“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.
