Lord of the Silent Kingdom

Brock said, 'Little Thysoup would be a waste of time. What have they got out there? A few scrawny chickens and a three-legged dog?'

Socia resumed, 'There were four of them. A family, I guess. There was a fight. They wanted to get away. We didn't let them.'

Brock started to ask about prisoners. Brother Candle said, 'There's one. A child.'

Several peasants, all women, drove the prisoner toward the stronghold gate. They had ropes around his neck. And were not being kind.

Peasants seldom were when given a chance to express anger normally kept in check.

The prisoner was a child. A boy. Eleven at the oldest. He was injured, terrified, pale, and shaking. Tear tracks streaked his dirty face. He had just witnessed the brutal killings of his father, his grandfather, and his uncle.

'Show a little gentleness,' Brother Candle suggested, iron in his voice. Socia nodded, thumped back downstairs. Brock and the Perfect followed at a pace in keeping with the capacities of an older man.

Socia was not all blood and ferocity. When Brother Candle reached the forecourt behind the gate he found that she had separated the prisoner from his captors. She was examining his wound. The boy shook so badly he could barely stand.

Brother Candle said, 'Get some soup into him. Just broth, to start.' Signs of starvation were there, though not advanced. 'Move him somewhere warmer. Give him some wine and wrap him in blankets.'

Brock said, 'Put salve on those rope burns, too. How bad is he, otherwise?'

Socia replied, 'One shallow cut, shouldn't need sewing. A lot of bruises and scrapes. They beat him.'

Brock turned to the cowed peasant women. 'Good work, ladies. But this is only the beginning. You need to do two things more. Make the dead out there disappear. Then warn all the farms to prepare hiding places. And let me know immediately if anything else happens.'

Brock had no worries about being able to handle the raiders if he knew where they were. His people were a match for ten times their weight in hungry Grolsachers worn down by travel.

'How do you suppose they got here?' Brother Candle wondered.

'They walked, Brother. If they had horses they would've eaten them.'

'I meant their route, Seuir. The direct way would be across Imp or Manu. That would raise alarums.'

'Then I expect they're taking the long way, around the west end of Ormienden. Through Arnhand, with the connivance of the Arnhander nobility.'

'It could be a plan that kicked in when the Emperor died.'

'Could be. We'll ask. Socia. How soon can our guest talk?'

'Depends on how much you care about his health.'

'Let him worry about his health. He won't stay healthy if he doesn't talk to me.'

Brother Candle murmured, 'You can't scare him, Brock. He's already too terrified to think. And he can't see anything left to lose.'

'Do you ever get tired of always being right?'

'Not often. Though that's a very Count Raymone thing to ask.'

'Socia. Mother the boy. Sweet-talk him. Bring him around so we can open him up.'

A second skirmish occurred four miles west of Little Thysoup, in the evening. It involved an indeterminate number of Grolsachers, who suffered only because the alert from Caron ande Lette had reached the area shortly before. Peasants, armed no better than the invaders, fought back. Four Connectens died. The raiders left four of their own behind. Those who escaped were all injured.

Brother Candle and Socia Rault took turns sitting with the boy. He called himself Gres Refello. His terror never faded completely but he believed a Perfect Master when Brother Candle promised no further harm would touch him. He had Seekers After Light in his own family. Nor did he possess the guile to lie to save countrymen he did not know.

When questioned, he answered. Mumbling.

'Must be a lot of them coming,' Brock Rault said over supper. There had been several more incidents.

The grand hall of Caron ande Lette contained leading men from the surrounding country, the Raults, Brother Candle, a courier from Antieux, and Seuir Lanne Tuldse, who had brought up a handful of fighters after hearing that there were Grolsacher raiders north of him. These men were eating whatever they could grab. Free food was not common.

The grand hall was not large. Caron ande Lette was not large. The grandest thing about it was its wall.

'I need a little quiet,' Brock bellowed. 'The Perfect Master spent the morning with the boy we caught yesterday. You need to hear what he has to say.'

Wearied by life, tempted by despair, Brother Candle abandoned his cluttered platter and rose. He was not in the mood for roast hare.

'The Seuir is correct. A lot of them are coming. But not in any organized fashion. Most are bringing their families.' Which meant having women and children underfoot when the bloodshed started. 'They've been promised land and plunder by Anne of Menand. Arnhanders, in general, have decided that, religion aside, the Connec is properly part of Arnhand. Sublime has encouraged this belief. Arnhand is letting the Grolsachers pass through. They're providing supplies to any Grolsachers who swear allegiance to Anne and to the Brothen Church.

'The boy isn't sophisticated enough to understand any of that, except on a personal level. But there are broad implications for everyone in the west.' Brother Candle did not tell them he thought Anne of Menand was positioning herself to be the mother behind what she hoped to make the most powerful monarch in the Episcopal world.

'The invaders will come down the Sadew Valley. There's game and water. They think we won't expect them to come that way.'

Haiden Backe and Bishop Farfog had arrived using the easier route farther east.

Brock Rault said, 'I'd assume that, after the recent skirmishes, they'll pile up somewhere till numbers force them to come on. We can deal with that. Our real problem is what comes along behind. Brother?'

'The boy doesn't actually know anything more than your children do about your plans. But he does believe that an Arnhander army is going to come in behind them, to protect them. And to restore order.' That excuse had been used to justify previous Arnhander incursions.

Brock said, 'Ralph, take the boy to Antieux with you. I'll have a letter for the Count, too. The rest of you, bring your men to the Catna Calci spring before sunrise tomorrow.'

Brother Candle was not pleased. He feared Brock wanted to repeat the Black Mountain Massacre.

He would argue but knew that was a waste of breath.

Grolsachers entering the Rault demesne arrived under sentence of death.

Socia Rault, in ill-fitting boiled leather armor, turned up once it was too late to make a scene about the impropriety. Brother Candle strained to hide his amusement. Brock Rault was too young to have forehead veins stand out like that.

Had he truly expected that confiscating the mail she had worn before would hinder her?

It was chilly for the time of year. Teeth chattered. Mist lay in patchlets in the hollows along the creek in the Sadew Valley. As had been the case three mornings running, a trickle of invaders passed without hindrance. They would be dealt with a few miles farther on. Some would be allowed to go back to report that the folk of the Connec were making no organized effort to defend themselves.

Three days of waiting left Brock's followers impatient. Everyone kept quiet while three men passed, arguing bitterly. Once they were out of earshot, Brock asked, 'What language was that, Brother?'

Brother Candle had to admit, 'I don't know. That's the second group that talked like that.' And that made the incursion more disturbing. Fugitives from the advancing ice would grace the Connec's enemies with more power to destroy.

After quelling a belated response to Socia's arrival, Seuir Brock told his family, 'I can't keep these men restrained much longer.'

The force numbered thirty-five. Thirty-three armed men, a woman, and one Maysalean Perfect Master. Some were from neighboring holdings and felt little need to defer to Seuir Brock's leadership.

There was an invader camp up the valley, in a marshy meadow. And someone was in control. There were pickets. They were not well posted or alert, but they were there. They made scouting the camp difficult. Scores of