Lord of the Silent Kingdom

13. The Connec: First Despair and First Flight

Black despair blanketed the End of Connec. Even Count Raymone Garete had shed his optimism. The eastern counties were carpeted with corpses. The soil of a thousand farms had been enriched with the blood of Grolsacher starvelings and Arnhander soldiery. And still they came. Seldom in any organized fashion.

The Arnhanders came anarchically because there was no central authority behind their invasion. Anne of Menand's friends and enemies were in a race to see who could steal what the fastest. Both were paying a harsh price.

Caron ande Lette had fallen. Likewise, Artlan ande Brith. No word of the fates of the Rault brothers or the Tuldse family had reached Antieux. Brother Candle and Socia feared the worst.

Count Raymone remained aggressive but he was like an old woman chasing chickens, trying to stem the tide.

Brother Candle joined Socia Rault for dinner. The fierce Rault daughter said, "Raymone wrote. He's having trouble getting his men to do what needs doing. They're tired of killing and getting nowhere."

The Perfect Master shuddered. He knew Count Raymone's men. Few were less hard than Bernardin Amberchelle. It was difficult to imagine the magnitude of the slaughter that would put them off their enthusiasm for murder.

"We're all at the mercy of our consciences."

"Conscience isn't the problem," Socia countered. "It's that, if you're even a little bit sane, there's only so much bloodletting you can stand."

"I understand." Most men could resist armed invaders with little soul searching, but butchering the endless stream of refugees…

Socia said, "I'm sure Raymone exaggerates when he says he's killed more than ten thousand. But…"

Brother Candle feared the converse was true. That Raymone had reported smaller numbers because of the horrific scale of the killing.

Count Raymone's vigorously optimistic nature made him overlook the earthy, harsh character of his beloved.

Make that his vigorously self-delusional nature. The invaders now beginning to benefit from the moral exhaustion of the Connec's sons ought to thank their God that they did not have to face this daughter of the land.

The girl surprised him. "I've sent letters, in Raymone's name, to Tormond, Peter, Jerriaux, Huntar of Biorgras, Deitrich of Cienioune, and a dozen others. I asked for the loan of troops. Strictly to support Antieux's defenses. Raymone can afford to pay them."

Brother Candle scowled. This girl-child was even more dark and wickedly clever than he had thought. Each of those nobles had been feeding mercenaries into the private and local armies of the Connec.

The feuding had fallen off dramatically, lately, in those counties where raiders from Arnhand had appeared. The hunchback Rinpoche, now a bishop paid for by and owned by Anne of Menand, had his own little army of eight hundred men. By dint of speed and fury he had captured Tomacadour and Firac. Now he was stalled on the Dog River across from Calour. His troops, foraging or being too enthusiastic in their search for heretics, had strayed into Tramaine, Which garnered them no friends amongst a nobility subject to Santerin and already eager to do mischief to all persons Arnhander.

Socia asked, "Where do you think the Patriarch's army will attack?"

Good question. It seemed disinclined to move at all, now that it was in Ormienden. "Here. If Duke Tormond fails in Salpeno. The enemies of the Connec have suffered too many embarrassments at Antieux."

Duke Tormond had gone to Arnhand to plead with his second cousin, King Charlve. A fool's errand, most thought. Charlve was a lap dog of that whore, Anne of Menand. But a good sign, to others. The Duke was doing something. The poison no longer held him in thrall.

Brother Candle mused, "The Captain-General, once loosed, will come here. Then to Sheavenalle and Castreresone. Then Khaurene itself. And the Connec will lie at Sublime's feet."

"And you don't think we can stop him."

He did not. The Patriarch's army was large, well trained, well equipped, paid, and competently led. It lacked the internal conflicts of a gathering of Connectens. "I'm telling you how I think they'll see it. It may not work out that way. There'll be resistance. But it won't be effective if our soldiers are busy with Arnhanders and Grolsachers."

