The residents of Neret Sorr would face a hard winter, she realized. Lord Urusander was confiscating the majority of the grain. There was the promise of payment and no doubt the commander would prove generous. But one could not eat coins, and with the stores of fuel wood and dried dung diminishing by the day, neither could coin feed a hearth fire.
Yet the people of the village were too cowed to complain. Over a thousand armed soldiers now lived among them, with more arriving day and night.
She set a gloved hand against her horse’s neck and waited to feel the animal’s warmth seep through. ‘You’ve not fled, friend. Nor have you growled in answer to the commander’s order, and I see no chance of you ever assaulting his position.’
‘And so I am frozen in place,’ Kagamandra confessed. ‘And still we have heard nothing from Kharkanas, yet each evening we look west and see the sun made copper by smoke. I fear for the forest, Sharenas, and all who dwell within it.’
‘I am expecting Sergeant Yeld to return to us soon,’ Sharenas said. ‘But even without the details, we can be certain that Deniers are being hunted down and butchered.’
‘Surely many have fled to the protection of the monasteries,’ Kagamandra said. ‘And this smoke but comes from homes set alight. Winter draws ever closer. Sharenas, will we see Tiste corpses frozen to the ground in the months to come? I am sickened by the thought.’
‘With luck,’ she said, ‘this absurd war will be over by then. Do we not still bow to the will of Mother Dark? Lord Urusander will march soon, and you can be sure that he will see justice set upon the murderers who act in his name. By blade’s edge, he will end the madness.’
‘And Hunn Raal?’
She had no answer to that question. The captain’s whereabouts remained unknown. Even cousin Serap could not say where Hunn Raal had gone. After a long moment, she sighed. ‘He will face Urusander or he will face the ire of the highborn. Will he take responsibility for this wretched pogrom? I rather doubt it. Besides, he is not the only captain loose in the countryside.’
‘It may well be,’ Kagamandra conceded, ‘that events have proceeded beyond his control, and that indeed the Legion has splintered, with renegade elements taking advantage of the chaos.’
‘I have decided on my place in this,’ said Sharenas. ‘And so must you, friend.’
‘No dog is so foolish as to stand in the path of a charging boar. Yet in this, the dumb brute shows more wit than me. I believe I will return to Glimmer Fate, and so bring to a close this pursuit of my betrothed.’ The smile he then offered her was, she suspected, meant to be wry; instead, it was a bitter grimace. ‘I will chase her down, if only to tell her that she need not fear me. That my zeal was ever honourable, and I will make my studied distance a gesture of respect. Though we clasp hands on the day of marriage, no other infliction will come by my touch.’
‘Kagamandra Tulas, you have learned to savour the taste of your own blood.’
His face clouded and then he looked away. His bared hands were white on the horn of the saddle.
Returning her gaze to the wagons on the road below, and feeling the chill wind loose icy serpents beneath her clothes, Sharenas shook herself and said, ‘My friend. Do look her in the eye and say the things you would say. I cannot gauge her answer beyond what I would feel if I were in her place. And what I would feel is anger and humiliation. You free her to love other men and deem this generous. But all women wish to be desired, and loved. I see your sacrifice as selfish.’
‘It is the very opposite of selfish!’
‘You would make a martyrdom of marriage. You would ask from your betrothed not her love but her pity. What will stand firm on such foundations? I see you both upon your knees, your backs to one another, each facing a door you long to pass through, and yet locked together by crimes of will and pride. She’ll not yield to your sordid invitation, since that could only serve to confirm your own sense of worthlessness – such a choice for a woman comes after years of hard weather in an unfeeling husband’s arms. The taking of lovers is a desperate search for things few would dare name. To make of this offer her wedding gift cuts to the core of her heart.’
‘But I am the one who speaks out of pity! She is young. She deserves what I once had, not this broken man old enough to be her father, who would flee his ageing years! I am too frail to carry the weight of every necessary delusion in this union!’
She shook her head. ‘Many a fine union has come from such disparity of age.’
‘It is crass and venal.’
