by Anthony Ryan
“Over here, Scribe!”
Lady Evadine’s voice banished my reverie instantly, coloured as it was by a previously unheard note of impatient ire. She stood beside a large cart, an old shaggy-footed dray horse tossing an unkempt mane in the withers. Beside Evadine stood a trim, neatly attired cleric, his thin, pale features drawn in a placid smile despite the captain’s unconcealed frown of anger.
“Captain,” I said, knuckling my forehead as I moved hastily to her side. “Sergeant Swain bid me—”
“Yes, yes,” she cut in, nodding to the cleric. “Aspirant Arnabus requires sight of the ledgers.”
The trim man’s gaze flicked over me while I retrieved the leather-bound tomes from the sack. I saw only a brief interest in his small, near-black eyes as they passed across my face and garb before focusing on the ledgers. “Place them here, if you would, good soldier,” he said, pointing to the cart’s tailboard. He spoke with the same accent as Evadine, that of Alberis nobility, but with a smoother, more careful enunciation. “And be so kind as to direct me to the company inventory.”
I did as he bid, leafing through the pages to the required entries, drawing a murmur of surprised approval from him in the process. “Very fine,” he said, running a finger over the columns of numbers and letters. “Your work?”
I bobbed my head in confirmation. “It is, Aspirant.”
“How fortunate your captain is to have found such a skilled hand.” He revealed his teeth in a smile, teeth that seemed to possess an unnatural whiteness, resembling rows of small ivory beads. “Might I ask where you came by it?”
Thinking a fulsome explanation of my skills unwise, I opted for a concise response. “I worked in the scriptorium at the Shrine to Martyr Callin, Aspirant.”
“Ah, that explains it. Tell me, does Master Arnild the Gilder still labour there?”
“He does, Aspirant. I count myself blessed to have received some of his teachings…”
I trailed off as Evadine let out a loud, pointed cough. I saw Aspirant Arnabus’s eyes narrow and flick to her, although the increased breadth of his smile indicated a lack of annoyance, perhaps even satisfaction.
“Now,” he said, returning to the ledger. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
He spent several minutes leafing through the pages, lips pursed and brow creased in apparently genuine interest. He asked occasional questions of Evadine, seemingly banal enquiries about minor details but, from her clipped, increasingly glowering responses, I divined a hidden barb in each one.
“Three letins a week expended on food alone,” he commented with a raised eyebrow. “My researches indicate most companies of this size barely require two. Some noble captains, rightly keen to preserve the king’s purse, make do with but one.”
“And go into battle with starved soldiers barely capable of grasping a billhook,” Evadine returned, keeping a steady, unblinking gaze on the Aspirant. “Rest assured, when they meet the Pretender’s horde, those sworn to our banner will demonstrate fully the value of well-fed soldiery. Besides, Aspirant—” she gave him an entirely empty smile of her own “—this company belongs to the Covenant, not the king.”
“And the Covenant, much like the king, does not enjoy boundless wealth. Still—” the cleric’s thin nose wrinkled in a sniff “—this all seems in order. Scribe.” He gestured to me, slipping a scroll from the sleeve of his robe which he unfurled atop the open ledger. “Be so good as to enter these items into the inventory. I shall witness the accuracy of the record and you and the good captain can be on your way.”
Receiving a nod from Evadine, I fished in the sack for my quill and ink and set to work. The Aspirant’s scroll held a list of arms and armour, more of the former than the latter. I tallied three dozen halberds, half as many swords and fifteen falchions. There were also, I noted with interest, five crossbows with a score of bolts apiece. The list of armour was longer but lesser in quantity, comprising some twenty entries but only amounting to thirty-three actual items. Much of these were unfamiliar to my non-military eye – pauldrons, greaves, vambraces and the like – although I did recognise the ten shirts of mail and five breastplates. Despite my ignorance, even I knew there would be barely enough armour here to equip twenty soldiers, never mind the whole company. From the captain’s rigid expression as she watched me amend the ledger, I divined she knew it too. However, her only comment came when I finished by entering the cost of the consignment.