"It's all so awful. So frightening."

"But you're the famously ferocious Socia Rault, fearless fiancee of Count Raymone Garete."

"Count Raymone. I'm beginning to wonder. Why won't he get back here and cure me of virginity?"

"Well?"

"All right. I know. Even though we share some sacraments with the Church, including marriage, Maysaleans aren't supposed to be interested in pleasures of the flesh."

'True."

"So where do you get new Seekers After Light? Suppose you convert everybody? Wouldn't you run out of people pretty soon?"

"No need to worry on that score, child. Sin is eternal. There'll always be sinners. Which assures us an endless supply of students."

"Can it work out? Without war, I mean."

"War is like sin, child. It's always with us."

"It could be a lot more harsh."

"It could. But Sublime's demands are tolerable. Especially since he doesn't have the Emperor behind him, ready to stab him in the back."

"Can't you give a straight answer?"

Brother Candle thought he had. "Negotiations are going on. Everyone but the Society wants to avoid a holocaust. But nobody is ready to ante up the full price of peace."

Connectens were proud, stubborn, unruly, and particularly averse to outside meddling. Devout Brothen Episcopals rode with Count Raymone, despite the Writs of Excommunication and Anathema issued against him. Despite the publication of letters proclaiming plenary indulgences, erasing the accumulated sins of anyone who joined the battle against heresy, accompanied by a decretal formalizing the Holy Father's permission for those who fought on God's behalf to confiscate the properties of heretics, Sublime had yet to issue the final order declaring a Maysalean Crusade.

Forces inside the Brothen Church still strove to forestall the insanity.

So rumor said.

Socia Rault was cynical. "Those rumors are just wishful thinking." She was sure that any priest who became a bishop was as corrupt as Morcant Farfog of Strang or Bishop Serifs of Antieux – and all of Serifs's successors. "It's just a matter of time till everything starts to unravel."

Brother Candle thought the unraveling was well under way.

"The price of peace… It's simpler than you old farts make out."

"Really?" Amused.

"The problem is, you old-timers just want to talk. But the real solution is, kill all the Brothen Episcopal bishops." There were eighteen to twenty-four of those assigned to the End of Connec. The number fell into a range because the bounds of the Connec were largely a matter of viewpoint. "Along with anyone who has anything to do with the Society."

The Society had begun to adopt the conversion tactics of the Perfects of the Seekers After Light. Monks roamed the countryside, trying to convince common folk that the Brothen Church had a monopoly on spiritual Truth. In cities the missionaries debated leaders of the local Maysalean communities.

Those leaders usually accepted the challenge. Not smart, in Brother Candle's eye. Thoughtful, articulate Seekers normally bested the missionaries, who quoted dogma rather than presenting reasoned arguments. They almost always claimed to have won, though.

"That might be effective. Temporarily."

He was being sarcastic. She did not get that. Another divide between generations. The young were literal, linear, and ferociously direct.

Duke Tormond, in Salpeno, sent messengers flying in every direction. He would do anything to keep the peace, now. A serious army was poised to force what he had put off so long. He sent ambassadors to Brothe to plead with the Patriarch. He begged his nobility to restrain themselves, to disband their private armies, to restore properties they had taken from the Brothen Church. He told them to make peace with the Brothen bishops and to stop interfering with the Patriarchal Society for the Suppression of Heresy and Sacrilege. Count Raymone he directed to withdraw from the field. He should prepare Antieux to be purged of heretics and unbelievers.

Socia Rault said, "As far back as I can remember people complained because Duke Tormond wouldn't take a stand. Wouldn't make a decision. Wouldn't act. Looks like they got what they wished for."

Tormond won no sympathy in the Connec or Brothe. Count Raymone never bothered to acknowledge his letters. His answer was to ambush a company of Arnhander knights and slaughter them more savagely than he had the enemy at the Black Mountain Massacre.

