Lord of the Silent Kingdom (63 page)

Michael Carhart, el-Mira, and Clayto all claimed their success reflected the favor of their gods. Claimed without sharp conviction.

Like Brother Candle, they feared good fortune might be by the grace of Instrumentalities associated with the Adversary. Hard not to suspect special favor when Patriarchals were running wild during the interregnum in Brothe.

It took sixteen days to reach Khaurene, a distance of less than eighty crow-flight miles. That sixteenth dawn saw them still fifteen miles from the city itself. They fell in with a strong patrol led by Sir Eardale Dunn. Dunn put them onto borrowed cogs and hurried them westward. They could help steel the will of their respective religious communities.

Brother Candle clung desperately to his mount. He was no skilled rider. But he did have attention left for his surroundings. And did not like what he saw.

He saw devastation. The Patriarchals had decided to destroy the regional economy. But he was more troubled by what looked like preparations for a showdown battle. By his own side.

“You don’t think that’s a good idea?” Socia asked.

“I think it’s insane. Any Connecten army will be a rabble with little prospect of success. Unless they outnumber the enemy badly. Or catch him unawares. Can our people manage that?”

“I think if Raymone Garete was in charge …”

“Yes. If Count Raymone was in charge the rivers would run red. The revenants would feast. And the Connec would become a desert. Because Count Raymone would burn it barren before he let it fall into the hands of Brothen invaders.”

Socia had no problem with that, he knew. She would joy-fully scour the earth to destroy her enemies.

What a horror it would be once she took her place in the shadows behind Count Raymone.

Sir Eardale did not lead Brother Candle up to Metrelieux. “Tormond doesn’t want to see you, Brother.

He’s made up his mind at last and doesn’t want you whispering counterarguments in his ear.”

The Perfect was surprised by the hurt he felt. Those few words declared a ripened disdain for the voice of reason. Henceforth, Duke Tormond IV would wear blinders.

“You blame me …?”

Wrong approach.

“Not personally. Your faith. Two generations of passivity and pacifism … Decades of weak leadership …

We have invaders among us by the tens of thousands. And haven’t the skills or backbone to do what needs doing. Because we’ve been bedazzled by the Maysalean Heresy. Or whatever you want to call it.”

“I suspect centuries of peace and prosperity have more to do with it.” Brother Candle was startled by the strength of his emotions. He
had
to put the world aside and find his way back to the Path. He drifted farther from it by the minute.

The streets of Khaurene were crowded with Seekers from farther east. Some would go on to the strongholds in the Al-tai or to coastal provinces now under the protection of King Peter. Or even into Direcia itself. Peter welcomed Seekers. Most were tradesmen with useful skills.

They were welcome in Praman Platadura, too.

Tannery stench seemed thicker than ever, down where Raulet Archimbault lived. Socia observed, “I sure missed a lot, growing up in the country.”

“Do I detect a note of sarcasm?”

“Each city we run to is bigger than the last. And is more crowded and smells worse.”

“You’ll like the Archimbaults.” He hoped. But sparingly. Socia Rault remained deeply conscious of class and station. “If you don’t, keep your mouth shut.” She had had the chance to move into Metrelieux and had refused.

The streets were particularly crowded in this neighborhood, where local Seekers welcomed countless refugees into their homes.

Raulet’s daughter Kedle answered Brother Candle’s knock. He said, “Wow! That didn’t take long.” The girl was prominently pregnant.

“It can be difficult, trying to ignore the demands of the flesh.” Kedle did not sound interested in denying the flesh. Nor was she pleased to find the Perfect on the family doorstep.

“You’re not at work?”

“My work is here while this is going on.” She patted her stomach. “The fumes at the tannery. Not good for the unborn. We don’t have room here, Master. Soames and I have to live here. Because his father’s brother’s family are staying with them. See Scarre the Baker. His sons have gone to be soldiers.”

Kedle stared at Socia but was too polite to ask.

“As you wish. Tell your father that I came by. He can trace me through Scarre’s bakery.”

Kedle donned a scowl worthy of the most guilt-ridden Episcopal or Devedian. Brother Candle turned away, pleased and shamed at having left the girl feeling bad about turning him away.

