‘ … and I saw it as plain as the nose on your face!
You were -
‘Take back that insinuation, or by Aeoris, I’ll -
The wind flung snatches of the furious altercation past his ears as he approached, and he saw that the driver of the second wagon was quarrelling with a merchant who rode beside his cart, both deaf to the hesitant entreaties of the escort leader as he attempted to intervene.
Tarod’s voice cut icily through the conflict.
‘What’s the meaning of this?
The wagon-driver swung round in his seat, one arm gesturing wildly at the merchant, and as he did so Tarod noticed the intricate charm-necklace he wore. Treachery!’ The driver’s voice was shrill with hysteria. This man, claiming to be a merchant - he’s one of them!
The merchant opened his mouth to make a furious rebuttal, but before he could utter a sound Tarod snapped, ‘Be silent!’ The man’s jaw worked apopletically and Tarod added, ‘I can’t pay attention to both of you at once! You’ll have your chance to speak - for now, I’ll hear the wagoner.
Gaining confidence, the driver began again. ‘We’ve a spy in our midst, Adept, I’m sure of it - a Chaos spy!’ He made the Sign of Aeoris hastily before his own face. ‘Not two minutes since, I saw him take something from his pouch - he held it up to his face, and he murmured to it, and then he kissed it. It was a stone, a jewel - the High Initiate himself says that the Chaos fiend carries his soul in a jewel, and that it’s a deadly gem. Sir, there’s something evil about this - I sense it; I smell it! If these escaped demons can assume disguises, then surely -
His voice tailed off as Tarod treated him to a searing look. The merchant was beginning to protest again, and Tarod touched light heels to his horse’s flanks, guiding it closer to the man. ‘Your friend seems to believe he has a genuine reason for suspicion. What do you have to say?
The merchant snorted. ‘The fool’s drunk too much ale! He’s been swigging from that skin beside him since we set out -
‘Then what he claims to have seen was pure imagination?’ Tarod’s tone was a challenge.
The man’s face reddened. ‘Well …
‘I’ll ask a simple question, and I anticipate a clear answer, Did he, or did he not, imagine that he saw you making some ritual obeisance to a jewel?
In his heart, Tarod cared not one whit for the rights and wrongs of the argument; he’d have been content to allow the two to resolve their squabble as best they could. But he had to remind himself that he was posing as a genuine Adept of the Circle; with Keridil’s exhortations fresh in everyone’s minds, not to show a lively interest was unthinkable.
The merchant turned redder still and mumbled something that was muffled by his cloak collar. Tarod’s eyes grew dangerous. ‘I’m waiting for your answer, merchant.
Slowly, and with great reluctance, the man reached into his belt-pouch and drew out something which he seemed loth to display. But at last his clenched fingers opened, and Tarod saw a small and irregularly shaped piece of quartz lying in his palm. He reached out, took it without a word, and held it up to examine it.
Someone had, at some time, taken a crude stone-cutting chisel to the quartz’s uneven surface. Carved into it, ragged but just recognisable, was a familiar symbol - a circle, or what passed for one, bisected by a jagged line; and an attempt had been made to mark the symbol’s outlines with some form of dye which was now all but worn away. It was nothing more than a goodluck charm, no doubt purchased at a usurer’s price from some scrofulous charlatan at a Quarter-Day fair.
Tarod let his fingers close round the quartz, and smiled humourlessly at the merchant, whose cheeks were by now afire with guilty embarrassment. ‘I don’t believe,’ he said evenly, ‘that we have a servant of Chaos in our midst. More likely, we have a gullible and superstitious fool who has spent too much time listening to the blandishments of itinerant tricksters!’ He opened his hand again. ‘What did the seller of this bauble tell you?
That it was imbued with the energies of the gods themselves, that it would protect you against every ghoul and demon a man’s imagination can conjure?’ Turning in his saddle he held the quartz out towards the wagon driver.
‘There’s your Chaos stone - as crude a piece of trumpery as it’s ever been my misfortune to see!’ His gaze rested, pointedly, on the charm-necklace dangling on the driver’s jerkin, and the man had the good grace to blush almost as deeply as the merchant. Tarod waited until he was sure the wagoner had understood the significance of the symbol cut into the crystal’s surface, then he raised his arm and flung the stone as far from the road as he could.
