by Glen Cook
Father Rinpoché clung to his position.
Duke Tormond stood. He clasped his hands but let his arms hang. “I’m a good Episcopal, Father. I attend church every day. I never miss confession. I sent a letter to the Holy Father asking what more can possibly be expected. He hasn’t replied.”
“Meantime, we’re here and, yet again, we’re being subjected to unfounded and trumped-up charges by men whose interest in God’s work is secondary to their hopes of plundering the Connec. Hear me, Rinpoché. In this hall, with you, is almost every man of substance in Khaurene. I challenge you to go among them and find one unbeliever.”
Not the wisest challenge, in Brother Candle’s view. He was there. And not alone in his inability to recognize the infallibility of Sublime V.
The Arnhander priest did not take the challenge. He refused to speak to it, or even to acknowledge it.
Rinpoché could only return to Salpeno and report that the Connec remained recalcitrant, intransigent, and that those agents of the Adversary, the Maysaleans, had gained hidden mastery. The sole practical answer appeared to be the one the Patriarch was pushing privately, a crusade to extinguish the Maysalean Heresy.
The powerful in Salpeno had no trouble accepting Father Rinpoché’s arguments. Most hungered for revenge, for plunder, and had little interest in any truth that got in their way. They had, as well, a feeble king unable to execute his royal duties while remaining equally incompetent at dying. Although his death would avail nothing. There was no crown prince.
That looked sweet to a spectrum of ambitious dukes, barons, and relations legitimate and otherwise.
It held an equally powerful appeal to the lords and knights of Santerin’s continental possessions, along their frontiers with Arnhand.
There were skirmishes and incursions almost every day, from down south where Tramaine bumped against the Connec all the way to the northernmost villages on the seacoast east of easternmost Argony. Local knights and garrisons did little to make life difficult for the aggressors. Members of the same families lived on both sides of the shifting border. Feudal obligations in the marches changed with every marriage, birth, death, and with the altering fortunes of war.
And a change of rulers made little difference in the lives of local people. Some peasants did not speak the language of either set of masters.
Every Amhander family of substance had relatives overseas, in the crusader states. They sent their young men east to temper them in the ruthless struggle for control of the Holy Lands.
The young men took servants and foot soldiers and treasure with them. Usually only the young men themselves returned — no longer young. With so many strains upon it, it was insanity for Arnhand to listen to Sublime’s mad call for help punishing the Chaldareans of the Connec for their recalcitrance and the Connecten Seekers After Light for disrespecting God Himself.
Anne of Menand, mistress of Arnhand’s king, had two children by her lover. The eldest was a son, Regard. Regard was just fourteen but of sound mind and body and had a regal air. In normal times no one would consider him a candidate to replace his father. Legitimacy was a huge issue for the Amhander nobility. But these were abnormal times. Dedicated schemers could get the past restructured to render Regard legitimate.
Anne had presented her favors to a select few outside the royal bedchamber as well, creating a circle of accomplices. The boy’s father was amenable to her strident efforts to have Regard designated Crown Prince. But powerful factions were arrayed behind rival candidates.
Anne of Menand was a schemer and manipulator and slut. She bedded men not only to manipulate them but because she was possessed by a huge enthusiasm for night sports. Yet she was a devout Chaldarean with a sincere belief in Patriarchal infallibility. If Sublime asked for troops to punish the apostate Connec, then Arnhand should produce those troops.
It was a measure of Anne’s standing that she managed to engineer a crusade of eighty knights and their entourages. The little army never reached the Connec, though. It turned back before the levees completed their obligations. Not once did it engage — or even sight — a heretic. But it did lose three dozen souls to disease and accident.
***
BROTHER CANDLE TRAVELED THE CONNEC, BRINGING HEART to Seekers After Light who sensed a gathering storm. He visited the nobles of each town. They had to understand that they were obliged to protect everyone from foreign enemies. He reminded them that the jongleurs and poets called the Connec the Peaceful Kingdom. Connectens took pride in the ability to live in harmony.
It was a time of moral posturing. It was a time of absurd justifications, before the fact, of anticipated bad behaviors.
Sublime V issued frequent thunderous bulls denouncing all things Maysalean and most things traditionally Connecten. He seemed driven to alienate his flock.
