Surrender to the Will of the Night (54 page)

Hodier appropriated a nearby merlon. “Tormond was aware. He hardly slept last night. He wishes he had done things differently. Once his mind and body started going he decided he wanted to ride out on a day like this so he could leave Khaurene remembering the Great Vacillator defending his city. He could go out a hero. Then a more confident, savage hero, Count Raymone, could come avenge him. He built that whole legend in his mind.”

“But?”

“But Peter of Navaya. Peter wants to be the great champion of the Chaldarean world. Bigger than the Grail Emperors. As big as the emperors of the Old Empire. Despite his successes he hasn’t become that to anyone outside Direcia. And he’s convinced that if he doesn’t add the Connec to his diadem he’ll never get to be what he wants to be.”

“He needs to work that out with Count Raymone.” It could be done. Count Raymone Garete had a big ego. He was the product of his class. But he was a fierce patriot, too, capable of swearing fealty to the kings of Navaya if that would save his motherland.

Hodier said, “I believe that to be in line with what the Queen hopes to accomplish.”

“The Queen?”

“Isabeth. She sent me. I told you. She sees a way past the dilemma. I imagine she wants you to take her message to Count Raymone.”

“Oh, for Aaron’s sake! Look at me! In another week I’ll turn sixty-seven. Everybody older than me is already dead. I’m not likely to survive another journey across the Connec.”

“That may be. It’s not for me to decide. My job is to bring you to Isabeth. You can quibble with her.”

Brother Candle stared out at that fraction of the fighting visible from his vantage. What he saw was still mostly chaos. And looked like it could come out favorably if only the Khaurenese militia would do something.

***

Those with Duke Tormond, pretending he was in charge, finally made a decision. The militia would return to the city. At the moment when a few Connecten knights finally began to appear.

When battered driblets from the Raffle and Peque and Sales began to arrive Count Alplicova ordered his Navayans to follow the Khaurenese. He remained unaware how few the Arnhander reinforcements would be. He had had no news from the Castaurigans, who were retreating past the city to the west.

It would be determined later that four thousand Arnhanders and allies perished in the day’s fighting. More died later from wounds. Navayan, Castaurigan, and allied losses amounted to fourteen hundred, more than a hundred of those being men taken prisoner.

Tormond IV’s Khaurenese militia suffered twenty-three casualties, six due to enemy action.

***

Brother Candle joined a grim, angry Isabeth. She had just dismissed men covered with filth and sweat and blood. The Perfect guessed their news had not been good. Finally, she said, “They think Peter is dead.”

The sun was low in the west. Its light poured in through high, arched windows, splashing the audience with gold. Not appropriate, Brother Candle thought.

Isabeth added, “Jaime is dead, too. The Castaurigans are withdrawing. They say they left the Arnhanders badly weakened. They killed a lot of fugitives from the fighting here.”

Brother Candle sighed, focused on the afternoon light. An omen of darkness to come. Turnabout on the old saw about darkest before the dawn.

A runner announced that the Khaurenese magnates had made up Tormond’s mind. They were on the move, back into the city, with never a blow struck.

Isabeth suddenly looked old. She told the Perfect, “Remember what Tormond was like last time you saw him.”

“It wasn’t that long ago, if you’ll recall.”

“Oh. Of course. But the Tormond who went out this morning was in worse shape than back then, despite all that wizards and physicians did. He shouldn’t have gone. But without Eardale Dunn we had no one else. Mas Crebet and Casteren Grout are bad jokes.” She meant the consuls, Khaurene’s equivalent of a mayor.

“There is Your Majesty,” Hodier observed.

“Crap. They won’t follow a woman.”

Brother Candle observed, “It might have been worth a try. But that opportunity has fled.”

“Who knows? Jaime is gone. Peter is gone. Tormond is next to extinct. Count Raymone is at the other end of the Connec and Regard is at the gate. So it comes down to me, anyway. We will find out who’ll follow a woman.”

The Perfect was at sea. He had been brought to Metrelieux to discuss a matter that had been pushed aside by subsequent news. The world had changed, for everyone, wherever they stood.

Isabeth said, “The lords of Navaya will be back, soon. That could get exciting. I need to steel myself.”

