Lord of the Silent Kingdom

by Glen Cook

  The Patriarch’s cronies circled like flies round a cow patty. The Captain-General did not recognize any of them.

  “Get up,” Sublime barked. “I’m not having a good day. I don’t want to waste time on frivolities.”

  The flies stopped circling, startled.

  Hecht rose but kept his head bowed. “At your service, Father.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “Do what, Your Worship?”

  “Scour the End of Connec. Rid me of this heretical pestilence calling themselves Seekers After Light. I’m in torment. I’m in hell on earth. I can’t sleep. I can’t keep food down. These cackling old hens stall and delay and put me off … It’s time God’s Will was done.” The little man shuddered, as though stricken by a sudden chill.

  Hecht signed himself, eyes still downcast. “God’s Will be done.”

  Sublime half stumbled backward. He settled into a massive chair that seemed to swallow him. The awe of his position did not illuminate him whatsoever.

  After a half minute of silence, Sublime shouted, “All of you! Leave us! I wish to consult the Captain-General privately.”

  Sublime’s cronies and handlers and Principatè Doneto alike protested.

  “You will leave us!” Screeching like a whore cheated of her fee.

  The hangers-on went, Bronte Doneto last. Giving Hecht his hardest scowl.

  Sublime observed, “They hate to leave me alone.”

  Hecht nodded. That was obvious.

  “They’re afraid an unapproved thought might creep from your mind to mine.”

  “Your Worship?”

  “Forget my title. I’m Honario Benedocto for the next few minutes. Tell me what you really think about the crusade against the Connecten heretics. Your Patriarch is about to preach it.”

  Right. He was going to shoot the bull with this man like they were private soldiers at a campfire dissecting the shortcomings of those who made decisions for them. He had been through this before. The friendship would wither the instant he said one word honestly.

  “I think it’s risky. I haven’t gotten any solid intelligence out of the Connec. What little I do get suggests a stronger local strain of nationalism than outsiders perceive.”

  “Meaning?”

  “That even the most devout adherents of the Church don’t like outside meddlers. Due mainly to a plague of incompetent, corrupt, foreign bishops.”

  Honario Benedocto scowled fiercely. The air was filled with noise that he did not want to hear. He heard his judgment being questioned.

  Hecht said, “When the command comes I’ll do everything I can to turn the Maysalean Heresy into an odd memory. But you have to understand that Connectens are stubborn people. They’re fiercely resentful of foreign intrusion. My spies say Connectens of every philosophical camp are fighting the refugees and Arnhander freebooters plaguing the province right now.”

  “I hear the same. While my legates are treated with scorn and dishonor. I don’t understand it.”

  “Your Worship, only your advisers ever see you. The lies of your enemies take root because Chaldarean folk never see you. They don’t know the real Sublime.”

  Hecht spouted nonsense in order to avoid being critical. Leaving the Patriarch with room to assume that all shortcomings had to be someone else’s fault.

  Hecht had no interest in giving Sublime tools that would make him a more realistic leader. In an actual campaign in the Connec he would be only as successful as he must to continue directing the Patriarchal armed forces. If Sublime survived to proclaim it, Hecht wanted to be in command when the crusade against Dreanger and the Holy Lands began.

  “Can you expunge the Maysalean Heresy, Captain-General?” Sublime asked again.

  “I will. It’ll be difficult, though. King Peter found pagans still active on Shippen during the Calziran Crusade. After a thousand years of Chaldarean and Praman rule.”

  The Patriarch considered him in silence so long Hecht began to grow nervous. “May God forgive me,”

  Sublime said. “But if they resist, kill them all. Without exception. God will know his own.”

  “Is this the time we’ve awaited? Are you directing me to act?”

  “The wait is over. I have decided. I have no more patience with the Connec. Rid it of heresy. Bring the rebellious Episcopals to heel. I’ll arm you with all the warrants, documents, and powers you require.”

  “As you command, Your Worship, so shall it be done. But the tool I need most desperately is specie.”

  “Come here, Captain-General. Pray with me.”

