Lord of the Silent Kingdom

4. Winds of Despair

Brother Candle followed Count Raymone Garete from Caron ande Lette down to Antieux. The Count gave him no choice. He was suspicious of the Perfect Master. He was suspicious of Maysaleans in general, though he had Seekers After Light in his own family. The Count was not a warrior of faith, he was a devout Connecten nationalist who refused to permit outsider mischief in his motherland.

Count Raymone's determination animated Antieux as well. Despite disasters wrought by a succession of corrupt Brothen Episcopal bishops and two invading armies, the city was busy, defiant, and increasingly prosperous. Much of the destruction wrought by the more successful siege had been undone. The cathedral remained as the invaders had left it, ruined by fire, with a thousand dead women, children, old people, and innocents entombed inside. Count Raymone had decreed that the cathedral would become a monument, "Sanctified to the Usurper Patriarch by the blood of those he claimed are his flock."

That massacre would undermine the Church in the Connec for centuries to come.

No one who had not been there ever fully understood how deeply the massacre scarred the survivors.

It was burned black on their emotional bones. And on Count Raymone more than most because he had been unable to prevent it.

He had powerful support throughout the End of Connec.

Duke Tormond failed to understand how much the hearts ol the people of Antieux had been darkened.

Brother Candle said, "I've known Tormond since we were boys. He's not a bad man. He means well. He's just disconnected from everyday reality. Despite his daily opportunities and a suite of advisers." Brother Candle became one of those whenever he visited Khaurene.

Count Raymone snapped, "He's a fool. As well meaning is Aaron of Chaldar himself, possibly, but a blind fool."

The discussion of the Duke's capacities had been occasioned by a letter ordering Count Raymone to appear beforet the Duke to explain his bad behavior. There had been complaints from Sublime V and Bishop Morcant Farfog of Strang.

Brother Candle did not argue. "Sometimes Tormond does act like a man with a sorcerous caul across his eyes."

"I believe it. I'm not going. He wants me, he can send Dunn to arrest me." Sir Eardale Dunn was Duke Tormond's military chieftain, a refugee from Santerin who had not returned when the latest shift in succession fortunes there had made that possible. "I'm sitting right here."

"You sure you want to do that?" Brother Candle meant defying the Duke.

Count Raymone answered a different question. "You're right. I need to get back into the field. My spy in Salpeno says Anne of Menand has started trying to raise another invasion force. She hasn't gotten much support. Yet. Because of the confusion in Salpeno, Santerin is pressing its claims all along the marches. Too many nobles are protecting their own towns and castles to come steal ours."

Brother Candle nodded. He had visited Arnhand last spring. And remained healthy only because local Seekers warned him whenever the Church sent men to arrest him. "True. And they still send their third and fourth sons, and too much treasure, to the Crusader states in the Holy Lands."

Past crusaders had carved a half-dozen small kingdoms and principalities out of the Holy Lands. Those always needed more men and money to keep going. They were not natural entities and were under continuous pressure from the neighboring Praman kaifates.

In Arnhand the crusades were considered a religious obligation. Knights and nobles from elsewhere did try to make an armed pilgrimage once during life, but Arnhanders often went with no intention of returning.

"You need to think in longer terms, young man." Brother Candle was old and respected. He would be given the opportunity to speak. Getting Raymone to listen would be the real challenge. "You have to consider what consequences your choices might visit on you and Antieux both tomorrow and far into the future. Right now, just as a mental exercise, forecast for me some possible consequences of you refusing to see the Duke."

The question did slither into Count Raymone's mind. It began to turn over clods of wishful thinking.

Brother Candle said, "Suppose Anne of Menand assembles another gang of adventurers and, by some misfortune, she recruits a competent captain. Perhaps someone honed on the harsh battlefields of the Holy Lands. Say Antieux is besieged and that Captain is smart enough to expect competent resistance."

"Enough! I get your point, old man. If I refuse the Duke, he could refuse me later." That would not set a precedent. All feudal rights and obligations ran both directions. "Considering that's a situation where he might actually do something. I must be getting old." Count Raymone was on the cusp of thirty. "I have to admit you're probably right."

When Brother Candle departed, dismissed, Count Raymone sent for the Rault family. He had dragged them back to Antieux, too. Brother Candle suspected he had taken a fancy to Socia.

