Glen Cook - Lord of the Silent Kingdom

Principate Delari still guaranteed its extermination.

The Principates now feared the thing was the queen of a terrible brood. They had caught and destroyed a dozen smaller, murderous evil things like it-all summoned into being by the hateful imaginings of the refugee populace.

So. Instrumentalities could be created by the pressure of the irrational fears of too many people crowded into too narrow a space.

Hecht supposed that should have been no surprise.

Madouc said, "It's not the boy we need to worry about. He's tractable enough when it comes to the wishes of his lifeguards."

"Yes. Yes. I know that psalm by heart. Let's go, gentlemen. I want to meet this paragon of Connecten nationalism, Raymone Garete."

Count Raymone did not seem remarkable. A reasonable man, apparently. He just wanted to be sure he understood what the Patriarchal forces meant to accomplish.

"In that case, Captain-General, I can lend you some of my own people. In particular, those who fled the counties where the Night holds sway now. I hope you go after the invaders with as much zeal as you came after us last year."

"You're welcome to join me. I can't support you financially, though. I can barely support myself, that way."

"That isn't a problem."

Hecht eyed the woman beside Count Raymone. The former prisoner, working hard to keep her mouth shut. Raymone's wife, now. Presumably, some of the Count's companions would be her brothers.

"I expect another hard winter," Hecht said. "We'll operate out of Viscesment." That startled Count Raymone. "Boniface and Bellicose have made peace."

The wide man, the cousin, Bernardin Amberchelle, barked malicious laughter. "Open season on the Society, brothers! Open season."

"Indeed," Hecht said. "The new Patriarch has a fixed loathing for the Society. But I don't think we'll find many of those where we'll be campaigning. They lack the nerve to operate under the nose of the Night."

"I like this guy," Amberchelle said. "Even if it wasn't all that comfortable being his prisoner."

"Enough!" the woman said.

Hecht said, "I trust you found your captivity less taxing, Countess."

The woman loosed a jackass bray of laughter. "Stupidest thing I ever did was run away. I was warm and I got fed regular. After I escaped I froze for weeks and almost starved to death. But, by damn! I was a free Connecten."

"I've been there. Count Raymone, I want to make it plain that I haven't been sent here to recover your lost territories for you. I'm here to get rid of rogue things of the Night. I will, however, keep those things away from you while you deal with squatters. I'm told a previous attempt bogged down because there are so many Night things up there."

"There was that. And the fact that I only sent a few men."

"I'll have no trouble working with you that way. I look forward to everything but winter. Which looks like it's going to come even earlier this year."

It did. And it was fierce.

Campaigning out of Viscesment made for some comfort. The Captain-General and Count Raymone moved from strongpoint to strongpoint, eliminating their respective targets, seldom spending much time in the cold. Neither the squatters nor the Night offered any challenge. Both fought in furious despair, to little effect. Arnhander knights in captured castles were more difficult at first, but faced with a choice between instant surrender or certain extermination, they abandoned resistance and began migrating northward before Nemesis overtook them.

Drago Prosek and his henchmen had a wonderful time with the stinks and bangs. "But this isn't much harder than butchering chickens," Prosek averred. "Big or little, these Night things suffer from an abiding plague of stupid."

Months based in the onetime seat of the Anti-Patriarchs allowed the Captain-General to become familiar with the local offshoot of the Chaldarean faith. And to meet and grow partial to the man Rocklin Glas, a man much like Hugo Mongoz. Hecht made a point of reminding Cloven Februaren, who turned up randomly, that Bellicose was a good man. He wrote Boniface and the Collegium to report the same thing. Never failing to remind the latter that Bellicose could not possibly survive Boniface by long.

Come spring Titus brought word: "King Jaime is on the move. His advance riders just arrived. He'll use the Viscesment bridges. If you want to attend the wedding you can join up with him here."

Hecht had Boniface's permission to attend. Indeed, he would stand in for the Patriarch, Boniface being too frail to cross the Jagos.

Colonel Smolens overheard. "Go ahead. Sir, you'll never enjoy a grander honor. Sedlakova, Brokke, Consent, and I can keep the outfit from falling apart."

King Jaime of Castauriga was just tall enough not to be accounted a dwarf-in Piper Hecht's opinion. He disliked the Direcian at first sight. The man had a dramatically inflated notion of his own worth. So much so that Cloven Februaren proved incapable of restraining his inclination to deflate swelled heads.

After just two days of sharing the road with the future Imperial consort, Madouc observed, "They say the Empress is mad about Jaime. She'd have to be."

Pella cackled like an old woman. Hecht said, "We'll reach Alten Weinberg a week before the wedding. That should give Katrin time to see through the dusky little bastard."

He knew that was wishful thinking, though. Katrin had her mind made up and her heart set. Her Council Advisory were not, supposedly, even a little thrilled. Especially not those members who had seen Jaime at Los Naves de los Fantas.

Piper Hecht did not worry about Katrin. He could not drag his thoughts away from Helspeth. In just days he would see her again. How much had his imagination run away from reality?

He felt like a callow youngster. And wondered what the Princess might be thinking. Might be anticipating.

And never stopped worrying about the soldiers he had left behind, tasked to tame the Connecten Night.

How could they possibly manage without him?