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.