Book 2 - Lord of the Silent Kingdom Read Free Page A

permanently destroyed.
    Permanent was difficult when belief could quicken the most lost from
any stray wisps of power.
    There were individuals who could pull them back together. Sorcerers
hungry for power. Though in the west no man had become that powerful
for more than a dozen centuries. Here, men of talent were, inevitably,
drawn into the Collegium. Where they endured constant monitoring by
others like themselves. Or they perished.
    Brother Candle said, "My creed won't let me bless what you do, Count
Raymone. And yet, what you do, however ruthless, has to be done to stem
the tide of darkness."
    Where darkness and the Night were real forces, not personifications
of evil. They could not be that. They were neither good nor evil. Not
till someone decided and painted the label on, like a caste mark on the
forehead. Or until someone used them to evil purpose.
    Brother Candle was at peace with his conscience. He had done all
that he could do. But he was troubled, even so. More was wakening than
just the rage, greed, and lust of mortal men.
    TWO DOZEN SOLDIERS DEMONSTRATED SOUTH OF CARON ande Lette, drawing the
attention of the mercenaries. Bishop Farfog moved to confront them,
contemptuous of their numbers. The villains who remained with him were
not bright enough to worry about a handful of men who seemed
determined to bait them.
    The Bishop himself did not see that—though he was
supposed
to think these few wanted to lead him into a trap. Count Raymone
Garete's clever strategy nearly foundered because his enemy was too
stupid to be suspicious.
    Inertia and laziness kept the Grolsachers from charging. Plus a dim
fear that the defenders of Caron ande Lette, all twenty-two, might fall
on them from behind.
    While the few demonstrated and the Raults waited, Count Raymone's
troops slipped past, out of sight, to the west, taking care to raise no
dust. A few passed to the east, too, filtering through the trees along
the river's edge. The demonstrators withdrew. The Grolsachers resumed
taunting the besieged and dodging the occasional arrow.
    The demonstrators reappeared next morning. With two hundred friends.
When some mercenaries considered following the example of friends
smart enough to take off earlier, they discovered Connecten companies
behind them. They watched their pathetic camp be overrun.
    There was not much of a fight. The Grolsachers scattered, suffering
their casualties on the run.
    The Connectens only pursued those who did not flee in the direction
they wanted. Back along the river, toward home. Where they found
themselves ambushed, pinned down by archers, then set upon by heavy
infantry.
    That left the river. The Connectens let them be once they entered
the water.
    Bishop Farfog was one of the few who swam well enough to reach the
far bank. Having abandoned his armor and plunder.
    Brother Candle arrived while Count Raymone's men were burying the
mercenary dead, some of whom had not yet stopped breathing. They had no
need to lay down any of their own. The rabble had scattered before the
Connectens suffered any damage.
    The Perfect Master saw no one who had died of wounds from the front.
Many looked like they had been murdered after their capture. Few
prisoners had been retained.
    Which fit Count Raymone's character. The Count believed that the
best way to discourage attacks on the Connec was to obliterate anyone
inclined to attack, leaving the corpses to the scavengers.
    Brock Rault and his brothers were behind what courtesy was being
shown the fallen.
    The Perfect Master walked the killing fields in sadness. The
mercenaries, refugees and Grolsachers alike, were the poorest of the
poor. The dead often even lacked weapons worth looting. They had
counted on arming themselves with weapons taken from their victims.
    Nor was that new. Grolsach in particular produced poor, would-be
killers the way Ormienden produced wines and the End of Connec
generated songs, poetry, paintings, and marvelous tapestries.
    Grolsachers led by