The people of the Connec began to rally behind Immaculate II, who found sufficient fire to spew a few bulls of his own.
Pro-Brothen priests, who had been unpopular before now, faced active hostility. The sleepy Connec had begun to awaken. And was getting up cranky. Brother Candle feared Sublime’s shortsighted greed would waken the whirlwind. He did not enjoy the increasingly bellicose nationalism churning through the Connec. It grew fat on the fear of bigger and fiercer armies coming to torment the Connec.
Wherever Brother Candle carried his message he saw city walls being heightened and strengthened. He saw castles being readied for siege. He saw local militias receiving instruction in the use of arms from men who were respected because they were veterans of the wars to liberate the Holy Lands. And everywhere he went he found that Tormond’s men had preceded him, asking people not to prepare for war. Brothe and Arnhand might find that provocative.
That reasoning left even pacifist Brother Candle bewildered.
No one outside Khaurene paid Duke Tormond any mind. The population plunged into preparations as if expecting Arnhander cannibals in tens of thousands as soon as the first leaves budded.
***
SPRING EASED INTO EARLY SUMMER. INVADERS PERSISTED IN their failure to appear. Duke Tormond floated the notion of an embassy to Brothe that would work out something with Sublime. Brother Candle was not present for the ferocious debate that followed. He was celebrating his own religion with the Maysalean community of Castreresone. But he heard about the raging arguments. Even Sublime’s Connection allies favored not sending anyone to Brothe. Mathe Richeneau, the recently appointed, newly arrived, Arnhand-born Bishop of Antieux, also suggested going slow. Sublime was certain to consider any approach an acknowledgment of his primacy.
Tormond’s advisers won that day but never made him understand that he could not just sit down and talk things out with Sublime. Being infallible, the Patriarch knew there was nothing to negotiate.
Tormond did hate committing to anything completely. And there was no arguing the fact that his style of rule, which he shared with his more recent ancestors, had worked for more than a century.
There was no invading army in the spring. There was no invading army during the summer. Preparations for war became less urgent, more relaxed, and, at the farthest removes from the northern frontier they ceased altogether.
Come summer Duke Tormond surrendered to his need to act. He sent an embassy to Salpeno to try to make peace with Arnhand. It failed. Then, as autumn gathered, Tormond surrendered to unreason again. He returned to his notion of opening a dialogue with Sublime.
This time no one could change his mind.
***
BROTHER CANDLE RETURNED TO KHAURENE JUST DAYS BEFORE the news came out. He was staying with a good Maysalean family, the Archimbaults, who were in the tanning Raulet Archimbault feared the Duke’s decision would hurl the Connec over the edge of a precipice.
Seekers After Light customarily gathered in discussion groups in the evening, before the final meal of the day, That was taken late in the Connec, long after nightfall. A large group convened at the Archimbaults’ because everyone wanted to hear the Perfect. Fami
liar with the way Devedian and Dainshaukin minorities were abused by Brothen Episcopals, they were concerned about their own future. Sublime, clearly, intended to go beyond ranting about heretics and unbelievers.
Brother Candle said, “We’ve talked about this before, Raulet, so I understand you. But elucidate for the benefit of your guests, who may not be familiar with your thinking.”
Raulet Archimbault was uncomfortable as the focus of a group. Haltingly, he explained, “Just by sending an embassy to Brothe Tormond weakens the standing of the Connec.” He stopped. Brother Candle encouraged him. “Go on. Tell us why!”
“Well, it says Tormond admits the Brothen Patriarch has a say in our affairs. That sets a bad precedent all by itself. Also, it diminishes the Patriarch at Viscesment. And he’s the legal Patriarch. Right?”
Brother Candle said, “Diminishing that man isn’t hard to do. How many of you — by show of hands — know who the anti-Patriarch is? See. Immaculate the Second, Brothers and Sisters. Those of you who do know most likely do because somebody tried to kill him last spring.”
