Working God's Mischief
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Working God's Mischief

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by Glen Cook

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Arnhand, Castauriga, and Navaya lost their kings. The Grail Empire lost its empress. The Church lost its Patriarch, though he lives on as a fugitive. The Night lost Kharoulke the Windwalker, an emperor amongst the most primal and terrible gods. The Night goes on, in dread. The world goes on, in dread. The ice builds and slides southward.

New kings come. A new


Arnhand, Castauriga, and Navaya lost their kings. The Grail Empire lost its empress. The Church lost its Patriarch, though he lives on as a fugitive. The Night lost Kharoulke the Windwalker, an emperor amongst the most primal and terrible gods. The Night goes on, in dread. The world goes on, in dread. The ice builds and slides southward.

New kings come. A new empress will rule. Another rump polishes the Patriarchal Throne.

But there is something new under the sun. The oldest and fiercest of the Instrumentalities has been destroyed--by a mortal. There is no new Windwalker, nor will there ever be.

The world, battered by savage change, limps toward its destiny. And the ice is coming.

Working God's Mischief is the savage, astounding new novel of the Instrumentalities of the Night, by Glen Cook, a modern master of military fantasy.

Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
Cook’s fourth Instrumentalities of the Night epic installment (after Surrender to the Will of the Night) demonstrates his talent for contrasting mundane characters with monumental backdrops. Monarchs have fallen, clerical leaders have been deposed, and gods themselves have died. Now Godslayer Piper Hecht, a man of masks and nested identities, forces some of the remaining divinities to surrender to his will, celestial powers bending to the service of secular interests. But Hecht is not the only one determined to reshape the world in his image, and, as empires become unstable, occult powers conspire in the shadows. The fate of nations and pantheons proves subject to blind chance and the whims of mortals. Instrumentalities of the Night feels like a reexamination of Cook’s Dread Empire series: both use secondary worlds greatly influenced by Europe and Asia, both concern themselves with the catalytic role of determined mortals in global affairs, and both present grand histories with a certain air of absurdity. Cook’s decades of experience and expanded modern page counts allow him to weave a complex plot, but the result is comfortingly familiar to his longtime fans. (Mar.)
From the Publisher

“Cook follows up on his lauded Black Company military fantasy with another powerful series, combining a fast-moving plot with a harsh, credible world of religious conflicts, ravenous aristocrats, and refugees struggling to survive.” —VOYA on Lord of the Silent Kingdom

“The thing about Glen Cook is that with The Black Company he singlehandedly changed the face of fantasy--something a lot of people didn't notice and maybe still don't. He brought the story down to a human level, dispensing with the cliché archetypes of princes, kings, and evil sorcerers. Reading his stuff was like reading Vietnam War fiction on peyote.” —Steven Erikson, New York Times bestselling author of the Malazan series

Kirkus Reviews
Fourth in the series (Surrender to the Will of the Night, 2010, etc.) featuring an alternate-world 13th century, the era of the crusades—along with gods, demons, monsters and wizards. That being said, Cook disdains any explanations or even hints that might help ease newcomers into the flow. The Aelen Kofer, or dwarf wizards, trapped the Old Gods in a space-time bubble. Fresh from his success in killing the worst of these, Piper Hecht, along with his allies (including his sister Heris, ancestor Cloven Februaren, and Ferris Renfrow, all wizards), intends to release them in controlled fashion—and either kill them or force them to bargain for their lives. The gods that survive this process, perhaps daunted to discover how little magic power survives outside their ancient prison, seem biddable, cooperative and trustworthy—but they rapidly grow bored and start getting into mischief. Elsewhere, an enigmatic four-armed woman with supernatural powers visits Brother Candle, Countess Socia and Bernardin Amberchelle and, even more mysteriously, bestows astonishing gifts on them. Despite the presence of real, tangible gods, belief in the One God is strong, and the armies of the Grail Empire are preparing for another crusade against Hecht's former coreligionists, the Praman. Winters grow longer, the ice builds and expands. And, seemingly out of nowhere, Hecht conceives an urgent need to recover Grinling, a lost magic ring wrought by the Aelen Kofer. All this, in Cook's capable hands, comes across as less derivative than it might appear in summary; his characters have substance, their conversations sparkle. What he doesn't convey are any senses of urgency, what it all means, why it matters or how it fits into the context of the series. Presumably, you have to start at the beginning, and readers looking for a lengthy, well-narrated, but rather shapeless immersion should do just that.