  Hecht followed instructions. And wondered what the Sha-lug would think, could they see him kneeling beside the Adversary’s very viceroy in the Realm of War.

  As he mumbled the rote formulas he focused on what needed doing before he took Sublime’s army into the field.

  Crash preparation consumed twenty-two days. Hecht got little sleep. And enjoyed more disappointments than successes. Despite Patriarchal promises.

  There was little crusade enthusiasm outside Krois.

  “You had a private audience?” Pinkus Ghort asked. Ghort was underfoot all the time, now. He had been appointed commander of the field brigade Brothe would contribute to the Patriarchal army. Principatè Doneto insisted.

  “I sure did. We prayed together, shared a meal, talked and talked and talked.”

  “What did you think? What’s he really like?”

  “He’s crazy.” They were outside and alone. He could speak freely. Within limits. “It was like being with three people who live inside the same body. He’s inconstant. Excited for a while, then depressed.

  Convinced he wants a complete blood-bath of a war — till he decides thinking it’s all a horrible idea foisted on him by his cronies. Only he won’t name names.”

  “What I figured. Fits the rumors. Guess what? Bronte Doneto invited himself along.”

  Unsurprised, Hecht asked, “Think he misses the Connec?”

  “Could be. He had such a wonderful time last time he went.”

  “I’m not thrilled.” An impossible and stupid war was bad enough. Having the Patriarch’s cousin perched on his shoulder could only make it worse.

  Particularly if, as Principatè Delari believed, that cousin was up to his nostrils in some grand scheme of his own.

  Hecht scratched his left wrist and wondered how deeply Pinkus was involved in Principatè Doneto’s machinations.

  12. Plemenza: The Plot to Clear the Jagos

  Inspired letters and personal pleas to Katrin, before the Empress finally left Brothe, won Helspeth permission to go home to Plemenza instead of having to recross the Jagos to Alten Weinberg, where Katrin could keep her under thumb. Helspeth was determined to be the best younger princess she could.

  She wanted Katrin to have no excuse to deepen her misery.

  Katrin had miseries of her own. The Council Advisory worked at creating them. Grand Duke Hilandle was especially unpleasant. Because of events during his desperate attempt to catch up with the Imperial procession before it reached Brothe, especially. Helspeth could not believe the stories the survivors told.

  They sounded like tales cooked up to conceal the wickedness of human monsters.

  On reaching the Dimmel Palace Helspeth slept. For ten hours. Then she got up for a few, removed the road and ate, then slept some more. Then she dragged herself out. She had duties. She had been away a long time.

  Those left behind had done well. Only a few whiners showed for the summary assizes. Their petitions were easily handled. Helspeth retreated to her quarters.

  There had been changes among her women. Gruff Lady Chevra diNatale had gone home. Lady Delta va Kelgerberg had wheedled her way into Katrin’s entourage. She had been replaced by Lady Hilda Daedal of Averange. Helspeth was glad to have her.

  Lady Hilda was only a little older than she. Helspeth knew her from the Imperial court. Her husband’s father had been a favorite of Johannes Blackboots.

  Lady Hilda was a tall, slim blo
nde, in the mold of Katrin Ege. At twenty-three she had been married nearly nine years. She saw her husband Strumwulf just often enough to become pregnant regularly. She had given birth five times. Two of her children survived.

  Lady Hilda’s life appalled Helspeth. Yet it was typical of a woman of her class and time.

  Despite all those pregnancies she remained attractive.

  There were rumors. Lady Hilda might not be one hundred percent faithful to the Landgraf fon Averange.

  One suspected lover was her husband’s father, Sternhelm, the Graf fon Sonderberg. Averange was a walled town inside Sternhelm’s barony.

  Other names mentioned all belonged to older men.

  Lady Hilda was a Brothen Episcopal. “And I won’t hide the truth, Princess,” she told Helspeth. “I’m supposed to keep an eye on your religious practices. Though I’m not a fanatic myself.”

  “I don’t understand. Katrin never showed any religious interest before Father died.”