Brother Candle could see that. Without Peter to curb them the Direcians were likely to treat Khaurene as an occupied city instead of an ally and dependent. They would feel justified. The Khaurenese could have overwhelmed the Arnhanders but had chosen not to act.

That would not be forgiven.

“We need to be quick,” Hodier said.

Isabeth waved that off. “I became a queen mother today. But my son is practically still a baby. In the normal course Count Alplicova would become regent until Little Peter comes of age. I’ll push for that. But Fate was wearing her big stomping boots today. Dead or alive, I lost my brother, too. Dead or alive, he’ll no longer be a factor in the considerations of princes. Nor of the Patriarchs, whom Tormond did, at least, always make nervous.”

A minor chamberlain burst in. “A band of Brothen Episcopals led by Society brothers are trying to take control of the north gate.”

“They’re wearing colors?” Isabeth asked.

“They are, Your Majesty.”

“Then kill them. If they surrender, throw them off the wall.”

“Your Majesty?” Appalled.

“No exceptions. If they have families, kill them, too.”

Though appalled himself, Brother Candle did the cold equations. A show of ferocity now would save lives later. Nor could he summon much empathy for people who meant to burn him at the stake.

The chamberlain went away.

Isabeth said, “I’ll do everything I can till they come take it away.” She went silent for a moment. Brother Candle said nothing. Eloquently. Isabeth finally mused, “They killed King Jaime, too.”

Hodier murmured, “God willing, then, Death will claim King Regard, as well.”

“God willing. He’s been reported down several times. But he keeps getting back up.”

Brother Candle finally worked himself up to ask, “Why am I here?”

The Queen replied, “Because you’re an agent of and apologist for Count Raymone Garete.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would. You were Tormond’s friend. He thought. Mine, too, but not so much. My conscience wouldn’t trouble me if I had to drop you down a well. Count Raymone.”

“What about him?”

“Exactly. Tormond made Raymone his heir. The men best equipped to keep Raymone from inheriting all died today. I want to know what we can expect from Antieux. Does Count Raymone want to become Duke? What kind of man is he?”

“Yes to the first and stubborn to the latter. Count Raymone Garete is everything people always wanted Tormond to be, only twice as much. He’ll become Duke because that will give him the power to punish any foreigner who refuses to leave him, Antieux, and the Connec alone.”

“I might like this man better than the Count Raymone I remember.”

“A caution. If Raymone assumes the Dukedom, there’ll be war.”

“We’ve got war now.”

“I mean a war involving man, woman, and child, all out, until Raymone Garete draws his last breath. Or until Arnhand and Brothe fold their hands and direct their ambitions elsewhere. Even Raymone’s death might not be the end of it. The Countess, Socia, is more bloodthirsty than he is.”

Another underchamberlain rushed in. He reported that the captains of the militia, who had chosen to do nothing all day, were now in a demanding mood.

“Where is Alplicova? I want him here. Tell those people I’ll be with them shortly.”

It took more than a few minutes to locate Count Alplicova and chivvy him into the Queen’s presence. He was in no fit condition to be there. His wounds had not yet been treated. He had been busy readying Khaurene’s defenses rather than getting cleaned up and patched up.

Isabeth demanded, “Are you well enough to endure the demands of command, Count?”

“As ever, I will do what must be done. There is no one else.”

“You could be right. Collect some reliable men and bring them here. Quickly. The magnates are in a mood to make demands. After all they did for us today, on the battlefield, I’m not inclined to be indulgent.”

“I understand completely, Your Majesty.”

“Master.”

Isabeth’s sudden attention startled Brother Candle, who had slipped into a dark reverie. He failed to remind her that “Master” was inappropriate. “Your Grace?”

The Navayan Queen failed to remind him that she did not like being “Your Grace.” “I don’t have time for you, now. Keep yourself available.”

“As you wish.”

“At the moment I wish you to find my brother. Someone brought him back, I expect still breathing. Find him. Attach yourself. Take care of him. Hodier. You just became the Master’s shadow. Where he goes, you go. Do what he says needs doing.”

“As you command.” Said without pleasure.

The Perfect and the herald left the Queen’s presence, two old men glad to get away.