Tormond's cousin Charlve could do nothing for him. Though he did evade Sublime's demand that Arnhand immediately hurl its full might into the wicked province. Charlve might be dim but did understand that throwing the full resources of his kingdom at his cousin would leave him naked in the rain if King Brill or the Grail Empress decided to take advantage. And Santerin was probing already.

Charlve temporized. Adopting the habit of his kinsman. He did not deny anyone who chose to take the Crusader mantle, though. There would be stay-at-homes who could be called up if the neighbors got pushy.

Duke Tormond changed his itinerary. He abandoned plans to visit the Empire. News from home made him want to hurry back to Khaurene.

The conspiracies round Charlve worried Tormond. He slipped out of Salpeno in the middle of the night. He and a handful of supporters raced for territory held by Santerin, just thirty miles west of the Arnhander capital.

Sixty hours later Duke Tormond found himself in the presence of the lord of the island kingdom. Whose presence on the mainland was not yet suspected in Arnhand. King Brill was waiting for the right moment to stab Arnhand's heart. His encouragement and promises to Tormond were entirely transparent.

Brill did gift the Duke with a regiment of four hundred Celebritan crossbowmen whose wages he paid a year in advance. Celebritans were renowned for their deadliness on the battlefield. More than one Patriarch had threatened to place their home city under interdict if they continued using their evil weapons against fellow Chaldareans.

That interdict never quite went into effect.

News about the capture of Sonsa swept across the End of Connec. No one could figure out what the Patriarch was doing. Sublime's enemies were sure some foul scheme lay behind that action.

Not long after the news about Sonsa, word came that Brothen soldiers had surprised Viscesment and had captured the city against minimal opposition.

"I HEARD AN INTERESTING STORY TODAY, MASTER," SOcia Rault told Brother Candle as they settled down to a late, simple supper.

"Yes?" Sure it would involve bloody behavior somehow.

"You remember Father Rinpoche? He was at Khaurene when we were there. That hideous little hunchback."

"I remember. There aren't many men more arrogant or obnoxious. What about Rinpoche?"

"They made him an auxiliary bishop. And gave him permission to raise his own force to deal with the Maysalean Heresy."

"Hard to believe how much stupidity can be loose in the world at one time."

"Not for me. Anyway, Rinpoche's gang have been plundering the far northwest part of the Connec. He nearly got killed for his trouble, too."

"Due to his own stupidity, no doubt." Brother Candle's exposure to Rinpoche had been limited. But a man did not need to pigeonhole the hunchback. Rinpoche did that for himself. You're bursting. So tell me."

"He was on the wrong side of the Dog River to attack Calour. There are a lot of Seekers there."

Brother Candle knew. He had visited Calour. That was wild country.

Socia continued. "The local men of substance got Rinpoche talking. They stalled him for almost a month, keeping him thinking he might get what he wanted without fighting. That they'd turn over the local Seekers if he treated everybody else all right. But they used the time to bring in two hundred Sevanphaxi darters."

"I think I see what's coming."

Sevanphax was a remote mountain principality between Direcia and Tramaine. Several neighbors claimed suzerainty. The Sevanphaxi acknowledged none. They fought anyone who tried to tame them. And hired out as mercenaries.

Their reputation far exceeded that of the Grolsachers. They were exceedingly professional. They favored a short throwing spear, or dart, smaller than a javelin but longer and heavier than an arrow. Those darts would penetrate all but the thickest plate. And Bishop Rinpoche had only a handful of destitute knights backing him.

"The darters dropped the Arnhanders by the score when they tried to ford the Dog. The Sevanphaxi captain, named something like Ghaitre, let them force the crossing, though. He fell back to the town. Crossbowmen on the wall covered them till they got inside. The Arnhanders were tired and wet and cold after forcing the river crossing. They didn't press the attack against the town."