Brock Rault had been included in the Duke's summons.

"THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU," BROTHER CANDLE TOLD his traveling companions. Count Raymone scowled, ever suspicious. The Perfect feared the Count's dark outlook was opening.

Brock Rault grinned. He was excited. This was his first visit to Khaurene. "See you at the castle, Brother." Then his face darkened, too. He liked to point out that Raymone Garete had reason to be suspicious. His city had been attacked. More than once. He had been attacked himself. The Brothen Church kept sending priests to foment trouble in his territories. Hanging them did not dissuade others from coming. And, more than once, he had caught someone close to him conspiring with Sublime's agents.

Brother Candle watched the column wend deeper into the city, destination Metrelieux, castle of the Dukes of Khaurene.

Brother Candle went to the home of Raulet Archimbault, a leader in Khaurene's Seeker community. His eyes watered. He was surrounded by tanneries. Archimbault was a leader in that community, too.

The tanner's daughter, Kedle, admitted him.

"You've certainly grown, child."

She reddened, lowered her gaze. He remembered her bolder, holding her own when Seekers After Light gathered.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

He did not understand that he was a demigod to Kedle. The Perfect were rare, even here in the heartland of the Maysalean Heresy. Brother Candle thought of himself only as a wandering teacher.

"We didn't know you were coming."

"I had no way to send word."

"You're always welcome, Master."

"Brother Candle. Just Brother Candle. Or Teacher, if you must. Ah. I sense a but. You're here instead of at the tanning shed. I expected your little brother. He can't possibly be working yet. Can he?"

"Yes, he can. I'm not working because we're getting ready for the wedding."

"Whose wedding?"

"Mine."

"But you're just… Well."

"Time does pass, Teacher."

The child always did have a philosophical bent.

"Evidently faster when you're not around to keep an eye on it."

"Well, come in, Master. We'll manage something."

The Maysalean Heresy retained a concept of communal responsibility that had been forgotten by the Brothen Episcopal Church. The same philosophy had animated the Founders but faded as the Brothen rite of the Chaldarean creed aged and became increasingly hierarchical, reflecting the culture around it. When the Old Empire collapsed the Church assumed most of the old Imperial palaces, dignities, and trappings. The Old Empire's ghost lived on – inside the Church bureaucracy.

Kedle's wedding took place on time. Asked to speak, Brother Candle did so briefly, his themes optimism, spiritual vigilance, and tolerance. Afterward, he arranged to spend his nights in rotation between several Seeker families. He did not want to add to the strain on the Archimbaults. The Maysaleans of Khaurene were eager for the status conferred by having him as a houseguest.

Days passed. He heard nothing from Metrelieux.

Evening meetings continued to be held at the Archimbault establishment. Only they had room to accommodate those who turned out to see the Perfect Master.

Ten minutes into the first gathering, Brother Candle knew that Khaurene's Maysalean community had changed.

People were afraid. They had no confidence in the future.

Maysaleans should not fear tomorrow. Tomorrow would come. There was no need to dread it, however harsh.

"What's happened?" Brother Candle asked. "Have you all lost faith?"

Kedle Archimbault stepped in when her elders failed to explain. "The trouble is the Duke, Master."

"Brother," he corrected automatically.

"The Duke is old. And tired. And weak. He's done nothing to keep the Connec from falling apart. His orders seldom make sense and usually make things worse. No one outside Khaurene pays much attention anymore. He won't enforce his will."

Similar complaints could be heard everywhere. The lesser nobility no longer feared their Duke, nor had much confidence in his protection.

Raulet Archimbault found his tongue. "That's the surface of it, Master. There's also the uncertainty caused by the Duke's bad health and lack of a designated successor."

That was a huge point. Brother Candle hoped Tormond's sister would succeed.

It did not matter what religion you were, nor what class. The passing of Tormond IV would have a profound impact. Because someone would replace him. And that someone's religious views would be crucial. The struggle for the souls of the Connec grew more heated daily.

"Gangs roam the streets," Amis Hainteau said. "Brothen Episcopals, whipped up by monks from the Society for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy. The Duke does nothing. Chaldareans sworn to Viscesment outnumber the Brothen thugs but hardly ever fight back. The gangs mostly attack Seekers. And Deves and Dainshaus when they find them."

