Lord Of The Silent Kingdom Part 24

"But that won't happen."

"No. Lothar is a minor. And the people on the Council didn't approve of Johannes's policies when he was alive."

"What about Katrin?"

"What will she do? I don't know. No one does. Including Katrin."

"How much trouble will she have being Empress? She isn't a man."

"Less than most people think. She'll have the Braunsknechts."

"And you?"

"Some. Yes." The hard Renfrow shone through briefly. Helspeth shuddered. That was the Ferris Renfrow who had caused nightmares amongst Hansel's enemies.

"What?"

"You aren't going to just vacation here."

"Uh..."

"Did you think you would? You're the Emperor's daughter. You're on this side of the mountains."

"I didn't..."

"I know. Those people up at Alten Weinberg and Hochwa.s.ser didn't think about that, either. But you'll be the Empire's proconsul in Firaldia. What with the mountain crossings being closed for half the year, now." And the only way around required an overland journey through the Eastern Empire or Arnhand.

Like it or not, Helspeth Ege had to be an adult. With responsibilities.

"You'll do fine," Renfrow told her. "You are your father's daughter. And you have Algres Drear. It's no accident he was a.s.signed to you. Your father chose him. Trust him." Renfrow started to leave his seat, remembered he was in the presence of an Imperial princess.

"You have something else to do?"

"Always. I'm always behind and always running late."

"Maybe you need your own Algres Drear."

"I have a few. But you hit the mark. I could use more. Since your father died I'm a one-armed juggler with twelve b.a.l.l.s in the air. It's necessary to let some things slide. I sometimes decide wrong."

RENFROW FADED OUT OF PLEMENZA AS THOUGH HE HAD been but a wisp of imagination. Helspeth consciously tried to stop feeling sorry for herself. She had to concentrate on improving the standing of the Empire in northern Firaldia.

She was less effective than Renfrow hoped. The Council Advisory sabotaged most of her efforts.

She accepted what befell. She could do nothing else. But behind her cold, neutral eyes lurked the troubling, certain knowledge that Mushin's frailties would take him soon and she would become second in succession.

She wrote Katrin frequently, saying little of substance, trying to nurture and rebuild a family relationship. Katrin seldom replied. She was unpredictable when she did. She could be angry, petty, scolding, or demonstrate the warmest expressions of sisterly love. Helspeth suspected Katrin's att.i.tude shifted with the moods of those around her. Which did not augur well for the reign of the Empress Katrin.

Every letter, however grim or cheerful, left Helspeth more frightened.

During her appearance at a religious procession, in the course of one of Plemenza's festivals, Algres Drear warned, "It's time to take more care what you say and who hears you say it." He chose a moment when no one would overhear.

'What do you mean?"

"I get letters from north of the Jagos, too. Be careful, Princess."

He had no chance to say anything more.

Helspeth worried for hours. The Council Advisory must be poisoning Lothar's mind. She could not defend herself. She had to shut up and make sure she offended no one.

Being an Imperial princess, even in her wonderful city of Plemenza, held no joy now that Johannes was gone.

7. A Fire in the End of Connec

Tormond IV, being the Great Vacillator, kept Count Raymone Garete, Seuir Brock Rault, Brother Candle, and their companions in Khaurene all winter. And a hard wintef it was, out where the n.o.bility squabbled. Hungry peasants flooded Khaurene. Serfs deserted estates where men were bonded to the soil. Their masters were too busy to hunt them down. They joined the bandits in the hills, became low-grade mercenaries, or drifted into the cities where they lived by their wits. Meaning many became wood to be hewn by the headsman's ax.

Count Raymone chafed. He pleaded. He received letters almost daily begging him to come home. The best he could do in the face of Tormond's intransigence was issue a patent to his cousin Bernardin Amberch.e.l.le authorizing him to take all steps necessary to maintain order and defend Antieux.

Brother Candle was appalled. Bernardin Amberch.e.l.le was an animal. He was stupid, vicious, and a stranger to conscience. "Your Lordship! You can't... Anyone but Bernardin!"

"Because he's an atheist? Or because he's a murderous lunatic?"

"Yes. That."

"But that makes him perfect."

"What?"

"He'll only kill people he doesn't like."

"Your Lordship, it isn't a joke."

"He'll be savage but he'll do more good than harm. And I'll look grand by comparison when I get back. Even my enemies will be glad to see me."

