Madame Archimbault inquired, "Will the men around Tormond interfere? Brother, you've said Brothe has no friends in Tormond's court."

"Not many, no. But Tormond's men are loyal and honorable. They'll do what they're told once they know they can't change his mind."

Someone said, "What will Count Raymone do?"

"A critical question," Brother Candle replied. "And one only Raymone Garete can answer. He doesn't hide his disgust."

Madame Archimbault observed, "Raymone is young. The young praise action for its own sake."

The Maysalean Heresy appealed mainly to those who had left youth's distractions behind.

Brother Candle accepted wine from his host's daughter, Kedle, who was thrilled to be auditing the meeting. She was thirteen, a woman by some standards, but would never speak up while a Perfect was present Seekers After Light were convinced they were true Chaldareans. They claimed their teachings harkened back to those of Aaron, Eis, Lalitha, and the other Founders, before those became twisted and perverted by the successors of Josephus Alegiant and his clique. The G.o.d of the Arianists, and of the Episcopals who came after them, was actually the Great Adversary reproached by the Founders.

The Great Adversary had wrought a thousand deceptions while hiding amongst the Instrumentalities of the Night. It was impossible to untangle the skein of lies. Because there was always another lie in line.

Brother Candle relaxed and observed as the discussion drifted to reincarnation, which had leaked into the Maysalean Creed despite being an oriental concept.

The group wanted to examine the moral implications of reincarnation. Some thought rebirth gave you an out if you behaved badly. You could do your next incarnation as a makeup.

Brother Candle had not yet worked out where he stood regarding reincarnation. He found the idea comforting. Reincarnation meant a second chance to get life right. It was the Great Wheel of Life.

Someone wanted his attention. "Yes?"

Madame Scarre asked if he believed Seekers After Light were obliged to fight back if attacked.

"Absolutely. It's one more way to resist evil. If we don't fight evil we become accessories to evil."

Nothing but hurried breathing sounded in the Archimbault household. A great Maysalean mind was about to share a thought.

Brother Candle disappointed everyone. "That's it. That's the truth. The lines are never clear. There is no absolute right. There is absolute wrong but it's hard to identify. It manages to adopt a great many disguises."

Scarre the Baker asked, "What do you mean, Brother?"

He began to preach. "We are slaves to reason. Reason exterminates every argument our enemies throw up. Righteousness slides through their fingers like water. All they have left in hand is emotion. Our weakness is, we don't recognize it when dreams and emotion guide us. So we're as much victims of the Instrumentalities of the Night as those we disdain for being less thoughtful."

Brother Candle was afraid he had failed to express himself in a way the others could understand. Not even he was equipped to comprehend the full nature of mankind's relationship with the Instrumentalities of the Night.

Despite a moral code being part of every religion, with innumerable admonitions to do good put into the mouths of the G.o.ds, Brother Candle had yet to see any direct evidence that the Instrumentalities of the Night, at any level, demonstrated any innate moral polarity. Like earth, wind, water, and fire, they just were. And, like life itself, they wanted.

Good and evil were concepts imposed by men, through their perceptions and beliefs, or directly by force of sorcery.

Brother Candle found it difficult to be a spiritual adviser and guide in a world where there were few absolutes to serve as navigational beacons when he charted his own course.

He said, "If we Seekers After Light disappear from the grand pageant of history it won't be because logic and persuasion overwhelmed us. It will be because a superior weight of arms and terror were deployed."

Brother Candle dreaded any future that had roots sunk into the ordure of Duke Tormond's incredible decision to try dealing with Sublime V. The Brothen Patriarch was not a man like him, simple and moved by goodwill toward all.

Perhaps Honario Benedocto was a cosmic prank being played by the Instrumentalities of the Night. Some old religions declared their G.o.ds capable of far worse, just for the amus.e.m.e.nt to be gained by kicking the anthill.

