Book 3 - Surrender to the Will of the Night by Glen Cook Page A

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 Principaté 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.
    If Boniface just had the time.
    That alone should have the poisoners swarming, Hecht believed. Too many people, inside the Church and inside Arnhand, had become deeply invested in abuse of the End of Connec. Thieves, all, except for a handful of fanatics.
    The column halted. Kait Rhuk and the men up front spread out, getting ready for trouble. Hecht hurried forward. His lifeguards closed in but did not stop him. This needed doing.
    “Rhuk. What do we have?”
    “Injured man up ahead. Maybe dead.”
    Rhuk had the man covered from several angles, no one closer than twenty feet. One falcon was sited so that it could fire at anything coming out of the only cover nearby.
    “He’s breathing,” Rhuk said. “I see that now.”
    The man lay sprawled among the rocks like he had fallen out of the sky. He was large and wore nothing but a massive growth of washed-out reddish hair. The dense rat’s nest around his head and face contained streaks of gray. He had not been eating well.
    “Been in a few scrapes, looks like,” Madouc said. “I’ve never seen so many scars.”
    “Missing his right hand, too,” Rhuk said. “Want me to go wake him up?”
    “No. Nobody get in the line of fire.”
    Everyone eyed the brush up the hillside. Was this man bait?
    Hecht said, “I’ve seen this man before. I’m trying to remember where.” The memories came in a rush. He did not want to accept them. “Below the wall of al-Khazen. This was one of the soultaken.” Whose death tussle with Ordnan and the Choosers of the Slain had cursed him with ascension to Instrumentality status.
    “Target both falcons on him. Have every hand weapon ready.”
    “Sir?”
    “That’s our quarry. The man who became the monster.”
    That caused a buzz. And brisk preparations.
    “Say when, sir,” Rhuk said, slow match in hand.
    “Not yet. Only if he does something threatening.” This needed closer examination. He was aware of no instances of this soultaken returning to human form. There must be a reason. “Pella. I have a job for you.”
    “Dad?”
    “Round up some throwing stones. Chunk them over there. Try not to hit him in the head.”
    “All right.”
    “Rhuk. The rest of you. No firing without my order.”
    Pella threw. He did not miss. The body yonder twitched.
    Where was the Ninth Unknown?
    The hairy man shuddered. He forced his way up off the rocks. His naked skin bore fresh abrasions, several extensive and evidently painful. He got into a sitting position, shuddered again, rested his hands and chin on his knees.
    “What now?” Kait Rhuk asked.
    “Wait. Pella. That’s enough.”
    The wait was a long one. At last the naked man shuddered, lifted his head, peered round with bleary eyes. He showed his palm weakly, in response to the martial display.
    “Don’t anybody relax,” Hecht said. “Don’t take any of this at face value.” He told the naked man, “Speak.”
    Hecht could not decipher the answer. He did not move closer. The soultaken had been created specifically to destroy him. It might not be able to abort its mission.
    “Captain-General?” Rhuk wanted instructions. Again.
    “Wait.”
    “Food,” the soultaken