Socia asked, “What was that all about?”

“I’ve known Kedle since she was born. It’s taken her longer than most young people, but she’s in her rebellious stage.”

“She’s pregnant.”

“Very. She was getting married last time I was here.”

“She’s younger than me.”

“True. By several years.”

“I thought you Seekers put sex aside.”

“We Seekers?” The Raults were Seekers themselves. “Some manage. Once they get old.”

“Weird. Where are we going?”

“Kedle is still too young. We’re going to Scarre the Baker’s.”

Socia changed topic. “I don’t believe in any of that stuff. Only in things that can bite me.”

“The countryside is swarming with Instrumentalities wearing really big teeth.”

Their little band had spent more time shivering in fear of the Night than from the cold during their flight.

Out there, in the country, revenant Night prowled everywhere. And sometimes left pale, drained bodies alongside the roads.

Another reason for crowding in Khaurene.

Darkness was gathering as they entered Scarre’s bakery. Scarre worked in a ferocious heat, sweat rolling off him as he scooped fresh loaves out of his huge oven. He was naked to the waist, like a blacksmith. His wife, wearing padded gloves, stacked the hot loaves. Scarre grunted a greeting.

Brother Candle observed, “There must be a huge demand for bread.”

“You looking for a job? I can’t keep up. I need somebody to work the dough.”

“Not looking for work but we’ll work for bed and board while we’re here.”

“Absolutely. But why aren’t you staying with Raulet? You staying with him makes him feel like the big …

Sorry. We’re supposed to be beyond petty competitions.”

“Kedle says there is no room there.”

“Marriage hasn’t agreed with that girl. She should’ve waited. Raulet should’ve waited. In one year she’s gone from wide-eyed child of wonder to complete harpy. Raulet fears for her soul.”

“I see. We can address that in our evening meetings. What is it?”

“We don’t have many meetings, Brother. Society spies are everywhere. They keep records for after they take control.”

“Once upon a time Seekers had the courage to stand behind their beliefs.”

“Once upon a time they didn’t used to burn us.”

“They don’t do that much, now. More members of the Society get killed, one way or another, than Seekers do.”

Scarre shrugged. Plainly uninterested in the tribulations of Brothen Episcopals. “If you stay with me I’m going to expect some help. The girl can do the household cooking while you work in here.”

Brother Candle chuckled. “I don’t think so, Scarre. Not if you want to avoid being poisoned. She can help in here. Like an apprentice. Only, you’ll have to keep your hands to yourself.”

Scarre bobbed his head, getting the message.

Socia did not like being discussed. But the world outside Caron ande Lette had hammered her long enough to teach her to manage emotion. For minutes at a time.

“Long as she earns her keep.”

“She will. She’s a good woman. She just needs to be shown what to do.”

Madam Scarre was not convinced.

Scarre was not the best host. He worked his guests hard. Which explained why no refugees stayed with him. Most Maysalean households had a refugee family squeezed in. Brother Candle and Socia were exhausted when they joined the Archimbaults for their late meal.

Socia had complained just once. Brother Candle offered, “I’ll take you up to the castle.”

“No.”

“No bread kneading. No Madam Scarre barking at you for being young and attractive.”

“That woman is mad. Has she actually looked at him? All sweaty and covered with hair, like a bear? And fat? But I won’t go up there. They’d use me to manipulate Raymone.”

She had a point.

Which sparked a fresh worry.

The Society was strong in Khaurene. Those fanatics would have no reservations about using the girl as a weapon. And Raymone had shown weak that way already.

Brother Candle said little during supper, except to answer Kedle’s questions about his adventures.

Afterward, the leaders of the Seeker community began to arrive. Brother Candle found himself a place out of the light. He wanted to catch up. There had been changes. Despair and pessimism ruled.

Spiritual issues never arose. That was the most dramatic change.

Talk was iron-hard practical. Should the Seeker community emigrate now, before Patriarchal forces made escape impossible? Heading into winter, fleeing to fastnesses in the Altai that might not be adequately provisioned? Should they stay and hope that Patriarchal politics and Duke Tormond’s stiffened backbone would make it possible to get through the winter here?

