Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,158

desperately wanted more in which to prepare. But, long before anyone high or low wanted, Arnhander crusaders appeared north of the city.

Brother Candle joined the crowds on the wall, weakly disguised, usually with Kedle and her children. Sometimes he went out with other elderly Maysaleans taking a break from getting ready to spit in the eye of doom. He saw smoke in the distance several times, never explained. Nearer to hand the enemy did not repeat past mistakes by destroying resources he might need later.

Regard was confident that he would be able to deny the countryside to Khaurene’s defenders.

They did say the young King lacked no confidence in himself—so long as he was outside the reach of his mother’s voice.

Skirmishes happened. King Peter’s proconsul, Count Diagres Alplicova, believed in harassing an enemy mercilessly, to bleed his strength, steal his sleep and comfort, keep him off balance, and force him onto the defensive. No Arnhander foraging party, patrol, or smaller action force could expect to get through an assignment without running into Direcians accustomed to using similar tactics against their Praman foes.

Word spread: Regard meant to force a battle. Then he would take Khaurene. He was completely certain of the superiority of the Arnhander knight over all other fighting men.

Brother Candle observed, “The Night never lets such hubris go unpunished. Or is it arrogance? We have a chance. It could be that soon every bell in Arnhand will ring in mourning.”

“Let’s hope,” Kedle replied. Grown withdrawn under Soames’s regime, the girl was, nevertheless, as ferocious as Socia Rault. On the wall she left the babies to the old man while she helped work on the nearest missile engine. Khaurene’s women faced a worse fate than any of its men.

The old man saw legends in the making. Should it come to a siege.

* * *

Though spring had made itself known, belatedly, winter refused to retire. It made repeated comeback bids while the armies collected, skirmished, maneuvered. Random late snowstorms came and went, inconvenient and annoying. Then came a final heavy fall and hard freeze, more cruel to the invader than to the invaded.

The Arnhanders scattered into whatever shelter they could find. Meaning they split into three concentrations plus numerous smaller forces. King Regard and his force, three thousand strong, settled into and around a the castle at Repor ande Busch. The King, surrounded by priests set on him by his mother, spent his time fasting and praying. Outside Repor ande Busch, which could house only two hundred eighty in crowded discomfort, Regard’s force camped in misery on the banks of a creek known sometimes as the Envil and otherwise as the Auxvasse. It was narrow and shallow and muddy, carrying away excess moisture from the vineyard slopes behind the castle and from marshy ground between Repor ande Busch and Khaurene. The creek provided just enough water for the needs of the camp. Thick, unpleasantly flavored water.

Three miles northwest of Repor ande Busch the Captal du Days and four thousand men hunkered in the relative shelter of a narrow, deep valley known locally as the Raffle. The biting cold wind did not get down to its bottom. The men huddled there had no inclination to leave but there was no food, little fodder, and not much water. Firewood consisted of scrub brush.

The third concentration, commanded by Anne of Menand’s cousin Haband, including the strongest religious campaigners, coalesced round Peque ande Sales, six miles north of the Raffle. Their right flank and back lay against the mountainous wilderness whither Connectens fled in the worst of times. Partisans of one sort or another were always close by. Haband’s force numbered fifteen hundred at the onset of the late foul weather.

Several thousand more men were scattered in smaller clusters, within a day’s brisk march. All prayed for better weather.

* * *

The situation seemed ideal to the Navayan captains. The enemy was scattered, hungry, and dispirited. Many of them were unblooded. Count Alplicova hoped to silence Arnhander ambitions in the Connec for at least a generation. If the Direcians attacked with the vigor they had shown at Los Naves de los Fantas, Arnhand might never come back.

One sharp, quick, thoroughly bloody engagement. With King Regard taken prisoner. His ransom would be his sworn word to leave the Connec and never again torment that land. Nor ever again presume upon the rights of Peter of Navaya and his allies.

Overly optimistic planners thought native Connectens could silence the Society once that wicked brotherhood had no national power behind it.

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