it in him to be paranoid enough to satisfy the Ninth Unknown.

Three thousand of the best-rested troops headed west. Hecht hoped to provoke Duke Tormond into doing something unwise now that he had invoked his feudal right to summon his dependents to war. Hecht was not eager for a fight. But a fight would stir the political cauldron. And he did want that kept bubbling, whether or not his most secret self remained faithful to the mission given him by his first master, Gordimer the Lion.

The review of the departing troops done, Hecht went to see Hagan Brokke. Brokke was apologetic about his failure to handle the Navayans. He had paid the price of failure, physically. He would not have survived long had he not come into the hands of the healing brothers.