‘You call her young and make of the word a belittlement. This hints of arrogance, Kagamandra.’
‘Without the sharing of years to bind two souls—’
‘Then share those to come. But at last we reach to the core of things. You yield your claim to your wife from a place of fear, a place deeply wounded and chary of sensation’s return. It is no sacrifice at all, but self-indulgence. Your every wound is a trophy, with suffering worn in most resplendent regalia. But you have outstayed its season, friend, and it is threadbare. If not a wife to draw these rags from you, then who? Hear me now. If you see no courage in each woman you look upon, then you are blind and, worse, you scorn the dignity of the woman you lost years ago. Go to Faror Hend. In this much at least, your instinct is true. But meet her eye and see for yourself – she will not flinch.’
When she looked across to him, she felt a sudden fear, so pale had his visage become. Remorse cut through her. ‘Oh, forgive me. I leap past all propriety. Send me on this wind with a curse and I will go without complaint. This is my flaw, and it pulls from my grasp every wisp of love. See well, sir, that my life is as forlorn as yours, and in my every word of advice I poorly hide my own bitter self.’
He said nothing for a long time, and then collected up the reins. ‘It is no wonder, then, Sharenas Ankhadu, that we are such friends. We take this hill by bold storm only to be bludgeoned half senseless by truths. The wind and the grasses mock our self-importance, and the season begins to show us a cold regard. Had I known more of you, I would have silenced every offer but yours.’
Her breath caught, and she felt heat rush through her. ‘I would strip the hide from you.’
‘And make of it a better trophy.’
‘Worn,’ she whispered as she met his eyes, ‘with pride.’
Then there was a moment, as if the sun had sliced through the heavy clouds, when the years were stolen from his gaunt face, and she saw the man a woman had once loved; a man from before the wars, from whom not every precious thing had been stolen away amidst violence and treachery. An instant later, it was gone and he broke her gaze.
‘We will not speak this way again, Sharenas Ankhadu.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I imagine not.’ But these words felt like water washing down cracks in stone.
‘I will leave in the morning. As a highborn, it is necessary for me to relinquish my rank in the Legion.’
‘It is soldiers like you and Ilgast Rend that Lord Urusander so values, Kagamandra. You stand bridging the gulf and through you he sees a path to compromise.’
‘You think he will forbid me?’
‘I do. That said, if you depart now, with the coming of darkness, then I will inform the commander tomorrow morning. If in anger he deems it prudent to pursue you, I will tell him that you have ridden to Kharkanas.’
‘Why not leave the same time as me, Sharenas?’
‘No. Too many of us cautious advisers suddenly abandoning Urusander will wound him, and the imbalance will open the breach for Hunn Raal’s backers.’
‘Urusander will not be tugged by fools.’
‘He is old, Kagamandra. Not in flesh, but in spirit. Daily we see his indecisiveness afflict him like a bout of illness, and again and again he steps out from the command tent – and that tent in itself is an affectation, and dangerous besides, since he yields his keep to that white-skinned witch – he steps outside, and looks long upon the Legion’s flag.’ She paused, and then said, ‘I cannot guess what t
houghts take him in those moments, but they trouble me none the less.’
‘It seems,’ ventured Kagamandra, ‘that he values Serap’s presence.’
‘He does. She remains the least objectionable of Hunn Raal’s whores. But it is easily forgotten that she stands close to Hunn Raal, for the simple reason that she too is of the Issgin bloodline.’
Kagamandra grunted. ‘Wealth to the Legion and their estate restored? Yes, I see how those two desires are now intertwined.’
‘Many ambitions can share one root,’ she said, nodding. She reached across to him, with a hand warmed by horseflesh, and set it firm against his shoulder. ‘Give her what you dared give me this day, friend, and see how she answers.’
He nodded without meeting her eyes. ‘I will.’
Sharenas let her hand fall away. A moment later, looking out past the edge of the tent rows, she rose in her stirrups. ‘See that rider and the banner he bears? That is Sergeant Yeld. At last, we shall have word of the events at Kharkanas.’