21. Brothe, in the Gathering of the War

Brothe was in a ferment. Neither a Patriarchal nor a Collegium delegation came out to greet Princ.i.p.ate Doneto. Sublime's limited forces were desperately trying to keep order, busy as a three-legged cat in a room full of mice.

The Five Families hurled accusations and pointed fingers. Their young men found excuses to duel. Every duelist who came in second added fuel to the emotional holocaust The law forbid family forces larger than a personal guard. In the past they had shown themselves unable to refrain from throwing swords at every little problem. Now they sought ways to get around the law.

The Brotherhood of War was mad at everybody.

Word of the troubles, with mystic swiftness, reached the Calziran pirates. A small fleet tried to come up the Teragi River but was driven back by the Collegium.

Then there was the Brothen mob, which had behaved itself for far too long. Riots and looting broke out most every day. Luckily, the civil disorders remained small and localized.

The Devedian and Dainshaukin minorities, working together, resisted the madness. Though they did incense the Episcopal mob by kicking the snot out of would-be looters.

Their situation never grew as bad as had that of the Deves of Sonsa.

The worst was over by the time Bronte Doneto's band reached the city. Today's Brothens couldn't live up to the standards of bad behavior shown by their forbears.

The party's pa.s.sage through the streets was uncomfortable, though the day itself was clear, cool, and crisp and recent heavy rains had swept away most of the offal usually lending piquancy to the city air. Doneto moved as fast as he could. He wanted to be off the streets before his return became common knowledge.

Everyone who really cared had, of course, been aware of his approach for days.

THE PRINc.i.p.aTe GAVE HIS PEOPLE JUST TIME ENOUGH TO EAT, clean up, change clothing, and take a few minutes to relax. Then he summoned them to the central hall of his home. That structure was a minor fortress constructed of dirty old limestone less than a bow shot from the larger Benedocto citadel. The Benedocto home was a true castle.

The Five Families all had their true fortresses within the city-despite being denied the forces to defend them. The Benedocto castle was the biggest family stronghold.

Else arrived to discover that Doneto had wasted no time on his own comfort. He wore what he had worn on the road. He was as dirty as he had been when he entered the city. He carried a wooden bowl containing olives, pickled garlic, and onions, plus bite-size chunks of sausage and cheese. He ate as he moved around.

Else presumed that the people he did not recognize-everyone but Doneto and Pinkus Ghort-were Doneto's own people who had stayed behind when their master had gone off to salvage the Connec.

The Princ.i.p.ate's staff had done a superb job of keeping the household ready for its master's return.

"Or somebody warned them that he was on his way home," Ghort said. "Like maybe the guy who paid his ransom. Meantime, it looks like we've lost a friend and gained a boss."

"Must you always be cynical?"

That process-the one where Doneto returned to old form-had begun before their exit from Plemenza.

"Look out," Ghort cautioned.

Doneto was headed their way. He said, "Affairs here are tailor-made for us, Hecht. There's so much confusion that n.o.body really knows what's going on or who is who. Originally, I planned to set you up inside the Arniena family, so we could keep them steering close to the Patriarch's course after they revealed themselves by voting with us in the Collegium. But with Rodrigo Cologni dead there'll be one less vote against Sublime to negate so we won't have to leverage the Arniena into backing him. They can go on pretending to be against us. So we can employ you even more daringly. You are, by the way, in Arniena service now, have been for months, and don't even know me."

Else asked Ghort, "Who is this handsome stranger, Pinkus?"

Doneto showed a flash of irritation, then a moment of amus.e.m.e.nt.

Else said, "But I do know who you are. Anybody who got out of the Connec will know that. And that includes all those Brotherhood types who ran away to Brothe. And everyone who knows about our stay in Plemenza. Hansel can trip us up anytime he wants. Remember, I'm supposed to be an imperial spy, now."

Doneto scowled. "I suppose you're right. So here's what I'm thinking now. Because of the disaster that hit the Bruglioni they're desperate for competent help. If Inigo Arniena tells Paludan Bruglioni that he can give him a couple of his best men..."

