Was his conscience dredging up evils to haunt him?

Delari gasped, "I'm not broken… like Grade. I'll… recover." He tried to get onto his hands and knees. He managed, but not without a cry of pain. "What the hell?" He panted like a dog for twenty seconds, then tried to reach back behind him.

Hecht told him, "You didn't get all of you down out of the flash."

"How can I… ever go back… to the baths?"

Hecht chuckled. "I'm wondering how you're going to ride."

A voice suggested, "On a litter, facedown." Cloven Februaren had arrived unnoticed. Much recovered. He wore a broad smile. "This should be amusing in the baths."

Delari snapped, "When did you ever visit the baths? And don't you think you ought to be a little less visible? I'm not the only member of the Collegium here. The rest are going to come weaseling around trying to profit now the danger is past." He turned slightly, looked over Hecht's shoulder. "Here comes Ghort."

Pinkus, with stripes burned on his clothing, wobbled as he walked. He tripped, spent half a minute on hands and knees before getting his feet under him again. Hecht moved his way. When he glanced back Cloven Februaren was gone.

"How did he do that?"

Delari said, "I wish I knew. It would be handy in a few minutes."

Gervase Saluda and the Principate from Aparion were leading the return of the curious. Carefully.

Hecht said, "Saluda is no coward."

"Nor is Gorin Linczski. He spent several years in the Holy Lands. Their caution is justified."

A recollection from Esther's Wood. "If you're able… Let's look in that crack." Titus Consent and other officers were headed his way, too. The falcon crews had begun to rematerialize.

Another keg of powder cooked off. Those approaching hit the ground.

Moving toward the crack, Hecht asked, "Can you manage?"

"Just don't ask me to run."

The ground nearer the grub gash was still hot. It hurt through Hecht's soles. Defunct sheep and goats spotted the slope. With their herd dog.

Delari gasped, "There's your mutton."

"We'll eat well tonight." He looked down. And saw what he expected. "There. The egg-shaped thing. Still glowing."

"Yes?"

He had to force it. "I've seen one before. In the Holy Lands. I don't know what happened to it." Which was as forthcoming as he could be. He glanced at the curious tide approaching. Most were distracted by distorted falcons, dead men and animals, and the gross impact of the god grub's demise.

From on high the devastation was appalling. Though mainly confined to nature. The abandoned castle was the only human construct to suffer extensive damage. The near countryside looked like the flank of a green and black zebra, the verdant stripes persisting wherever uneven ground provided protection. The breeze was removing the soot. Hecht asked, "What do you think?"

"It's too hot down there. And we need to keep anyone else from acquiring it. Tell me what the other one was like."

"A big amber egg. With shot from the falcon trapped inside."

"Interesting."

"You know what it is? What it means?"

"No. Suppose I intercept those two Principates and redirect their curiosity." Instead, though, he tipped his head slightly and scanned the blackened hillside. "What?"

"Checking for Grandfather. These two should be too young to recognize him. But why take a chance?"

Hecht had the feeling things were happening that he could not see. Too often he felt like a blind beggar in the streets of intrigue. "All right. Here comes Kait Rhuk, too. I can't imagine how he survived." The engine of his mind was turning again, as though fresh lard had been thrown on its wooden roller bearings.

There would be a lot to do. First and foremost, a muster to see who had survived and who had not.

Principate Delari headed toward his brethren from the Collegium. Hecht went to meet Rhuk.

"Mr. Rhuk. I can't say as I've ever seen such a demonstration of courage."

Rhuk had a heavy accent. His speech was hard to follow. "I don't know, sir. Meaning, I didn't know. Maybe did I before, I wouldn't a even come set up, let alone stood my ground and kept firing."

"Everyone probably feels that way."

"Yer old sorcerer, there. He have any idea what we just run into?"

"I'm not sure I believe him. A son of the Adversary. Trying to enter the world the way a butterfly does." Most people had observed the cycle of the butterfly as children.

"Interesting times," Rhuk understated.

"You all right?"

"Got a few splinters from a firepowder keg that went up. Otherwise, I'm fine. God loves me. I fell in a hole just in time."

"If you can operate, then, I declare you lord of the falcon artillery. You're in charge of finding out how bad we were hurt. How many weapons survived? How much ammunition? We need work parties to recover as much spent shot as we can."

Rhuk scowled.

"Success never goes unpunished in this army, Mr. Rhuk. I survived, too. So I get to do without sleep at all for the next few days."

Rhuk managed a weak grin before he bowed slightly and headed back downhill. Hecht was surprised to see how many artillerymen had survived.

That was the way, though, usually. Even the most horrific events turned out less terrible than the mind anticipated.

He thought he caught the Ninth Unknown in the corner of his eye but saw nothing when he looked. What was the old man up to now?

He had chosen his officers well. Despite the magnitude of the event, they had begun to restore order. The commanders of the smaller units seemed to be gathering their men for a head count – even before his order reached them.

What could he do about what might lie in the gash?

He moved a few steps farther into the black at the crack's rim. The soil crunched underfoot. A paper-thin layer had melted and hardened. The earth beneath was dryer than desert dust. And those few steps were all he could take before the residual heat became too intense.

He spied Madouc, a hundred yards toward the mill, in a ferocious sulk. "I forgot again. They'll have to kill me so I'll start staying where they can protect me." No excuse to avoid it, he marched down and apologized.

"I'm going to put bells on you. Sir."

The man was truly, richly angry.

Hecht was not contrite. If the bodyguards had been around he would not have gotten near the god grub.

Officers' call was over. Order had been restored. But morale was severely stressed. None of the men believed the monster had appeared coincidentally. Even long-service professional soldiers did not want to face surprises of that sort.

Hecht could neither argue nor reassure. He feared he had been targeted again. And he had survived by using the weapon the Instrumentalities so feared.

Lessons learned. On all sides.

This had been a close run, with ten falcons barking. It would take bigger weapons to fell… Don't even think that. Pray, instead, for Drago Prosek, who would have only two weapons when he met the monster in the Jagos.

The staff meeting following officers' call was glum. No one had much to say. Titus tossed in, "The news from Brothe isn't good. Apparently we're not sitting still because of negotiations but because the Patriarch is deathly sick."

Hecht figured his staff began rooting for Death. "Who might replace him? How would that affect us?"

Not something anyone had thought about. Including the Collegium. Sublime was young.

"We're a forward-thinking lot, aren't we?" Hecht said. "Get some sleep. We're looking at long days ahead. Titus. Stay. You know you don't need to sleep. You're not old enough."

"Yes, sir." Resigned.

Once the others cleared off, excepting Principate Delari, Hecht asked, "What became of our assassin from Viscesment? I didn't get to question him."