"They looted the Praman church last month," Kedle kicked in. "The only one in Khaurene. They tried to burn it, too. Twenty-two people were killed."

Her mother, with fat arms folded across her chest, said, "And the Duke did nothing. Again. He ignored it entirely."

Brother Candle was baffled. How could the situation have deteriorated so?

Archimbault said, "We're about two outrages short of civil war."

Someone mentioned priests being murdered. Somebody had begun picking off priests who favored Sublime or any of his works.

Someone observed, "War is unavoidable. The Brothens intend to force it."

That fit the common prejudice, Brother Candle was sure. "I should see Duke Tormond soon. I'll prick his conscience." He had little real hope of that, though. The man seemed blind to everything, trapped in a world spun from his own wishful thinking.

Agents of the Brothen Church causing chaos? Why? They were a minority in Khaurene. And across the End of Connec. The border counts whose faith more closely aligned them with Sublime than Immaculate had defected to Navaya, the Santerin dukedom of Tramaine, or Arnhand, already. Navaya's influence continued to wax along the Terliagan Littoral. King Peter did not permit disorder in his realm. Order was what people wanted most.

"We wish you all grace and good fortune, Master," Archimbault said. "But we'll continue to prepare for the worst."

Madam Archimbault said, "My cousin Lettie's son Milias is a varlet at Metrelieux. He sees the Duke all the time. He thinks Tormond is demented. The way really old people get."

Amis Hainteau said, "It isn't badly behaved Brothen Episcopals or the Duke's apathy that worries me. It's the Night I'm scared of."

Brother Candle asked, "There's more bad news?"

Raulet Archimbault nodded. "The Night has begun to stir. It started with mischief. That turned to malice. And now it's getting dangerous to go out after sunset."

"There have been murders." Kedle's manner made it sound like wholesale butchery started up with every sundown.

'Two," her father said. "Blamed on the Night because there wasn't any more obvious explanation."

"Only two," Kedle admitted. "But they were awful. The people were torn to pieces. And parts were missing."

Grim. But ordinary little men, tradesmen, artisans, shopkeepers, were capable of such evil. There were monsters behind a lot of smiling eyes. Quite possibly some of the agents of the Society for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy.

Brother Candle promised, "I'll find out what's being done."

"Ain't nothing being done!" someone grumbled. An angry murmur followed.

"That may be," Brother Candle said. "But Tormond and I have known each other since childhood. Sometimes he listens lo me when nobody else can get his attention."

Prayers for his success broke out immediately.

Metrelieux, home of the Dukes of Khaurene, stood on a bluff overlooking a bend in the Vierses River. Brother Candle had been in and out many times in his three score plus years. Each time he approached it he thought the place seemed that much nearer surrendering to the seduction of gravity. The old gates would not close anymore. And the same few guards were on duty, now, daily less capable of offering any real resistance to an incursion. No one was there to meet him. He made his way to the privy audience, where he found a dozen others also waiting.

Count Raymone asked, "You take a look at the outside of this place, Brother? The disease has gotten to the stone itself."

Time's bite was even more obvious here inside.

The Raults had not visited before. All they saw was old. Socia Rault was angry and exasperated. She had received strict instructions to hold her tongue, both from her brothers and Count Raymone. The Count had enjoyed Socia's company for several days now and had learned to dread the bite of her sarcasm.

She was too young to be concerned by considerations of consequence.

Count Raymone had developed an interest, in part, Brother Candle suspected, because Socia made it ever more clear that she could not be won through flattery and romantic ballads.

The Count was a fair lutist and managed a workmanlike baritone. For a poet and composer, though, he made an outstanding soldier and indifferent administrator.

Still, he tried, demonstrating the same ferocious determination he had shown in dealing both with Haiden Backe and those Arnhanders he had butchered during the Black Mountain Massacre.

Socia did appreciate his effort. She understood determination. She was determined herself.

Or just bone stubborn if you consulted her brothers.

Brother Candle socialized and observed for half an hour before Tormond's chief herald, Bicot Hodier, materialized, embarrassed. "My apologies, Master. I didn't think you'd arrive on time. Come with me, please."

Hodier led Brother Candle to a small, chilly sitting room with no proper furnishings and no refreshments. It was unpleasant and lonely, not unlike the anchorite's cell it resembled. Moisture collected on the cold walls, then dribbled down to puddle on the floor. The chill was too deep for mold or mildew.

