Surrender to the will of the night

36. The Connec: Journey

Brother Candle had no trouble getting away from Khaurene in the confusion after the fall of King Regard. He did not go alone. More than thirty Maysaleans joined him, bringing carts, wagons, livestock, and wealth, as though begging for the attention of bandits.

They could help him, yes. He was sure he could not survive the journey alone. But, on the other hand, they could get him killed.

They wanted to leave Khaurene in a clement season, before Anne of Menand extracted her vengeance. Which they knew would come, as surely as nightfall.

What they would not hear was advice. What they would not hear was the Perfect’s warnings about the dangers of travel.

He told them to head south and cross the Verses Mountains into Navaya Medien, where the Church and Society had little reach and Arnhand had none. Where heretics were welcome so long as they brought useful skills and a willingness to work. Navaya Medien was a land depleted of people, first by a long-ago plague, then by two centuries of vicious, no-quarter warfare between Chaldarean kings and Praman kaifs.

Peace had returned. Peter of Navaya had pushed the war zone away to the south. The Chaldarean triumph at Los Naves de los Fantas guaranteed that the Pramans could not become seriously obnoxious for a generation.

But these emigrants were all intimates from the Khaurenese Maysalean community: the Archimbaults and their neighbors. Most were folk with whom Brother Candle had shared exile in the Altai. Ferocious Kedle Richeut, n?e Archimbault, was now a leader, possibly the most respected. But these days she wore a new name: Alazais Record, after a female Perfect murdered by the Society.

She used the false name because it was no secret that a young Maysalean mother named Kedle Richeut had loosed the shaft that made an end of Regard of Menand.

The band followed the southern road to Castreresone. That passed through friendlier country. At Kedle’s insistence each member of the group old enough to heft a weapon had brought arms out of Khaurene. Those had been easy to acquire in the confusion. Brother Candle added a codicil to every prayer imploring the Good God to shelter his people.

Nevertheless, trouble came near Homodel, which still showed evidence of the fighting during the Captain-General’s scourging of the Connec. Castreresone was not half a day’s journey away. But bandits were out and bold.

The travelers found the road blocked by four armed men. The leader wore knight’s armor but showed neither pennon nor device. He was the only mounted man. He held his helmet in his lap. His contempt for Maysaleans was manifest.

Brother Candle did not follow what the man said when first he spoke. His accent was thick. The gist, though, was that they should clear away from his wagons and livestock.

In a strong, calm voice, while handing her baby to her cousin Guillemette, Kedle said, “Clear the road. You get no further warning.”

At which the mounted man laughed.

His companions were less confident.

He bent to tell them something…

Kedle swung a ready crossbow out of a donkey cart and put a bolt into the knight’s right eye. She traded the crossbow for a spear and rushed the men on foot.

Every witness knew the girl was going to kill all three and there was nothing they could do. The bandits themselves knew.

The youngest, clearly unwell and only about fourteen, bolted.

Kedle hit the others like Death’s angel, wasting not an instant of their stunned inaction. She wounded the heavier by stabbing him in the inner thigh. He staggered back, making a whimpering noise. The other was twice Kedle’s size. His weapon was a rusty long sword. He wielded that with both hands, in wild strokes. Kedle backed away, circled, got the fallen knight’s horse on her shield arm side.

Strange things happen on battlefields. On this one the knight’s horse did not move after its rider got hit. The knight himself fell off and lay on his face in the road, his left foot still tangled in a stirrup.

The girl pricked the horse. It surged forward, dragging its erstwhile rider, shouldering the bandit with the sword. His guard was open for an instant. She slipped the head of her spear up under his chin and shoved. Then she went after the wounded man, who was making a limping effort to escape. He was losing blood. She ignored his pleas. She stuck him till he stopped moving. She seemed possessed.

She returned in a rage. “What is the matter with you people? Not one of you lifted a finger to protect yourselves. What if there had been more of them out there in the woods?”

