recuperated.
The weather improved dramatically immediately.
Michael Carhart convinced local Devedian physicians to treat the sick. They conquered the ferocious dysentery.
News of Sublime's troubles with pirates reached Viscesment. Reports were confused and contradictory but their theme was clean the Church, the Benedocto family, and Sublime in particular, were under sustained attack.
Brother Candle joined a deputation put together by Bishop LeCroes. The senior Chaldarean cleric in Khaurene, LeCroes was also related to Tormond. He told the Duke, 'I saw Immaculate this morning, Your Lordship. He says Sublime's Calzarin troubles are worse than we're hearing. They might be enough to bring him down.'
Brother Candle sensed wishful thinking at work. Though the wishful thinking could be true. It became more clear daily that Sublime, while powerful and driven by a huge dream, was highly unpopular.
Bishop LeCroes went on. 'The consensus at the Patriarchal Court — seconded by the Imperial envoy, Graf fon Wistricz — is that Sublime is best left to roast in his own juices. He can't bother us if he's up to his hips in Calzirans.'
Brother Candle wondered about Hansel Blackboots's role in all this. Had he provoked the Calzirans?
All the mission's opponents argued for discontinuing the embassy. Sublime had been neutralized. Just let it ride, they said. Let's see how it shakes out before we get in any deeper.
Arguments calculated to appeal to the Great Vacillator. And this situation begged for a hands-off attitude, from a Connecten point of view.
The Duke would not change course.
'He's mad,' Michael Carhart insisted. 'His mind has gone to rot.'
Brother Candle wondered if that might not be true, literally. 'You think somebody cast a glamour on his mind?'
LeCroes said, 'I've been wondering. Why is he decisive and determined?'
Never mentioned, but recalled by the older men, was the fact that Tormond's father had gone mad when younger than Tormond was now. The Old Duke had lapsed into occasional bouts of sanity, unpredictably, till the day he died. Most of the time his advisers had not been sure which state prevailed.
'Something I noticed on the road,' Michael Carhart said. 'Besides the fact that it's cold and wet in the countryside. The things of the night are extremely interested in our little band.'
Little band? With all the hangers-on and help, the 'little band' numbered nearly three hundred. A small army. Or plague of locusts.
Brother Candle had not noticed the night things. But he was insensitive to such. The Instrumentalities of the Night had to indulge in spectacularly blatant behavior before he noticed. Most people were like him. Especially city people. They just did not see what was happening around them.
Michael Carhart, though, lived at the nether end of the scale, in the range reached by some sorcerers. He was aware of every little worm of darkness stirring around him.
Bishop LeCroes asked, 'Is that because of our mission? Or just because you're too sensitive?' Chaldareans never ceased to be ambivalent about the Wells of Ihrian and the Instrumentalities of the Night.
Did God create the Wells of Ihrian?
Did the Wells give birth to God?
That philosophical stumbling block — some would say congenital defect — strained both the Praman and Chaldarean faiths to their foundations, in the minds of those who studied the underpinnings of their religion.
No faith seemed capable of withstanding rigorous, rational examination. But they did work down on the everyday level where ordinary men lived. What men believed to be true was true, locally.
Belief sculpted the Instrumentalities of the Night. While the Instrumentalities of the Night molded belief. While Firaldia and the Episcopal heartland became ever more tame, remote countries slipped ever more into the sway of the Night.
Michael Carhart said, 'No. Not the mission. But Worldly things affect the Night. The Instrumentalities want to know what's going on.'
'Meaning?' Brother Candle asked.
'They sense the patterns beginning to shape the future.'
That sounded like occultist doubletalk. Brother Candle said, 'That stuff takes care of itself. And shouldn't be any concern to us.'
Bishop LeCroes said, 'it better concern you. If Michael Carhart senses a special interest from the Night, the Collegium will, too. And it's your cult that Sublime finds so offensive.'
'Every day I find myself compelled to remind me that Man isn't a rational animal. I defer to your wisdom, Bishop.'
LeCroes replied, 'If there was any wisdom in this crowd we'd all be home cozily closeted with a warm brandy. We wouldn't be traipsing around behind the Mad Duke of the Connec, hoping to keep him from doing any more damage to our cause. We'd still be in Khaurene. We know that nothing Tormond does in Brothe will matter. He's being stubborn because he doesn't like being pushed.'
The pause at Viscesment stretched out. A few days became a few weeks. No one mentioned the passage of time to the Duke. Tormond seemed content to sit. Unfortunately, Immaculate was not eager to have him keep sitting. He was an expensive guest. Immaculate and his court lived one meal short of destitution, supported more by Johannes Blackboots, for political reasons, than by those whose philosophies he supposedly represented.
The Duke finally got the hint. He assembled his traveling companions and told them they were about to resume traveling. The weather was favorable and everyone's health had been restored. And he remained determined to sit down with Sublime.
News of the massacre at Starplire arrived. “This changes nothing!' Tormond insisted. 'Nothing! In fact, it provides a wonderful opportunity!'
Brother Candle, standing with Michael Carhart and Tember Sihrt, murmured, 'I can't wait to find out what twist his genius takes now.'
Tormond said, 'Sublime is lord of a third of Firaldia, a quarter of Ormienden and numerous islands in the Mother Sea. But he has no real armed forces. When he wanted to tame us he hired mercenaries and begged for troops from Arnhand. The few soldiers he does have he has to post where the Emperor might try to assert his rights. His own Guard won't do anything but protect him. They're not numerous enough.'
Brother Candle whispered, 'The man isn't unaware of me world after all.' Even seeing it askew, Tormond was considering the geopolitical situation.
Bishop LeCroes asked, 'I don't think I got your point, Your Lordship.'
'I haven't made it yet, Bries. Contain your insubordination and sarcasm a moment and I will.'
Well. Tormond might not be a semianimate lump after all. He might be a clever actor. Though there was little evidence to support that.
'The point, Bries, is that Sublime is in a bad spot. Calzirans have chosen to make a national popular effort to plunder the Episcopal Church, the Patriarchal Estates, and anything to do with Sublime or his family. And Sublime can't do anything about it. So there he lies, like a naked fat woman on her back, hoping he won't get raped too badly.'
It was as though Tormond had, for one incredible instant, come out from under the influence of a drug causing permanent torpor. 'We may be looking at an opportunity to avert the fate he wants to visit on the Connec.'
Tormond was no longer one of the walking dead. His mind had come to life. He was thinking, calculating, scheming like a true overlord.
Brother Candle suffered the horrified suspicion that everything might work out just because Tormond had stubbornly pursued the wrong course.
'I'm going to offer Sublime the Connec's support in his war with Calzir — if he abandons his designs on us.'
That stirred some excitement. Could Sublime be trusted to keep his word? What about the Grail Emperor? What about Immaculate? How could the scheme be managed?