“The Covenant appears to have found the most miserly arms merchant in all of Albermaine,” she observed, once again fixing Aspirant Arnabus with an unblinking stare.
“Arms command a premium in times of war,” he replied, voice placid apart from a faint note of regret. “Luminant Helstan himself held a special supplication to raise funds for this endeavour. I shall be happy to report your gratitude for his efforts, Communicant Captain.”
“Please do. Also, be sure to report what you witness on the morrow when Covenant Company proves its worth. Unless, of course, you would care to join our ranks and see it first-hand.”
I expected some measure of anger to appear on the Aspirant’s face at this, along with a portion of blustering cowardice, but he merely raised an eyebrow in marginal amusement. “I’m sure I would only get in the way. Besides, Princess Leannor has given express instruction that I not stray from her side once battle is joined. Together, we will implore the Seraphile to lend their grace to our victory, Crown and Covenant joined in humble convocation. I’m sure you would approve.”
Evadine gave no reply, instead letting her gaze linger on Arnabus in expressionless silence for what felt like an uncomfortable interval. Finally, as the Aspirant continued to return her stare with apparently serene amiability, she blinked and turned to me. “You know how to steer a cart, I assume?”
“I do, Captain,” I assured her. I had certainly stolen enough of them in my time to make a decent cartsman.
“Good. Gather up those ledgers and let’s be off.”
I returned the books to the sack and secured the tailboard before hurrying to the front of the cart and climbing onto the drover’s seat. The old dray horse spared me a dolorous backward glance when I took up the reins, her white-whiskered mouth working on a mouthful of grass while flies buzzed about her nostrils. She made a stark contrast to the steel-grey warhorse Evadine quickly mounted without, I noticed, offering a farewell to Aspirant Arnabus. He, however, had parting words of his own.
“Your father arrived this morning,” he called out as Evadine turned her grey towards the camp’s western border. “Lord Courlain is currently attending the king’s council of war, but I will happily provide refreshment if you wish to wait a while and pay your respects.”
Although I tried to resist the impulse, my gaze slipped to the captain’s face. I had seen many an enraged soul in my time and learned much of its nature. For some rage is a poison, a flame that burns all the hotter for their inability to vent it, eating away at their insides to leave a bitter, hollow shell. For those who couldn’t contain it, like Deckin, it was both ally and traitor. Rage can make us feared and compel the obedience of the weak as a wolf compels its pack, but also it blinds us, as Deckin learned too late.
Communicant Captain Lady Evadine Courlain was certainly enraged that day. I saw it plainly in the frozen, alabaster mask of her face as she refused to turn and regard the Aspirant. It was also evident in the slight jerk of her hands which I knew itched to reach for the longsword tethered to her saddle. But reach for it she did not, nor did she turn. Rage for her was something to be controlled but, I would learn in time, also unleashed in full when occasion demanded.
“Onward, Scribe,” she told me in a quiet murmur, kicking the grey into a walk.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
We kept to the camp’s southern precincts as we made our way back to the company. To my relief this course took us well clear of the copse where the Sack Witch made her home. I wasn’t sure if I was more fearful of encountering Gulatte’s men or the Caerith woman
. The black diamonds of her eyes continued to linger in my mind, particularly the glimmer of light I had seen within. Just a fleeting glimpse gone in an instant, but I couldn’t shake the sense of elusive significance.
Our course also had the good fortune to bring me within sight of another banner I recognised, this time due to familiarity rather than Sihlda’s lessons. The banner of Duke Elbyn Blousset of the Shavine Marches stood tallest here, although not as tall as the king’s, for such would be tantamount to treason. A silver hawk on a red background, it fluttered above a forest of sigils raised by the lesser houses of the duchy, all come in answer to the king’s muster.
She’s here, I thought, watching the banner ripple in the wind as the cart swayed over ruts and rises. Unless the duke left his whore at home. I thought this to be unlikely. Lorine would want to be among this accumulation of noble power. Surely, she would find the myriad opportunities presented here impossible to resist.