Raulet Archimbault said, “Poppet, that’s why…”

“That isn’t why. You froze. Every last one of you. Like rabbits who hope the fox won’t notice. What happened to all those loudmouthed wolves who were howling before we left Khaurene? And you. Old man. Master. You’re the experienced traveler. Why did you just stand there with your thumb in your mouth?”

“I’m used to talking my way through confrontations.”

“You’re used to being too damned poor to rob and to not having women along. There wasn’t going to be any talking your way around those four.” She dropped to her knees beside the fallen knight, tried to recover her bolt. It would not come loose. She kicked the corpse viciously. Then she took his foot out of his stirrup so the horse would not have to drag a dead man everywhere. “Go on, horse.” She faced the party. “There would’ve been rapes and murders. You know it.”

She was right.

Kedle returned to her cart. She took the crossbow out and spanned it again, the while glaring around. “You people better not get my children killed.” Then, “Othon! Let the dead be. They don’t have anything we want.”

“But…”

“Othon.”

The man, twice Kedle’s age and twice her size, left the dead knight. Kedle said, “Let somebody else plunder them and get caught with the evidence.” She returned the ready crossbow to the cart, took her youngest back from Guillemette, said, “Let’s go. And nobody says a word about this when we get to Castreresone. Or ever.”

The rattle, clank, and squeak started up.

No one spoke for a long time.

The earth had shifted under all their feet.

“Not a word, Master,” Kedle said when he fell in beside her. “I won’t hear your nonsense.”

“As you wish.”

The silence got to her eventually. “I was moved by a grand example, Master. Duke Tormond IV.”

“But Tormond would not have…”

“Exactly. He would have procrastinated. He would have temporized. He would have talked. He would have done everything to avoid making a decision that might upset somebody. Or, worse, would compel him to act. As a consequence, we would find ourselves with a homeland where half the people were persecuted, foreign armies would roam around as they pleased, and it would be lethally dangerous to use the roads.”

The old man could not answer that.

There was a counterargument. Pacifists always had one. But he had become embedded too deeply in the everyday world to bring a good one to mind.

He did mutter, “But three men are dead,” understanding that it was an absurd remark as he made it.

“Leaving the rest of us, the people we care about, alive and unharmed. Eh?”

How did you argue with true believers in mathematics and human nature?

There were problems at Castreresone. The consuls had decided not to let any more refugees into the city, whether or not they had relatives inside. But those relatives could come out and talk. They could provide food and drink, blankets and clothing and such.

Castreresone had not yet fully recovered from its romance with the old Captain-General. The suburb called Inconje, where the big bridge crossed the Laur, had been abandoned by its original inhabitants. Now it housed a thousand refugees. Brother Candle saw many familiar faces. All were tired of travel and its constant fear. Many had lost everything to bandits.

Brother Candle’s group did not want to face those risks anymore, despite his assurances that they would be welcomed by Count Raymone Garete. Pettish, the Perfect told Raulet Archimbault, “I’m probably wrong about that welcome, anyway. He’s looking for people with some spine. People willing to help turn the tide of evil drowning the Connec.” He stopped. Kedle sneered at him from the shadows beyond the communal fire. Little Raulet snuggled under her left arm. The baby nursed at her right breast.

The old man left the fire, rolled himself into his blanket. He was well and truly lost. He was further from Perfection than most raw students. They were blessed with an eagerness to learn, to achieve salvation. Too much exposure to life had made him over into a cynical old man. He would have to go round the Wheel of Life several times to get back to where he had been, arriving at St. Jeules for the synod of the Perfects, not that long ago.

Come morning Brother Candle rose determined to go on alone. He had obligations to Queen Isabeth and Count Raymone. He was slow to get started, though. He dithered round the communal fire, snuggled Kedle’s baby and played with the toddler, found an excuse to exchange words with everyone before he finally hoisted his pack. By then it was nearly noon and it looked like he would spend his afternoon walking in the rain.

As he stepped off the east end of the Laur Bridge he spotted another familiar face. Or faces. The bandit Gaitor and his brothers, Gartner and Geis. Who were not thrilled to be recognized. They tried to slink away, hoping he would not follow. The Perfect shouted, “I’ll yell out everything.”

