by Anthony Ryan
I quelled the instinct to keep evading his blows and rolled onto my back, jerking my head aside as he drove a thrust towards it. The wooden blade splintered as it connected with the ground, sending a loud crack into my ear. Wincing, I delivered a kick of my own, hard enough to dent Wilhum’s breastplate and force him back a few steps.
“So,” he went on, tossing his ruined weapon aside and raising his fists as I surged to my feet, nimbly sidestepping my first punch, “when my young god told me he had a yen to go off and swear his sword to the Pretender, how could I not follow?”
He jabbed at my nose and I batted his fist aside, metal ringing as our gauntlets met. “Aldric,” I said. “That was his name.”
“That it was. We travelled far and wide together, to the Fjord Geld and back.” Wilhum blocked the right hook I aimed at his jaw and replied with one of his own. I managed to avoid the worst of it, but the edge of his gauntlet left a bloody scrape on my scalp.
“Nice to know you were paying attention. But—” he lowered his head and charged me, arms encircling my waist and bearing me down “—you always are, aren’t you? Nothing’s ever beneath the notice of Alwyn Scribe.”
I raised my vambraces to cover my head as he rained down a series of blows. “Such an observant churl! And so skilled with the pen! So worthy of the Anointed Lady’s favour!”
I suffered the blows and waited for the inevitable pause as he tired. It took longer than I would have liked and I was sure my arms would show numerous bruises when I removed my armour. Finally, he slackened a little, faltering just enough for me to latch a hand to his wrist, drawing the dagger from my belt and flicking at his eye. Although angered by his assault and my stinging bruises, I possessed enough good sense to halt the blade before it sank home, angling it to press the edge to his partially exposed neck.
“I never asked for her fucking favour!” I spat.
Fear remained absent from Wilhum’s eyes as the blade pressed against his flesh. “And yet she gives it,” he observed, his voice cold. “You see her clearly, but she doesn’t really see you. Not any more. She doesn’t see the man who’s about to run.”
His eyes flicked down and I followed them, finding his own dagger poised above the gap between two of the taces that covered my waist. Wilhum held it there for what felt like a very long time, then let out heavy breath and I felt the desire for conflict seep out of him.
I drew back my own dagger and we rolled apart, lying on our backs, panting at the sky as sweat cooled on our skin.
“What happened to him?” I asked when my heart had calmed. “Aldric.”
Wilhum placed an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun, his answer coming after a long pause. “He fell and broke his neck. We were escorting the True King through the Althiene hill country, recruiting clansmen to join his cause. Most of the clans were receptive, steeped in grievances against the Algathinet dynasty that cowed them long ago. But not all. The clans love to war with each other more than they do the Crown, and an alliance with one will earn you the enmity of another.
“They came at us in a great rush, hundreds of them streaming down the slopes of the glen, screaming loud enough to make Aldric’s horse rear. It was a young stallion and untrained for war, his capering so sudden and fierce it tipped Aldric from the saddle before he had chance to calm him. I heard Aldric’s neck break, despite the screaming hill folk and the clashing blades. I heard it and I knew he was gone. I sat there and stared at his broken body while the struggle raged around me. Death would come for me too; I knew that. And I welcomed it. However, the True King did not. He fought his way to my side and cut the head from a clansman just as he was about to stick his spear in my face.
“Joining his great crusade had always been Aldric’s passion, not mine. But after that day, I felt I owed the True King a debt, so I stayed. Besides, I fully planned to get myself killed at the first opportunity. Even managed to mess that up thanks to Evadine’s father. If Aldric had been at the Traitors’ Field…”
He voiced a rueful sigh that became a groan as he sat up. “Well, I feel sure you would now be addressing Lord Chamberlain Wilhum Dornmahl, a fellow who stands high in the court of King Magnis the First.”
“No,” I said, righting myself. “I’d be dead. So would everyone else in this company, including her.”
He didn’t argue the point, it being so blatantly true. “I won’t be coming with you,” he said, climbing to his feet. “In case you were thinking of asking.”