She’ll be well guarded, I mused, searching the densely arrayed tents, neater than elsewhere and most likely home to more disciplined soldiers than the other slovens in this camp. But not during the battle. When the battle starts she’ll be alone, or at least only lightly guarded…
My preoccupation with the Shavine encampment was such that I failed to notice immediately when Evadine reined her grey to a sudden halt. Luckily, the plodding old dray horse let out a warning snort before I steered her into the rump of the lady’s mount. Dragging on the reins, I managed to bring the cart to a standstill in time, feeling a sudden lurch to the stomach when I looked to see what had caused the captain to stop.
Lord Eldurm Gulatte sat atop a fine stallion a dozen yards ahead, flanked on either side by mounted men-at-arms, a full score in number. His lordship’s face had a flushed look to it, the expression of a man determined not to shirk a difficult but vital task.
“My lady,” he greeted Evadine. He bowed but remained in the saddle. This I knew to be a breach of knightly etiquette, which normally required that a nobleman dismount and go to one knee before offering regards to a lady of equal or greater rank. I wondered if this might indicate a loss of regard for the object of his affections, but the sight of his face soon dispelled any such notion. As he gazed upon Evadine, his expression betrayed a mingling of lust and longing, the combination of emotions he had long mistaken for love. Thanks to my many hours spent helping him compose letters to this very woman, I knew what lay behind that expression was not love but hopeless obsession, the kind that could turn an otherwise amiable soul into a dangerous one.
“How it delights me to see you again,” he added in tones that were strained and notable for their absence of delight.
“My lord,” was the sum of Evadine’s response, her tone flat and devoid of warmth. She continued to sit atop the grey with an air of light curiosity rather than concern.
“I heard tell of your… adventures,” Lord Eldurm went on after a cough. “Very stirring and admirable. But I would, of course, expect nothing less. Though it grieves me to think of you in such proximity to danger—”
“My lord,” Evadine cut in, her voice now possessed of a steely edge, “I believe our most recent correspondence marks the end of any and all association between us, except as allies in this noble cause. Now—” she took a tighter grip on the grey’s reins “—unless you have martial business to discuss, I ask, with all due courtesy, that you make way. I have pressing business with my company.”
I saw her words strike him with much the same power as a flight of arrows. He shrank in the saddle, his blocky, handsome features paling, a man borne down by a plummeting heart. Still, to his credit and my dismay, Eldurm rallied quickly. Drawing a deep breath, he straightened, forcing himself to meet Evadine’s gaze with a resolute eye.
“I regret that I am not here on your account, my lady.” His hard resolve shifted to grim anticipation as he switched his attention to me, extending an arm, finger pointed like a spearpoint. “I am here for him.”
Evadine turned, regarding me with an upraised eyebrow to which I could only offer a weak smile.
“A villain of the worst character,” his lordship continued. “A deceiver, a thief, a murderer, who no less than an hour ago assaulted one of my own men. By all rights under Crown law, he is mine to claim and I will see justice done.”
Before she turned back to Eldurm, Evadine’s mouth formed a curve. It was just a small expression of knowing humour but still somehow reassuring. “I don’t care,” she stated, speaking on with careful emphasis. “I know his tale. He remains my man, his oath sworn and accepted, under Covenant law.”
“That churl-scum,” Eldurm exploded, face reddening and horse fidgeting as it sensed its master’s rage, “has pretended devotion to the Covenant before! You would be a fool to believe his lies. As I once was when I allowed him into my own chambers, allowed him to pen my letters…”
He faltered then, the redness of his pallor shifting to the pinker hue of embarrassment. Once again, however, he recovered his composure quickly, speaking on after a few calming breaths. “And I was not the only victim of his falsity. Ascendant Sihlda, once the most cherished voice of the Covenant, now lies forever entombed beneath rock and earth, lured into a hopeless escape by this man’s perfidy. This betrayer who brought a tunnel down upon her head to secure his own escape.”
