Scarre bobbed his head, getting the message.
Socia did not like being discussed. But the world outside Caron ande Lette had hammered her long enough to teach her to manage emotion. For minutes at a time.
'Long as she earns her keep.'
'She will. She's a good woman. She just needs to be shown what to do.'
Madam Scarre was not convinced.
Scarre was not the best host. He worked his guests hard. Which explained why no refugees stayed with him. Most Maysalean households had a refugee family squeezed in. Brother Candle and Socia were exhausted when they joined the Archimbaults for their late meal.
Socia had complained just once. Brother Candle offered, 'I'll take you up to the castle.'
'No.'
'No bread kneading. No Madam Scarre barking at you for being young and attractive.'
'That woman is mad. Has she actually looked at him? All sweaty and covered with hair, like a bear? And fat? But I won't go up there. They'd use me to manipulate Raymone.'
She had a point.
Which sparked a fresh worry.
The Society was strong in Khaurene. Those fanatics would have no reservations about using the girl as a weapon. And Raymone had shown weak that way already.
Brother Candle said little during supper, except to answer Kedle's questions about his adventures. Afterward, the leaders of the Seeker community began to arrive. Brother Candle found himself a place out of the light. He wanted to catch up. There had been changes. Despair and pessimism ruled.
Spiritual issues never arose. That was the most dramatic change.
Talk was iron-hard practical. Should the Seeker community emigrate now, before Patriarchal forces made escape impossible? Heading into winter, fleeing to fastnesses in the Altai that might not be adequately provisioned? Should they stay and hope that Patriarchal politics and Duke Tormond's stiffened backbone would make it possible to get through the winter here?
Brother Candle heard nothing to inspire faith in the Duke's steadfast determination to defy the invaders. Nor anything positive about the probable results. And little confidence in the friendship of Peter of Navaya.
'Peter needs the Brothen Church behind him to pursue his ambitions in Direcia,' someone insisted when someone else suggested that Peter might send an army to enforce his rights in Castreresone.
Another someone said, 'Peter can't turn his back on the princes of al-Halambra. And he has troops committed in Artecipea.'
'Nothing will happen anywhere while there's no Patriarch in Brothe.'
'The Captain-General isn't sitting on his hands.'
'Duke Tormond will make all these worries moot.'
'Excuse me,' Brother Candle said. Silence fell. 'These discussions remain speculative only until after the battle.'
A puzzled Raulet Archimbault asked, 'What battle, Master?'
'Sir Eardale Dunn is trying to engineer a decisive confrontation. Which, I think, the Patriarchals would rather avoid. They've done well with a pinprick strategy. But there
A spirited discussion followed, a dozen people talking at once, all arguing with one another but all agreeing with Brother Candle. Though a few still heard the siren call of the Altai.
Brother Candle said, 'I have carried the message through the Altai on occasion. I spent a winter there once. Not up in one of those drafty old ridgeline strongholds but down in a valley where the people know how to handle the weather. And it was still curdled misery.'
More discussion. All the men had spent time in the Altai last summer, readying strongholds for the day when the failure of the weak Connecten state left Seekers at the mercy of a merciless, rapacious Brothen Episcopal Church. They were not ignorant of the harshness of the mountains. It was that harshness they had embraced when they chose the Altai as their final refuge.
'So that was democracy in action,' Socia said as she and Brother Candle walked back to Scarre the Baker's.
'It was, yes.'
'I see why it's an uncommon way of making decisions.'
'Some would say that the fact that nothing gets done is the strength of the process. People get too busy arguing to go make trouble.'
The girl expressed her opinion with a contemptuous snort.
Day after day the men of Khaurene marched out of the city. Eventually, the streets seemed naked. Those who stayed behind remained in their homes, praying, suffering from escalating tension.
Brother Candle felt more tension than ever he had before. Duke Tormond had decided to do something. At last. And no one cared if it was the right thing. An entire country exulted because it was
He did not go out where he could hear rumors and misinformation from the field. He could imagine it. Inept bands of poorly trained men, under inexperienced captains, would rush around trying to catch enemy scouts and foragers and would get beat up in the process. Skirmishes between larger units would carpet the fields east of Khaurene with fallen heroes. The truth would not be seen because the little disasters would be scattered. At some point, the Khaurenese mob would force the Captain-General to choose between withdrawal and showing Khaurene the truth about warfare.
Brother Candle was not without hope. Isabeth's knights could provide experienced leadership. The Connectens would enjoy a big advantage in heavy cavalry. Plus, Tormond had reenlisted thousands of mercenaries and had found knights willing to serve for pay. Numbers would not favor the Patriarchals.
Socia was distracted. She could not do the work Scarre demanded. Fortunately, there was less call for Scarre's product. But he anticipated a spike in demand when the hungry soldiers returned.
Brother Candle worked dough and roamed his memories, revisiting a thousand regrets. When the time came he knew there had been a battle before anyone brought the news. And he knew that it had not gone well. 'Socia. Time to go. Get your things.'
The streets were no longer empty. Everyone seemed to be pressing to the northeast, desperate to learn the fates of those they held dear. Wailing and panic were endemic. If the disaster was a tenth of what rumor claimed, Khaurene would never recover.
Those coming in now were men who ran before the fighting started. They had to tell stories that made their cowardice appear less foul. Rumor fed off that.
Though Brother Candle had spoken to no one but Socia he found himself at the head of a column of Seekers including all the regulars from the Archimbault meetings. The Archimbaults brought Kedle. They were not open to arguments about leaving her behind. In just days they had become convinced that Khaurene was doomed and the Society, backed by the Patriarchal army, would purge the city of heretics, Unbelievers, and adherents of the Viscesment Patriarchy.
Brother Candle told himself he was worried about the pregnant woman's welfare, not the chance that she would slow the party's flight. Told himself and wondered.
Fear stalked him. Gnawing, rationality-devouring fear. Partly because of his fall from Perfection. But just as much because of the presence of things of the Night.
They were always there, now. Always just round the corner, or just out of sight over the shoulder. For some, that was no problem. Those of a deeply superstitious nature lived in that reality always. But for those who wanted to live in a rational, orderly universe the waxing influence of the Night was an aggressive spiritual slime mold gnawing the mortar from between the foundation stones of existence.
Kedle's husband did not join the exodus. Soames was one if those excited thousands who had marched out