“I wasn’t.”
Wilhum laughed, stooping to offer his hand. “You’re getting better,” he said, hauling me upright. “Quite a lot better, in fact. Wherever you fetch up, you would do well to find another teacher, preferably one who knows horses. You still ride like a fat-arsed sow perched on a donkey.”
“Are you going to tell her?” I asked as he began to walk away. “That I’m leaving.”
“I already did. She laughed at me. Apparently, you leaving her now is contrary to her vision, so it simply won’t happen.” Wilhum Dornmahl bowed low to me, the first time I could recall any noble doing so. “Fare you well, Alwyn Scribe. When you write of me, and I’m sure you will, make me…” he straightened, frowning in consideration “… handsome. A man worthy of having been loved by a god. I think I should like that.”
“She says you’re to teach me letters and numbers,” Ayin informed me, pausing as she bounced down the stairs to Evadine’s chamber. “Says you’ll be too busy to manage the company books so I’ll be doing it now.”
“Busy doing what?” I enquired, moving past her.
“Oh, war and such, I expect. She says there’s hard times ahead and I should prepare myself to meet them.” A line appeared on her smooth brow. “I don’t like it when she talks like that.”
“No, neither do I, Ayin,” I added as she turned to resume her bouncing descent. Looking upon her open, guileless expression, I found I had no words to offer, none she would find meaningful at any rate. Of all the souls I would miss, she was the one that stirred the most guilt. As dangerous as she was, in her own way she was as fragile as the infant creatures she fawned over.
“She’s right,” I said finally. “When the company marches out there’ll be bad men on the road. Keep your knife sharp, and close, eh?”
She shrugged. “Always do. And the letters?”
I turned and resumed my climb, wary of letting the lie show in my eyes. “Tomorrow,” I said, putting a gruffness to my tone to mask the sudden catch in my throat. “Find me after morning drill.”
After knocking and receiving leave to enter, I found Evadine already had a visitor. The lord of exchange kept his head at a low angle as he addressed her, hands clasped together across his waist. My estimation of his intelligence was confirmed by the whiteness of his knuckles and the strict control he exerted over his voice, formal and polite without slipping into servility. Harbouring a Risen Martyr who had recently proclaimed heresy, and arguably treason, from atop his very own balcony placed him in a position that was far beyond mere embarrassment. This man would know that. He would also know asking her to leave was an equally risky proposition, surrounded as she was by loyal soldiers and a still-growing congregation.
He paused as I entered, eyes flicking towards me but, seeing no one of particular note, instantly resuming their downcast state. “I believe it would do much to calm the current mood in the town, my lady,” he said. “Reaffirm your belief in the Covenant’s core teachings.”
“Perhaps so, my lord,” Evadine said. She sat by the window, clad in the hardy travelling clothes she wore on the march, her sword propped within easy reach beside the fireplace. I wondered if it was significant that she didn’t correct the noble in addressing her as a lady rather than a captain. “However,” she went on briskly, “I would normally expect a request to stand at the altar during supplications, on a Martyr’s feast day no less, to come from the shrine’s principal cleric.”
“The Ascendant is reluctant to venture forth at the moment.” T
he lord of exchange’s trim form shifted in restrained discomfort. “Given what happened to one of his Supplicants during your sermon, his caution is understandable. I have also been obliged to station guards around the shrine. There has been some… misguided vandalism of late. If you were to attend supplications tonight, many would see it as your blessing on the Covenant in this port. Hopefully, they would then realise their frustrations were better directed elsewhere.”
“If by frustrations you mean justified outrage and renewed devotion, I take your point.” Evadine got to her feet, inclining her head. “Please inform the Ascendant I shall be happy to attend. Also, I should like to thank you for your hospitality. My company will muster and depart on the morrow and I do not consider any formality is required to mark the occasion.”
I was impressed by the way the lord of exchange managed to keep the immensity of his relief from his voice and posture as he bowed. “It has been my pleasure and honour, my lady.” He backed towards the door and contrived to leave without appearing to scurry.
