going to go. I'm saying there's a chance we might go. It isn't official yet. Call it a warning order. So you can look like you know, what you're doing if movement orders do come down.'
Ghort said, 'I beg your pardon. My excitement overcame me for a moment.' Pinkus Ghort was long on sarcasm and irony.
Else asked, 'So what's the word on the arms? I've still got men practicing with sticks.'
The great Patriarchal army now numbered almost eight hundred men. Each day ten, twenty, even thirty more men arrived. Else was surprised that there were so many. Ghort took the opposite view, being astonished that they were so few, particularly with the Brotherhood being so generous. Perhaps rumors recalling the Battle of Themes discouraged the more thoughtful potential volunteer.
Bechter shrugged, 'On the way. So they keep telling me.'
Else said, 'We'd better tell our poor children that they now have some real motivation for learning their trade.'
The news remained resolutely unpleasant. Bishop Serifs kept screaming for help. Else observed, 'If this man whines any louder he won't need to use messengers.'
Bo Biogna agreed, 'If he was as bad off as he says he'd a been dead before he started hollerin'.'
Two Brotherhood members sent to reconnoiter failed to return. Orders came from the sorcerer's tent: Prepare for movement. Those were rescinded almost immediately, after Else, Ghort, and several others reminded Redfearn Bechter that a third of the troops had no weapons and the rest, in general, were armed very poorly. Then came word that the Grolsacher mercenary chieftain Adolf Black was going to join them. He would arrive within a week with five hundred veterans.
The possibility of real fighting had an impact. Those who had signed on just for the meals became invisible. Those who stuck around paid much more attention to learning lessons that might keep them alive.
The arms shipment arrived. Adolf Black did not. The Grolsacher had caught wind of the changed situation. He wanted more money.
The little army crossed over into the Connec. The Brothers made sure there was no plundering, nor any behavior the locals would find objectionable. There was no resistance, though the force was not welcomed anywhere. Even those few Episcopal priests oriented toward Brothe observed them with an abiding suspicion.
The Connec as a whole was deeply xenophobic.
Firm and absolute discipline had begun at the moment of first enlistment. The Brotherhood knew men. Amongst the low, crude sort who joined it was inevitable that there would be predators. The Brotherhood did not tolerate behaviors common in other camps. Bullying earned ten lashes in the first instance, followed by a severe caning and dismissal without pay if the bully did not learn right away. The one man caught forcing himself on one of the youngsters found himself face-to-face with the sorcerer before he could get his pants pulled up. Which interview proved fatal for the buggery enthusiast. Although his final breath followed pronunciation of his sentence by fully ten days.
A minor theft generated a severe caning.
The troops got the message, at least for the time being.
The column reached the Dechear River, below Mount Milaue. They spent a day crossing on the ferry there. The west fork of the main Inland Road from the north ran down the west bank of the Dechear. To the north and east that same Old Brothen military road marked the boundary between the New Brothen Empire and the states where some version of Arnhander was spoken. Farther north still, a branch of the road ran northeastward to Salpeno, seat of the Arnhander kings.
In the Connec, one branch of the ancient road ran westward, past most of the main cities of the Connec. Eventually it reached the Vierses River at Parliers. The Vierses, navigable from that point, ran northwestward, past Khaurene and on to the ocean.
Two days later the Patriarchal force left the road and turned south into rolling hills covered with vineyards. Before long, the little army settled on the estate of Bishop Serifs, overlooking Antieux.
The Bishop's manor was a vast sprawl resembling the old-time latifundia, mostly given over to vineyards. The manor house had a fine view of the tall walls of Antieux. That city clung to the flank of an ocher hillside within a loop of the River Job. Its fortifications were strong and in good repair and appeared to justify the confidence of its defenders, which the invaders had begun hearing about days ago.
Count Raymone Garete and the folk of Antieux, contemptuously disloyal to their bishop, openly told the invaders' scouts that they had stores enough put by to withstand a siege that would last all winter. They would be eating well, still, when the enemies of reason and sense outside their city were stewing their boots and eating mud because all the dogs, cats, and rats had been devoured.
Bishop Serifs came out of the manor while the invading force was setting up camp. He was livid over the damage to his vines.
Else was not far away when the bishop encountered Grade Drocker. He was not close enough to overhear their exchange. But the sorcerer had an immediate impact. The bishop gulped air, became pale, sputtered. The sorcerer stalked away. The bishop gradually regained his breath and went red again. He stormed back into the manor house.
Grade Drocker must have some real power behind him. The bishop was supposed to be one of the Patriarch's favorites.
Else settled his bunch where he could see the sorcerer's tent, the manor house, and still had a good view of Antieux. Else considered the city and concluded that its denizens were justified in their confidence. Those tall walls could withstand the attentions of this incompetent mob forever. Even if Grade Drocker chose to invest the full extent of his remaining sorcery.
The Patriarchal force had been in place four days. Those who had besieged the bishop were a problem no longer.
The force's only intercourse with Antieux was a regular exchange of insults. The Patriarchal soldiers were young and intemperate and would have gotten themselves badly hurt had anyone inside the city had the sense and smarts to exploit the fact that the besiegers were so inexperienced they still could not yet stay in step.
Of course, the folk of Antieux had no need. They could sit back and let winter drive the besiegers away. Count Raymone Garete, in fact, issued proclamations to that effect, confident that it would be possible to end the siege with the only casualties being the bishop's vineyards and the Brothers' pride.
Grade Drocker assembled his officers. He wanted their opinions before making any decisions. At Else's level no one saw the point. The man would do what he wanted. Why waste time on voices that would not be heard?
Else was now a brevet officer who held his position only because none of the Brotherhood soldiers wanted it. He did not rate a chair in the room Bishop Serifs provided so the meeting could be held safe from the drizzle outside. That room had been stripped of everything crude men might steal or sully. Else leaned against a cold, damp wall, out of the way in the rear, beside Pinkus Ghort. It was ironic. He had slipped right into the same role that he had played at home. He was God's company commander.
Ghort murmured, 'Brother Drocker seems a tad disgruntled, don't you think?'
'I'd say.' And almost completely incapacitated, too.
Rumor was right. That blast of silver shot had left Drocker damaged dramatically and permanently. Spots of raw bone could be seen on the left side of his face.
Ghort observed, 'Man, he's totally fucked up. He looks like he spent about four hours on the wrong end of a toothless tiger.'
Else had heard Drocker wore a mask most of the time. He wondered why the sorcerer had not done so today.
Drocker needed assistance seating himself at the high table. And he was angry. His voice was not weak when he said, in breathy, three-word bursts, 'Bechter. Find Bishop… Serifs. And Principal … Doneto. They were … told to be here.'
Ghort murmured, 'I hope Drocker reams them two a new set of assholes. Them fuckers got us up to our tits