The Circle doesn’t look kindly on charlatans who profane the sacred for their own profit.’ he said crisply.
‘And it has little more time for fools who are duped by such tricks.’ The merchant was watching him, half abashed and half resentful; Tarod stared him down and he dropped his gaze. ‘Under the circumstances I’ve some sympathy for you - these aren’t easy times. But I’ll warn you now, both of you -I want to hear no more wild accusations, and I want to see no more acts of childish superstition!’ He turned to the wagoner, who was slowly removing his own charm-necklace. ‘This pathetic affray has already delayed us. I’d strongly suggest that no more is said on the matter!
Without waiting for either man to reply he turned his horse and rode back to the rear of the caravan, followed by the young militiaman, who throughout the exchange had said nothing but who now watched him in mute admiration. Slowly, the lead wagon began to move and the others followed; as the creaking convoy got under way once more Tarod settled his horse to a slow, long-striding walk, and lapsed into uncomfortable thought.
He might well have been wrong to pour scorn on the two protagonists and their superstitions. After all, if their amulets gave them comfort what harm could they do? But he had sensed something far darker underlying the altercation; something that echoed the unhappy affair in Hannik. Fear had seeded suspicion, and that suspicion was flowering rapidly into hysteria. If a simple and pitiable belief in goodluck charms could lead to accusations of being in league with Chaos, how long would it be before any act, any word, any gesture would be interpreted as a sign of evil intent?
Perhaps, he told himself, his thoughts ran too fast and too far. But the hope was quickly followed by a realisation that his instincts were right. In all his years as an Initiate he had rarely travelled beyond the Star Peninsula; he had grown used to living in a community that understood the nature of superstition and had largely risen above it - but in the outside world, matters were very different. To these people Adepts were hardly lower than gods in their own right, and the Castle a place to be revered and dreaded. Little wonder that they were responding to the High Initiate’s message like children frightened by a fireside tale …
Did Keridil realise, he wondered, that with his talk of demons he was in danger of releasing a far greater evil than anything Yandros had thus far manifested? Or did he consider the price worth paying, for the sake of exacting revenge? That thought was chilling, for it hinted at aspects to the High Initiate’s character which, even prejudiced as he was, Tarod wouldn’t have attributed to him.
He glanced speculatively at the sky, which once again was threatening rain. The weather, though dismal, had been oddly calm thus far on his journey - almost too calm. No storms, no Warps; nothing that suggested the untoward influence that Yandros might be capable of asserting should he choose to. It was as though some other agency were at work, blocking anything the Chaos lord might do to disrupt the world, and he wondered what other, more arcane wheels the Circle might have set in motion in their search for him. Doubtless they’d use all their occult skills to call on the power of Aeoris to aid them - but could they truly claim the gods’ sanction for the soul-eating fear that was spreading like a disease as a result of their work?
Except for a few dark moments, Tarod had never questioned his loyalty to the Lords of Order; but now a worm of doubt was moving
within him. The truth had yet to be put to the test - but if Aeoris and his brethren meant to leave the world to the mercies of their self-appointed servants whilst doing nothing to stem this growing peril, then, somewhere, Yandros must be laughing.
He recalled the tear-blotched face of the terrified girl in Hannik. She had been one of the first victims, but there’d be many more to follow in her wake. The nightmare, every instinct told him, was only just beginning The heavy rains of recent days had largely avoided Southern Chaun Province in the far South-West, and so the timber and thatch of the farmhouse was dry enough to make a spectacular blaze. Dense, oily smoke roiled up from the roof; the old vine that rambled over the walls shrivelled and cracked and writhed into twisting, dying snakes; and already the brilliant glare of fire was leaping in every window.
Beyond the house the two barns were also beginning to catch, and in the distance, on the well-tended fields, men moved like phantoms in rising clouds of smoke as they set torches to the young crops.