“Clever, that, Master.”

“What?” Heart hammering, he turned. Kedle was there with her donkey cart, children aboard. She had a spear in hand. “What are you doing?”

“Going with you. Stop arguing. Your friends are about to ditch you.”

“They aren’t friends. They’re men like the ones outside Homodel.”

“Then you’ll definitely need me to watch your back.” She yanked her donkey’s lead.

Brother Candle sighed. He would deal with this after talking to the bandit boys. “All right.”

He met Gaitor and his brothers on the riverbank thirty yards down from the remains of the tower that had protected the eastern approach to the bridge. They stared at Kedle. Her presence disinclined them to be rude or crude. Geis asked, “Who’s your friend?”

“Alazais Record. You don’t want to make her unhappy.”

“What do you want, Master?” Gaitor asked. Of the three he most obviously did not want to be seen talking with a Maysalean.

“I just wondered how you were doing. I wondered if you followed my advice and took your case to Count Raymone. You do look more prosperous these days.” He told Kedle, “Alazais, these people helped me during my last journey to Antieux.”

“They look like bandits.”

That struck a nerve with Gartner. “Not no more! We work for Count Raymone, finding real bandits and spies. And Society creeps.”

Gaitor and Geis gaped. Gartner seldom talked. Gaitor exploded, “Gart, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I don’t want him thinking we’re the kind of guys we used to be before we run into him, that’s all.”

Kedle’s infant began to fuss. A hunger fuss, Brother Candle realized. That baby was the unfussiest he had ever seen. Nor was Raulet ever inclined to be trouble. He was standing up now, looking over the side of the cart, taking everything in. It was easy to forget that Raulet was there.

Four men stood in numb silence while Kedle gave the baby the breast. With a spear still ready in her right hand.

Gaitor muttered, “You must be right, Master. Some kind of shield maiden. But not so maiden anymore.”

“You’ve gone honest, then.”

“Ninety percent. Definitely not doing anything to make the Count or his woman angry.”

Brother Candle said, “I need to get to Antieux. I have messages for the Count. I was traveling with a group of refugees from Khaurene. They’ve decided to stay here.”

“Her, too?”

Kedle had leaned her spear against her cart in order to deal with dirty nappies. The reformed bandits were no less intimidated.

“She says she’s coming. I hope she changes her mind.”

Meantime, Gartner took a couple careful steps toward Kedle. “You need some help with them bitties, missus?”

Startled, Kedle looked to Brother Candle for his opinion. He shrugged. “Up to you. He was good with his own children.”

“Miss them, too,” Gartner said, taking a couple more steps, careful not to alarm Kedle.

“He does,” Gaitor said. “We didn’t think we’d be out here so long.”

“You managed to settle your families?” Such as that desperate mob had been.

“There’s room for them as accepts the Count. That’s another thing we do. Spread rumors that Count Raymone will take on anybody that’s willing to give him as much loyalty as he gives. Lookit there.”

Gartner had taken a leather bucket from Kedle’s cart. He headed down the muddy riverbank. Then he and Kedle used the water to clean Raulet and the infant. Kedle accepted the help but never let Gartner get in snatching distance of her spear.

Gaitor asked, “How old is she? She don’t look near old enough to be so hard.”

Brother Candle tried to add it up. “Eighteen, nineteen.”

“No husband?”

“Not anymore. Took a crossbow bolt through the brain during the siege of Khaurene.” Soames was gone. No need to speak ill of him now.

Geis wanted to hear all about that.

Brother Candle offered a few sad details.

Gaitor said, “So when you hailed us you was really hoping you could con us into looking out for you on the road to Antieux.”

“I did have thoughts along those lines. Yes.”

“I don’t want to do it. We was just starting to fit in here. But after so many people seen us talking to you, with you being known for working for Count Raymone, I guess we ought to go away for a while. Let suspicions die down.”

