status but that of devils or demons.
Truths like that did not please the kind of soul that found completion only in a Society for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy. A soul determined to coerce God Himself to conform.
Brother Candle said, “I’ve played the part your brother created for me. Which was to make sure he got his say and you people listened.”
Isabeth was skeptical.
She was a tired, graying woman who had spent her adult years enmeshed in the politics of her brother and husband. She had seen little of the stylish court life enjoyed by most women of standing. From the moment the Connec went into continuous crisis she had scant opportunity to enjoy the company of her husband or son. Who would be walking and talking and making life an adventure for his nurses, now. And whose name, Brother Candle realized, he did not know.
Embarrassed, he asked.
Isabeth rattled off a string of names. Direcians liked to get their favorite ancestors and saints involved. “But just Peter, or Little Peter, for everyday.” Wistfully.
Brother Candle got away soon afterward. Bicot Hodier accompanied him to the citadel gate. “I can’t walk you all the way, Brother. Tormond will need close watching now. He sometimes suffers after using Fornier’s infusion.”
“I understand. I know the way. I’m not senile yet. I just walk slower.”
The Perfect did not walk alone. He soon realized that he had a tail, a brace of rogues who did not appear to be moved by benign intent. But they suffered a change of heart soon enough. A half-dozen Direcian troopers came jogging down from Metrelieux and by coincidence seemed headed whatever direction the Perfect was.
“I don’t know what that was all about,” Brother Candle told the Archimbaults when they got home from the tannery.
Archimbault hazarded, “Must have been Society thugs. The capture of the notorious heretic Brother Candle would be quite a coup.”
The Perfect did not argue. Archimbault might be right. There was no fathoming the reasoning of some people. “Possibly. I need to get back on the road. Before I become a distraction.”
He could become one in a huge way.
After reaching the Archimbault home and making sure he was safe from stalkers and prying eyes, he retrieved the packet Duke Tormond had slipped him.
The contents could rock the Connec.
Within it were the ducal seal, the ducal ring of office, and a relic of Domino that had been in the Duke’s family since Imperial times. Each was an item only the true Duke of Khaurene could possess. They were the talismans of the office. Also included were documents inscribed in a tiny hand, copies of the legal instruments that confirmed Duke Tormond’s family as lords of the End of Connec. The originals went all the way back to Imperial times. Each copy was signed with incontestable sworn attests that it was an exact and true copy in every respect. Multiple signatories had witnessed every page of every document. The names ranged across the spectrum of Khaurene’s religious leadership.
The key document, the prize that could shake the world, was one in which Tormond IV legally adopted Count Raymone Garete of Antieux and made the Count his heir in all respects.
That would upset everyone. People had been jostling for position for years. Peter of Navaya led the pack. Isabeth had been Tormond’s only heir for a decade.
Adoption had not been much employed since Imperial times, when the more thoughtful emperors used it to assure the Empire of a competent successor. But adoption remained a viable legal maneuver. So long as it could be established beyond challenge.
Brother Candle considered the list of witnesses. Every man was highly respected, excepting Bishop LeCroes. And LeCroes had been rehabilitated.
There were too many of them. Honest men all, yes, moved by loyalty and the best of intentions, surely. Yet someone would say something to someone. That was human nature. The news would leak, if it had not done so already. Someone with ambition and a streak of villainy would start trying to undo Tormond’s scheme.
Thus, Brother Candle saying he had to get on the road. He needed a good head start before anyone began to suspect that a lapsed, superannuated Maysalean Perfect had smuggled the emblems of state out of Metrelieux for Tormond IV.
Brother Candle considered taking Archimbault into his confidence. Archimbault was as good a soul as they came. And the man thought better of Tormond than did most of his subjects. Archimbault could be valuable in the effort to execute Tormond’s plan. But Archimbault had a life, a wife, a family, a career, and an important role in the community. He did not deserve such cruel peril.
Archimbault and his wife both tried to talk the Perfect out of going. The Maysalean community did not want to share him. They did not like Brother Purify, who was the only other Perfect available.
Identical arguments were offered later, once the evening meeting started. The Seekers enjoyed themselves. Debate became spirited. And, to a soul, they insisted that their gatherings were never so enjoyable when the Perfect was not there to teach. Meaning, by implication, to referee.
Brother Candle put more into the evening than usual. The Seekers had to be warned that dark times would return. “The trial that’s coming will be harsher than ever the Captain-General was. The Captain-General was a gentler, more honorable man than the commanders we’ll see now. And that time of tribulation, terrible as it was, lasted only a few seasons. The next trial might last for generations. Till the last Seeker has been burned.” The Society had shown a fondness for burning heretics.
Tormond had not mentioned prolonged persecutions. His focus had been on the near future. But the crushing darkness of the deep future had been implicit in his every word.
Brother Candle finished the evening by saying, “Please awaken me early. I want to be on the road to the Altai with all the day ahead.”
He felt badly about the misdirection. Which, no doubt, would be of little efficacy, anyway. Anyone chasing him for what he might be carrying would know that he had to take it to Count Raymone. In which case, he ought to head into the Altai after all, then travel eastward through the wilderness.
Brother Candle reached the northernmost of Khaurene’s several gates only to find it shut. A lot of military activity was under way. There had been a bloody fight in the assembly area just inside the gate.
The soldiers and militia were not looking for an old man smuggling the emblems of state. Brother Candle approached a Direcian who did not appear to be overwhelmed, asked what had happened and when the gate would open.
“King Regard’s men are outside, Father. They tried to capture the gate during the night. They had inside help. They failed. The survivors are licking their wounds but they haven’t gone away. If you want out you’ll have to use another gate. They won’t be watching them all. They’re too busy here.”
Brother Candle thanked the soldier and backed away. The man had not said so but it looked like the troops were getting ready to sortie.
He was amused by having been called “Father.” Though for a Direcian that could be a term of respect for the aged, not necessarily a title for a cleric.
Brother Candle headed for the eastern quarters. One of the gates there should let him get to one of the roads to Castreresone.
16. Other Worlds
There was no night in the Realm of the Gods. The Ninth Unknown assumed that there must have been, once. The Aelen Kofer must have taken the diurnal and seasonal cycles with them, leaving only a changeless silvery gray sameness.