Brother Candle heard nothing to inspire faith in the Duke’s steadfast determination to defy the invaders.

Nor anything positive about the probable results. And little confidence in the friendship of Peter of Navaya.

“Peter needs the Brothen Church behind him to pursue his ambitions in Direcia,” someone insisted when someone else suggested that Peter might send an army to enforce his rights in Castreresone.

Another someone said, “Peter can’t turn his back on the princes of al-Halambra. And he has troops committed in Artecipea.”

“Nothing will happen anywhere while there’s no Patriarch in Brothe.”

“The Captain-General isn’t sitting on his hands.”

“Duke Tormond will make all these worries moot.”

“Excuse me,” Brother Candle said. Silence fell. “These discussions remain speculative only until after the battle.”

A puzzled Raulet Archimbault asked, “What battle, Master?”

“Sir Eardale Dunn is trying to engineer a decisive confrontation. Which, I think, the Patriarchals would rather avoid. They’ve done well with a pinprick strategy. But there
will
be a battle. And the passion of the Khaurenese won’t be enough. My advice? Be ready to travel but wait on the result of the fight. If Sir Eardale is successful, there’s no need to suffer winter in the mountains. If it’s defeat, the Patriarchals will need time to pull themselves together and move against the city. That would be time enough to go.”

A spirited discussion followed, a dozen people talking at once, all arguing with one another but all agreeing with Brother Candle. Though a few still heard the siren call of the Altai.

Brother Candle said, “I have carried the message through the Altai on occasion. I spent a winter there once. Not up in one of those drafty old ridgeline strongholds but down in a valley where the people know how to handle the weather. And it was still curdled misery.”

More discussion. All the men had spent time in the Altai last summer, readying strongholds for the day when the failure of the weak Connecten state left Seekers at the mercy of a merciless, rapacious Brothen Episcopal Church. They were not ignorant of the harshness of the mountains. It was that harshness they had embraced when they chose the Altai as their final refuge.

***

“SO THAT WAS DEMOCRACY IN ACTION,” SOCIA SAID AS she and Brother Candle walked back to Scarre the Baker’s.

“It was, yes.”

“I see why it’s an uncommon way of making decisions.”

“Some would say that the fact that nothing gets done is the strength of the process. People get too busy arguing to go make trouble.”

The girl expressed her opinion with a contemptuous snort.

Day after day the men of Khaurene marched out of the city. Eventually, the streets seemed naked. Those who stayed behind remained in their homes, praying, suffering from escalating tension.

Brother Candle felt more tension than ever he had before. Duke Tormond had decided to do something.

At last. And no one cared if it was the right thing. An entire country exulted because it was
something.

He did not go out where he could hear rumors and misinformation from the field. He could imagine it.

Inept bands of poorly trained men, under inexperienced captains, would rush around trying to catch enemy scouts and foragers and would get beat up in the process. Skirmishes between larger units would carpet the fields east of Khaurene with fallen heroes. The truth would not be seen because the little disasters would be scattered. At some point, the Khaurenese mob would force the Captain-General to choose between withdrawal and showing Khaurene the truth about warfare.

Brother Candle was not without hope. Isabeth’s knights could provide experienced leadership. The Connectens would enjoy a big advantage in heavy cavalry. Plus, Tormond had reenlisted thousands of mercenaries and had found knights willing to serve for pay. Numbers would not favor the Patriarchals.

***

SOCIA WAS DISTRACTED. SHE COULD NOT DO THE WORK Scarre demanded. Fortunately, there was less call for Scarre’s product. But he anticipated a spike in demand when the hungry soldiers returned.

Brother Candle worked dough and roamed his memories, revisiting a thousand regrets. When the time came he knew there had been a battle before anyone brought the news. And he knew that it had not gone well. “Socia. Time to go. Get your things.”

The streets were no longer empty. Everyone seemed to be pressing to the northeast, desperate to learn the fates of those they held dear. Wailing and panic were endemic. If the disaster was a tenth of what rumor claimed, Khaurene would never recover.

Those coming in now were men who ran before the fighting started. They had to tell stories that made their cowardice appear less foul. Rumor fed off that.