  “It was there. Secretly. Because her mother was religious. What she’s doing now is more about prying the fingers of the Grand Duke and Council Advisory off her throat. She’ll be less devoted to Sublime once she rids herself of those foul old men.”

  “The men she’s allying with aren’t much better.”

  “They’ll follow the Council. Katrin wants to be as powerful as your father was. Without having to give what he did on behalf of the Empire.”

  Helspeth doubted Lady Hilda. She had seen her sister regularly in Brothe. Not once had Katrin changed in private, in her suite in the Penital, when there were no witnesses.

  Helspeth would not disagree with Lady Hilda. There was much she wanted to learn from the more experienced woman.

  “What is that you keep fussing with?” Lady Hilda asked.

  Helspeth had been reading a letter when Lady Hilda joined her. Searching for any missed nuance.

  She dared all. Took a huge risk. Trusted a woman whose mind she did not know, for no better reason than that she liked her. “It’s a letter.”

  “From the way you say that, and from the way you’re coloring, it has to be from a man. About whom you’ve had unchaste thoughts.”

  Helspeth felt the heat rise to her cheeks.

  Lady Hilda laughed softly.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “I wasn’t … Never mind. You poor girl. Your age and never been touched. Too valuable a counter in the game of empire.” She extended a hand. “Let me see what he says.”

  Helspeth felt like she was caught in a trance.

  Lady Hilda was not impressed. “Plainly, he isn’t any more practiced at this than you are. And he doesn’t get carried away saying anything romantic or concrete. Does he?”

  “You don’t understand. The important thing is, he replied. I almost died of anxiety waiting to see if he would.”

  “You wrote to him? First?”

  Heat in the cheeks again. “Yes. Several times. I …”

  “Not the way the jongleurs sing it.”

  “I can’t help it. I’m fascinated. Like the mouse in stories about mice and snakes.”

  “This snake doesn’t sound eager to catch a mouse. He sounds wary. He’s afraid you’re a living pitfall.”

  Helspeth grimaced. Princess Apparent Helspeth Ege, lethal pitfall.

  Had she truly pelted the Captain-General with letters while she was in Brothe? She had gotten no opportunity to do anything but exchange glances with him, otherwise. The one time they might have met, he had gotten caught in an explosion beforehand.

  The big thing was, he had answered her. Twice.

  The second letter she would share with no one. Ever. It contained hints that fed her imagination. And might be enough to betray their author.

  “Are you going to report this?”

  “Of course not. I’m supposed to protect your soul, not your chastity. You do have sense enough to know you need to remain a virgin, don’t you? Anyway, this can’t go anywhere.”

  “I’m not … It isn’t a matter of …”

  “Calm down. I know what you’re going through. Though I didn’t go through it till I’d been married a while. I was just ready to turn seventeen. I was pregnant. For the third time. I’m pregnant a lot. The first two times I miscarried. And that one would be stillborn, later. Strumwulf was off to the Holy Lands. He’d be gone for two years. I’m saying things I shouldn’t.”

  Helspeth took her letter back. She folded it and slipped it into the hiding place it occupied when the other women were around. “Are you ashamed?”

  Lady Hilda seemed surprised. Like that had not occurred to her. “No. The flesh has its hungers. Some endure them more easily than others. Can you imagine a dragon like Lady Chevra engaged in passionate congress? The victim of her appetites?”

  “You can’t control yours?”

  “I can. I don’t want to. You can’t possibly understand, now. You may not even after you’re married. If you fail to marry a man who shows you the best of that.”

  Lady Hilda’s sour tone suggested direct knowledge. She continued. “The final, ugly truth is, your husband will end up more interested in some pliant peasant slut … Never mind. I have no room to be bitter.

  Providence fashions some of us to be rutting animals, Princess, with little more self-control than coupling dogs.”

  “You aren’t helping me, Lady Hilda. You make me ache for a lover to show me the pleasures hinted at in the songs of the jongleurs.”

  “I apologize, Princess. I don’t intend to make you regret your virginity. Ignore me. Your innocence is priceless on the marriage market.”