Brother Candle shook his head at the sheer cruel cynicism of the man.

"Bernardin won't be out of control. He has a certain low craft. And he does listen when I explain clearly. n.o.body will take it in the neck who didn't ask for it."

Brother Candle was not mollified.

Brother Candle met Sir Eardale in the silencing room the day before he left Khaurene. The knight from Santerin did nothing to hide this meeting. "It doesn't matter anymore," he explained. "The cause is lost."

"No cause is lost while we don't despair."

"Despair has found a roost, Brother. With all its brothers and sisters."

"Then go home."

"I am home. I want your final thoughts before you leave."

Tormond had been adamant. Brother Candle was to stick to Count Raymone Garete like a rash. A rash of conscience.

"You've heard them, Sir Eardale. The Duke won't listen. There isn't much more that can be done."

The old knight grunted. "And our traitor?"

"Excuse me?" Stalling.

"Sublime's inside man. Who is he?"

The answer placed the Perfect Master squarely in the jaws of a fierce quandary. He had wrestled it for months. Pursuing the example set by the Great Vacillator.

Any action meant making a choice between friends.

Sir Eardale observed, "There are issues larger than the fates of a few men, Brother."

"Intellectually, yes." Emotionally, it remained a choice between men.

"The entire Connec..."

"I know, Sir Eardale. Poisoning the Duke is the moral equivalent to poisoning the End of Connec."

True. Both were almost moribund.

Dunn said, "Bries LeCroes is the villain. He's decided to ride the Brothen pony. He's been promised that he'll be Bishop of Khaurene if he keeps the Duke under control."

Brother Candle agreed. Bishop Clayto would be smashed for his long criticism of Sublime.

But Bries LeCroes was a friend. They had been through the Calziran Crusade together.

"I won't kill him," Dunn said. "Unless he finds it too difficult to relocate his conscience."

"You're going to turn him again?" Further admitting that the accusation was sound.

"I see an opportunity to castrate Rinpoche. And to plant an eye inside the local Society." The Society for Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy had become just "the Society," already. It had had little impact, locally. There were plenty of pro-Viscesment bullies to bust pro-Brothen skulls. "And to sabotage Sublime's Connecten ambitions."

Brother Candle continued to keep his own counsel.

Dunn said, "As you will, Brother. Though you must know what LeCroes's villainy might mean to you Maysaleans."

There was that, too.

"I can't fault your conclusion," he admitted. "But I couldn't work out the practical side. How was he getting the poison to the Duke?"

Dunn started to speak, thought better of it. He had his suspicions but did not want to share them. "G.o.d speed you safely to Antieux, Brother." He walked out.

Spring threatened its explosion of green. Count Raymone's party straggled into Antieux under the empty eyes of a dozen severed heads. Cousin Bernardin had done his work well.

Crowds came out, of course. The first folk seen were not as demonstrative as the Count might like. Among them, though, were men of such harsh countenance that they could only be Society hacks.

Brother Candle saw despair everywhere. Hope was not dead here, but ravens cast deep shadows as they circled down on its quivering body. Count Raymone's long absence had given misery time to breed.

Bries LeCroes had a larger, darker stain on his soul than Brother Candle had imagined.

Inside Antieux, near the citadel, the crowds were warmer. They cheered. The dark, cold fish of the Society were scarce. A chant began. It demanded Brothen Episcopal scalps. Youths set fire to straw effigies wearing signs identifying them as Sublime V, Morcant Farfog, Mathe Richenau and Helton Jael.

"Who is Helton Jael?" Brock Rault asked.

Jael was the current senior brother of the Society locally. He had just arrived, to replace Icate Dermot, who had gone missing. Dermot himself had replaced someone else not long ago.

I don't like this," Brother Candle told Rault. "It means big nouble."

"The fact that there's gonna be big trouble just blindsided you, eh, Brother?" Socia sneered. "Came at you right out of the blue?"

"I try to be optimistic, girl. I don't abandon hope. I keep praying that disaster can be averted. If men of goodwill want it so, it can be so."

"Name two. Not counting you."

Socia had a point, possibly without realizing it.

Everyone was crazy.

Everyone subscribed to an apocalyptic vision.

Was this one of those ages when mankind needed the purification of a holocaust?

Bernardin Amberch.e.l.le met his cousin amongst the flaming effigies. He grinned an idiot's grin. He was proud of his achievements. He expected praise.