"Not yet. I didn't think we had any. Did we?"

"I'm not sure. I've seen a few men who say they were but it looked more like they had too much liberated wine and got hurt running around in a panic. Then there's that guy who runs the Arniena company. Sayag. He's your pal, isn't he?"

"Not really. We worked together. I saw him last night. What happened?"

"I'm not sure. He isn't, either. He thinks something tried to get him. Yet that doesn't seem likely."

No, it did not. Unless Divino Bruglioni had found out that the Arniena had it in for the Bruglioni. "I don't know. It's a world full of cold miseries, Pinkus."

"And getting colder fast. Everywhere. You don't want to go back home. That end of the world will be under the ice in our lifetimes."

“The whole world will be under the ice, Pinkus. In our lifetimes. If half the rumors are true."

From the observation house, later, Else stared across the snowscape at the walls and roofs and towers of al-Khazen. They seemed darker and more dangerous this morning. Those were his people. But he could summon no sympathy. He was sure there was no sympathy for Else Tage stashed behind those walls, either.

Would the whole world go under the ice? Or would the Wells of Ihrian start to flow more strongly, as might have happened in the past?

THE FOLLOWING NIGHT BEGAN THE SAME. THE NIGHT-BORN attacks from al-Khazen sputtered sooner, however. Bronte Doneto and his cohorts turned the attack, with more vigor.

Only al-Seyhan and Starkden were active. Did they think the third sorcerer was still a secret?

The third night they turned to the Imperial forces.

Ghort caught Else when they were free of Brotherhood watchers, Principatйs, Polo, Deves, and the other plagues upon their lives. "You going crazy with this latest shit, Pipe? I am. These assholes … You think the great old-time conquerors had to put up with the horseshit we get every day?"

"What makes stories from the old days seem so great is that they leave out the pettiness, greed, mean spiritedness, backbiting and infighting."

"Yeah, well. Screw it. You're probably right. People are gonna be people. Which means they're mainly gonna be assholes. I wasn't really wanting to talk about that shit, anyway."

"But you do have something on your mind."

"Oh, yeah. There's always something going on in there. But there's a chance it might not be no more important than what goes on in the heads of all those morons who listen to a story but only hear what they want to hear."

"It's cold out here, Pinkus."

"I do have a point. In the sense that I want you to tell me what you're up to. I don't want to get my ass shredded because don't know the plan."

Else swung an arm across Ghort's shoulder. "Have you been testing the local spoiled fruit juice?"

"That's one thing these Unbelievers do right, Pipe. They ain't 'sposed to drink nothing that might maybe put them in a good mood. Their god must be one sour son of a bitch. But still they manage to make some fine wine."

"You have been sampling."

"Which don't mean shit. What does is, what I want to know is, what're we gonna do?"

"What are you babbling about, Pinkus?"

"You don't even realize, do you?"

"You're right. I'm lost."

Ghort did some verbal exercises to get his tongue under control. "You don't realize that you're the number-one guy, here, now. Top dog, after Grade Drocker. Who plain ain't gonna last much longer."

"You haven't cleared the fog much."

"All right. Look. Here it is. We got what, eleven, twelve thousand men in the Patriarch's army?"

Else grunted. "Twelve thousand, two hundred. And some. Maybe eight thousand able to fight." There was a lot of sickness. But that was worse in the city. "And your point?"

"Haven't you noticed in the big meetings how even assholes like Count Juditch va Geiso shut up when you talk?"

He had not. He had seen that even the Principatйs and most senior nobles deferred to Grade Drocker. "No."

"Sainted Eis's Holy Hernia, Pipe! For a guy who's so clever about shit in the field, you're dumb when it comes to where you fit in the camp. Those guys have watched you on the job, Pipe. Some ain't happy but they've seen you run the regiment. They've seen you fight it They know none of their ruling-class types could do half the job. And none of them want any of the others telling them what to do."

Else had seen that. Plenty. "I don't believe you but I see what you're saying."

"You don't got to believe. But we've done good. Them what don't want to be cold and hungry and maybe dead on account of some idiot who knows jack shit about the war business…."

Else shook his head.

Ghort waved that off. "A lot of people think you're the man who can keep everybody warm and fed and breathing if Drocker kicks the bucket"

"Then this discussion is moot. That nasty old man isn't going away anytime soon." Arguing against his own convictions.

"Play a game of what if with me, Pipe. What next if you was in charge?"

Else scowled. Was Ghort stupid enough to get involved in a conspiracy? "You're serious? Of course you are. You don't have the imagination not to be. Or so you'd like us to think. If I was in charge, what would I do? Exactly what we've been doing, Pinkus. Digging in, drawing the circle tighter, and not doing anything to get any of us killed stupidly. Maximum results for the least bloodshed. Our side and theirs. So what do you really want Pinkus?"

"I ain't blowing smoke, Pipe. I'm straight on. I think you're the compromise guy. And I don't agree about Drocker being in good shape."

"Now you've heard it Pinkus. Tell Doneto I'd go right on doing it Drocker's way. Letting time work. Like making wine. Though I might do a little more than he has to talk the Pramans into surrendering."

"You could shit a shitter, all right, Pipe. You ain't really told me shit that's worth snot."

"Pinkus, I don't know what more you want to hear."

Ghort growled and pretended to yank out his hair. "How come you can't just give me a straight answer to a straight question?"

"I did.”

"I bet the reason you left Duarnenia was, they ran you off on account of you've got a stick up your ass."

"I don't understand what you want."

Ghort demonstrated his characteristic flexibility by shrugging, saying, "Guess I lose. I thought I could get you to give me something. Hey. Guess who – or what – turned up? That nasty little sword swallower that used to polish Bishop Serifs's knob.”

Startled, Else blurted, "Osa Stile? The catamite?"

"I thought his name was Armand."

"You're right. Stile. Where did I get that? He's here? How did that happen?"

"He's hooked up with one of them Collegium characters. One of the really quiet, spooky, shadowy old ones." Meaning one of the more powerful Principatйs when it came to working the Instrumentalities of the Night. One of those men for whom the Night was a place of romance and adventure, not a realm of terror. Which suited Osa's spy role perfectly.

The Collegium was the stoutest bulwark that Sublime could place between himself and the ambitions of Johannes Blackboots. But his party held only that narrowest of edges there. Ferris Renfrew would want to keep a close eye on the Collegium.

"Watch him, Pinkus. There's more to that boy than meets the eye."

"Yeah. Any chance we'll do anything but sit here?”

Back to that. "Not if I can help it. If you're feeling suicidal, though, I'll give you a note introducing you to Starkden and Masant al-Seyhan."

"Bored is the word. Not suicidal."

"Bored? You don't have enough work to keep you busy?"

"I've got plenty. Don't go getting no silly-ass ideas about piling on. But I am a man of action."

"Pinkus, I’ve never seen you make the least effort to put yourself in harm's way."