“I don’t know. I never thought of it.”
“Nor did I,” Bernardin said. “I expect on account of the old stories. Shape-shifters turn into animals. Especially wolves. Not into other people. An evil sorcerer who wants to disguise himself as somebody else always uses a glamour.”
“A glamour would be easier for your garden-variety sorcerer. He’d only need to make somebody think he sees who he wants them to see. In real life you would need to mimic mannerisms and speech patterns.”
“I get it,” Socia said. “And, suddenly, I realize that we haven’t put any serious thought into what we’ve been given. Or to what she thought we should do with it.”
Brother Candle chuckled darkly. “So the next stage in my life is, I become a sixty-nine-year-old professional assassin.”
Bernardin cocked his head. “Something is going on. I’ll be back as soon as I find out.”
Socia and the Perfect exchanged looks. The old man said, “I didn’t hear anything.”
“Nor did I.”
Neither mentioned it but both had noticed. Bernardin was growing brighter and more alert, quicker, and sharper in his senses. And Brother Candle felt younger. Not a day over sixty-one.
* * *
Bernardin returned accompanied by an exhausted, filthy soldier no more than sixteen years old. “And here she is herself, lad. Tell her what you told me.”
The boy tried to make his obeisance. Brother Candle feared he would collapse and be unable to get back up. Socia said, “Never mind all that foolishness. Talk to me, Aaron d’Fitac.”
The boy glowed. His Countess knew him. “I ride with the Widow. We were in a big fight. The biggest yet, near the ruins of old Vetercus. We were up against Anne of Menand’s best.”
Brother Candle’s spirit sank. The way the boy approached his story hinted that Kedle had found the end of her string.
“And?” Socia croaked.
“We killed most of them. The Widow told us to take no prisoners because it might be the fight that broke them. We took none amongst the nobles and knights.”
Bernardin settled the boy in his chair, then, as his story unfolded, had Escamerole bring food and drink.
The boy attacked food and drink alike, but between mouthfuls he named Arnhanders known to have fallen. The list sounded like a roll call of Arnhand’s peerage.
“No prisoners,” the boy said again. And, “The Widow’s ambush was ingenious. They didn’t suspect anything till we started killing them. They were all piled up at the ford. They were following a game trail, trying to get behind us so they could cut us off from the Connec. But the Widow knew their plan. She always knows what they’ll try to do. So she had us there waiting, hiding. We discharged four falcons into their horses. They probably lost three hundred men just in the stampede. Meantime, every man who could bend a bow or span an arbalest laid missiles into the confusion. Even the proudest knights. There isn’t a man amongst the Vindicated who will do aught but what the Widow orders.”
Brother Candle asked, “How large was this Arnhander force?” It would have grown in the boy’s mind, he was sure, but he knew it would have been sizable if it had included that many important men.
“You will think me a liar but at least a thousand by actual count.”
Bernardin said, “The Commander of the Righteous slaughtered a vastly superior force at the Shades without the advantages the boy mentions, using falcons.”
Socia asked, “How many were you? How many falcons did you have? And where did you get them?”
“There were three hundred eighty-six of us. We had four falcons taken from the castle at Artridge.”
Brother Candle said, “I’m lost. Where is Artridge? When did Kedle capture it?”
Socia shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not allowed to go see her anymore.”
Bernardin said, “There is more. The critical more.”
Brother Candle realized that this was the point where the boy would pass on the dread word that he had ridden so long and hard to deliver.
Socia said, “Aaron, you came to tell us what else?”
“We killed more than a thousand. By honest, actual count. We lost only thirty-seven of our own.”
“Aaron!”
“They captured the Widow, Countess!” The boy burst into tears. “There was snow on the ground. All the blood and trampling around turned the earth to mud. She led the attack on the last Arnhanders. There weren’t a hundred who hadn’t fallen or fled. Her horse slipped in the mud. She didn’t jump free. The horse fell on her. It crushed her leg. The man leading the Arnhanders then was Stephan of Bley, a really big man. He grabbed the Widow and threw her across the neck of his horse, then galloped off. He outran us. He’s holed up in the castle at Arngrere with survivors from the battle. He’s threatening to have his revenge on her.”
Bernardin grumbled, “The Society must be salivating over the opportunity to put her on trial.”
Brother Candle nodded. That would make a great show.
Aaron went on. “He has been warned that if he harms her, not just he will pay a cruel price but all those of his blood will as well.”
Brother Candle could not speak. He had been expecting this forever. He had schooled himself to bear it. But the shock was still fierce, as it was when a long-suffering parent finally surrendered to the Will of the Night.
Socia said, “Bernardin, start putting together an expedition…”
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“That would be pointless. This drama will play out long before we can influence it. It may have done so already. Aaron d’Fitac, how long did it take you to get here?”
“Six days, and some. I came as fast as I could.”
“You see, Countess? A week already. How long to assemble a force, arm and victual it, and get it to Arngrere? How long for the witch of Menand to put together a force to welcome us? Kedle’s whole campaign has depended on her not being where she was expected.”
After her initial emotional response subsided, Socia saw the truth in what Bernardin said. Still, “But I can’t sit here and do nothing.”
“Not only can you, you must. For the sake of Antieux and the Connec.”
“What?”
That was an odd thing to say. Brother Candle heard it but was too focused on Kedle’s predicament to concern himself.
The old man felt a fierce, shooting pain in his right temple. For a moment he feared this was the end. That his allotted time had run out. That the Good God had chosen to spin his ever-lapsing Perfect round the Wheel of Life again. He gasped out, “Socia, this is exactly where I’ve been warning you that we were headed.”
“Yes. Enjoy your vindication. Aaron, is there anything more? Can you break my heart one more time? No? Then go somewhere. Sleep. For a week if that’s what you need. Escamerole. Come out of there. Have you been spying?”
“No, Countess.” Face red, Kedle’s cousin slipped into the room. “And it please you, I just wanted word of my kin.” She was shaking. She did not like being the center of attention.
“So now you’ve had word. Grim as it is. Show Aaron somewhere to lie down, then come to my apartment. Bring Guillemette. And don’t breathe a word about what you’ve heard. Understand?”
“I do, Lady.”
“Master? The same for you. If you go jogging off to tell the Archimbaults I’ll have Bernardin cut your tongue out. Clear?”
“Clear.” He exchanged glances with Amberchelle. Bernardin shrugged.
Socia said, “You two go get some sleep, too. You’ll need to be rested, clear of eye and mind, and ready for war in the morning.” She rose and stalked off, pulling an emotional vacuum along with her.
Brother Candle considered Bernardin momentarily. “There was something else we needed to hear about, wasn’t there?”
“She didn’t give me a chance to bring it up. It won’t be official till the Queen’s deputies get here from Khaurene but I had a secret warning from one of Isabeth’s agents. So we would be ready when the delegation arrives.”
Brother Candle said, “What?” He had no idea.
“Isabeth is going to do what we thought she never would. She’s going to confirm Count Raymone as her brother’s heir as Duke of Khaurene.”