The world now imposed itself. His muttering faded as he realized that all those who had shared the ramparts with him had disappeared. He conjured vague recollections of Raulet and Kedle trying to get him to go. Fear must have forced them to abandon him.
Still he stared. This disaster, likely to echo through the centuries, had happened only because his oldest friend could never make a decision. Though, to be fair, today’s Tormond had all he could do to stay upright and breathe.
“Master!” The voice was impatient. It had been trying to get his attention for some time.
Brother Candle turned. “Hodier! Why aren’t you out there with the Duke?”
“Because Isabeth made me stay here to deal with you.”
“There’s no dealing to do. The thing is done. Count Raymone has the tokens and instruments.”
“I know.” Tormond’s herald stepped forward, separating himself from his escort, Direcians all. “Yet there might be cause to delay the transition.” Hodier pointed. “Out there. King Peter didn’t apply his genius because he has so little to gain. Tormond still breathes but can’t do anything. The magnates won’t do anything because they dread losing Tormond in battle. The consuls are hiding under their beds.”
Hodier rambled on, a soliloquy for his mother city. The old man listened in silence. Succession complications. They plagued all lands, all the time, and caused endless dislocation, confusion, and misery. There had to be a better way.
He did not expect to see it in his lifetime.
Every plan, every scheme, every social experiment broke down as soon as people became involved.
“Arrest me, Hodier. Take me away if you must. You’re wasting your time. And mine. What little I have left. These days I’m nothing but a spectator.” He moved half a step so he could lean on a merlon. Nearer the gate carpenters had started putting up hoardings.
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.