"So…"

"So while all that was going on townsmen who swam the river the night before attacked Rinpoche's camp. They destroyed his stores, killed his animals, scattered his camp followers. Rinpoche nearly drowned in the rush to get back over the Dog to salvage what he could. And he might've been killed later, when the darters came out to finish his mob off."

So now there would be leaderless bands plaguing that part of the Connec. Hopefully, trying to get home to Arnhand. Defenders of the Connec would do their damnedest to keep them from making it, no doubt.

The news became less grim after Rinpoche's embarrassment. The flood of refugees began to dry up. Brock Rault got a message through to Antieux. Caron ande Lette's occupants had escaped to Ormienden. Now they were with Count Raymone. Several small encounter engagements against disorganized Arnhander forces had gone well.

Socia told Brother Candle, "It's coming together. The villains will be defeated."

Pessimistic of late, the Perfect observed, "There's still a fat Patriarchal army waiting in Ormienden."

That was the great puzzle. The Patriarch had launched his might out of Firaldia with apparent gleeful anticipation of the damage it would do. But now all those soldiers were just sitting there.

Rumor suggested ongoing diplomacy. But with whom? Negotiating what?

The fighting tailed off. Count Raymone managed to protect almost all agriculture south of Yperi, the town that marked the southernmost advance of the Arnhander invaders. Raymone's jubilant but exhausted followers began to arrive in Antieux. Most tarried only briefly before heading home.

Brother Candle remained pessimistic. He predicted, "Next time the Arnhanders will have a strategy. And they'll have someone in charge who'll see that things get done. If the Patriarch leaves anything to attack." He looked northeastward, toward Sublime's Captain-General and his Collegium accomplices, poised like vultures waiting for the body of the Connec to expire.

There were a thousand dark rumors about the upsurge in activities of things of the Night. Every outsider brought tales about old wickednesses resurfacing. Especially where there was fighting.

Brother Candle reminded anyone who would listen, "None of those people have seen anything themselves. You realize that, don't you? Every single tale-teller is retelling something he heard from somebody who heard it from his cousin, who wouldn't ever lie about anything."

Socia never failed to remind him, "You were there when Rook went by so close you ended up squishing maggots in the morning."

He would growl some nonsense back but could not dispute the truth.

Bernardin Amberchelle slipped into Antieux with a group of pilgrims headed west, to the shrines in Khaurene and thence to the waters at St. Overdret. He had put his ferocious nature aside. He seemed a reasonable middle-aged gentleman, typical of the wealthier quarter of any Connecten city. He was portly, dark of hair and eye, and had bee-stung lips. More immediately, he stank, was dirty, and was clad in rags.

He insisted on seeing the Perfect Master and his cousin's fiancee immediately.

Neither knew Bernardin well. Count Raymone's local staff assured them that the man was devoted to form and ceremony. Yet he insisted on seeing them without taking a day to recuperate and prepare for the courtly behavior he loved. Socia observed, "He does come from Raymone."

Amberchelle met them in Raymone's room lined with stone from the Holy Lands. He could not suppress his fearful excitement. He told them, "Count Raymone has a plan. You two are critical to it. The first step is to prepare Antieux for an extended, harsh siege."

They frowned, puzzled.

"Raymone has discovered unexpected friends. He knows our enemies' plans. And what some unanticipated allies are up to, too."

Deeper frowns from the old man and girl.

"The Society has planted agents here. They aren't supposed to reveal themselves until Antieux is under siege. Then they'll seize the gate in the night and open it. The enemy will rush in and kill everyone, Maysaleans, Deves, and Dainshaus first."

"Dainshaus?" Brother Candle asked. "I've never seen a Dainshau here."

"They're here, Master. Several families. The Society plans to exterminate them. Here and everywhere. Deves and Maysaleans, too. And here in Antieux they plan to kill everyone else, too. Even their own. As an example to the lesser cities that owe fealty to Count Raymone. So they'll surrender without a fight."