“Pathetic,” Raulet said. “Yes,” Brother Candle agreed. “And he’s supposed to be our Patriarch. The Patriarch who represents all Chaldareans. Arianist, Antast, Episcopal, Eastern Rite, Shaker, or Maysalean.” Most Maysaleans did consider themselves good Chaldareans, in the Antast mode. “He’s the Patriarch who’s supposed to stop the Five Families of Brothe from treating the Church as their own private pot at the end of the rainbow.”
“The thing I don’t understand,” Madame Archimbault said, “is why the Duke would do this despite his advisers. That doesn’t make sense.” Among Seekers After Light, women stood equal to men, with a full right to speak and question. “They must have explained everything to him.”
Brother Candle nodded. “Absolutely. Over and over. I was there once when Tormond heard it all, point by point. He said he understood. But, as all of you who have raised children know, you can’t make someone hear what he doesn’t want to hear.”
Scarre the Baker, asked, “Could he have been stricken mad?” A little voice piped, “It must be the Night.” Raulet offered, “Or Sublime’s god touched him. Maybe the Brothen Episcopal god agrees with Sublime about us.” Raulet was trying to make a joke but everybody took him seriously.
Brother Candle said, “I ought to get together with Bishop LeCroes and see what he thinks.”
“Unbelievable,” someone muttered. Madame Archimbault inquired, “Will the men around Tormond interfere? Brother, you’ve said Brothe has no friends in Tormond’s court.”
“Not many, no. But Tormond’s men are loyal and honorable. They’ll do what they’re told once they know they can’t change his mind.”
Someone said, “What will Count Raymone do?”
“A critical question,” Brother Candle replied. “And one only Raymone Garete can answer. He doesn’t hide his disgust.” Madame Archimbault observed, “Raymone is young. The young praise action for its own sake.” The Maysalean Heresy appealed mainly to those who had left youth’s distractions behind.
Brother Candle accepted wine from his host’s daughter, Kedle, who was thrilled to be auditing the meeting. She was thirteen, a woman by some standards, but would never speak up while a Perfect was present Seekers After Light were convinced they were true Chaldareans. They claimed their teachings harkened back to those of Aaron, Eis, Lalitha, and the other Founders, before those became twisted and perverted by the successors of Josephus Alegiant and his clique. The god of the Arianists, and of the Episcopals who came after them, was actually the Great Adversary reproached by the Founders.
The Great Adversary had wrought a thousand deceptions while hiding amongst the Instrumentalities of the Night. It was impossible to untangle the skein of lies. Because there was always another lie in line.
Brother Candle relaxed and observed as the discussion drifted to reincarnation, which had leaked into the Maysalean Creed despite being an oriental concept.
The group wanted to examine the moral implications of reincarnation. Some thought rebirth gave you an out if you behaved badly. You could do your next incarnation as a makeup.
Brother Candle had not yet worked out where he stood regarding reincarnation. He found the idea comforting. Reincarnation meant a second chance to get life right. It was the Great Wheel of Life.
Someone wanted his attention. “Yes?”
Madame Scarre asked if he believed Seekers After Light were obliged to fight back if attacked. “Absolutely. It’s one more way to resist evil. If we don’t fight evil we become accessories to evil.”
Nothing but hurried breathing sounded in the Archimbault household. A great Maysalean mind was about to share a thought.
Brother Candle disappointed everyone. “That’s it. That’s the truth. The lines are never clear. There is no absolute right. There is absolute wrong but it’s hard to identify. It manages to adopt a great many disguises.”
Scarre the Baker asked, “What do you mean, Brother?”
He began to preach. “We are slaves to reason. Reason exterminates every argument our enemies throw up. Righteousness slides through their fingers like water. All they have left in hand is emotion. Our weakness is, we don’t recognize it when dreams and emotion guide us. So we’re as much victims of the Instrumentalities of the Night as those we disdain for being less thoughtful.”
Brother Candle was afraid he had failed to express himself in a way the others could understand. Not even he was equipped to comprehend the full nature of mankind’s relationship with the Instrumentalities of the Night.
Despite a moral code being part of every religion, with innumerable admonitions to do good put into the mouths of the gods, Brother Candle had yet to see any direct evidence that the Instrumentalities of the Night, at any level, demonstrated any innate moral polarity. Like earth, wind, water, and fire, they just were. And, like life itself, they wanted. Good and evil were concepts imposed by men, through their perceptions and beliefs, or directly by force of sorcery. Brother Candle found it difficult to be a spiritual adviser and guide in a world where there were few absolutes to serve as navigational beacons when he charted his own course.
He said, “If we Seekers After Light disappear from the grand pageant of history it won’t be because logic and persuasion overwhelmed us. It will be because a superior weight of arms and terror were deployed.”
Brother Candle dreaded any future that had roots sunk into the ordure of Duke Tormond’s incredible decision to try dealing with Sublime V. The Brothen Patriarch was not a man like him, simple and moved by goodwill toward all.
Perhaps Honario Benedocto was a cosmic prank being played by the Instrumentalities of the Night. Some old religions declared their gods capable of far worse, just for the amusement to be gained by kicking the anthill.
21. Brothe, in the Gathering of the War
Brothe was in a ferment. Neither a Patriarchal nor a Collegium delegation came out to greet Principaté Doneto. Sublime’s limited forces were desperately trying to keep order, busy as a three-legged cat in a room full of mice.
The Five Families hurled accusations and pointed fingers. Their young men found excuses to duel. Every duelist who came in second added fuel to the emotional holocaust The law forbid family forces larger than a personal guard. In the past they had shown themselves unable to refrain from throwing swords at every little problem. Now they sought ways to get around the law.
The Brotherhood of War was mad at everybody.
Word of the troubles, with mystic swiftness, reached the Calziran pirates. A small fleet tried to come up the Teragi River but was driven back by the Collegium.
Then there was the Brothen mob, which had behaved itself for far too long. Riots and looting broke out most every day. Luckily, the civil disorders remained small and localized.
The Devedian and Dainshaukin minorities, working together, resisted the madness. Though they did incense the Episcopal mob by kicking the snot out of would-be looters.
; Their situation never grew as bad as had that of the Deves of Sonsa.
The worst was over by the time Bronte Doneto’s band reached the city. Today’s Brothens couldn’t live up to the standards of bad behavior shown by their forbears.
The party’s passage through the streets was uncomfortable, though the day itself was clear, cool, and crisp and recent heavy rains had swept away most of the offal usually lending piquancy to the city air. Doneto moved as fast as he could. He wanted to be off the streets before his return became common knowledge.
Everyone who really cared had, of course, been aware of his approach for days.
***
THE Principaté GAVE HIS PEOPLE JUST TIME ENOUGH TO EAT, clean up, change clothing, and take a few minutes to relax. Then he summoned them to the central hall of his home. That structure was a minor fortress constructed of dirty old limestone less than a bow shot from the larger Benedocto citadel. The Benedocto home was a true castle.
The Five Families all had their true fortresses within the city — despite being denied the forces to defend them. The Benedocto castle was the biggest family stronghold.
Else arrived to discover that Doneto had wasted no time on his own comfort. He wore what he had worn on the road. He was as dirty as he had been when he entered the city. He carried a wooden bowl containing olives, pickled garlic, and onions, plus bite-size chunks of sausage and cheese. He ate as he moved around.
Else presumed that the people he did not recognize — everyone but Doneto and Pinkus Ghort — were Doneto’s own people who had stayed behind when their master had gone off to salvage the Connec.
The Principaté’s staff had done a superb job of keeping the household ready for its master’s return.
“Or somebody warned them that he was on his way home,” Ghort said. “Like maybe the guy who paid his ransom. Meantime, it looks like we’ve lost a friend and gained a boss.”
“Must you always be cynical?”
That process — the one where Doneto returned to old form — had begun before their exit from Plemenza. “Look out,” Ghort cautioned. Doneto was headed their way. He said, “Affairs here are tailor-made for us, Hecht. There’s so much confusion that nobody really knows what’s going on or who is who. Originally, I planned to set you up inside the Arniena family, so we could keep them steering close to the Patriarch’s course after they revealed themselves by voting with us in the Collegium. But with Rodrigo Cologni dead there’ll be one less vote against Sublime to negate so we won’t have to leverage the Arniena into backing him. They can go on pretending to be against us. So we can employ you even more daringly. You are, by the way, in Arniena service now, have been for months, and don’t even know me.”
