Glen Cook - Surrender to the will of the night

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 Grown withdrawn under Soames’s regime, the girl was, nevertheless, as ferocious as Socia Rault.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.

Brother Candle was on the wall with hundreds of spectators, mostly old folks, women, and children. He held the youngest of Kedle’s babies. Raulet Archimbault had the older, wrapped in a heavy, ragged cloak. Some of the crowd eyed Raulet harshly. He was not too old to be out there defending his city.

Kedle stayed close to the Perfect. Her husband was nearby but made no effort to keep her warm.

Soames drew more potent stares than did Raulet. He ignored them, disdainfully, yet did seem tense, nervous, worried, even frightened. This could be a bad day in the life of Soames Richeut.

The Navayans looked ragged, advancing toward Repor ande Busch. King Peter’s standard was not out there with them. Rumor said the King had spent the night drinking and sporting with a woman who was not Isabeth of Khaurene. Count Diagres Alplicova, whispered to bear an unrequited passion for Queen Isabeth, had taken command.

Brother Candle thought the Navayans seemed unsure they wanted to follow today’s commander.

Soldiers moving left of the Navayans were the Castaurigans and their King. Jaime’s mission was to interpose himself between Repor ande Busch and the Raffle so the Captal du Days could not reinforce King Regard.

Khaurene’s militia formed behind the Navayans. Brother Candle was surprised to see so many. And was further surprised to see Duke Tormond’s own standard out there with them. He told Archimbault, “I’m amazed that he could get that armor on. He hasn’t had it out in twenty years.”

Other Connecten forces, though, were not yet present. Scattered, hiding from the weather, they were reluctant to assemble. There was too much confusion for anything to happen.

Though determined to force a decisive encounter neither Peter nor Regard was prepared for the opportunity. Both were still abed when the first arrows flew. Peter was the worse for a terrible hangover. His people did their best to get him up, get him dressed, get him armed, armored, and mounted. He departed Metrelieux under the stern eyes of his Queen, her gaze so flush with anger that, hangover and all, he preferred a battle to explaining himself.

Peter joined his knights after the fighting became chaotic, neither side pursuing any strategy deeper than hacking at the man who was nearest. Contingents of Navayans sat their mounts outside the fray and did nothing because they had received no instructions and had no initiative. Many Arnhanders did the same. And the Khaurenese stayed well back from danger.

On the wall, beside Brother Candle, Raulet Archimbault grumbled, “I feel like I’m hearing this story for the second time.”

Kedle responded, “You are, Dad. But last time it was the Captain-General. And he was ready.”

Archimbault grunted. “Handed us our heads and hearts and sent us scurrying into the Altai like terrified rats.” He eyed Soames but said nothing.

Kedle, the Perfect noted, did not so much as glance at her husband.

Archimbault said, “Things were different, then.”

Indeed. The Patriarchal forces had been disciplined and well led. For them it had been another day’s work at organized murder.

The Navayans approached to within bowshot before the Arnhanders wakened their sovereign. Regard had spent the night with an equerry named Thierry, sure there would be no fighting for days. The weather made campaigning impractical.

The enemy did not agree. He began making probing attacks. Frightened courtiers brought word that several of Anne’s favorites had fallen already.

The situation looked desperate.

Regard would not be hurried. He refused to hear talk of flight. He performed his morning religious obligation, demanding added blessings for a warrior headed into harm’s way on God’s behalf.