With a roar and a sudden towering eruption of flame the roof of the farmhouse caved in, and against the noise of the inferno a woman screamed in desperate but helpless protest. The smallholder’s wife knelt in the yard, trying to gather her three young children into her arms whilst an older woman in the white robe, now smoke-grimed, of a Sister of Aeoris wrestled her back. A few paces away her husband sprawled in the dust. He had tried to prevent this insanity, but a blazing brand across the face had put a stop to his protests, blinded him in one eye and left him with a scar he’d carry for the rest of his life.
And, at a safe distance from the injured farmer and his hysterical family, a group of sober smallholders and minor local dignitaries watched the destruction with gloomy satisfaction. A very regrettable necessity, they agreed, but a necessity nonetheless. The herder lad who had reported the strange ritual he’d seen his master performing at Sunset last night had acted well; loyalty, however commendable, had to take second place to the necessity of exposing a servant of Chaos in their midst The house, and the lifetime’s possessions it contained, burned; and at last the spectacle was over and the farmer’s wife’s cries had subsided to deep, racking sobs.
The self-appointed head of the deputation walked slowly across to where the white-robed Sister stood, and looked down at the landswoman with a mixture of pity and disgust.
‘We shall, of course, have to make some provision for the children,’ he said.
The Sister’s eyes were hard. ‘My main fear, Elder, is that they may have been tainted with their father’s sin. I think it would be for the best if they were housed at my Cot for the foreseeable future. That way, we can ensure that any sign of corruption is eradicated before it can take hold.
‘Indeed … indeed.’ The Elder sighed. ‘Such an unfortunate occurrence … do you know, Sister, the man still protests his innocence? He claims that he was mixing a potion - something handed down by his grandmother, a devout woman, he insists - with which he meant to protect his family against evil.
She smiled, but there was no amusement in it. ‘With due respect, Elder, if you know your catechisms you’ll also know that lies and trickery are the hallmark of Chaos. Of course, it’s possible that the man was speaking the truth - but would you have been prepared to take that risk?
‘No … ‘ The Elder looked across the yard at the smouldering skeleton of the house. ‘No. I would not.
The Sister turned and leaned down to grasp the sobbing woman’s cloak-collar. ‘Come; get up!’ Over her shoulder she called to another, younger Sister who hovered in the background. ‘Sister Mavan, kindly get the children into the cart. The girl seems attached to that toy weaving-loom she’s clutching - she may keep it, if it will ensure her good behaviour.
The farmer’s wife stared at the Sister with mute and bitter hatred, but she was too emotionally exhausted to protest as the children were shepherded away.
‘You should consider yourself fortunate,’ the Sister told her coldly. ‘In many other provinces, your children would have been turned out with you, to fend for themselves. You should give thanks to Aeoris that here we live under the kindly grace of the Matriarch herself, and that she is the soul of clemency!
The woman didn’t answer, and the Sister gazed down at her with a sudden rush of contempt and suspicion.
‘What, aren’t you repentant even now? You have your life - what would your thrice-damned gods of Chaos have given you in return for your service?
‘We have never - ‘ the woman began savagely, then, seeing the Sister’s steel-cold eyes, she fell silent once more.
‘You’ll learn a lesson from this day,’ the Sister told her relentlessly. ‘You’ll learn the foolishness and the futility of daring to turn against the laws of the gods! And as you and your husband wander the roads, destitute as you deserve to be, perhaps you’ll reflect on Aeoris’s mercy, and pray to him for forgiveness - if you value your souls!
She shivered at the thought of the disaster that might have resulted had not this serpent in their midst been uncovered in time. The High Initiate’s message had warned of the deadly power loose in the land; warned of their enemies’ cunning, and exhorted the Sisters to be vigilant for any signs of Chaos’s insidious influence. And if the dark powers could infiltrate one of their own kind to pose for years as an Initiate of the Circle, Aeoris alone knew what devilry they might wreak on the malleable minds of countryfolk such as these. She remembered that black-haired demon they sought; she had seen him at the Castle when she went as part of the Matriarch’s deposition to Keridil Toln’s inauguration ceremony, and the thought that even the Circle had been duped by him was chilling. For that reason alone she was determined not to relax her vigilance for a single moment in pursuit of evildoers. One bad fruit could corrupt an entire harvest. It was her holy duty to see to it that such bad fruits had no chance to infect others with their rot, and she was satisfied that, thus far, she had acquitted herself well.