“Your generosity…”

“Master, we owe you. Much as I wish we never ran into you. We couldn’t have got through last winter. It won’t take long, anyway. The roads are safe between here and Antieux. Them bandits who wouldn’t learn have been hunted out.”

Something came up between Gartner and Kedle. Sharp words. But the woman did not grab her spear.

Brother Candle warned, “Take care with Alazais. She’s volatile.”

“I noticed. Master, if we’re gonna travel together I need time to get ready. Can you wait till tomorrow?”

“If I must, I must.”

“At the end of the bridge at sunrise, then.”

Brother Candle inclined his head in acknowledgment. He went to speak soothing words to Kedle’s donkey. The poor, put-upon beast.

There were a few changes of heart. Kedle’s parents and her cousins Guillemette and Escamerole, plus Scarre the baker and his wife. Seven companions, obviously prosperous, of whom three were nubile women. Two probably virgins. How could Gaitor and Geis resist? The Perfect needed to forge an alliance with slow but essentially honorable Gartner.

Or, maybe not. Kedle equipped her cousins with several edged weapons apiece.

The bandits turned spies were waiting as promised. They were mounted. Not on the best of steeds, but mounted nonetheless. Gaitor asked, “How come there’s a bunch more?”

Brother Candle said, “They changed their minds.”

“They don’t look like much. All heretics, right?”

“True. But I’m the only one who isn’t a fighter.”

“Lot of women and old folks.”

“You can just say the hell with us.”

“I could. But then I wouldn’t have no excuse to go see my family, would I? What’s that?”

Some sort of disturbance had broken out across the Laur. It involved a lot of shouting and a few cheers. It did not sound like a riot.

Brother Candle said, “We’re ready to go but we might find out what that’s about. In case it affects us.”

Gaitor scowled. “You do something? Got the garrison after you?” There were people coming down from the White City. A Navayan garrison still quartered there.

“Not us. Unless the Society took over since we got up this morning.”

“Then it must be news. Big news.” He gestured at his brother Geis, indicating that he should investigate.

The rest started walking.

“How dangerous is this likely to get?” Raulet Archimbault asked. He was terrified on behalf of his grandchildren.

Gaitor said, “Shouldn’t be no trouble till we get close to Antieux. Count Raymone hunts down brigands who won’t join him. He’s quite stern. He’s more interested in stamping out banditry than in scrapping with the Captain-General. But Patriarchal patrols might be a problem near to Antieux.”

Archimbault said, “This new Captain-General doesn’t seem as vigorous as the old one.”

“There’s some of that,” Gaitor conceded. “Mostly he’s ineffective because of the Patriarch, though. Serenity has buried him in incompetents and people pushing their own agendas. He can’t get anything done on account of, no matter what he tries, somebody gets pissed off and wants him to do something else.”

“Good for us, then.”

“Exactly. The hard truth is, Pinkus Ghort would be worse than Piper Hecht if everybody backed off and let him.”

Geis did not catch up for two hours. Gaitor kept a good pace. When he did arrive Geis went to whisper with his brothers.

Kedle took station beside the cart where her weapons were stashed.

Gaitor announced, “Folks, there’s been a big shift in the world order. The Grail Empress has gone to war against the Patriarch. She blames him for the death of her husband, Jaime of Castauriga. She’s in Firaldia already, with the former Captain-General. I wouldn’t want to be in the Patriarch’s shoes right now.”

Brother Candle received that news with less joy than did the others. He knew such things became exaggerated. Likely the news would go through several serious transmutations before curdling into its historical form, which was sure to be its least dramatic shape.

Even in a tepid form, though, this was good news for the Connec. The Patriarchal forces harassing Count Raymone would have to be recalled. Faced with the wrath of the Grail Empire Serenity would have neither a man nor a ducat to spare for anything but self-defense.

The travelers reached country where Patriarchal troops had expressed their displeasure with Count Raymone.

Word was, the Captain-General’s initial instructions had been for Ghort to remain in place and waste the countryside. Then he had been directed to launch an all-out attack on Antieux. He refused. That would waste his soldiers’ lives. Given no other option, though, he had attacked, achieving the predicted results. His force had been decimated. It never came close to succeeding.