He waited an hour, pacing more than sitting on the room's one damp stone bench. Shivering. His patience waned, a weakness he had not suffered since his ascension to Perfect status.

"Is it getting to you, too, Brother?"

He turned, confessing with a nod, though unsure what "it" might be. "Sir Eardale?" He pronounced it "Ey-air-da-lay," which was nearer the Santerin than most managed.

"Yes. And you want to know why me and why this."

Brother Candle exercised his nod again. Sir Eardale Dunn was not the man he expected to see. Dunn was Duke Tormond's top soldier and adviser. The Perfect Master wondered why he did not return to Santerin. He must like his life here, despite Duke Tormond's tendency to ignore his advice.

Sir Eardale said, "This room is proof against sorcery. The stone came from the Holy Lands, quarried near one of the veils of power. You waited so long because I wanted to make sure nobody noticed me."

"I see." Though he did not.

"No, you don't. Not yet. But I'll explain."

"Please do."

"Something bad is happening here. The Duke hasn't been himself. Not for a long time. Lately, though, he's been getting worse. It's like a wasting disease of the spirit."

"He isn't young anymore." Tormond was just weeks older ihan Brother Candle.

"He has those problems, of course. Complicated by his diet. All meat and wine. But this is something else. It exaggerates those tendencies that make him ineffective."

"Has anyone new moved into Metrelieux?" Having summed the evidence, Brother Candle suspected malign sorcery. But by whom?

"No one significant. There's always turnover in staff and pages. None of them suspicious. It's someone we know. Someone who's been here all along. Who found a new talent recently. Or a new calling."

"Uhm. And this secretive interview is because?"

"Because you have stature and respect and haven't been here to become part of any faction. You're neutral. You care about the Duke and you care about the End of Connec. You might see something the rest of us can't."

"I see." More, probably, than Sir Eardale thought.

The knight from Santerin would not be alone in reaching the conclusions he had presented. Everyone not guilty would be watching everyone else, hoping to finger a villain. The paranoia would be thick.

"I misspoke," Dunn said. 'There is one new face. Father Rinpoche, representing our friends in Salpeno."

"That idiot? I thought he was dead."

"Unfortunately, no. Or, maybe, fortunately. He's too stupid and blindered to be a real danger."

"Why would they send him? Of all people?"

"He's a favorite of Anne of Menand. And Anne is in the ascendant, these days. She's real chummy with the Brothen Church lately, too."

"She always was." The mistress of Arnhand's King Charlve once raised her own band of crusaders to punish the Connec on the Church's behalf. The force fell apart before it did anything but that hadn't been Anne's fault.

"More so, now. I hear she bought the letters of marque that belonged to Haiden Backe. From Bishop Farfog, who managed to salvage them when he got away from Count Raymone. The Bishop, by the way, is now the Brothen Patriarch's chief agent in the Church's effort to tame the Connec."

Sublime seemed to dump all his dimmest and most corrupt agents on the Connec.

Dunn added, "I don't think Rinpoche is here as a true ambassador. He's really a spy, looking for weaknesses. Finding collaborators. And probably not doing well at that. He's too stupid."

Brother Candle was not so sure. Rinpoche might be a clever man posing as a fool.

The Perfect nodded as though everything in this world was perfectly clear. "Do you people have any idea what's really going on outside Metrelieux?"

Sir Eardale sighed. "No, Brother. Most of us don't. Most of us apparently don't want to know. Or don't care." He paused a moment. When Brother Candle said nothing he continued. "I myself am aware of the creeping chaos. Incompletely, no doubt."

"Creeping chaos is putting it too optimistically, sir. The Connec is dying. It's falling apart. So fast it makes the head spin. If you travel more than twenty miles from Khaurene, you stand an excellent chance of wandering into a local war or falling foul of brigands. Half the counts and knights out there, especially in the north and west, are feuding. Half of those can't explain why. It's just something they have to do. A matter of honor. If it weren't for Count Raymone and a few men like him, I'm afraid the collapse would be complete in another year."

"I hadn't thought it that bad. Not yet. I thought we still had some time."

"The time is all used up. The Duke has wasted it for far too long already."

"Tormond is obsessed with the state of his soul. When he's rational at all."

