suffering the fury of winter.
News of the old man’s coming outpaced his party’s progress. Deliberately so.
He and his companions entered Khaurene through the Castreresone Gate. The soldiers on guard were militia. They asked few questions. They were nervous about a situation developing behind them, up the hill.
Moments later a riot engulfed the Perfect and his party.
It seemed Khaurenese devoted to Duke Tormond, to Connecten independence, to the departed Viscesment Patriarchy, or who just plain loathed the Brothen Church had joined forces to hunt down fellow citizens suspected of being in cahoots with King Regard, the Society, or Serenity. An old sport finding new life, near as any sense could be wrung out of the confusion.
At the height of that confusion Brother Candle became separated from his escort.
25. Alten Weinberg: Bleak Spring
Helspeth appeared grimmer than ever. The Commander of the Righteous asked, “What is it?” He had been summoned to confer in the morning rather than awaiting the usual time in the evening.
“My sister.”
Helspeth was so pale Hecht leapt to a conclusion. “What happened?” There had been a lot of activity at Winterhall lately. Imperial Electors had visited. Members of the Council Advisory had visited. Only Ferris Renfrow had not been seen. And the Commander of the Righteous had not been consulted.
Hecht had put his men on alert quietly. His falcons were charged, manned, and sighted in. Key points were under observation. There would be no deadly surprise.
Helspeth replied, “Nothing’s happened. But this week everyone who’s anyone…”
“Yes?”
“They all agree. It’s time. Something’s got to be done.”
Hecht began to get it.
She stated it. “The Empire is paralyzed. I can’t make commitment decisions even though things happening in Arnhand might affect us.”
King Regard, under fierce pressure from his mother, intended a massive new invasion of the Connec. The Maysalean Heresy would be the excuse. Annexation of the Connec and the taking of titles in reward to the Arnhander nobility would be the real goal.
The Captain-General of Patriarchal forces would invade at the same time, supported by levies from the Patriarchal States. And the jackals of the Society would follow along.
All predictable without spies or the random report from Heris, via pendant.
Hecht was tired of that. He would prefer an occasional visit. But something ate up all her time.
“Are you going to take over?”
“No!” Horrified by the suggestion. “Katrin is Empress till God calls her home. Sainted Eis! Not even the Grand Admiral suggested anything like that. Don’t ever say that again.”
“It was an inquiry, Princess, not a policy suggestion.” He did not check the audience to which Helspeth played. “I had to make sure that I needn’t call my men out to protect my employer’s rights.”
“Nobody is thinking that way, Commander. Nobody!”
“All right. I’m listening.”
“Nobody! Even Brothe’s steadfast enemies are more interested in keeping the peace than pushing their own agendas. Probably because of you. But everyone agrees that things aren’t moving forward.”
He admitted, “I’m nose against a wall myself.”
“So. Katrin has to be pushed.”
Hecht raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“We’ll make her have her baby.” Stated in a tremulous voice. “Or not.” Because only the Empress herself believed in the Imperial pregnancy anymore.
“I see.”
“We’ve collected the most skilled midwives…”
“Don’t give me details. Give me instructions.”
“There aren’t any. Except to stand by to keep order.”
Hecht nodded, not pleased.
Each day Hecht’s force became more of an Imperial bodyguard, in every mind but his own. Most people seemed comfortable with the notion. It promised an alternative to chaos.
Hecht was with his staff when word came two afternoons later. The Empress had been delivered of a male child. The news stunned Hecht, his staff, and, he was sure, all Alten Weinberg.
“How did they manage?” Titus demanded, cynicism kicking in. “Did they ring in an orphan?”
Clej Sedlakova said, “No way. Even the suspicion would poison the succession. There would’ve been a platoon of unimpeachable witnesses.”
A vigorous discussion began, driven by worry about future employment. It lasted only minutes. A second message arrived.
Katrin’s son had been born dead. She had carried a dead baby all this time. It had developed only to about the sixth month.
“Is that possible?” Hecht asked. “Can a woman carry a dead fetus for half a year?” He had no idea how all that worked.
Nor did any of his staff, though Buhle Smolens opined, “She could if there was sorcery involved.”
Sorcery, or the suspicion thereof, soon animated rumor. Some wicked power had stilled the future Emperor in the womb. He would have been greater than his grandfather had he lived. Further wickedness had been worked by spelling the Empress so the death would go undiscovered for months. The finger-pointing began.
The potential villain had a hundred identities. Hecht was on the list, but well down it. At its head, despite Brothe’s romance with the Empress, was the Patriarch. The logic indicting Serenity was convoluted.
If it was not the Patriarch, then surely it must be the Collegium.
Hecht wondered if Katrin had, indeed, been touched by the Night. He seemed alone in his curiosity, though.
The Princess Apparent managed a meeting with just one witness present. The woman was not formally presented but Hecht knew she was the notorious Lady Delta va Kelgerberg. Such a profligate was unlikely to broadcast the indiscretions of her friend.
That birthed an excitement so intense it distracted him almost completely.
Helspeth was painfully aware, too, but fought through. “How is your health? Is your wound still a problem?”
“I’m better. Some. I can’t go riding. I can’t indulge in work that requires physical effort.”
Helspeth glared. The va Kelgerberg woman flashed a knowing smirk. “Why do you ask?” An out for the Princess.
“I want an honor guard. Yourself leading. For the funeral.”
“Funeral?”
“For Katrin’s baby.”
“There’s a baby?” He blurted it, surprised.
“Of course. Haven’t you been paying attention?”
“I thought…”
Helspeth leaned in to whisper, “There is an infant. Katrin has been holding it and crying for two days. We’ll take it away soon. Even in this weather it will putrefy. It will lie in state tonight. Tomorrow we’ll inter it with my father and brother. The lighting will be bad. Katrin won’t look so awful with the shadows around her. I hope she’ll have her hysteria controlled. Come dawn we’ll close the casket. You and your men will guard it and Katrin during the night, then take the casket down to the crypt. Katrin’s favorite churchmen will handle the rites and prayers.
