Lord of the Silent Kingdom by Glen Cook Read Free Book Online Page B

the man. He came from the Patriarchal garrison at Maleterra and was related to somebody Sublime owed money. He did, however, have a solid military reputation.
    Clej Sedlakova was an observer for the Brotherhood. They insisted. The Captain-General was using their facilities.
    Hecht could not operate without their approval and support.
    Sedlakova was new, too, but there was no doubt he knew his way around a battlefield. He had lost his shield arm. His face bore two ugly scars, one down the right side and one across his forehead. The latter was permanently purple. He did not say much. Nor did he interfere.
    The other three men had been with Hecht since he had taken over the City Regiment in the run-up to the Calziran Crusade. They were Hagan Brokke, a Krogusian who had
    been a private soldier at the time of the first pirate attacks.
    He had risen swiftly by demonstrating outstanding abilities. He was Hecht’s planning officer.
    The others were Titus Consent and Tabill Talab, chief intelligence officer and lead quartermaster. Both were Devedian, which made folks like Clej Sedlakova uncomfortable. Consent was in his early twenties.
    Sedlakova might be uncomfortable but he was implacably tolerant. Both Deves were exceptionally competent. And unobtrusive with their religion.
    All five men were accompanied by assistants. Managing the Patriarch’s armed forces was not a minor enterprise.
    Hagan Brokke said, “We’re working on that, sir.” He indicated a vast wall map of Firaldia. That was a permanent feature of the room. Every little county, dukedom, principality, city-state, kingdom, and republic was delineated. Political entities were identified by color, in a dozen shades. Isolated parts of the same entity were connected by black strings. Each entity was tagged with a numbered piece of paper.
    That referenced a sheet listing significant local personalities, the number and sorts of soldiers available, quality of fortifications, and useful political, marital, and family alliance information.
    Brokke said, “If we have to attempt the absurd we have garrisons here, here, and here that can support us. I’ve sent warning orders.”
    “Excellent.”
    Titus Consent said, “The Imperials will expect that. It shouldn’t worry them. They won’t expect anything to come of it. Our side talks loud but never actually does anything.”
    “We might break that precedent this time.”
    Consent continued. “Couriers will alert our intelligence assets in the region, too.” He tended to talk that way.
    “Good again.” Consent meant messages had been sent to the Devedian ghettoes.
    There were Deves everywhere. Going unnoticed, they saw and heard most of the inner workings. And their elders, for the moment, were willing to feed information to Captain-General Piper Hecht.
    Which was useful but embarrassing. Deves were little more popular than demons. They were too educated. Too prosperous. Too smart. You did not want to associate too intimately with that sort. They were the source of all the world’s evil — if there were no handy Pramans or Maysaleans, other loathsome Unbelievers or heretics, or the Instrumentalities of the Night, to blame. Being literate, Deves wrote things down. Often things you did not want retailed accurately later.
    The literate were as mistrusted as those who had congress with the Night. Either could destroy you with arcane knowledge.
    Hecht said, “Bring me up-to-date. Can fon Dreasser protect himself?”
    Titus Consent was a tall youth, slim, dark of mien, usually cheerful. He was talented in the extreme and thoroughly competent. He was not obviously Devedian. He handled rampant prejudice mainly by refusing to acknowledge it. He was a solid family man. Early on he had told Hecht that he had been raised from infancy to become a sort of savior for the Deves of the western diaspora.
    He said, “We haven’t had time to find out. I can tell you that it would be smart to get some arrears money to the garrisons out