"While all the southwest and the Terliagan Littoral defects to Peter of Navaya."

"Not a stupid move for those people, eh?"

Brother Candle frowned.

"I'm being rational, not disloyal. I understand what's happening. I'm powerless to do much. I'm allowed to send letters to this noble or that ordering him to stop burning his neighbor's corn but they don't listen. I have no teeth. They know they can go right on murdering sheep. The only power capable of staying them will be the owner of the sheep. Or maybe the sheep themselves once they've had enough. I can't raise the levies. I can't send ducal troops out. And superior force is the only answer. Everyone else has to pile on whenever anybody acts up. So I can't blame people for switching fealty to Peter, or even Charlve, if that's what they have to do to secure themselves against anarchy."

Brother Candle said, "Of course. On that one level. Strictly speaking."

"I am worried, though, by all the mercenaries coming into…" Dunn shut up, cocked his head, laid a forefinger across his lips. He eased toward the doorway, making a series of signs Brother Candle took to mean that Dunn thought someone was eavesdropping.

Dunn made a production of drawing the short sword that symbolized both his station and the level of trust the Duke invested in him. The sound echoed in the barren room.

Footsteps hastened away.

Dunn said, "I've stayed too long. Can you find your way back to the privy audience? Bicot Hodier will find you there. He'll show you your quarters."

"Quarters? I'm staying down in the town."

"No. The Duke wants you here. But he can't see you today. Probably tomorrow." Dunn leaned out the doorway. Seeing no one, he departed. Swiftly.

Brother Candle's party cooled their heels several more days. The Perfect had not spent that much time there ever before.

Metrelieux was typical of its time and kind. Large, badly furnished, and cold. Cold even for the time of year. For the climate.

Last winter there had been snow for the first time in modern memory. Snow that accumulated and stayed, not just the occasional scatter of random flakes that vanished in the morning sun.

Spring had been late arriving.

The summons to the presence came at last.

Tormond IV, Grand Duke of Khaurene, Duke of Sheavenalle, Count of Flor and Welb, and so forth, looked like he had enjoyed a sleepless night and had not yet pulled himself together. He had aged severely. He had lost a lot of hair, in no regular fashion. His beard had gone white and was patchy, too. His gray eyes, once steel and as penetrating as death, were dull and hollow. He seemed confused about where or when he was and what he was doing.

Nevertheless, he recognized Brother Candle. "Charde! Charde ande Clairs. Welcome. At last, a friendly face among all these shrieking blue jays."

"It's Brother Candle now, Your Lordship. But a pleasure to see you again, too."

The Duke slid his right arm across Brother Candle's shoulder, letting the Perfect take some of his weight without being obvious. Tormond was tall and lean. What little hair he retained was white and wild. His clothing showed no care, either. He had not changed in days. Residue from several meals decorated his shirtfront.

Tormond murmured, "Help me, Charde. I can't tolerate this much longer."

"Your Lordship?"

"I think I'm going mad. It's like there's more than one man inside me. And none of them are any good at being the Duke."

"You're too critical. You've done some wonderful things."

'Wonderful things," Duke Tormond said, and sighed. "Wonderful things, Charde. Did you know they call me the Great Vacillator?"

The entire Connec knew. Little children knew, though no one would call him that to his face. At his best Tormond IV was so deliberate that crises usually resolved themselves before he responded. "I've heard that. Don't let it bother you." Brother Candle looked around to see if anyone was particularly interested in their conversation.

Everyone fell into that category.

The Duke made a feeble gesture. Pages began seating people. Tormond asked Brother Candle to sit beside him, in the seat his sister Isabeth occupied when she visited Khaurene. She, much younger than Tormond, was in confinement in far Oranja, about to present King Peter with an heir. If she had not done so already.

News moved slowly. Unless it was bad. Ill tidings had wings.

Servants brought coffee, a rare treat. No one refused. Brother Candle smiled into his cup as Socia and Thurm Rault enjoyed their first encounter with the dark beverage.

After coffee the Duke seemed collected and animated. Thank you all for coming. Count Raymone. Seuir Brock. Brother Candle. My apologies for keeping you waiting so long. I didn't know you'd arrived."

Really? Odd indeed.

The group was the same council Tormond always assembled. Sir Eardale seemed as tired as his Duke. Michael Carhart was a renowned Devedian religious scholar. Bishop Clayto was the senior Brothen Episcopal in Khaurene.