Then Serenity ordered the Captain-General back to Brothe, fast, collecting the full feudal levy of every Patriarchal State along the way. He was to accept no excuses and make no exceptions.

“Desperation,” Brother Candle said.

Gaitor agreed. “Sounds like Serenity’s fortunes went into the shitter, fast.”

Brother Candle saw what Count Raymone would surely see. An opportunity granted by God Himself. A respite while Serenity fought for his life. A chance to throw light into the nooks and crannies where Society vermin hid and bred.

Briefly, Brother Candle wondered what kind of noble Raymone would have made had he lived in a peaceful age.

News from farther east became the subject of so much speculation that time just flew. There were no adventures other than a brush with a band of Society brothers fleeing retribution. They lacked the courage of their convictions that morning.

Brother Candle saved their lives. He talked Gaitor into letting them go. “Ye reap what ye sow.”

Kedle responded, “What we’ll reap is rats bred up a hundredfold. Remember those faces, old man. See if they aren’t in the mob that ties you to the stake someday.”

“Blood drinker, that one,” Geis whispered.

Brother Candle nodded. And could not shake the truth underlying what Kedle said. Someone would pay for his kindness.

A patrol from Antieux found them ten miles west of the city. The soldiers had heard of Brother Candle. They formed an escort and sent a rider ahead to report the coming of an important messenger.

Count Raymone was away harassing stragglers from the Patriarchal force, Society fugitives, and brigands. His prey often fit multiple categories. Socia, though, was in the city, busy being pregnant. She came out to meet Brother Candle. She was as effusive and excited as if he were her own father. Her pregnancy had begun to show. She was sensitive about that. She had dressed to make it less obvious.

She asked, “You’re carrying communications from the Queen?”

“I am,” Brother Candle replied.

“We’ve been hearing a lot from her. I expect your message won’t be anything new. But she says you speak for her. She thinks we’ll trust you to do what’s best for the End of Connec.”

“Oh, no. Socia… Countess… no! I was born on the third day after Creation. I’m old. I need to rest. It’s a miracle the Good God hasn’t called me during this journey.”

“He left you in place because He knows you have work to do.”

Kedle chuckled.

Brother Candle said, “These people saw me through. They’re good people, mostly. Though that girl with the baby needs some rough corners knocked off.”

Socia grinned at Kedle. Kedle grinned back. Socia’s chief lifeguard whispered to her. She said, “I know who she is. We spent a winter in the Altai together. Kedle. Two babies now. So either Soames turned up or you found out that he didn’t have the only one.”

Storm clouds crossed Kedle’s face. But she nodded. “He turned up. Got me another baby, then got himself killed. By the very King of Arnhand. Six kinds of poetic and ironic justice there.”

“Ha! They’re calling you the Kingslayer. You know that? So I like you even better. But I’m jealous. I wish it’d been me. Well, maybe someday. The Arnhanders won’t stop coming till we’re shut of Anne of Menand.”

Brother Candle eyed Socia narrowly. Was there a sinister inflexion there?

He said only, “Some of these people are almost as old as I am, Countess. And we’re all exhausted. And it’s going to rain. Again.” Wet weather had been common the past ten days. It was not coming up off the Mother Sea, which was the norm, but was sweeping down from the northwest, often accompanied by thunder and occasionally by hail and savage winds. More signs that the world was changing.

Socia gave orders. “You. You. You. Stay with me.” She indicated Gaitor, Kedle, and Brother Candle. “We need to talk. Martin, Jocelyn, take the rest to the quarters I had prepared.”

Brother Candle said, “Kedle has children to…”

“Bring them along.” Socia eyed the band. “Every one a heretic.” Most she would remember from the Altai. “I know you from our time in the mountains. You, though. I don’t remember you.”

“Escamerole, and it please Your Grace. I didn’t go into the Altai. My parents wouldn’t leave Khaurene.”

“Relative? Cousin? Yes? I see. Come. Help Kedle manage the children.” She considered little Raulet. “He’s come on fine, considering the rough start.”

