Surrender to the Will of the Night - By Glen Cook Page 0,74

but not him.”

“I know. I know.” And Tormond was a friend. Or had been, when they were boys. After a fashion. Now they were just two tired old men.

* * *

Brother Candle had not visited the fortress Metrelieux for some time. “Improvements have been made, I see.”

“Isabeth’s Direcians are pushy. Though it’s only the gate.” Hodier shrugged. “The rest is cosmetic. Militarily, the Direcians are more interested in upgrading the city gates and walls.”

Brother Candle had noted the physical improvements where he had entered the city. He had seen patrols in the street, mixed Direcian and native. “Do you think a siege is a sure thing?”

“That decision will be made by King Regard. Meaning, by his mother. King Peter will make sure the city resists.”

“His soldiers seem to be everywhere. How many are they?”

“Fewer than some like, more than make the Patriarch’s friends happy.”

“Meaning you don’t know.”

“Clever, Master. But the question can’t be answered. By me. Perhaps by Principaté de Herve or Count Alplicova. The garrison turns over constantly. Nor do they want spies being able to establish anything certain. The soldiers are here to teach our people to defend themselves. Most seem willing to learn.”

A member of the Collegium was in Khaurene representing interests opposed to the Father of the Church? “So the debacle when they met the Captain-General convinced the survivors that they have some shortcomings.”

“Indeedy do, Brother. Indeedy do. Wait in here. I’ll find out how soon the Duke can receive you.”

Brother Candle settled in one of Metrelieux’s quiet rooms. He had waited there on other occasions. Usually someone turned up wanting a private word before he saw Tormond. Which seemed to be the point of the delay.

This time was different. Hodier was gone a half hour but no whisperer materialized during the wait.

“He’s ready, Brother. You’ll understand the delay once you see him. Be prepared for changes. For the worse.”

The worse? And Tormond was still alive?

“Sorry, Brother. I don’t mean to sound dramatic. But, as I said, you’ll understand.”

He would. Almost. But, more, the Perfect was tempted to decline into despair.

The Great Vacillator, Tormond IV, last of his line because he had no surviving issue, had become a drooling ruin. He was confined to a wheeled chair. He stank. He could not lift his chin off his chest, so weak had he become. He was little more than a stick figurine.

Hodier said, “This time there’s no sorcery and no poison. This time it’s just age and poor health.”

This, Brother Candle suspected, would be the last time he saw his friend among the living. His resentment over having been dragged up to Metrelieux faded. “Has he made a religious commitment? Will he take Church rites or the consolamentum?” The latter being the final ritual for the dying Seeker After Light.

“He’s the Great Vacillator. Unto the extremity itself. Bishop Clayto, Bishop LeCroes, and the Perfect Brother Purify have been standing by. His Lordship won’t choose among them.”

Brother Candle thought that must be Brother Purify’s fault. One of Brother Candle’s most persistent failings was his inability to think a single charitable thought about Brother Purify. They were flint and steel. But he also started at the mention of Bishop LeCroes. His onetime friend had been caught giving Tormond slow poison at the behest of Sublime V. His reward was to be exalted status once the Church gained control in Khaurene.

Publicly, Bries LeCroes had been the senior local supporter of the Anti-Patriarchs, not a Brothe man.

Bicot Hodier noted his response. “One thing the Duke does do is forgive. Sublime is dead. The threat of Patriarchal troops is gone. So he pardoned everybody. Including every noble who worked with the Captain-General during the time of the crusade. And for that we’re paying already. Now they’re conspiring with Arnhand.”

Knees grinding in protest, Brother Candle sank down in front of Tormond. He considered the healing brother behind the wheeled chair, saw nothing to indicate that the man was anything but what he pretended.

The Perfect thought he would see the serpent of darkness lurking behind the priest’s eyes if he was a Society tool.

Tormond’s eyes glittered. He was as aware and alert as could be, trapped inside that deteriorating flesh. But he could not communicate easily.

The meeting took place in an audience where Brother Candle had conferred with Tormond and his councilors before. Tormond had asked his opinions about everything, always, but never took them to heart. This morning the room was damp, chill, gloomy, barren, and almost unpopulated. Hodier was there. The healing