‘I will hear of that,’ Kagamandra said.
‘Do not let ill news sway you,’ she said to him. ‘Make your loyalty your own, Kagamandra, and direct all duty to the woman you will wed.’
He sighed. ‘As you say.’
They kicked their mounts into motion, riding slow down the hillside to give time for the horses to work out any stiffness from their long stand upon the summit. The chaff rising from the stubble-filled fields swirled round them, and the dust remained high in the air, as if unwilling to settle upon the scene.
* * *
The old chairs in the Vault had the look of thrones, but only one remained intact. The other was a mass of wreckage pushed to a corner and Syntara wondered at the violence unleashed upon it. She was in the habit of seating herself in the one chair that remained, settling her head back against the deerskin hide. The walls were crowded with scrolls and volumes and the close air in the room smelled of mould and dust. Servants had brought in more candles at her command and the light filled every space now, driving away shadows and gloom. Their yellow hue painted the bleached skin of her hands where they rested on the arms of the chair, until it seemed to her eyes that she had been transformed into a thing of gold.
Darkness was not the only purity in the world. Something burned inside her, blinding bright. It had frightened Urusander, had driven the man from his own keep, as if by her presence alone his loyalty to Mother Dark was under threat.
True enough. I am indeed a threat to Mother Dark. And to all who would kneel before her. But Hunn Raal was right: it need not be that way.
Weakness and fear had driven her from Kharkanas, and in the time since she had, on occasion, amused herself imagining a triumphant return, with light scouring the city like a purging fire. Wretched river gods would wither before her. Mother Dark would shrink back, all her secrets revealed, every flaw exposed. Darkness, after all, was a place in which to hide. But something of these desires felt old, almost rank. They were, she had begun to realize, relics of her old life in the temple.
Still … who had not known a childhood in which terrors moved in the dark? It was foolish to reject the truth of instinct. There were good reasons to fear what could not be seen, and to distrust those who chose to remain hidden.
The Azathanai had bequeathed Syntara a gift. Its power was growing inside her, like a man’s seed in the womb. She felt full of blood, heavy in the breasts and swollen between her hips. Yet no weariness took her. She found little need for sleep and her mind felt sated, immune to the countless risks surrounding her. Urusander was yet to formally offer sanctuary.
‘I am not a high priest,’ he had said. ‘And this is not a temple. More to the point, High Priestess, I am not Mother Dark’s enemy.’
She thought back to her flight from Kharkanas. Accompanied by a dozen of her most loyal companions, bearing with them only what they could carry, she had rushed through the night, the countryside around them suddenly strange and threatening. The comforts and pleasures of the Citadel stung with bitter recollection, and she had known fury and spite in her soul, a soul still bleeding from the wounds the Azathanai’s cruel words had delivered.
But against the hardships of their journey in the days that followed, thoughts of vengeance had proved a potent fuel, and she had felt herself growing in strength with each step she took, as the Citadel and its world diminished behind them.
Hunn Raal’s promise of an escort never materialized, and it was her sense that the drunken fool had lost control of the situation. At night, they could see the glow of fires from the wood upon their left, and by day grey smoke hung over the forest. The Deniers had been set upon.
It was no shock to her when they came within sight of Neret Sorr and the stronghold of Vatha Urusander, and looked upon the gathering of an army surrounding the settlement, the row upon row of canvas tents, the vast corrals crowded with horses, the supply wagons and hundreds of soldiers moving about. The Legion had returned, and the alacrity with which retired soldiers arrived to resume their old lives dismissed all her cherished notions of Hunn Raal’s incompetence. Her confidence stumbled then, as she watched a picket troop approach on the road.
Her followers huddled behind her, and glancing back, she saw how dishevelled and unkempt they had become. Their fine silks were stained with the dust of travel; the makeup that had once enlivened their faces was gone and what she saw now was an array of expressions drawn and frightened. During the trek she had given them little, too consumed with fear and worry over the fate awaiting her. Her companions had been, one and all, caught up in illusions of power, and now she could see how they longed for its blissful return.