“I was pondering the notion of emptying his vaults before we leave,” Evadine said when I closed the door. “Funds stolen from these people would be put to better use in our hands, don’t you think?”
“I think the king’s friendship won’t be won if you start stealing his taxes.” I paused to offer her a bow of my own. “Captain.”
She raised an eyebrow at the baldness of my statement, but her mouth quirked in a smile. “Why should the king’s friendship concern me?” she asked.
“Because, like it or no, winning this realm to your cause will require Crown approval. Or—” I glanced at the door and lowered my voice “—a different head to wear it.”
We held each other’s gaze then and I knew that the disparity in our status mattered little now. Within this room, and whenever we found ourselves alone in future, we would be as close to equal as we could ever be. The realisation might have made me consider abandoning my scheme, but instead I used it to fuel my determination.
I will die in short order if I stay at your side.
“I can see our course will be steered by your counsel,” she said, her lips forming a tight line. “Counsel I welcome, Alwyn. I hope you know that.”
“I do. In fact—” I reached into my jerkin, extracting a thick sheaf of parchment bound in a black ribbon “—I come to offer yet more, but not my own.”
Evadine’s gaze warmed as she accepted the bundle from me, murmuring aloud the words inscribed, with considerable artistry I might say, on the topmost page: “‘The Testament of Ascendant Sihlda Doisselle’.”
“I should have liked to have had it properly bound,” I said. “Perhaps illuminated, but there is no time. It’s the full testament, including a good deal more of her wisdom than the copy in possession of Ascendant Hilbert in Callintor. Also, it contains a… certain piece of information I think sure to aid any negotiations you might enter into with the Crown.”
The warmth in her eyes dimmed, her features taking on a shrewd calculation I had rarely seen before her healing. “How so?”
“You’ll understand when you read it. Some will surely claim it counts for nothing, just ink scratched onto parchment, for any scribe or disgraced cleric can lie. But when spoken by a Risen Martyr, the truth of this testament will be far harder to deny.”
Her hand smoothed over the title page in much the same way a woman might caress a bejewelled gift from a lover. “Then I shall read it with interest,” she assured me in a hushed murmur.
I bowed and turned to go, coming to an abrupt halt as she added in far from hushed tones, “This is not a parting gift, Alwyn.”
Turning, I found her expression more sad than commanding, almost apologetic in fact. “Although,” she went on, “I know you imagine it to be. I’ll not begrudge you your fear, for only a fool would look upon the task set to us without it. But it is our task, fear or no. It is given unto us and whatever schemes you have hatched will come to nothing. We are bound now. So have the Seraphile ordained.”
I nearly told her then, my lips parting to cast out the truth rising from within, demanding to be set free. Your vision is a lie! The Seraphile ordain nothing for you or me! This is all the contrivance of a heathen, Caerith witch!
Despite all the countless doubts and questions that have beset me in the years since, never once have I pondered how different it all would have been if I had set the truth free in that moment. How many lives would have been saved? How much of this realm and those beyond spared destruction? It cannot be doubted that I have much to atone for, but failing to speak then is not one of my crimes, for I know with no shred of doubt that it would have altered nothing. Her faith was hardened now, hammered into something stronger than steel.
“I…” I stammered, then coughed, then backed away, shying from her steady but sorrowful gaze as it tracked me to the door. I wondered if she might call for Swain, have me clapped in chains so she could keep me at her side like a dog. But she didn’t, for she knew she had no need of chains where I was concerned.
“By your leave, Captain,” I said upon reaching the door, knuckling my forehead with all due respect before turning to make a hasty descent of the stairs.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
The night air was windless and the waters of the harbour becalmed beneath a cloudless sky, the bright disc of a full moon shining amid the many ships at anchor. Din Faud had advised Toria and me to wait in the lee of a piled consignment of timber close to his mooring. It would have been wiser to seek a shadowy notch among the stacked planks and sit out the interminable hours before the tide shifted, but I found I couldn’t stop pacing. I started at every sound, expecting Swain or Ofihla to come striding out of the gloom flanked by a dozen Covenant troopers, manacles in hand. Instead, my gaze alighted only on the whipping tails of scurrying rats.