Else nodded and smiled but also rolled his eyes. "This is getting hard to follow. I'll be writing reports and sending them to me keeping track of what I've been doing and offering suggestions on how I can influence me to behave in ways that I'll find more useful toward accomplishing my goals where spying on me is concerned."

Doneto smiled thinly. "There's a country folksong about a man who was his own uncle and brother-in-law. Hecht, I want to seize this opportunity before people have time to think. Come with me. There's somebody I need you to meet."

Else went, reluctantly. "You're the boss." He had hoped to ease into the Brothen scene gradually, quietly. But if he could get inside one of the Five Families ...

Bronte Doneto led him to a shadowed corner. There they found an old man in a wheeled chair, alertly watching the Princ.i.p.ate's guests. Doneto said, "Piper Hecht, this is Salny Sayag. And his son, Rogoz. They represent the Arniena family. You might have run into Rogoz before. He worked in your line for a while, in the north."

Else considered the younger man who stood behind the wheeled chair. "I don't think so. Not that I recall, anyway." He offered his hand. "Have you seen me before, Rogoz?"

"No."

Rogoz was definite. And a man of few words. His grip was firm and confident. His coloring and appearance were not local. He was darker and uglier than was common in Firaldia. Else asked, "You aren't Brothen either, are you?"

"My father came over from Obrizok."

"I don't know Obrizok."

"It's a town in Creveldia. Creveldia is famous for its horses. He was an exile. This isn't the time for personal histories. Collect your possessions."

Else sighed. He was glad he was used to living on his own.

The Plemenzan captivity had been his longest settled pa.s.sage in the past ten years.

"Where're you headed?" Pinkus Ghort wanted to know.

"New job. The Princ.i.p.ate wants me on it right now." He shrugged. "I'll see you on the streets."

"Don't smack me too hard."

"Take care of Bo and Joe. Keep Bo out of the brothels. He'll catch his death."

Else feared he would miss Pinkus Ghort as much as he did Bone and the others from the Andelesqueluzan adventure. Which now seemed like a story he had heard a long time ago instead of something he had lived himself.

THE SAYAGS EXITED BRONTE DONETO'S ESTABLISHMENT through a tradesmen's postern. Rogoz Sayag pushed his father's chair. A blanket covered the elder Sayag's lower body. It might have concealed tools or weapons. Two armed men joined them outside the gate. Rogoz Sayag explained, "Brothe is a dangerous city. There are a lot of hungry people on the streets."

Else carried everything he wanted to take along. He was accustomed to carrying his whole life and fortune on his back. Like he was some nomadic desert tortoise.

Else talked and pretended not to examine his companions or the surrounding city. It took the efforts of both Sayags and their escorts to generate enough return chin noise to qualify as a conversation.

At one point, Else protested, "I need to know something about this city. I've never been here before."

"I understand," Rogoz replied. "But you aren't going to be part of our house. You don't need to know anything about us."

Else understood. Rogoz did not want him picking up anything he might pa.s.s along when he moved on to the Bruglioni citadel. "On the other hand, if I don't know anything about the Arniena, after supposedly having been with them for several months, the Bruglioni will wonder why."

Salny Sayag agreed. "Talk to him, Rogoz. All of you, talk to him. Don't hold back. Fill in the details. Let him take something with him when he goes. You. Doneto man. The one thing you aren't going to tell anyone is that the Arniena have an understanding with Princ.i.p.ate Doneto."

"Of course not."

ELSE SPENT NINE DAYS WITH THE ARNIENA FAMILY, LEARNING what they were willing to be let known, and about the Mother City. They gave him work to do. It was not overwhelming. He had several opportunities to go out and get the feel of the city.