Brother Candle's friend Bishop LeCroes's allegiance went to Viscesment. LeCroes liked Sublime better than Clayto did. Bishop Clayto viewed the Brothen Patriarch with open contempt.

Tember Sirht had replaced his father, Tember Remak, as spokesman for the Dainshaukin. Hanak el-Mira represented the Connec's small surviving Praman population, on the Terliagan Littoral. Brother Candle recalled el-Mira from the Calziran Crusade. Terliagan slingers had been an important part of the Connecten contingent. El-Mira was younger than Brock Rault but belonged to a proud old family. Only in recent years had his people become active participants in the broader Connecten civilization.

Since Isabeth's marriage to Peter of Navaya, in fact. Though committed to a relentless reconquest of Praman Direcia, Peter won numerous friends and allies among the Pramans. He did not destroy their religious places nor force his own beliefs on them, being content to let time and the superiority of the Chaldarean vision hasten the false religion into yesterday's dust. Peter's most devoted allies were the Pramans of Platadura, a city-state of traders. Platadura's fleets engaged in continuous, bitter, and often deadly competition with those of the Firaldian mercantile republics, Aparion, Dateon, and Sonsa.

An unknown Praman accompanied Hanak el-Mira. Brother Candle thought his dress looked Plataduran. No one introduced him. Duke Tormond was in what was, for him, a hasty mood.

The Arnhander, Father Rinpoche, was there, too, in the background, alone, shunned. He seemed frightened, unhappy, lonely, and out of his depth. Brother Candle judged him a lute with just one string. More would be too much for his circumscribed intellect.

Brother Candle concentrated on Tormond. The Duke was involved in a visible struggle to retain control of himself.

More than one man inside, he had said.

Was it possible that Tormond's problems might not be of his own making? The hair loss, the distraction, the odd cast of his skin, suggested poison. Or truly wicked sorcery.

But, who? Someone right here, right now, if Sir Eardale was right. Someone who saw the Duke as an obstacle, not an enemy. Duke Tormond had no enemies. By doing nothing he

offended no one. Not to the point where they sneaked around dripping dark ichors into his wine or gruel.

Anne of Menand could contort her conscience enough to order a murder. But someone would have to do the dirty work.

Brother Candle studied Bishop Clayto. Not long ago he had been Father Clayto, assigned to the worst parish in Khaurene because he would not keep quiet about Sublime's bad behavior. Now, he was a bishop, in good odor with Brothe. At a time when the Brothen Episcopal sees of the Connec received nothing but scoundrels.

Clayto met his speculating eye, raised an eyebrow.

Maybe not. They had been chaplains together during the Calziran Crusade. Father Clayto had trouble clinging to his faith but Brother Candle never saw any indication that he had the moral agility to justify great wickedness.

And yet, he had been made bishop.

The Duke said, "Let's get started." He gestured at Brother Candle, then Count Raymone, and such Connecten nobility as lurked round the fringes, hoping to vent complaints.

Counting pages and serving folk, more than fifty people stopped doing anything but breathe.

Brother Candle continued to survey the gathering. The fate of the Connec would be decided by people in this crowd. They would keep it alive. Or let it die. It was time for the Great Vacillator, despite all, to do what he had been born to do.

Brother Candle chuckled suddenly.

Tormond had managed to create this situation in spite of conspiracies simmering around him. Possibly even despite malevolent espionage by the Instrumentalities of the Night.

The Duke said, "Seuir Brock Rault. Tell us what happened at Caron ande Lette."

The youngster looked to Count Raymone, to his siblings, to Brother Candle, for reassurance, then grasped his nerve by the throat and told it.

"Well done," Brother Candle whispered when Rault finished. "Exactly as it happened."

Duke Tormond nodded, still focused, the businesslike personality firmly in charge. "Count Raymone?"

The Count told his tale, somewhat less humble in admiring his own role, but without fabricating.

"Sir Eardale?" the Duke said. "A comment?" Tormond having some trouble, now.

"What I find interesting is that before the villain's feet were dry we received news from Brothe that Morcant Farfog has been appointed Chief Inquestor of the Patriarchal Office for the Suppression of False Dogma and Heretical Doctrine. With a new order of monks being created to support the office."