***

To the distress of few outside their own families Isabeth arrested the leaders of the Khaurenese militia. Rumor soon claimed that several had taken bribes from the Society — or from Anne of Menand, or from the Patriarch — to shun the fight. Treason being a more attractive explanation than indecision or incompetence.

There was a lot of anger in Khaurene. Brothen Episcopal Faithful suffered the brunt. Anyone even vaguely suspect dared not show himself lest he be thrown down to the befuddled Arnhanders trying to initiate a siege.

The scattered smaller Arnhander companies had begun arriving.

***

King Regard was so stiff and bruised he could barely move. His concussion caused occasional brief blackouts. But he saw an opportunity. He was determined to strike while the Khaurenese remained stunned.

Regard, however, lacked followers who shared his vision.

Those who had fought and survived, those who had not deserted, were too exhausted to do anything but go through the motions while the bands coming in were cold and tired and hungry. And they all faced heretics determined to fight. They would not flee to the Altai this time. Not this early in the season.

Once the sun set, siege work proceeded desultorily by artificial light. It was difficult to see arrows in flight. Meaning it became difficult to dodge.

***

Bicot Hodier drafted a couple of guards he trusted and had them accompany him and the Perfect. “Just in case. Some people may consider today an opportunity.”

Brother Candle grunted, saved his breath for keeping up. But he understood. Khaurene teetered on the brink of chaos. Adventurers would see opportunities that, likely as not, existed only in their own imaginations. But they would act anyway.

Count Alplicova began arresting city magnates and militia captains before the herald and Perfect located Tormond. The Duke had been whisked into the home of the consul Sieur Casteren Grout. Grout and his fellow consul, Sieur Mas Crebet, had not turned out for morning muster and, thus, had not been with the militia in the field. A gross dereliction by Crebet, whose principal responsibility was to lead the city levies when they were called out.

Brother Candle wondered if there might not be some substance to the bribery rumors.

The consuls were not pleased to receive fresh guests. But Sieur Casteren Grout grasped the precarious nature of his position. He put on a grand show of concern for his Duke’s well-being.

Tormond was, indeed, in terrible shape. Brother Candle insisted that he not be moved. He sent for Father Fornier. And more trustworthy soldiers lest Grout and Crebet suffer a further bout of stupidity.

***

Isabeth told Brother Candle, “We’ve exploited you mercilessly lately. And you’ve given your best. But I have one more request before you go back into the wilderness. The Arnhanders intend to storm the north gate tomorrow. The defenders there are mostly Seekers. It would hearten them if you were there with my brother.”

Khaurenese morale was poor. Those who thought they might not suffer if King Regard triumphed were vocal about negotiating a surrender. Those threatened by the Society and the Church took the opposing view, as did Queen Isabeth on behalf of Navaya, her husband, and her son.

Navayan strength had dwindled as Isabeth sent out streams of messengers, across Peter’s empire, to warn every garrison and proconsul that unrest could be expected.

It would be hard to cling to all of Peter’s gains, however faithful Count Alplicova and his peers remained. Alplicova himself she sent back to Oranja to gather the reins of state on her son’s behalf. And to make sure Little Peter would be safe from anyone with secret ambitions.

Brother Candle understood what Isabeth wanted. He and Tormond would be companion symbols of Khaurenese defiance. Harmless old men, cornerstones for the reconstruction of Khaurene’s self-confidence.

The woman was clever.

***

Father Fornier reanimated the Duke enough for the man to stand. With assistance. He and Brother Candle took places on the wall two dozen yards west of the northern gate, well protected by hoardings. The Perfect wore an uncharacteristic white robe. He drew cheers from the defenders, many of them familiar. Just ten feet away Madam Archimbault, her daughter, and her neighbors made up the all-female crew of a light ballista.

Where were Raulet and the men? The only men to be seen were nearly as old as Brother Candle.

Somewhere, every man who could move was being assembled for a counterattack. Given past performance, that might prove disastrous.

The Arnhanders began moving engines toward the city. That was not easy work. They had to advance up a slope, under fire. Literal fire, frequently. The Khaurenese engines flung burning missiles. The slope of the ground and height of the wall gave the defenders a range advantage.