The essence of Brothe was elusive. It seemed to be more than one city. In one sense it was almost parochial, with the intense focus of the native-born on family politics, petty feuding, and Colors. On the other hand, Brothe was cosmopolitan in the extreme. It swarmed with foreigners. Else heard dozens of unfamiliar languages. People from all across the world came to immerse themselves in the recollections of what once was the heart of the civilized world.

The glories of yesterday lay in ruins, some looted for building stone, overgrown, haunted by the poor and fugitives or, some said, by a thousand lingering recollections of the Instrumentalities of the Night. There were great sorcerers in Brothe everybody knew. And not just the tame Princ.i.p.ates of the Collegium.

Foreigners came seeking their fortunes. Many of them had been villains in their own climes. And Brothe boasted a vigorous religion and pilgrim industry. Else found that amazing. Thousands came every month just to see the Church's central physical inst.i.tutions, and in hopes of glimpsing the Patriarch.

During his stay with the Arniena, Else partic.i.p.ated in two minor adventures with Rogoz Sayag and other family retainers. Salny Sayag said the orders came from Don Inigo Arniena himself. Don Inigo was the family chieftain. Neither mission amounted to much. Punishing a servant who had stolen from the Arniena. Avenging an insult flung at one of the don's granddaughters by a gang of street kids who had been stupid enough to open their mouths outside their hideout.

Those jobs did give Else a chance to be seen in the company of other Arniena goons.

"This all you do?" Else asked Rogoz.

"Don Inigo isn't big on squabbling. Unlike everyone else in Brothe."

"Uhm?"

"It seems the more chaotic things get, the more some people use that to cover their own mischief. Which only makes the chaos worse. The don would rather do it the sneaky, sinister way."

Else went along and showed he could be part of the team. He needed only be mildly evasive about his past. Rogoz Sayag was not eager to reveal his own background. Possibly Rogoz had not spent much time in the countries where he was supposed to have learned his trade. In lands where he might have crossed paths with a freelancer from Duarnenia, that little state on the eastern sh.o.r.e of the Shallow Sea.

Few mercenaries talked about their pasts. Somewhere behind them, in most cases, were people with grudges. Bad choices made at an early age were why freelancers left home in the first place.

While public order in Brothe deteriorated, the broader, world situation lent the Patriarch no comfort, either. Calziran pirates grew more numerous and bolder by the day. A sort of mob madness had taken possession of them. Their worst raids fell on Church or Benedocto family holdings, always within the bounds of the Episcopal States. There was hardly a rumor of piracy along the coasts of Alameddine. That kingdom, beholden to the Grail Empire, lay between Calzir and the Episcopal States. Nor did raiders appear anywhere else protected by the Grail Emperor or the mercantile republics.

Even dimwits who cared little about distant events began to think there was a conspiracy. Johannes Blackboots must be behind it all.

In Brothe everything was part of a plot. In Brothe nothing was what it seemed, or even what it purported to be. Whatever went wrong did so because of an inimical conspiracy.

Else suspected that any plot involving Praman pirates would be orchestrated from al-Qarn rather than the Grail Empire.

Anything that distracted Sublime from a crusade into me Holy Lands would be a good thing, from the Dreangerean point of view. Any delay moved the man that many weeks, months, or years closer to his blessed elevation into the Chaldarean heaven. Whereupon the beleaguered and long-suffering Collegium would, undoubtedly, replace him with someone less controversial, bellicose, and ambitious.

On Else's ninth day with the Arniena, Rogoz Sayag appeared as he was teaching three Arniena boys exercises that would improve their stamina against the day they got involved in a duel. "Remember. When two fighters of equal skill meet, the one whose strength lasts longest will be the survivor." He used "survivor" rather man "victor" deliberately.

"Good lesson for them to learn, Hecht." Sayag got it.

"When they're young they think only the other guy is mortal. These boys listen, though. That's good."

Rogoz said, "You've done this before. They do pay attention."

"They're good kids. The main thing I want to get through to them is that half the people who get into duels lose."