Sheavenalle. The Chaldarean refugees continued eastward on the ancient road, toward Castreresone. That road made plain how heavily age lay on the Connec. Brothen legionaries had built it fifteen hundred years ago. The bridges dated from that era, too, yet needed little maintenance even now. As the name implied, Castreresone was once the site of an Imperial regional military headquarters. Its walls rested on foundations laid down by legionary engineers.
'Time lies heavy in this land,' the Perfect told Socia.
She was not impressed. She was too young for the deeps of time to mean anything. Whatever happened before she was born was ancient history. But she did admit, 'It is kind of creepy out here.' She looked back at Bernardin Amberchelle, whose party followed close behind. Some uncomfortable people were traveling with the Count's cousin.
Brother Candle felt uneasy when he considered Amberchelle's band, too. He did not know those men. Had not seen them around Antieux. Bernardin said they were lesser nobles, like the Raults, who had been driven out of their homes up near Viscesment. None were Seekers After Light. And they used a dialect that did not sound Connecten.
Socia added, 'I'll be glad when we get out of the country.' Which seemed a remarkable thing for a country girl to say.
Her comment crystallized the unease the Perfect had felt lor days. This southern Connecten countryside was distinctly uncomfortable. For no reason that was obvious. And that was new. He had wandered this land for decades without feeling anything like this.
His thoughts drifted back to the woods above Caron ande Lette. Rook. There were rumors suggesting the return of other ancient Instrumentalities. Something in the sea. Things of the Night in the darkness. But always hearsay.
Still, the sheer number of reports suggested that the hideous and horrible were creeping forth from the graves that had held them so long.
A city seemed a good place to be, then.
The road west followed the north bank of the Laur, which ran east, back whence they had come, then southeast to Sheavenalle and the Mother Sea. Traffic had passed this way, on riverbank and water, since before men learned to remember by writing things down.
The Laur, navigable to Castreresone and beyond, boasted dozens of boats and barges of shallow draft, some under sail, some driven by sweeps. Brother Candle told Socia, 'I've often thought if my life had gone different I might've become a barger.'
'Didn't you have tummy troubles going over to Shippen und back?'
'The open sea is something else entirely. Only a lunatic would subject himself to that as a way of life.'
'I learn something weird about you every day.'
'You should be learning something new and weird and wonderful about something every day, child.'
Their path to Khaurene last year had passed thirty miles north of Castreresone. That storied city had been the seat of the governors of the Old Imperial province of Closer Endonensis. Khaurene had been the capital of Nether Endonensis.
Closer Endonensis had been fruitful and pacific and there-tore much favored by the Brothen emperors.
Castreresone was an impressive sight. Some called it the White City. The limestone sheathing its walls was nearly as pale as marble. And those walls, though set on ancient foundations, were the most modern and best maintained in the Connec. Improvements were under way now, the outer curtain being heightened, machicolations being added at key points, roofing being installed over the wall walks. New curtain walls with D-shape mural towers were under construction around two wealthy suburbs that had come into being during the last century.
Castreresone held an odd place in the feudal order of the End of Connec. Its overlord could claim suzerainty over most all Connecten coastal territories from Terliaga to the delta of the Dechear River, excepting those fiefs belonging directly to the Dukes of Khaurene. Such as Sheavenalle. But there was no fixed family of lords in Castreresone. Traditionally, the city belonged to the Duke of Khaurene's heir. Tormond IV had no declared successor. So Castreresone was held by an uncle, Roger Shale, who was actually younger than Tormond. A Maysalean who never married, Roger Shale had no legal heirs. His niece Isabeth was his designated successor.
Roger Shale was nothing like Tormond. He was energetic, efficient, and organized. He had kept order locally during the recent troubles. But he had no power in the broader affairs of the Connec. He spent his energies making Castreresone the best protected city in the End of Connec.
Brother Candle said, 'Weird and wonderful. I don't know about that. But I can say this: This quiet, beautiful city is much nearer being the soul of the Connecten nation than is Khaurene, Antieux, or the Altai.' The Altai being that part of the Connec, center north, that was most mountainous and most inclined toward heresy. Many Seekers had taken refuge there already. The Altaien population as a whole were convinced that they were the only 'true Connectens.'
The column from the east first spied Castreresone in the early morning light. The white walls shone. The road went down to a bridge over the Laur wide enough for eight men to march abreast. On the south bank the road traversed half a mile and rose a hundred feet to approach the acre of flat, open killing ground in front of the huge, complicated barbican that guarded the main entrance to the White City. Black wreaths hung on the wall, sad memorial to events in Viscesment.
It was there, as they waited to be let into the city, that the news about the god worm caught up.
'What does it mean?' Socia asked, absent all her usual spiteful spirit. She was subdued because the old man was so obviously deeply shaken.
'I don't know. Except as a signal that the Instrumentalities of the Night have begun to move into a whole new level of involvement with the world.'
'The gods will walk among us again?'
'It may be. It may be. And that terrifies me.'
14. Crusaders: Wolves on the Border
The movement north and east went too smoothly for the Captain-General. 'I worry when things go right,' he told his staff as the army settled in to rest near the monastery complex at Dominagua. 'You people can't be that good at what you do.'
The backhanded compliment sparked smiles.
The high excitement soon faded.
Principate Doneto brought news from his cousin as Hecht was about to resume movement. 'His Holiness is involved in delicate negotiations, Captain-General. He wants you to hold off a few weeks.'
'Why? He's been so keen to get on with it for so long.'
'I'm baffled, too. I'm not part of the inner circle, cousin or not.'
'Does this mean stay here? Can I position myself better for when he turns me loose? Are there any other new constraints?'
Principate Doneto seemed disconcerted. He glanced round as though displeased by the presence of so many witnesses. 'You just shouldn't take the campaign into the Connec. Yet.'
Hecht surveyed his staff. He and they never stopped working. During the rest several notions had gotten schemed out. The professionals wanted to get the maximum return from the city militias during the short time they would be available.
Legally, they could be kept in the field only forty days. The sands were racing through that hourglass. There were ways to balance that. Pay to those willing to serve longer and rotate replacements in at different times.
Hecht asked, 'He does realize that in a month this army will start shrinking? And that bad weather will be along soon?'
'I'm reporting, Captain-General. That's all. I can send a letter voicing your concerns, but I can't make him read it. I can't make him pay attention if he does.'
'I want to move up to the frontier.'