Product Details

Tom Doherty Associates
Publication date:
Instrumentalities of the Night Series, #4
Edition description:
First Edition
Product dimensions:
6.40(w) x 9.30(h) x 1.50(d)

Related Subjects

Read an Excerpt

1. Antieux: The Stress of Peace
Brother Candle settled at the breakfast table, still sleep-groggy.
“Look at him being smug. All fruit and berries, there.”
A dozen people shared the table, Count Raymone Garete’s intimates. His spouse, the Countess Socia, had made the disparaging remark.
Count Raymone’s cousin Bernardin said, “Don’t mind her, Master. She’s looking for a fight again. Or still. Calm down, girl. Peace has broken out. Enjoy it.”
Brother Candle nodded. He agreed.
*   *   *
Socia knew it could not last.
The world would pull itself together and get back to the horrors soon.
Following a bite of melon, the old man observed, “The world has rolled over complete when Bernardin Amberchelle is the voice of reason.” To the Countess, so like a daughter after all they had suffered, he said, “Control your emotions. For the sake of the child.”
Socia was gravid in the extreme. That exacerbated her naturally abrasive character. The baby was overdue. It would be her first. She was plagued by all the first-time terrors. She refused to follow the custom of her station and go into seclusion.
Socia Garete was no ornament to her husband. She was a working partner, even a managing partner. She did not want to miss anything.
The Count, the Maysalean Perfect Brother Candle, and everyone else for whom she cared, and who cared for her, had abandoned hope of getting her to behave as a proper noblewoman.
Hell, she spent half her time with an equally injudicious commoner refugee heretic from Khaurene, Kedle Richeut. She idolized Kedle. Kedle Richeut had made a difference. Kedle had killed a king.
Brother Candle had known Socia since she was a bloody-minded teen living with three brothers in a small stronghold on the Connec’s northeast frontier. Never had she shown the least inclination to be a good girl, focused on embroidery and producing children.
As always, Count Raymone showed only amused indulgence. He loved Socia with the passion and depth sung by the Connec’s jongleurs, unusual in a time of negotiated marriages. But Raymone Garete had come into his patrimony young. Those who would have strapped him into a loveless political alliance had passed on before he could be fitted to harness.
Count Raymone had chosen Socia on brief exposure because he had recognized her instantly as a soul perfectly complementary to himself.
Count Raymone said, “At this point, my love, you should listen attentively when the Master speaks.”
Startled, Socia shut her mouth.
Raymone continued, “I understand. I have my own problems adjusting to an absence of enemies. The fact is, we aren’t likely to have any till Anselin gets home or Serenity makes a startling comeback.”
Bernardin said, “Anselin shouldn’t be a problem. He won’t let his mother bully him. I’ll bet a shilling now that he stuffs her into a convent.”
Socia made snarling noises to remind everyone that she was in a foul humor. Still.
Raymone ignored her. “I can’t even fritter time chasing Society brothers. The survivors are hidden so deep they’ve forgotten which way to swim to find the light.”
Brother Candle grumbled, “If they cared about the Light they wouldn’t be in the Society for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy in the first place.”
Bernardin chuckled through a mouthful of salt pork. He professed the Maysalean creed but refused to observe its dietary whims. “Been a few weeks since I’ve nabbed one. But the rest aren’t buried as deep as they hope. The new bishop isn’t as clever as he thinks.”
“LaVelle?” Brother Candle asked.
“The very one. The latest. Dumber than a keg of rocks but the first honest one since way back before Serifs. I’m going to make sure he survives.”
For a decade Episcopal Chaldarean bishops had shown a remarkable inability to stay healthy in a bishopric the Church was determined to scourge and flense for tolerating heresy.
“Honest?” Brother Candle asked.
Bernardin offered a wobbling hand gesture. “Comparatively. He did bring along a clutch of deadbeat relatives. But he’s no holy bandit like Meryl Ponté or Mathe Richenau.”
Count Raymone interjected, “Darling, when was your last visit to Mistress Alecsinac?” Alecsinac was her senior attendant midwife.
Clever, in Brother Candle’s thinking. Stopping Bernardin from admitting he had an agent close to the new bishop, in case LaVelle or the Society had an agent close to the Count.
There was a point to Raymone’s question beyond that.
Socia did not deliver a definitive response.
“I thought so. Master. Once you finish, see my lady Socia to the midwife. Making no side trips and accepting no delays or excuses.”
“As you will.” Brother Candle allowed himself a satisfied smile.
Count Raymone seldom invoked a husband’s prerogative. When he did, he meant it. There was no appeal.
Brother Candle asked, “Does LaVelle have any support from Brothe?”
Amberchelle replied, “We’re trying to figure that out. Serenity appointed him, but only two days before they ran him off. Serenity didn’t know him. He was put up by one of Anne of Menand’s tame Principatés, Gorman Sleight. Sleight doesn’t know LaVelle, either. He nominated LaVelle on behalf of Valmur Joss, one of the Society chiefs in exile in Salpeno. Joss is Connecten. But even he doesn’t actually know LaVelle, whose name originally got dropped into the process by a cousin, Laci Lindop, another Connecten Society exile. LaVelle has no prior Church connection, except as a worshipper. So nobody knows what we’re getting.”
