Brother Candle nodded. He had visited Arnhand last spring. And remained healthy only because local Seekers warned him whenever the Church sent men to arrest him. "True. And they still send their third and fourth sons, and too much treasure, to the Crusader states in the Holy Lands."

Past crusaders had carved a half-dozen small kingdoms and principalities out of the Holy Lands. Those always needed more men and money to keep going. They were not natural entities and were under continuous pressure from the neighboring Praman kaifates.

In Arnhand the crusades were considered a religious obligation. Knights and nobles from elsewhere did try to make an armed pilgrimage once during life, but Arnhanders often went with no intention of returning.

"You need to think in longer terms, young man." Brother Candle was old and respected. He would be given the opportunity to speak. Getting Raymone to listen would be the real challenge. "You have to consider what consequences your choices might visit on you and Antieux both tomorrow and far into the future. Right now, just as a mental exercise, forecast for me some possible consequences of you refusing to see the Duke."

The question did slither into Count Raymone's mind. It began to turn over clods of wishful thinking.

Brother Candle said, "Suppose Anne of Menand assembles another gang of adventurers and, by some misfortune, she recruits a competent captain. Perhaps someone honed on the harsh battlefields of the Holy Lands. Say Antieux is besieged and that Captain is smart enough to expect competent resistance."

"Enough! I get your point, old man. If I refuse the Duke, he could refuse me later." That would not set a precedent. All feudal rights and obligations ran both directions. "Considering that's a situation where he might actually do something. I must be getting old." Count Raymone was on the cusp of thirty. "I have to admit you're probably right."

When Brother Candle departed, dismissed, Count Raymone sent for the Rault family. He had dragged them back to Antieux, too. Brother Candle suspected he had taken a fancy to Socia.

Brock Rault had been included in the Duke's summons.

"THIS IS WHERE I LEAVE YOU," BROTHER CANDLE TOLD his traveling companions. Count Raymone scowled, ever suspicious. The Perfect feared the Count's dark outlook was opening.

Brock Rault grinned. He was excited. This was his first visit to Khaurene. "See you at the castle, Brother." Then his face darkened, too. He liked to point out that Raymone Garete had reason to be suspicious. His city had been attacked. More than once. He had been attacked himself. The Brothen Church kept sending priests to foment trouble in his territories. Hanging them did not dissuade others from coming. And, more than once, he had caught someone close to him conspiring with Sublime's agents.

Brother Candle watched the column wend deeper into the city, destination Metrelieux, castle of the Dukes of Khaurene.

Brother Candle went to the home of Raulet Archimbault, a leader in Khaurene's Seeker community. His eyes watered. He was surrounded by tanneries. Archimbault was a leader in that community, too.

The tanner's daughter, Kedle, admitted him.

"You've certainly grown, child."

She reddened, lowered her gaze. He remembered her bolder, holding her own when Seekers After Light gathered.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

He did not understand that he was a demigod to Kedle. The Perfect were rare, even here in the heartland of the Maysalean Heresy. Brother Candle thought of himself only as a wandering teacher.

"We didn't know you were coming."

"I had no way to send word."

"You're always welcome, Master."

"Brother Candle. Just Brother Candle. Or Teacher, if you must. Ah. I sense a but. You're here instead of at the tanning shed. I expected your little brother. He can't possibly be working yet. Can he?"

"Yes, he can. I'm not working because we're getting ready for the wedding."

"Whose wedding?"

"Mine."

"But you're just… Well."

"Time does pass, Teacher."

The child always did have a philosophical bent.

"Evidently faster when you're not around to keep an eye on it."

"Well, come in, Master. We'll manage something."

The Maysalean Heresy retained a concept of communal responsibility that had been forgotten by the Brothen Episcopal Church. The same philosophy had animated the Founders but faded as the Brothen rite of the Chaldarean creed aged and became increasingly hierarchical, reflecting the culture around it. When the Old Empire collapsed the Church assumed most of the old Imperial palaces, dignities, and trappings. The Old Empire's ghost lived on – inside the Church bureaucracy.

Kedle's wedding took place on time. Asked to speak, Brother Candle did so briefly, his themes optimism, spiritual vigilance, and tolerance. Afterward, he arranged to spend his nights in rotation between several Seeker families. He did not want to add to the strain on the Archimbaults. The Maysaleans of Khaurene were eager for the status conferred by having him as a houseguest.

Days passed. He heard nothing from Metrelieux.

Evening meetings continued to be held at the Archimbault establishment. Only they had room to accommodate those who turned out to see the Perfect Master.

Ten minutes into the first gathering, Brother Candle knew that Khaurene's Maysalean community had changed.

People were afraid. They had no confidence in the future.

Maysaleans should not fear tomorrow. Tomorrow would come. There was no need to dread it, however harsh.

"What's happened?" Brother Candle asked. "Have you all lost faith?"

Kedle Archimbault stepped in when her elders failed to explain. "The trouble is the Duke, Master."

"Brother," he corrected automatically.

"The Duke is old. And tired. And weak. He's done nothing to keep the Connec from falling apart. His orders seldom make sense and usually make things worse. No one outside Khaurene pays much attention anymore. He won't enforce his will."

Similar complaints could be heard everywhere. The lesser nobility no longer feared their Duke, nor had much confidence in his protection.

Raulet Archimbault found his tongue. "That's the surface of it, Master. There's also the uncertainty caused by the Duke's bad health and lack of a designated successor."

That was a huge point. Brother Candle hoped Tormond's sister would succeed.

It did not matter what religion you were, nor what class. The passing of Tormond IV would have a profound impact. Because someone would replace him. And that someone's religious views would be crucial. The struggle for the souls of the Connec grew more heated daily.

"Gangs roam the streets," Amis Hainteau said. "Brothen Episcopals, whipped up by monks from the Society for the Suppression of Sacrilege and Heresy. The Duke does nothing. Chaldareans sworn to Viscesment outnumber the Brothen thugs but hardly ever fight back. The gangs mostly attack Seekers. And Deves and Dainshaus when they find them."

"They looted the Praman church last month," Kedle kicked in. "The only one in Khaurene. They tried to burn it, too. Twenty-two people were killed."

Her mother, with fat arms folded across her chest, said, "And the Duke did nothing. Again. He ignored it entirely."

Brother Candle was baffled. How could the situation have deteriorated so?

Archimbault said, "We're about two outrages short of civil war."

Someone mentioned priests being murdered. Somebody had begun picking off priests who favored Sublime or any of his works.

Someone observed, "War is unavoidable. The Brothens intend to force it."

That fit the common prejudice, Brother Candle was sure. "I should see Duke Tormond soon. I'll prick his conscience." He had little real hope of that, though. The man seemed blind to everything, trapped in a world spun from his own wishful thinking.