"Arnhand's factions have put together several smaller armies. Once they're engaged, Santerin is sure to take advantage. King Brill has been raising troops, too, since last winter. None of the Amhander factions have seen fit to buy a truce. King Peter of Direcia will get involved somehow, too, for Isabeth's sake. And to his own advantage.

"Once the Patriarchal forces get bogged down in sieges the independent Firaldian republics and principalities are sure to act up. Some of them supposedly subject to the Empire. If you see what I mean."

She did. The perceived weakness of the Imperial proconsul in Plemenza would encourage misbehavior. What could a mere girl do? Especially a mere girl who had only her lifeguard and a rabble of a city militia?

"Not just because you're a woman but because the Empire is fragmenting. Most of our nobility disagree with the Empress about her surrender to wicked Sublime.

"I take no position on that. I just point out the obvious. Someday soon I'll say the same in Alten Weinberg. I serve the Empire. I hope Katrin will listen."

Not wanting to hear the answer she expected, Helspeth asked, "What do you mean, this may be the last summer we can cross the Jagos?"

"That might qualify as hyperbole. Between the worsening weather and growing threat of some insane Instrumentality, the Remayne Pass will be unusable."

"Alternatives are available."

"If people up north stop fussing about religion and pay attention. We need to secure the east and west routes. Then we need to deal with the monster in the Jagos."

Reports from the survivors of the Grand Duke's party, unfortunately, did not seem exaggerated. Helspeth said, "If something needs doing, please do it."

That startled Drear and Renfrow alike.

Helspeth put on a big-eyed little-girl expression, smiled cutely.

She had employed the formula used by Johannes Blackboots to urge actions for which he preferred not to be seen as responsible.

Helspeth said, "What about the monster? How do we destroy it?"

"Destroy it? That's impossible, Princess. We may still be able to constrain…"

"Destroy it! That's not impossible. I saw what became of an older and far more powerful entity at al-Khazen." She would not call Ordan a god, though he had been a mighty one in his time. "The Instrumentalities of the Night are no longer invulnerable."

"They never were, Princess."

"I'm not talking about tricking them into an idol that you shatter into a thousand pieces and broadcast across the continent. I'm talking about destruction. About what happened to the Gray Walker at al-Khazen. I'm talking about killing the Dark Gods." She gasped. She had not meant to state it quite that bluntly.

Algres Drear observed, "That would be extremely risky, Princess. We don't know how it happened. It might have been magical happenstance."

"Ferris?" Renfrow was certain to be better informed.

"I've had reports. I must say, I don't find them particularly plausible."

"Why not?"

"The method is too simple. A mix of silver and iron flung at an Instrumentality. And it dies? Silver and iron have been around forever. The Instrumentalities of the Night never liked them, of course. All kinds of charms use iron and silver to stave off the malice of the Night. Why would the gods themselves suddenly be mortally vulnerable?"

"You're missing something."

"I can't imagine what. But you're right. There's something. Without knowing what that is I wouldn't attack a water sprite."

"Find out. Isn't that what you do?"

"It's what I try to do. I'm less successful than any of us like."

"Where is the Patriarchal army now?"

"Princess?"

"Where is it? Right now. You know that, don't you?"

"Roughly. In northwest Firaldia. Or eastern Ormienden. Probably at Dominagua, resting and waiting to hear from Sublime. There may be some sort of subsidiary campaign involving Sonsa. Aparion or Dateon might have bribed Sublime to finish them off. Or I might have missed something."

Helspeth did not recall Ferris Renfrow being ambiguous when she was younger. "They'd be just the other side of the Ownvidian Knot, then, wouldn't they?"

Narrow of eye, Renfrow admitted, "Yes. They would be. Why?"

"The Captain-General is the authority on godslaying. One of you, named Algres Drear because he knows the way, should volunteer to toddle through the Knot and find out how it's done."

"No," said Renfrow.

"I can't leave," Drear insisted. "I promised your father."

"My father is dead. I give the orders now."

Renfrow argued. "The Captain-General won't just turn the secret over. It's too valuable."

Drear said, "He wouldn't want the pass open behind him. That would make sure the Empire got up to mischief."

"The Empire is already up to mischief. My sister supports the Patriarch. And you, Ferris, were just saying I'm going to be cut off on this side of the Jagos if nothing is done. I won't let you have it two ways."

After brief silence, Drear observed, "She is her father's daughter."

Renfrow nodded. "I heard the echo of his bark that time."

Helspeth asked, "Captain, what do you need to make this happen?"

Black despair blanketed the End of Connec. Even Count Raymone Garete had shed his optimism. The eastern counties were carpeted with corpses. The soil of a thousand farms had been enriched with the blood of Grolsacher starvelings and Arnhander soldiery. And still they came. Seldom in any organized fashion.

The Arnhanders came anarchically because there was no central authority behind their invasion. Anne of Menand's friends and enemies were in a race to see who could steal what the fastest. Both were paying a harsh price.

Caron ande Lette had fallen. Likewise, Artlan ande Brith. No word of the fates of the Rault brothers or the Tuldse family had reached Antieux. Brother Candle and Socia feared the worst.

Count Raymone remained aggressive but he was like an old woman chasing chickens, trying to stem the tide.

Brother Candle joined Socia Rault for dinner. The fierce Rault daughter said, "Raymone wrote. He's having trouble getting his men to do what needs doing. They're tired of killing and getting nowhere."

The Perfect Master shuddered. He knew Count Raymone's men. Few were less hard than Bernardin Amberchelle. It was difficult to imagine the magnitude of the slaughter that would put them off their enthusiasm for murder.

"We're all at the mercy of our consciences."

"Conscience isn't the problem," Socia countered. "It's that, if you're even a little bit sane, there's only so much bloodletting you can stand."

"I understand." Most men could resist armed invaders with little soul searching, but butchering the endless stream of refugees…

Socia said, "I'm sure Raymone exaggerates when he says he's killed more than ten thousand. But…"

Brother Candle feared the converse was true. That Raymone had reported smaller numbers because of the horrific scale of the killing.

Count Raymone's vigorously optimistic nature made him overlook the earthy, harsh character of his beloved.

Make that his vigorously self-delusional nature. The invaders now beginning to benefit from the moral exhaustion of the Connec's sons ought to thank their God that they did not have to face this daughter of the land.

The girl surprised him. "I've sent letters, in Raymone's name, to Tormond, Peter, Jerriaux, Huntar of Biorgras, Deitrich of Cienioune, and a dozen others. I asked for the loan of troops. Strictly to support Antieux's defenses. Raymone can afford to pay them."

Brother Candle scowled. This girl-child was even more dark and wickedly clever than he had thought. Each of those nobles had been feeding mercenaries into the private and local armies of the Connec.