Brother Candle was not surprised to hear it. "Farfog's first job will be to root out heresy and dogmatic diversion in the Connec."

Count Raymone could not restrain himself. "I recall this being tried before. Eight thousand people died. Because of the meddling of one man who didn't have the right."

Bishop Clayto said, "Complain to Immaculate. He'll cover you."

Count Raymone glared. "The men responsible…" He controlled his emotions. Brother Candle nodded approval. Raymone Garete was maturing.

Sir Eardale continued. "Our options aren't broad. Our mission to the Mother City, a while back, in effect recognized the Brothen Patriarch as legitimate."

Bishop LeCroes opined, "Treat that with a respect equaling what Sublime has shown our contribution to his war on Calzir."

"Grumbling won't change the man. And he now has a Captain-General who's building a real Patriarchal army. The man seems to be competent."

"And he pays for men and arms with what?"

Sir Eardale said, "Just a minute. Perit. Bring our other guests."

One of the pages departed. Murmurs started but did not last. The page returned quickly.

Dunn said, "I'll let these gentlemen answer that." He indicated two men who entered behind the page, Perit. "Tell these people what you told me earlier."

"Yes, sir," the elder newcomer said, amused. Brother Candle thought the pair looked a little frail for the hardships of travel. Though they could have come to Khaurene by boat,

up the Vierses from Tramaine.

Sir Eardale said, "Gade and Aude Learner. On behalf of King Brill of Santerin." Dunn's tone was neutral. Brill's father had been the winner in the succession war that caused his exile. "They aren't official ambassadors, just men with a message."

One Learner took a seat. The other leaned on the back of a tall chair that had seen generations of service. "Our holdings are in Argony, near the Pail of Arnhand. We have cousins over there. They keep us posted. What's been happening since the Black Mountain Massacre is scary."

Learner had his audience's full attention. "Anne has widened her web, nursing the anger of those who lost men. The fact that they asked for it doesn't matter."

Brother Candle stepped in. "Why has King Brill sent you?" And felt dim immediately. Any problem Arnhand suffered benefited Santerin.

"We have our own troubles with Arnhand. The more troubles they have, the better. Especially now, when the Crown is ineffectual and the strongest voice in the kingdom belongs to a whore."

That was extreme. Anne was of high birth. She just had a huge appetite for pleasures of the flesh. And for power. She wanted her son Regard, by King Charlve, to succeed him despite the boy's illegitimacy.

"And Anne's problem lies at the heart of what you're here to tell us?"

Both outlanders started.

"When you're my age you'll read minds, too."

The talking Learner grinned. He had a decade on Brother Candle. "Yes. Anne has pulled most of the key folk of Salpeno into her camp by telling them she's building a war chest to raise armies to punish the Connec. She's making all manner of secret deals. Now she thinks she's invulnerable. She's raised enough."

He had his audience enrapt. Even the serving staff.

Nothing said here would stay secret longer than it took these people to get home to their families. Even the churchmen would gossip.

"Enough?" Sir Eardale demanded. "Get to it, man. Never mind the drama."

"Enough money to buy the Patriarch, sir. Not to raise the army that she's been promising."

That caused a stir, of course, but more of confusion than consternation.

"Please expand," Sir Eardale ordered. "Again, dispensing with the drama." A whip crack edged his voice, the soldier in the old knight blazing through.

"Yes, sir. Sublime has huge money troubles. Anne has problems getting her claws on Arnhand's throne. Should Charlve die." Anne had two sons by Charlve the Dim, Regard and Anselin. Only Regard interested her. "She's also raising money by selling royal treasures. Altogether it's enough to see that Sublime will discover Charlve's marriage to Queen Alisor not to be valid because he's actually been married to Anne for two decades. Making Regard and Anselin legitimate and placing them at the head of the succession. With enough money extra to put together a small army."

Terrible news, Brother Candle thought. Unless Anne's obsessions had led her to pick Arnhand's fiscal bones so clean that there was no way Arnhand could sustain more than a brief incursion into the Connec.

But now, perhaps, the Brothen Patriarchy could afford an invasion of its own.

Clever, clever Sublime, Brother Candle thought. Exploiting the Arnhander woman's avarice. Probably leaving her onvinced that she had gotten the better of the deal.

Only the Brothen Patriarchy stood to profit from a crusade against the Maysalean Heresy.