Socia said, "That's the insane rationality you find only in the gods…"

Brother Candle squeezed her arm.

Amberchelle said, "Its sanity is irrelevant. I've been told to ready the city for a long siege. Your job is to lead the Deves, Dainshaukin, Seekers After Light, and Immaculate's adherents out of here while that can still be done. The Unbelievers need to go to Sheavenalle. The Seekers should go to Castreresone or farther west. Or into the White Hills."

Socia took one deep breath, then another, getting ready to argue. Amberchelle forestalled her. "There'll be some surprises. I haven't been told all about them myself. I do know we all need to do our parts according to Raymone's design, without question or debate, as fast as we can, if we want to see another summer."

Bernardin leaned in close to Brother Candle. "Machinations are afoot. We'll win the victory yet. But you really do have to make the needful moves. Now."

Brother Candle understood. Without grasping specifics. He silenced Socia before she could get her back up. Then he asked for what specifics and directions Amberchelle could provide.

The minority peoples of Antieux showed no reluctance to leave. Which surprised Brother Candle. He was puzzled, too, by the fact that Count Raymone would send away people with the fiercest reasons to resist Brothen Episcopal invaders.

The Count's lady and her spiritual adviser, accompanied by the Perfect of Antieux, led the way. The column stretched for miles. Many of Antieux's leading families were sending their children to relatives in Sheavenalle or Castreresone, or safety even farther away.

Moving the children made sense. They were mouths that would need feeding. The bodies attached would not contribute much to the city's defense.

Country folk were preparing for war, too. Valuables and edibles were being moved into the city or fortifications nearby. Or into hiding in the hills. This county had been invaded several times in recent years. These survivors would not make it easy for the next wave.

Brother Candle could not convince himself that resistance made sense. Despite all the disorder, members of the Society continued to filter into the Connec, pressing the cause of the Brothen Church. They grew increasingly extreme as they failed to whip the land into line. Duke Tormond issued regular proclamations favoring Sublime's cause, now, but no one paid attention. The assumption was that he would change his mind the instant the Brothen Church stopped twisting his arm.

Even agents of the Society doubted Duke Tormond's sincerity.

Beyond his failure to suppress heresy, the Society found fault in his failure to suppress the followers of Immaculate II. His failure to persecute those who attacked or defended themselves against Brothen Episcopal agents. Not that that mattered much, anymore. News out of Viscesment made it pretty clear that Sublime had brought the long struggle with the legitimate line of Patriarchs to a conclusion favorable to the Brothen house. But there was still his failure to return properties seized from corrupt clerics, his fortification of churches, and his employment of Deves and heretics in the instrumentalities of the state. On and on and on. No genius was needed to see that the Duke would never fulfill the demands placed upon him.

The Socia Rault solution might be Tormond IV's only salvation.

The Devedian and Dainshau families left the column not far west of Antieux. They headed south for Sheavenalle. The Chaldarean refugees continued eastward on the ancient road, toward Castreresone. That road made plain how heavily age lay on the Connec. Brothen legionaries had built it fifteen hundred years ago. The bridges dated from that era, too, yet needed little maintenance even now. As the name implied, Castreresone was once the site of an Imperial regional military headquarters. Its walls rested on foundations laid down by legionary engineers.

'Time lies heavy in this land," the Perfect told Socia.

She was not impressed. She was too young for the deeps of time to mean anything. Whatever happened before she was born was ancient history. But she did admit, "It is kind of creepy out here." She looked back at Bernardin Amberchelle, whose party followed close behind. Some uncomfortable people were traveling with the Count's cousin.

Brother Candle felt uneasy when he considered Amberchelle's band, too. He did not know those men. Had not seen them around Antieux. Bernardin said they were lesser nobles, like the Raults, who had been driven out of their homes up near Viscesment. None were Seekers After Light. And they used a dialect that did not sound Connecten.

Socia added, "I'll be glad when we get out of the country." Which seemed a remarkable thing for a country girl to say.