In Wishet Province, five women awaited trial on charges of witchcraft. They had been attempting to sell charms at the Port Summer market; and whereas in previous seasons they would either have been driven out of the town or, more likely, tolerantly ignored, now they languished in the justice house with the chilling knowledge that their fate would be far less pleasant.
In West High Land, bad weather in the Western Sound kept the fishing fleet confined to the perilous cliff-harbours of Fanaan Bay. Lady Kael Amion, Senior of the largest Sisterhood Cot in the province, received word that the fishermen blamed their misfortune on the machinations of Chaos, and wasn’t inclined to disagree with them. And when scapegoats were sought, and found, she did nothing to intervene. Aeoris chose to punish transgressors in his own way - if one or two innocents suffered along with the guilty, then perhaps the lesson would be learned all the better. Hearing that seven people had been put naked into a wicker cage, their bodies daubed with hex signs, and the cage dropped into the deep sea beyond the bay’s shelter, she made no comment but simply retired to her chambers and prayed for their souls.
In Empty Province, a miner gave shelter to a merchant whose horse had cast a shoe on the South-Western road, offering him a bed for the night and an adequate if crude meal. He was later accused of harbouring a servant of Chaos, and when the merchant - whose hair happened to be black, as several witnesses testified - couldn’t be traced, the charge was considered proven.
There had been no executions in the area for a generation, but there was no shortage of suitably sized rocks among the waste heaps of the mineral mines, when the hastily convicted man was stoned to death.
And in the Great Eastern Flatlands, which felt the sting of having spawned the Chaos-demon’s accomplice, no man dared speak a careless word to his neighbour lest that word be enough to damn him. The few stone-readers who still kept up the ancient tradition closed their doors overnight - though one or two were still found and dealt summary justice, with their town elders none the wiser. The fleet refused to venture out into Whiteshoals Sound
until every sail on every boat had been painted with charms, and complex symbols were daubed on doors and shutters throughout the province.
Hysteria mounted; every fair-haired girl and black-haired man went in constant fear of arrest, and the Margrave, his resources stretched to breaking point, proclaimed a curfew.
Somewhere, Tarod thought, Yandros must be laughing …
Four days after departing Vilmado, Cyllan had picked up the main drove road that ran South-East from Prospect into Shu Province. Thankfully, the journey had thus far been uneventful; one of her ponies had cast a shoe, but a farrier at a hamlet a couple of miles off the road had replaced it, and had also been ready to spread the latest gossip concerning the fugitives.
Rumour, it seemed, was piling upon rumour. Tarod had been reported captured in two different provinces, herself in three, and there were numerous reports of their having been seen together. There were also tales of a disastrous Spring crop failure in Han, flooding in Wishet and a monstrous Warp that had swept down through West High Land, Chaun and Southern Chaun, claiming fifty lives - all signs, the farrier insisted, that the dark powers were using their servants to wreak havoc among the godly followers of Aeoris.
Cyllan gazed about the forge’s interior, where every nook and cranny was festooned with amulets and daubed with holy symbols, and shivered despite the heat of the fire. Everyone she had passed on the road, or encountered in towns and hamlets, had displayed some charm against evil, and encounters with any strangers had been rife with tension and suspicion. Even the loquacious farrier had been unwilling to take her commission at first, and only a good deal of persuasion on Cyllan’s part had convinced him that she was harmless.
Matters, she realised, were rapidly getting out of hand - people were being arrested as sympathisers with Chaos on the flimsiest of hearsay; old spites were finding outlets in wild accusations of witchcraft and demonology; no one could trust his neighbour or even his own family not to turn against him. In every settlement men were forming into hasty militia forces and taking the law into their own hands, and it was only thanks to good luck and an occasional measure of guile that Cyllan had avoided the zealous search for supposed evildoers.
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