  “I’m sure.” Sourly. Though she understood her value to the Empire. Of Johannes Blackboots’s children she was most like the Ferocious Little Hans.

  “I doubt you’ll bear the burden long, Princess. The factions at Alten Weinberg are shopping for husbands for you and Katrin, both. If your sister had her choice she’d take Peter of Navaya.”

  “But …”

  “He’s taken. And all she knows about him is a painting she saw in Brothe. She was taken with his beard.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Katrin feels the fire but doesn’t know what it is. Or doesn’t want to acknowledge it.”

  “She always scorned that when we were younger.”

  “The court would like to make a match for her in Arnhand, with Regard of Menand or the son of the Count of Earistnei, a cousin of Charlve some want to succeed Charlve.”

  “Wouldn’t marriage to the Empress decide the succession?”

  “Probably. For you the leading candidate is the Duke of Brandecast.”

  “Who? Uh … Shouldn’t your betrothed be somebody you’ve heard of?”

  “Errol, first Duke of Brandecast. The oldest son of King Brill of Santerin. The Crown Prince. You’d be queen, someday.”

  “And forever at war with my sister if she was Queen of Arnhand. But your smirk tells me there’s a joke here somewhere.”

  “Errol is eleven years old.”

  Helspeth sputtered. Ridiculous! But similar arrangements happened all the time.

  Lady Hilda said, “There’s also talk about Jaime of Castauriga, in Direcia. Your sister wants a Direcian connection. Jaime is younger than you, too, but he’s seventeen. And will be king — unless Navaya swallows Castauriga. Jaime is both handsome and a seasoned rakehell.”

  “Considering those options, I don’t think I’ll marry. The Empire will survive.”

  “The Empire may, Princess. But will the Empress?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “There’s disaffection already. Katrin’s rapprochement with Sublime is unpopular. Her granting the Society the right to operate inside the Empire is unpopular. Her decree that churches in the Empire must forward twelve percent of their incomes to Brothe to finance the war on heresy is unpopular. She’s won no friends at all.”

  “She overstepped herself. Even my father wouldn’t have dared tell the Church how to distribute its monies. Even if Def
ender of the Faith has been added to the Imperial titles. What is it, Claire?”

  Claire was a fair-haired wisp of ten, the daughter of one of Helspeth’s new attendants.

  “I’m to tell you that a man named Ferris Renfrow is here. Captain Drear said to tell you.”

  “I’ll be there shortly. Lady Hilda. Help me make myself presentable.”

  “Can we dispense with the formalities in private, Princess? Just call me Hilda. You’re excited. Is this him?

  The spymaster? Or is it the Braunsknechts captain?”

  “Neither. Ferris Renfrow was my father’s friend. He’s like a second father to me. I like having him around. He makes me feel safe.”

  Lady Hilda accompanied Helsepth to her audience. “Most of the Council Advisory don’t want you here, on your own, with the Jagos between you and them, Princess. Playing at being a man again. The Grand Duke and the Lord Admiral both have volunteered to take you into their households.”

  “I envy the peasants their freedom from such nonsense.”

  “You wouldn’t envy them anything else.”

  As usual, Ferris Renfrow was tired and Algres Drear was worried. Neither said anything substantial till Claire and Lady Hilda cleared off.

  Renfrow asked, “Did you enjoy your stay in the Mother City?”

  “Not especially.” Startled. She had forgotten how informal Ferris Renfrow was in private. “I got few chances to see the famous places or monuments.”

  “Or anyone.”

  She scowled. “What? I don’t know anyone there.”

  Renfrow’s smile was enough. He knew she had tried to see the Captain-General. Algres Drear did not.

  Though he might suspect.

  Renfrow said, “War is coming. Chaos is coming. This may be the last summer we can cross the Jagos safely. You have choices to make, Princess.”

  After a pause, she said, “You’ve lost me.”

  “Sublime has unleashed his Captain-General. Told him to tame the heretics of the Connec. The Patriarchal forces gather strength from the Patriarchal States as they travel. Two of the most intimidating members of the Collegium are with them. The Captain-General and his staff have justified our fears.