“That’s a fucking lie!”
My skin burned as I rose, spittle flying from my lips as I shouted out the denial. While no stranger to anger and its many hazards, I am usually capable of containing it, keeping it simmering away within for however long it takes before a chance at retribution dawns. The scale of this falsehood, however, was enough to strip away all such constraint, or deference to station. Had he been an outlaw, Gulatte would either have quailed and fled or reached for his knife. Instead, he cast a withering look of disgust over my snarling face before turning again to Evadine.
“You see how he addresses his betters, my lady?” he enquired in appalled repugnance. “How can you sully the Covenant’s divine mission with one such as him?”
His recourse to deceit and casual dismissal stoked my rage to a deeper, unreasoning heat, though not completely stripping away my capacity for calculation. Crossbows, I recalled, twisting about to pull away the canvas sheet covering the cart’s contents. Each with a score of bolts.
“Stay where you are, Scribe!”
The rapid bark of Evadine’s command hit me like a slap, freezing my hands on the sheet’s ties. Shuddering, I forced a measure of calm into my twitching hands, shifting to resume my seat and finding her gaze upon me once more. This time, her expression was far from amused.
“Sit still,” she told me, speaking with hard, unambiguous deliberation. “Be quiet.”
Her expression softened a fraction as she turned away, lowering her head. I sensed more reluctance than anger in her, the slump then abrupt rise of her shoulders conveying the impression of one summoning strength for a painful duty.
“The code of Covenant Company is clear,” she said, addressing Lord Eldurm in formal tones. “As approved by the Luminants’ Council and endorsed by the King’s Seal. All previous crimes, no matter how heinous, are forgiven in return for diligent service. However…” she paused to reach for the longsword affixed to her saddle, drawing the blade free and resting it on her shoulder “… as a knight of this realm you hold the right of dispute.”
She kicked her grey’s flanks, spurring him to a trot that took her closer to Eldurm and his line of mounted men. Reining in a few yards short of him, she raised the sword in front of her face before lowering and raising the blade. It was the gesture of formal acknowledgement of an equal, one I had seen at the few tourneys I had attended. In order to fight, knights were required to temporarily set aside their disparities in rank or blood, so that no recriminations could fall upon the victor should the vanquished perish or suffer serious injury. Lady Evadine Courlain had, in effect, just challenged Lord Eldurm Gulatte to single combat.
“This man is min
e,” she told Eldurm in a voice that was all steel now; the voice of a captain, in fact. For the first time I realised fully that this woman was not some deluded noble beset by madness she mistook for visions. She was a warrior of the Covenant of Martyrs and would willingly die as such.
“If you want him,” she went on, returning the sword to her shoulder, “you’ll have to fight me.”
Eldurm stared at her in rigid silence, his face now mostly bleached of colour. The longing from moments before was gone now, receded into forlorn defeat.
“We often fought as children, as I’m sure you recall,” Evadine continued when Eldurm failed to answer. “You do remember all those years at court, don’t you, Eld? You, Wilhum and I. How we fought, even though we were friends, the only friends we had, in fact. For the other children envied Wilhum, feared me and scorned you as the bumpkin son of the king’s gaoler. Back then, you usually won. Perhaps you’ll win now. Though I warn you, I’ve learned a great deal since.”
Eldurm closed his eyes, just for a moment, but I knew he was striving to contain what roiled within. My own anger dissipated somewhat at the sight of a strong man of some decent qualities rendered pathetic by just a few words from the woman he thought he loved.
Opening his eyes, he straightened once more, the muscles of his blocky face stark as he raised himself up to fix Evadine with a hard glare. “Have a care on the field tomorrow, my lady,” he said in a tight, controlled voice. “It would grieve me greatly if you came to harm.”
Some colour returned to his features as he shifted his gaze to me one last time, calling out, “You’d best pray for death at the hands of the Pretender, Scribe! This matter is not settled and you’ll not find me as merciful!”