'Well?'
'All right. I know. Even though we share some sacraments with the Church, including marriage, Maysaleans aren't supposed to be interested in pleasures of the flesh.'
'True.'
'So where do you get new Seekers After Light? Suppose you convert everybody? Wouldn't you run out of people pretty soon?'
'No need to worry on that score, child. Sin is eternal. There'll always be sinners. Which assures us an endless supply of students.'
'Can it work out? Without war, I mean.'
'War is like sin, child. It's always with us.'
'It could be a lot more harsh.'
'It could. But Sublime's demands are tolerable. Especially since he doesn't have the Emperor behind him, ready to stab him in the back.'
'Can't you give a straight answer?'
Brother Candle thought he had. 'Negotiations are going on. Everyone but the Society wants to avoid a holocaust. But nobody is ready to ante up the full price of peace.'
Connectens were proud, stubborn, unruly, and particularly averse to outside meddling. Devout Brothen Episcopals rode with Count Raymone, despite the Writs of Excommunication and Anathema issued against him. Despite the publication of letters proclaiming plenary indulgences, erasing the accumulated sins of anyone who joined the battle against heresy, accompanied by a decretal formalizing the Holy Father's permission for those who fought on God's behalf to confiscate the properties of heretics, Sublime had yet to issue the final order declaring a Maysalean Crusade.
Forces inside the Brothen Church still strove to forestall the insanity.
So rumor said.
Socia Rault was cynical. 'Those rumors are just wishful thinking.' She was sure that any priest who became a bishop was as corrupt as Morcant Farfog of Strang or Bishop Serifs of Antieux-and all of Serifs's successors. 'It's just a matter of time till everything starts to unravel.'
Brother Candle thought the unraveling was well under way.
'The price of peace… It's simpler than you old farts make out.'
'Really?' Amused.
'The problem is, you old-timers just want to talk. But the real solution is, kill all the Brothen Episcopal bishops.' There were eighteen to twenty-four of those assigned to the End of Connec. The number fell into a range because the bounds of the Connec were largely a matter of viewpoint. 'Along with anyone who has anything to do with the Society.'
The Society had begun to adopt the conversion tactics of the Perfects of the Seekers After Light. Monks roamed the countryside, trying to convince common folk that the Brothen Church had a monopoly on spiritual Truth. In cities the missionaries debated leaders of the local Maysalean communities.
Those leaders usually accepted the challenge. Not smart, in Brother Candle's eye. Thoughtful, articulate Seekers normally bested the missionaries, who quoted dogma rather than presenting reasoned arguments. They almost always claimed to have won, though.
'That might be effective. Temporarily.'
He was being sarcastic. She did not get that. Another divide between generations. The young were literal, linear, and ferociously direct.
Duke Tormond, in Salpeno, sent messengers flying in every direction. He would do anything to keep the peace, now. A serious army was poised to force what he had put off so long. He sent ambassadors to Brothe to plead with the Patriarch. He begged his nobility to restrain themselves, to disband their private armies, to restore properties they had taken from the Brothen Church. He told them to make peace with the Brothen bishops and to stop interfering with the Patriarchal Society for the Suppression of Heresy and Sacrilege. Count Raymone he directed to withdraw from the field. He should prepare Antieux to be purged of heretics and unbelievers.
Socia Rault said, 'As far back as I can remember people complained because Duke Tormond wouldn't take a stand. Wouldn't make a decision. Wouldn't act. Looks like they got what they wished for.'
Tormond won no sympathy in the Connec or Brothe. Count Raymone never bothered to acknowledge his letters. His answer was to ambush a company of Arnhander knights and slaughter them more savagely than he had the enemy at the Black Mountain Massacre.
Tormond's cousin Charlve could do nothing for him. Though he did evade Sublime's demand that Arnhand immediately hurl its full might into the wicked province. Charlve might be dim but did understand that throwing the full resources of his kingdom at his cousin would leave him naked in the rain if King Brill or the Grail Empress decided to take advantage. And Santerin was probing already.
Charlve temporized. Adopting the habit of his kinsman. He did not deny anyone who chose to take the Crusader mantle, though. There would be stay-at-homes who could be called up if the neighbors got pushy.
Duke Tormond changed his itinerary. He abandoned plans to visit the Empire. News from home made him want to hurry back to Khaurene.
The conspiracies round Charlve worried Tormond. He slipped out of Salpeno in the middle of the night. He and a handful of supporters raced for territory held by Santerin, just thirty miles west of the Arnhander capital.
Sixty hours later Duke Tormond found himself in the presence of the lord of the island kingdom. Whose presence on the mainland was not yet suspected in Arnhand. King Brill was waiting for the right moment to stab Arnhand's heart. His encouragement and promises to Tormond were entirely transparent.
Brill did gift the Duke with a regiment of four hundred Celebritan crossbowmen whose wages he paid a year in advance. Celebritans were renowned for their deadliness on the battlefield. More than one Patriarch had threatened to place their home city under interdict if they continued using their evil weapons against fellow Chaldareans.
That interdict never quite went into effect.
News about the capture of Sonsa swept across the End of Connec. No one could figure out what the Patriarch was doing. Sublime's enemies were sure some foul scheme lay behind that action.
Not long after the news about Sonsa, word came that Brothen soldiers had surprised Viscesment and had captured the city against minimal opposition.
'I heard an interesting story today, Master,' Socia Rault told Brother Candle as they settled down to a late, simple supper.
'Yes?' Sure it would involve bloody behavior somehow.
'You remember Father Rinpoche? He was at Khaurene when we were there. That hideous little hunchback.'
'I remember. There aren't many men more arrogant or obnoxious. What about Rinpoche?'
'They made him an auxiliary bishop. And gave him permission to raise his own force to deal with the Maysalean Heresy.'
'Hard to believe how much stupidity can be loose in the world at one time.'
'Not for me. Anyway, Rinpoche's gang have been plundering the far northwest part of the Connec. He nearly got killed for his trouble, too.'
'Due to his own stupidity, no doubt.' Brother Candle's exposure to Rinpoche had been limited. But a man did not need to pigeonhole the hunchback. Rinpoche did that for himself. You're bursting. So tell me.'
'He was on the wrong side of the Dog River to attack Calour. There are a lot of Seekers there.'
Brother Candle knew. He had visited Calour. That was wild country.
Socia continued. 'The local men of substance got Rinpoche talking. They stalled him for almost a month, keeping him thinking he might get what he wanted without fighting. That they'd turn over the local Seekers if he treated everybody else all right. But they used the time to bring in two hundred Sevanphaxi darters.'
'I think I see what's coming.'
Sevanphax was a remote mountain principality between Direcia and Tramaine. Several neighbors claimed suzerainty. The Sevanphaxi acknowledged none. They fought anyone who tried to tame them. And hired out as mercenaries.
