against neighbor. Families who had been friendly for generations became estranged. In St. Jeules ande Neuis, Jhean the carpenter told him, 'People are too frightened of those black crows. They're almost supernaturally scary.'
Brother Candle got no chance to see that for himself. Whenever he came near crossing paths with the Society the rustic folk hustled him out of the way. Even local Brothen Episcopals had no use for Sublime's crows.
Count Raymone had matured indeed. He examined the situation before acting. He consulted his knights and leading men. Once he was certain where everything stood he sent for the Brothen Episcopal Archbishop of Antieux.
Antieux had been elevated to an archbishopric. One Persico Parthini had assumed the new mantle, replacing Bishop Mathe Richenau. A disease acquired whoring had driven Richenau into drooling madness.
Brother Candle returned in time to witness the first encounter between Count Raymone and the new regional lord of the Church. Parthini, technically, outranked Raymone. However, according to Raymone, he lacked the swords to make that stick.
The Archbishop arrived full of arrogant bluster. Count Raymone ignored him till the bluster faltered in the face of rising uneasiness. Bernardin Amberchelle's relentless, mad, hungry stare wore Parthini down.
Raymone stared through Parthini, hard. 'Who is this barking dog? Why is he here, annoying me?'
Though Parthini had been announced, Raymone's chief herald said, 'This is Persico Parthini, who styles himself Archbishop of Antieux.'
'He's the Usurper's hound?'
'Yes, Your Lordship.'
'You. False priest. You violate both canon and civil law by masquerading as a man of the cloth. But you have a guardian angel. A Maysalean Perfect has prevailed upon me to overlook your transgressions. For the moment. So I'll be merciful. You have until sundown, day after tomorrow, to remove yourself from Antieux. Your fellow brigands must accompany you. Those who don't leave the Connec will suffer those penalties faced by all thieves and robbers.'
The Archbishop was both livid and speechless. And frightened. There was no doubt Count Raymone meant every word. And had a ferocious presence.
On the up side, Antieux's criminals served their sentences in their home city, helping with reconstruction. They were not sold down to Sheavenalle for service in the galleys. Nor to overseas mines.
Few prisoners survived the mines.
Count Raymone waved a hand. Functionaries surrounded Parthini, hustled him away.
Brother Candle asked, 'Wasn't that a little harsh? Not to mention disrespectful?'
'You asked me not to kill him. I gave you what you wanted. Don't go all woman on me and keep asking for more and more.'
Brother Candle opened his mouth to argue. He shut it. He had vexed Raymone enough.
The Count smiled slyly as he turned to the next item on his calendar.
Brother Candle understood that smile the moment he left the citadel.
Cousin Bernardin and a dozen henchmen were putting up whipping posts in front of the ruined cathedral. They had two customers ready to serve. Both wore the austere black of the Society. Brother Candle sidled over.
'What did these men do?'
'They took possession of property that didn't belong to them. After the Count ordered them to leave Antieux.'
Definitely Society, then. Who would have had no chance to hear about Raymone's order to Archbishop Parthini. To whom they did not report directly, anyway.
Thus Raymone's wicked smile.
It took only a small investment of imagination to fathom Raymone's scheme. While Brother Candle roamed the countryside the Count had been gathering trustworthy men. Now he was ready to assert himself.
The prisoners received a dozen lashes and orders to quit Antieux instantly. Whatever they claimed to own was forfeit.
Raymone's partisans launched a sweep that collected both mundane villains and Society crows. Few got the chance to defend themselves. The more hated crows received hard labor sentences.
The latest chief of the Society mission had more confidence and courage than was good for him. But he was new, too.
Inwood Bente had replaced Helton Jael after the latter's sudden and mysterious disappearance or desertion. He refused to believe these provincials would dare defy the Brothen Church, or that most of them considered that Church a foreign criminal conspiracy. So when his followers began to suffer, he went looking for the Count, all filled with fury and bluster, having failed to understand the lessons of his predecessor's disappearance and the Archbishop's humiliation.
Brother Candle tried to warn him. Bente's associates would not let the Perfect near. They threw stones. They called him, 'Damned!' and, 'Heretic!' In front of witnesses who exaggerated considerably when Count Raymone took their testimony only minutes later.
Inwood Bente caught the Count at a particularly bad time. He had just received his first letter from Socia Rault. It had not said anything he wanted to hear.
Caron ande Lette had suffered severely during Seuir Brock's extended absence. An immediate turnaround and reunion was out of the question. There was too much work to do. The nuptials might have to be postponed.
Raymone knew who to blame.
Inwood Bente, who might have been an honest man, received thirty lashes for failing to control his underlings. With eight lashes to go he suffered a massive seizure.
'You're going to kill him,' Brother Candle protested.
Count Raymone would not listen. 'Brother, I want these vultures to shit themselves if Sublime even hints that he'll send them to the Connec. I want them absolutely convinced that even if their God is holding their hands, they're going to die. Badly. If they're lucky. If they're not, they'll suffer more cruelly here than they will in their Hell after Judgment Day.'
Brother Candle shook his head sadly.
'You disagree?' Raymone gestured. His men cut Bente down. After the man received his final eight lashes.
'They're just as sure of their righteousness as you are, Your Lordship. Individuals can be intimidated. The movement can't.'
'Then they'll be exterminated like any other vermin. We'll throw their carcasses to the hogs.'
It was a harsh world. Yet that appalled Brother Candle.
Still, only men like Raymone Garete, with their backbones of iron, created history.
Count Raymone was not concentrating on what was happening in front of him.
'Brother, I would beg a boon.' There was a conciliatory edge to the Count's voice.
'Your Lordship?'
'I want you to go to Caron ande Lette.'
Duke Tormond wanted Brother Candle's breath kept hot on the back of Count Raymone's neck. To be his conscience. A pointless, hopeless enterprise.
The old pilgrim had sworn no oath to execute the Duke's wish.
'You've got it bad, don't you?'
'I've never met a woman like Socia.'
'I fail to see what good I can do by being there. But the Seekers in that part of the Connec need encouragement.' He had decided that the Connecten Perfect must combat national despair. If hope could not' be nurtured-kept alive in hidden places if need be-darkness would swamp the world.
'You'll go?'
'I'll go. But not really to press your suit. I can't play the lute or carry a tune, let alone put together a seductive song.'
The Count grinned. The sudden light in his face made him look like a different man. 'If that was how Socia had to be wooed I'd have no hope. My main musical talent is, I'm loud.'
'I noticed.'