Brother Candle shook his head sadly. He had prophesied disaster for years. Circumstance had beaten him down every time. But now everything was falling into place for the Adversary. At last.

"Is it true? The rumor about the Queen of Arnhand?" Kedle Archimbault asked. No. Kedle Richeut, now.

Brother Candle was staying with the Archimbault family, essentially in hiding from those who haunted Metrelieux. He used all the resources of the Maysalean community to collect information about everyone close to the Duke. Those who did the scut work in Metrelieux were especially useful. People full of themselves generally failed to notice the worker bees.

"What rumor is that?" Brother Candle asked.

'That she's bribed the Brothen apostate… I'm sorry."

"No need. If you've heard that, news got out faster than usual." Brother Candle stated the facts as he knew them, feeling no need to keep any secrets.

"I hope you don't mind," Raulet Archimbault said. "I've invited the members of our circle in tonight."

"Not at all. An evening of talk and debate with your circle is what I need. They're intelligent people, open to the old ways. The ways of Aaron and Eis and the others." And they might turn up a few useful facts.

"Good. Though we'll be serious and practical for a while."

"Raulet?"

"We have worldly matters to discuss. We're having trouble refurbishing the works on the Reindau Spine."

"That would be?"

"The height overlooking Lake Trauen. Almost vertical, with a knife edge top. The stoneworks up there date from the bad times after the fall of the Old Empire. We're refurbishing them and laying in stores. Because someday the Adversary will make himself known in the End of Connec."

"I don't know the place but I understand what you're doing."

"Students everywhere have been getting ready since Black Mountain Massacre."

"When did Student come into use here?" Brother Candle asked. The usage was common in the dualist communities of the Grail Empire and the Lowland Duchies north of Arnhand, but not among the Connec's Maysaleans.

Raulet said, "I don't know. A year ago I wouldn't have understood that a believer who isn't yet Perfect could be considered a student. Now everybody knows."

"So. What's the trouble with your illegal fortification?"

"The cold. And ice. Everything is covered with ice up there. It's almost impossible to get there without falling and breaking something."

"Then don't go."

Raulet would have no congress with common sense. He shook his head, sorrowing at the Perfect Master's uninformed attitude.

"Ice?"

"The rain all turns to ice up there. When it does melt it drains down into places where it'll freeze and be more treacherous. Even the cisterns freeze over."

"They say the whole world is getting colder."

"Yeah. I don't remember it being nearly so cold when I was a kid."

"I don't know what to tell you. Except don't attract the Duke's attention. He has strong opinions about people who build their own forts."

Raulet sneered. "He may have strong opinions but it'd be ten years before he actually got around to actually doing anything. By then he'll be back for another go round the Wheel of Life."

The Learners' news swept across the End of Connec as swiftly as ever bad news does.

The Counts of Robuchon and Doy repudiated their oaths to the Dukes of Khaurene. They shifted their allegiances to Tramaine and Arnhand, respectively. Which allowed them to continue being enemies while aligning themselves with strong, decisive protectors. Jancar, Herve, Carbonel, andTerliaga formally took their allegiances southward, to Peter of Navaya, sheltering under the skirts of the day's strongest sovereign. A king not the least cowed by Sublime V.

Respect for Duke Tormond continued to wane. More local leaders hired more mercenaries, most of them Grolsachers. Which meant more refugees coming into the Connec in hopes of finding similar work. Neighbor fought neighbor. It became increasingly difficult to sustain the armed bands. Their to and fro destroyed resources. Travel grew ever more dangerous. Mercenaries who had not been paid indulged in fits of banditry. Then people who had lost everything fled to the wilds and became brigands themselves. In the very shadow and embrace of the Instrumentalities of the Night.

Those who could afford to recruited more mercenaries to guard what they had. While mercenaries who did not get paid not only robbed travelers, they turned on their employers and ate them alive.

The Chief Inquestor of the Patriarchal Office for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy began to filter operatives of the Society for the Protection of the Faith into the eastern Connec. Many were retired members of the Brotherhood of War, come over from their island of Staklirhod. They were hard men accustomed to employing harsh methods.

Brother Galon Breul and a team twelve strong, confident of the righteousness of their cause, established themselves in Antieux while Count Raymone Garete continued to dally at court in Khaurene.