Brother Candle thought Escamerole might melt. She was Kedle’s mirror image. He told her, “Be brave. The Countess only eats Arnhanders and churchmen.” A remark that did not leave Socia best pleased.

Socia took it out on her lifeguards. They jumped to.

It was obvious they worshipped their Countess.

In hours it was clear that Socia had, in Brother Candle’s absence, become the object of a cult of personality amongst Antieux’s young soldiers. It was equally clear that Antieux itself now existed for one purpose: war. Continuous war against the enemies of Count Raymone and the Connec had become the city industry. Man, woman, and child, Antieux subscribed to an apocalyptic vision. It would be obliterated by evil but the fight it fought would render it immortal. For a thousand years wherever righteous men and women strove against the darkness Antieux’s memory would be invoked.

Near as Brother Candle ever determined, no one preached that doctrine. It came into being as a shared civic nightmare.

He muttered, “The Night created humanity and humanity creates the Night.” He feared he was present at the birth of a self-fulfilling prophecy. As the populace imagined it, so it should be.

Socia’s destination was the same comfortable room where he had conferred with her during previous visits. Food and drink were brought. Kedle and Escamerole focused on the littles while Brother Candle and Socia caught up. Then Socia surprised the old man. “Being pregnant has given me a new perspective. A deeper appreciation of what you tried to teach me, all those years. I still don’t agree but now I understand what you were saying.”

“Glory in the highest.”

“I smell rampant sarcasm.”

“Possibly. I may have lost my faith. I may have lost any ability I ever had to enjoy a faith.”

“You’re just feeling sorry for yourself because the real world won’t leave you alone. Every time you start to crawl back into the comfort of your faith somebody like me smacks you with a cold, dead, rotten fish of reality.”

“What?”

“I’ve been rehearsing that for months. It didn’t work when I said it out loud.”

“It worked, child. I think, no matter our root faith-and you’re welcome to name any one you want-this is one of those times when despair is the only sane philosophy.”

“Bah. Crap. My family were Seekers After Light. My brothers-may the Good God bless and illuminate them-never lost faith. But they never laid down their arms, either. I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, Master. Maybe I should’ve been born a thousand years ago, when defeat was inevitable and your greatness was measured by how fierce a fight you put up before the inevitable got you.”

“Surrender to the Will of the Night.”

“Master?”

“What you’re saying is an iteration of the attitude of most people before Aaron of Chaldar. It doesn’t matter what the individual thinks, feels, or does. The gods do as they please. So yield and be less damaged.”

She disagreed. “Defiance, Master. Not acquiescence. Struggle till the end, then fight on.”

Kedle said, “I’m sure this is all fun for you two. But there’d better be a reason for dragging the rest of us around.”

Brother Candle considered Kedle and Escamerole, each with a child in her lap. “It’s a good point, Socia.”

“Yeah. Yes. All right, old man. Tell me about your journey. Tell me what the Queen wants. And what you think about that. You girls feel free to interrupt because, much as I love him, the Master wears a big pair of blinders.”

Brother Candle spent an hour telling his story. Kedle interrupted twice. Escamerole never said a word. She kept Raulet entertained till exhaustion overcame him.

Socia said, “I don’t know when Raymone will be back. Maybe when all the invaders are dead. More likely, in time to see his first son born. Meantime, he trusts me to handle things. So be frank, Master. Why did Isabeth send you? What does she want?”

Brother Candle presented his documents. He said what he had been told to say. Socia did not respond. Finished talking, in danger of an exhausted collapse, he begged to be released. The Countess said, “Thank you, Master. You’ll be in your usual cell. Go.” She began to talk to Kedle about mundanities like nursing and labor.

Count Raymone returned three weeks after Brother Candle’s arrival, not in a happy state. The Captain-General had departed the Connec in good order. The Society had slipped away with him. There were no more enemies to torment and butcher, except as necessary to maintain civil order.

Raymone Garete was not quite sure what to do with himself in a world where he lacked enemies.