The Perfect stared. Bernardin Amberchelle was a short, wide, dusky, rumpled man who looked like a dimwit thug. And he played that role on Raymone’s behalf. In private, though, he betrayed surprising depth.
Amberchelle winked.
Refusing to be left out, Socia asked, “Do we know where Serenity went when he ran away from the Captain-General?”
“That would be the Commander of the Righteous, dear one. Piper Hecht. He used to be Captain-General, before Serenity. Pinkus Ghort is Captain-General now. Serenity’s man, bought and paid for.”
“Not so much anymore,” Bernardin said. “Ghort gets on fine with the man Hecht installed in Serenity’s place.”
“But where is Serenity?” Socia demanded. “And how big a pain is he likely to be?”
“Right now he’s on Little Pinoché in the Pinoché Islands, off the Firaldian coast two-thirds of the way up between the mouth of the Teragi and the mouth of the Sawn. He’d be a major pain if he could but he can’t communicate very well. Sonsa and Platadura are blockading him. Queen Isabeth intends to keep him fixed till she makes him pay for what happened to Peter.”
He meant Isabeth of Khaurene, sister of Duke Tormond IV, wife and queen of Peter of Navaya. After an outstanding career taming the enemies of the Church, Peter had fallen defending his wife’s home city from Arnhanders who had invaded with the blessing of the Church.
Serenity had an obsessive hatred of the Connec. He had suffered terribly when he was Patriarchal legate in Antieux. Before becoming Patriarch he had participated in several campaigns against Antieux.
“He’ll find ways to communicate,” Socia muttered. “There’ll be a reason he fled to those islands.”
“Yeah.” Bernardin laughed. “There is. That’s where the storm put him down.” He explained. Serenity’s convoy, hugging the coast, had been caught in a squall and driven off shore. Serenity’s vessel had gone aground on rocks off Little Pinoché. The deposed Patriarch was among the few survivors. “He was headed for Arnhand. Anne of Menand would have taken him in.” But ships from Navaya’s allies had set a blockade almost before Serenity had gotten himself dried out.
Brother Candle pushed back from the table. “I’ve begun to suffer an intellectual malaise. I’ve become too comfortable here.”
Bernardin observed, “Here he goes, fishing for compliments.”
Socia snapped, “Bernardin, you’re too cynical. He’s a Perfect. They’re never happy unless they’re barefoot in the snow, starving, and being hunted by people who want to burn them.”
“This one squeals like a pig whenever we ask him to do something where he might get his tootsies wet.”
Pressed, Brother Candle would have admitted as much. But he was sixty-eight years old. That slowed a man. It left him inclined to ease the strain on his bones. “I’ll be back on the road soon enough to beat the first snow.” Snow arrived earlier every winter.
All conversation died. All eyes turned to the Perfect.
“Why on earth would you…?”
“At your age?”
“My age? My age wasn’t a factor when somebody wanted me hustling messages and tokens back and forth between Antieux and Khaurene.”
Socia said, “It’s a factor because you mean so much to us. We don’t want you to leave.”
The Count agreed. “That’s as plain as it can be said, Master.”
Socia added, “You keep up this nonsense, I’ll get Kedle to break your leg.”
“That seems harsh.”
“Tough love, old man. Tough love.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. It is an intimidating journey and these old bones do have too many miles on them already. Meantime, though, I have to deliver you to the mercies of Mistress Alecsinac.”
“I was hoping you’d forget.”
“Get going, Socia,” Raymone snapped.
“An’ it please Your Lordship.” Socia rose, offered a mock bow. It was none too deep. Her stomach got in the way. Leaving the room a step behind the Perfect, she said, “Mistress Alecsinac may know how to convince this beast that it’s time to leave.”

Copyright © 2014 by Glen Cook

Meet the Author

Born in 1944, Glen Cook grew up in northern California, served in the U.S. Navy, attended the University of Missouri, and was one of the earliest graduates of the well-known "Clarion" workshop SF writers. Since 1971 he has published a large number of science fiction and fantasy novels, including the "Dread Empire" series, the occult-detective "Garrett" novels, and the very popular "Black Company" sequence that began with the publication of The Black Company in 1984. Among his SF novels is A Passage at Arms.

After working many years for General Motors, Cook now writes full-time. He lives near St. Louis, Missouri, with his wife Carol.

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Working God's Mischief 5 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 2 reviews.
MarkRit More than 1 year ago
I love this series and all this author works. But the story now comes to a climax that leaves you wanting more. The characters are compelling and you come to really believe in their actions. I found this a great addition to the series-a good read indeed! Check out the Garret P.I. Series by this author also!!!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago