by Glen Cook
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 Connectian 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 me 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 trade. 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. Familiar 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 Instrumentali
ties 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 Principatй 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 Principat 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 Principatй'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."
Else asked Ghort, "Who is this handsome stranger, Pinkus?"
Doneto showed a flash of irritation, then a moment of amusement.
Else said, "But I do know who you are. Anybody who got out of the Connec will know that. And that includes all those Brotherhood types who ran away to Brothe. And everyone who knows about our stay in Plemenza. Hansel can trip us up anytime he wants. Remember, I'm supposed to be an imperial spy, now."
Doneto scowled. "I suppose you're right. So here's what I'm thinking now. Because of the disaster that hit the Bruglioni they're desperate for competent help. If Inigo Arniena tells Paludan Bruglioni that he can give him a couple of his best men…"
Else nodded and smiled but also rolled his eyes. "This is getting hard to follow. I'll be writing reports and sending them to me keeping track of what I've been doing and offering suggestions on how I can influence me to behave in ways that I'll find more useful toward accomplishing my goals where spying on
me is concerned."
Doneto smiled thinly. "There's a country folksong about a man who was his own uncle and brother-in-law. Hecht, I want to seize this opportunity before people have time to think. Come with me. There's somebody I need you to meet."
Else went, reluctantly. "You're the boss." He had hoped to ease into the Brothen scene gradually, quietly. But if he could get inside one of the Five Families …
Bronte Doneto led him to a shadowed corner. There they found an old man in a wheeled chair, alertly watching the Principatй's guests. Doneto said, "Piper Hecht, this is Salny Sayag. And his son, Rogoz. They represent the Arniena family. You might have run into Rogoz before. He worked in your line for a while, in the north."
Else considered the younger man who stood behind the wheeled chair. "I don't think so. Not that I recall, anyway." He offered his hand. "Have you seen me before, Rogoz?”
"No."
Rogoz was definite. And a man of few words. His grip was firm and confident. His coloring and appearance were not local. He was darker and uglier than was common in Firaldia. Else asked, "You aren't Brothen either, are you?"
"My father came over from Obrizok."
"I don't know Obrizok."
"It's a town in Creveldia. Creveldia is famous for its horses. He was an exile. This isn't the time for personal histories. Collect your possessions."
Else sighed. He was glad he was used to living on his own.
The Plemenzan captivity had been his longest settled passage in the past ten years.
"Where're you headed?" Pinkus Ghort wanted to know.
"New job. The Principatй wants me on it right now." He shrugged. "I'll see you on the streets."
"Don't smack me too hard."
“Take care of Bo and Joe. Keep Bo out of the brothels. He'll catch his death."
Else feared he would miss Pinkus Ghort as much as he did Bone and the others from the Andelesqueluzan adventure. Which now seemed like a story he had heard a long time ago instead of something he had lived himself.
The Sayags exited Bronte Doneto's establi
shment through a tradesmen's postern. Rogoz Sayag pushed his father's chair. A blanket covered the elder Sayag's lower body. It might have concealed tools or weapons. Two armed men joined them outside the gate. Rogoz Sayag explained, "Brothe is a dangerous city. There are a lot of hungry people on the streets."
Else carried everything he wanted to take along. He was accustomed to carrying his whole life and fortune on his back. Like he was some nomadic desert tortoise.
Else talked and pretended not to examine his companions or the surrounding city. It took the efforts of both Sayags and their escorts to generate enough return chin noise to qualify as a conversation.
At one point, Else protested, "I need to know something about this city. I've never been here before,"
"I understand," Rogoz replied. "But you aren't going to be part of our house. You don't need to know anything about us."
Else understood. Rogoz did not want him picking up anything he might pass along when he moved on to the Bruglioni citadel. "On the other hand, if I don't know anything about the Arniena, after supposedly having been with them for several months, the Bruglioni will wonder why."
Salny Sayag agreed. “Talk to him, Rogoz. All of you, talk to him. Don't hold back. Fill in the details. Let him take something with him when he goes. You. Doneto man. The one thing you aren't going to tell anyone is that the Arniena have an understanding with Principatй Doneto."
"Of course not."
Else spent nine days with the Arniena family, learning what they were willing to be let known, and about the Mother City. They gave him work to do. It was not overwhelming. He had several opportunities to go out and get the feel of the city.
The essence of Brothe was elusive. It seemed to be more than one city. In one sense it was almost parochial, with the intense focus of the native-born on family politics, petty feuding, and Colors. On the other hand, Brothe was cosmopolitan in the extreme. It swarmed with foreigners. Else heard dozens of unfamiliar languages. People from all across the world came to immerse themselves in the recollections of what once was the heart of the civilized world.