“Will you fucking settle?” Toria said. She had perched herself atop the tallest pile of timber to keep watch on the docks and was as close to cheerful as I had ever seen her. The tense hunch I had thought to be her natural posture was gone, as was the habitual scowl. The reason wasn’t difficult to divine; after years a prisoner she finally felt herself free. I, on the other hand, felt more trapped than ever.
My gaze roved from one shadowed corner of the wharf to another in between continual glances at the water’s edge as I vainly tried to gauge the progress of the tide. How much longer? After all my careful planning, it still seemed incredible that it should be this easy. I was about to desert the Covenant Company of Risen Martyr Evadine Courlain and, it appeared, no one was inclined to stop me. The notion might have irked my pride if I hadn’t been so keen to be gone from this port.
I looked up as Toria shifted on her perch, seeing her sharp features pointed to the dark bulk of the Sea Crow. A single lamp glowed at the stern and I could make out shadowy forms manoeuvring a gangplank into place.
“Ready?” Toria asked, landing at my side. I caught a flash of steel as she drew a knife, reversing her grip so the blade was concealed by her forearm. “Best to be careful,” she said with a shrug. “The captain seems trustworthy, right enough, but he’s still an outlaw.”
“Just like us,” I said, setting off with my eyes still roaming the stacks of cargo littering the quayside.
“Right.” Toria let out a quiet laugh as she followed a few paces behind, the sound peculiar in its light, airy quality. “Just like us.”
She’s who she wants to be again, I realised, feeling a sharp pang of envy for her absence of doubt.
A pair of sailors waited at the foot of the gangplank, greeting us with the suspicious stare common to the criminally inclined. I took comfort from their unfriendliness; smiles and proffered hands were indicators of deceit and betrayal in such moments. Glancing up, I saw Din Faud’s bulky form on the Sea Crow’s deck. Like me, he was busy surveying the docks for any sign of trouble; another good sign.
“Wasting time,” one of the sailors said, a dark-skinned woman with a scimitar strapped across her back.
I nodded, stepping onto the gangplank and that’s when it struck me. At first I assumed we must have been betrayed after all, so harsh was the blow that felled me. But, I quickly realised it had come from within, not without. I staggered as a fist clutched my chest, my heart suddenly pounding and vision swimming. For a second I was back in Evadine’s bedchamber clutching hands with the Sack Witch, the same unique brand of pain searing its way through my core. I reeled away from the ship, eyes dragged by an unseen but irresistible hand towards the town.
At first I saw nothing, but I did hear it. The sound was dulled by distance and the maze of interweaving streets, but my ears were well attuned to the tumult of folk engaged in conflict. Brief but loud shouts, a few screams, then the flicker of torchlight, shifting yellow and red shadows playing over the tall spire of the Shrine to Martyr Ihlander.
My pulse calmed somewhat and the pain receded, but a heavy weight of foreboding lingered. The flickering torchlight shifted, slipping from the walls of the shrine to play over the roofs of nearby houses, moving rapidly towards the port’s eastern wall.
“Trouble at the shrine,” Toria said, her voice now a hoarse contrast to the lightness from seconds before. Turning to meet her gaze, I saw that she understood fully what would happen next. Her eyes were wet in the moonlight, cheeks hollowed by the clenching of her jaw. “You think she… loves you?” she asked, the words barely escaping the cage of her teeth. “You’re the worst of fools, Alwyn.”
I wanted to embrace her, but feared the knife she held. “It should be easy enough to follow,” I said, taking the scrolled map from my pocket and holding it out. “Perhaps you’ll have a mind to throw some coin at an old fool one day.”
She snatched the map from my hand without hesitation and started up the gangplank without a backward glance.
“Anything happens to her,” I told the woman with the scimitar, “and there’s nowhere in this world you can hide from me. Tell your captain.”