Her comment crystallized the unease the Perfect had felt lor days. This southern Connecten countryside was distinctly uncomfortable. For no reason that was obvious. And that was new. He had wandered this land for decades without feeling anything like this.

His thoughts drifted back to the woods above Caron ande Lette. Rook. There were rumors suggesting the return of other ancient Instrumentalities. Something in the sea. Things of the Night in the darkness. But always hearsay.

Still, the sheer number of reports suggested that the hideous and horrible were creeping forth from the graves that had held them so long.

A city seemed a good place to be, then.

The road west followed the north bank of the Laur, which ran east, back whence they had come, then southeast to Sheavenalle and the Mother Sea. Traffic had passed this way, on riverbank and water, since before men learned to remember by writing things down.

The Laur, navigable to Castreresone and beyond, boasted dozens of boats and barges of shallow draft, some under sail, some driven by sweeps. Brother Candle told Socia, "I've often thought if my life had gone different I might've become a barger."

"Didn't you have tummy troubles going over to Shippen und back?"

"The open sea is something else entirely. Only a lunatic would subject himself to that as a way of life."

"I learn something weird about you every day."

"You should be learning something new and weird and wonderful about something every day, child."

Their path to Khaurene last year had passed thirty miles north of Castreresone. That storied city had been the seat of the governors of the Old Imperial province of Closer Endonensis. Khaurene had been the capital of Nether Endonensis.

Closer Endonensis had been fruitful and pacific and there-tore much favored by the Brothen emperors.

Castreresone was an impressive sight. Some called it the White City. The limestone sheathing its walls was nearly as pale as marble. And those walls, though set on ancient foundations, were the most modern and best maintained in the Connec. Improvements were under way now, the outer curtain being heightened, machicolations being added at key points, roofing being installed over the wall walks. New curtain walls with D-shape mural towers were under construction around two wealthy suburbs that had come into being during the last century.

Castreresone held an odd place in the feudal order of the End of Connec. Its overlord could claim suzerainty over most all Connecten coastal territories from Terliaga to the delta of the Dechear River, excepting those fiefs belonging directly to the Dukes of Khaurene. Such as Sheavenalle. But there was no fixed family of lords in Castreresone. Traditionally, the city belonged to the Duke of Khaurene's heir. Tormond IV had no declared successor. So Castreresone was held by an uncle, Roger Shale, who was actually younger than Tormond. A Maysalean who never married, Roger Shale had no legal heirs. His niece Isabeth was his designated successor.

Roger Shale was nothing like Tormond. He was energetic, efficient, and organized. He had kept order locally during the recent troubles. But he had no power in the broader affairs of the Connec. He spent his energies making Castreresone the best protected city in the End of Connec.

Brother Candle said, "Weird and wonderful. I don't know about that. But I can say this: This quiet, beautiful city is much nearer being the soul of the Connecten nation than is Khaurene, Antieux, or the Altai." The Altai being that part of the Connec, center north, that was most mountainous and most inclined toward heresy. Many Seekers had taken refuge there already. The Altaien population as a whole were convinced that they were the only "true Connectens."

The column from the east first spied Castreresone in the early morning light. The white walls shone. The road went down to a bridge over the Laur wide enough for eight men to march abreast. On the south bank the road traversed half a mile and rose a hundred feet to approach the acre of flat, open killing ground in front of the huge, complicated barbican that guarded the main entrance to the White City. Black wreaths hung on the wall, sad memorial to events in Viscesment.

It was there, as they waited to be let into the city, that the news about the god worm caught up.

"What does it mean?" Socia asked, absent all her usual spiteful spirit. She was subdued because the old man was so obviously deeply shaken.

"I don't know. Except as a signal that the Instrumentalities of the Night have begun to move into a whole new level of involvement with the world."

"The gods will walk among us again?"

"It may be. It may be. And that terrifies me."