But the soldiers drawing up before them bore hard visages, and the corporal commanding them gestured with one hand back up the road, and then said, ‘There’s too many whores to feed as it is. Go back to where you came from. You’ll not find a single room in Neret Sorr, and the commander has rules forbidding your trade in our camp.’
Somehow, Syntara found the strength to simply smile. ‘Refreshingly direct, corporal. It is true: we have known the pleasures of many men. I am High Priestess Syntara, and these priestesses accompanying me are under my charge. I would speak with Commander Urusander, for I have news from the Citadel.’
The young man’s eyes studied her for a long moment, and then he nodded. ‘There was a rumour, I now recall. I see the paleness of your face beneath that hood, High Priestess. Very well, we shall escort you to the keep.’
‘Thank you, corporal. As you can see, our journey was made in haste and without the necessary amenities proper to the daughters of Mother Dark.’
‘We can summon a wagon if you do not mind waiting, High Priestess.’
‘Or, corporal, you and your troop can yield some room on your saddles, if the embrace of priestesses will not discomfort you too much.’
His brows lifted slightly, but he did not smile. A moment later, he edged his mount closer, kicked one foot from the stirrup, and then offered her a hand.
Syntara remained silent on the ride to the keep. She had given considerable thought to what she would say to Urusander, but in taking the measure of these common soldiers she could see that this was a troubled army, and that in turn was a reflection of those in command, and Urusander in particular. The soldiers had answered the summons, but now awaited orders, and none knew what those orders might be. Civil war exposed the flaws in a people, and though each faction would view its cause as just, the illness revealed was endemic, and so weakened everyone.
Urusander might well have recalled his soldiers in some misguided attempt to protect them. But then, protect them from what? Hunn Raal had unleashed renegade troops into the countryside. From themselves, then. If I am right in this, then I understand the tensions I see here. This civil war could see Legion soldier hunting Legion soldier.
But even that was not the end of the troubles. There could be Deniers among them. Or at the very least, sympathizers.
And what of me? What place will
I take in what is to come? Is my fate for Urusander to decide? Shall I crawl into his presence? ‘Corporal.’
The gate was directly ahead. ‘High Priestess?’
‘I would hope I have opportunity to redress my travelled state before seeing the commander.’
‘I would expect so,’ he replied, ‘as he is very busy. Do not be offended, High Priestess, if your audience with him is delayed by a day or two. In the meantime, of course you will be given attendants to see to your needs.’
‘Very good,’ she replied. A day or two? She felt her face growing hot. ‘I feel I need to emphasize again the urgency of the news I bring from the Citadel.’
‘I will be sure to convey that, High Priestess.’
As it turned out, she was given no time at all in which to cleanse herself, as the keep’s castellan, a perfunctory man named Haradegar, assumed responsibility for her at the keep’s entrance and, after attaching a score of servants to her priestesses, led her into the keep for immediate audience with Lord Urusander. She assumed no tactical subterfuge in this haste; rather, it spoke to her of the commander’s respect for her title, and if he was witness to the evidence of her plight, then perhaps she could make use of that.
Haradegar guided her to a chamber with shelves lining the walls, on which rested countless books and scrolls. One long table commanded the room, consuming most of the floor space. There were two well-made comfortable chairs, and one was in ruins.
After the castellan departed, she stood contemplating sitting down in the surviving chair. A moment later, Urusander arrived. ‘High Priestess, I have heard of what has befallen you. But still, I must ask: what are you doing here?’
* * *
Syntara would not beg. In Urusander, she saw a man under siege. She well understood the ambitions of those behind him. Men like Hunn Raal dreamed of their commander standing beside Mother Dark, as husband to the goddess. Once she and he were past the first moments of awkwardness between them on that day of her arrival, she said as much to Urusander, when they stood in this very room. ‘Lord, alone you have nothing to withstand her, and yet you must – but not as her enemy. Rather, present yourself as her one hope for peace. With my help, Lord, you can save Kurald Galain.’
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