Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,133

captives were a distant cousin of Anne of Menand and a viscount who was popular in Salpeno. There was a bishop, several priests, and a dozen members of the Society. She beheaded the knights and nobles, no exceptions. She burned the churchmen. She applied the torches personally. But the common soldiers she disarmed and paroled.”

Brother Candle closed his eyes and shook his head. “Socia, Socia. Bernardin, I knew she had the taint, but not that bad.”

“Brother, she promised them safe-conduct to win their surrender. Then went back on it. She said God doesn’t expect us to keep faith with agents of the Adversary.”

True enough. Church people claimed that all the time. “Didn’t the Society execute ‘heretics’ when they captured that same castle?”

“They did. Two Seeker students. Two. Who were confused about what to do if they were captured. The garrison surrendered without a fight.”

Brother Candle learned that Socia had, improbably, taken the Suralert stronghold with thirty-six men. Only three suffered injuries. The defenders had numbered eighty-four. They had had supplies enough for two months. Socia executed twenty-two prisoners. A twenty-third, Bishop Morcant Farfog, decided to change sides.…

“Farfog? Morcant Farfog? The Farfog who was with Haiden Backe when he attacked Caron ande Lette? Who took command of the mercenaries after Backe was killed? The Morcant Farfog who had several wicked titles under several wicked Patriarchs and the Arnhander Crown?”

“Uh … Yes. Interesting turn, eh? He turned coat and made speeches denouncing the wickedness of the Society. His other option was the stake.”

“Ah. Yes. St. Morcant the Martyr. I knew him well. And good for him. But, just one problem, Bernardin. Morcant Farfog was an Archbishop. And he was murdered in Castreresone way back when the Captain-General occupied the city.”

“Uh-oh, then. I must’ve got it wrong. Or Socia did. Hey! Maybe it was that other famous Arnhander asshole Bishop, Austen Rinpoché.”

“The hunchback? Didn’t he get killed somewhere along the way, too?”

“No. He was the one, I’m pretty sure. My mistake. I can’t tell one Arnhander Church dick from another. It had to be Rinpoché, the special idiot. Anne’s favorite idiot. She kept trusting him with missions. He kept screwing them up. I heard she’s started nagging Serenity about making new seats in the Collegium so she can pay off her clerical lapdogs.”

“The Patriarch can’t expand the Collegium. Only the Principatés can do that. And that won’t happen. The Firaldians have too thin a majority. One that won’t hold up if Serenity comes at cross-purposes with the Empire.”

“Then let’s hope our new shepherd of souls offends the Empress.”

“Let us hope.” A chill had shaken Brother Candle. He was no student of Church history but did recall that more than one Patriarch had tried to reshape the communal attitude of the Collegium by eliminating Principatés of insufficiently sympathetic attitude in order to replace them with men whose views were more compatible.

* * *

Because Bernardin Amberchelle wanted the world to think the Perfect was a prisoner Brother Candle became, in practice, a loosely confined prisoner. He had freedom of movement inside Antieux’s citadel but was not allowed out.

Three times Bernardin reported taking prisoners who admitted having been sent to recover the treasures the Perfect had carried away from Khaurene. That hunt had grown vigorous, now.

Socia Rault turned up one morning as Brother Candle was breaking his fast. Nine days had passed since Bernardin found him. She had cleaned up but it remained obvious that she was not long off the road. She held a finger to her lips, tapped her ear, swept her hand round to indicate the plentiful shadows.

Brother Candle was not sensitive to the Night but had felt the chills and creepiness supposedly associated with the presence of lurking Instrumentalities. Did he care what they overheard? Those interested in him ought to know everything worthwhile already.

Socia produced a doeskin sack a good foot deep. She shoved a hand inside, winced, then flung a scatter of something all round. It rattled like pea gravel against the walls of the cell. Socia licked bloody spots on her fingers.

Whatevers from the handful rolled back toward Brother Candle. They did look like bits of dark gravel. Then they opened like sow bugs uncurling, took a moment to get oriented, considering him and Socia first. Then they headed for the shadows, fast.

“Not rolly-polies,” he said. Sow bugs had no speed at all.

“No. I’m not sure what they are. I bought them from a pagan witch out in the hills. Don’t mention them to Raymone. They work better than