When questioned, he answered. Mumbling.

"Must be a lot of them coming," Brock Rault said over supper. There had been several more incidents.

The grand hall of Caron ande Lette contained leading men from the surrounding country, the Raults, Brother Candle, a courier from Antieux, and Seuir Lanne Tuldse, who had brought up a handful of fighters after hearing that there were Grolsacher raiders north of him. These men were eating whatever they could grab. Free food was not common.

The grand hall was not large. Caron ande Lette was not large. The grandest thing about it was its wall.

"I need a little quiet," Brock bellowed. "The Perfect Master spent the morning with the boy we caught yesterday. You need to hear what he has to say."

Wearied by life, tempted by despair, Brother Candle abandoned his cluttered platter and rose. He was not in the mood for roast hare.

"The Seuir is correct. A lot of them are coming. But not in any organized fashion. Most are bringing their families." Which meant having women and children underfoot when the bloodshed started. "They've been promised land and plunder by Anne of Menand. Arnhanders, in general, have decided that, religion aside, the Connec is properly part of Arnhand. Sublime has encouraged this belief. Arnhand is letting the Grolsachers pass through. They're providing supplies to any Grolsachers who swear allegiance to Anne and to the Brothen Church.

"The boy isn't sophisticated enough to understand any of that, except on a personal level. But there are broad implications for everyone in the west." Brother Candle did not tell them he thought Anne of Menand was positioning herself to be the mother behind what she hoped to make the most powerful monarch in the Episcopal world.

"The invaders will come down the Sadew Valley. There's game and water. They think we won't expect them to come that way."

Haiden Backe and Bishop Farfog had arrived using the easier route farther east.

Brock Rault said, "I'd assume that, after the recent skirmishes, they'll pile up somewhere till numbers force them to come on. We can deal with that. Our real problem is what comes along behind. Brother?"

"The boy doesn't actually know anything more than your children do about your plans. But he does believe that an Arnhander army is going to come in behind them, to protect them. And to restore order." That excuse had been used to justify previous Arnhander incursions.

Brock said, "Ralph, take the boy to Antieux with you. I'll have a letter for the Count, too. The rest of you, bring your men to the Catna Calci spring before sunrise tomorrow."

Brother Candle was not pleased. He feared Brock wanted to repeat the Black Mountain Massacre.

He would argue but knew that was a waste of breath.

Grolsachers entering the Rault demesne arrived under sentence of death.

Socia Rault, in ill-fitting boiled leather armor, turned up once it was too late to make a scene about the impropriety. Brother Candle strained to hide his amusement. Brock Rault was too young to have forehead veins stand out like that.

Had he truly expected that confiscating the mail she had worn before would hinder her?

It was chilly for the time of year. Teeth chattered. Mist lay in patchlets in the hollows along the creek in the Sadew Valley. As had been the case three mornings running, a trickle of invaders passed without hindrance. They would be dealt with a few miles farther on. Some would be allowed to go back to report that the folk of the Connec were making no organized effort to defend themselves.

Three days of waiting left Brock's followers impatient. Everyone kept quiet while three men passed, arguing bitterly. Once they were out of earshot, Brock asked, "What language was that, Brother?"

Brother Candle had to admit, "I don't know. That's the second group that talked like that." And that made the incursion more disturbing. Fugitives from the advancing ice would grace the Connec's enemies with more power to destroy.

After quelling a belated response to Socia's arrival, Seuir Brock told his family, "I can't keep these men restrained much longer."

The force numbered thirty-five. Thirty-three armed men, a woman, and one Maysalean Perfect Master. Some were from neighboring holdings and felt little need to defer to Seuir Brock's leadership.

There was an invader camp up the valley, in a marshy meadow. And someone was in control. There were pickets. They were not well posted or alert, but they were there. They made scouting the camp difficult. Scores of women and children were among the several hundred people there.

For differing reasons Seuir Brock and Brother Candle each wanted a closer look at that camp.

Thurm said, "That ground is too boggy for a decent camp. There's springs all over. You can sink in up to your hips some places. There's a million mosquitoes. If they stay there very long they'll all come down with dysentery or malaria or something."

Brock replied, "I only pray there's that much stupid among them."

Brother Candle muttered, "So do I."

"God should take the stain from our souls before we smear it on ourselves?" Brock chuckled. "Yes. I'm starting to see how your mind works."

There was no opportunity to debate the rights and wrongs and costs, of defending today's Connec. How many times round the Wheel of Life would it take to expiate the evil that would happen here?

One of the scouts came scooting down the hillside. The needle-strewn slope was steep. "Seuir, some people showed up at the Grolsacher camp. Better clothes, horses, twenty to twenty-five of them. At least eight are knights. Their pennons weren't recognizable."

"Arnhanders," Thurm said. Socia spat to her left like a man sealing a curse.

Brock said, "I didn't expect them to turn up yet. What was that?"

A roar had come rolling down the valley.

"Just guessing," Brother Candle said. "The raiders have been turned loose."

"All in a mob, you think?"

Socia said, "The healthiest will be the first ones here. And the most dangerous."

Brock was not pleased. "The Arnhanders won't be part of the first rush." Meaning the ambush could not be as successful as he wanted. He made a decision. "Put the barricades up." He had kept his men gathering brush and deadwood to create a barrier across the valley. It would not stop the invaders but would create a chokepoint where archers would be more effective.

The Grolsachers came in a racing flood. There were other foreigners among them. Cruel poverty was the commonality of the horde.

A dozen archers went to work. Ten men with shields and spears protected them. The archers seldom missed.

Those invaders who escaped climbed the steep far slope, then fled downstream. Very few broke through the barrier.

The other Connectens struck farther up the valley, hitting the tail-enders of the mob. They pushed downstream. Brother Candle and Socia Rault were tasked with guarding their backs.

There was but one incident involving the two. Brother Candle avoided getting blood on his hands or soul.

"Booga-booga?" Socia demanded in a mocking tone. "What the hell was that?"

"He ran away, didn't he?"

"Right back to the meadow. Where he'll complain that he ran into a ferocious sorcerer."

"Foo."

"You think he'll admit he ran away from a Maysalean Perfect?"

"The thing is done. Don't!"

Too late. Socia had stabbed the moaning, wounded old woman. The lives of these desperate intruders meant no more to her than did those of roaches or rats.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"We need to get back to Caron ande Lette. Fast." Only women, children, and a few old men were there to defend the fortress.

Brock Rault had a different idea.