We piled into the tent and almost as one man threw ourselves on the low cushions. Faedron looked around and started sniffing, looking suddenly horrified when he realised that the stink in the tent was all of us. The stale musty odour of the Priests’ Enclosure had permeated our clothes and our hair, it was all over us.
Markos grimaced slightly. “Perhaps we should all wash before I order our food.”
“And we are all going to sit around naked eating it I suppose?” Faedron said haughtily. “Because once I take this filthy stuff off my body I am going to have it burned!”
Markos chortled. “Well I suppose it would be a novel way to end the day, Faedron but I do have quite an extensive wardrobe. I am sure we will all find something suitable.
Maegor started to laugh and pointed to Markos’ battle wear on its stand near his sleeping quarters. “I am not wearing anything like that—I don’t have the physique for it.”
“Meaning he’s short and broad, not that he could not fill it—he could—twice over in fact.” Faedron said quickly.
“Oh-ho-ho, thank you Faedron! That was far more than any of us needed to know,” Kylos said shoving the corporal on top of Maegor.
Markos ordered that several baths be brought from the latrines and set his entire household to heating water and preparing the council salle as a bathroom and before too long the fresh smell of steam and bath oils began to permeate the air. And when the pages appeared to announce that everything was prepared we all simply threw off our stinking clothes and jumped two to a bath. And once the initial scramble to wash the stench from us had abated and the pages had changed the water a second time we all just sprawled half tangled in the tubs soaking and laughing and talking about little nothings until the King’s page appeared to announce that dinner could be served at his majesty’s command.
Markos showed us all into his dressing area throwing open a couple of trunks and a large canvass wardrobe. “Help yourselves.” He grabbed the first thing that came to hand which turned out to be a full length winter nightshirt. He shrugged it over his head, cinched it with a length of curtain cord he found lying in the base to the makeshift wardrobe and headed into the living area.
When we were all dressed and settled we were probably the most odd looking bunch of characters for nothing we wore actually matched we had just simply done as Markos had and thrown on the first thing we saw.
We settled again on the cushions and stretched out. Markos suddenly started looking about quite puzzled. His questing gaze finally found its target—the food. It had all been carefully laid on the large trestle dining table. He grunted. “Kalar!” This was not so much a call as a bellow.
The startled First Page appeared immediately. “Highness?”
“We are sitting here.”
“Yes, Highness. I see that.”
“Then why is our food over there?”
“I—er—well—um . . . It is usual for you to go to table Highness.”
Markos began to laugh. “Kalar, tell me. Do I look “usual” to you at the moment?”
“Indeed no, Sire. You look most—UNusual.”
“Then let us continue in that vein. Lay a blanket here and serve the food. Tonight we shall picnic indoors.”
Kylos shook his head sadly. T’pahq, I fear that we have a second mad king. I may have to depose my brother. May I count on your aid?”
“Only if he does worse that hold eccentric dinner parties.” I replied.
“Would falconating people and chopping up priests not count for that?”
I grimaced taking a chunk of dark bread from the pannier as Kalar and his assistants began setting out the food. “I rather enjoyed that part of the week.” I answered. “It was—different.”
Aenar tore the leg from a plains fowl as the platter passed him. “And there is nothing like a good bit of falconating to get the appetite going.” He stated sombrely.
Kylos jabbed him with a crisp bread stick. “Only you could make something so horrible sound like something one would do in the bedroom.”
“I often peck you till you scream,” the Provost chortled.
Faedron began filling up the goblets with wine. “If it was a bedroom thing I don’t think I’d like to try it—it sounds a bit dangerous and perverse.”
“Oh blood and spit,” Maegor hissed. “And there I was considering covering myself in feathers and ravishing you!”
Dthor turned to me with a very pained expression on his face. “Now there is an image that will have me washing my eyes for a settan!”
“Thank you, Lord Consort,” Maegor made as low a bow as his sprawled position would allow, “but I happen to look very fetching in feathers.”
Dthor closed his eyes momentarily and then took a huge gulp of wine. “No! Not getting any better—worse in fact.
Markos tossed a hot artichoke to his brother. “And you think I’m mad! Listen to them.”
The evening slid past on a raft of wine, food and laughter and gradually as the food was consumed and wine took hold he all gradually fell asleep in the living area.
As I dozed I became aware of the servants moving about the chink of plates and soft clank of salvers and trays being removed gently permeating my drowsing. A few moments later a warm blanket was draped over me I pulled it to my shoulder and then reached out to find Dthor before drawing the large coverlet over us both.
Two days after our grisly discoveries in the deposed Aergin’s Enclosure the area had was vacant. The acolytes were either in the infirmary or in the charge of any solider who would claim them as squires, pages or serfs. At least now their lot would be happier—it would certainly be safer and more beneficial to their health and wellbeing.
I spotted Khannis a couple of times with Bahrin playing what seemed to be a child’s game of Count-Catch. Markos assured me that it was no such thing, but a soldier’s exercise to dodge blows and that Khannis was quite clearly passing on his warrior’s skills to his new charge. What Khannis was doing, quite clearly to me, was sporting with the youth to build his confidence. Markos huffed. “Oh, have it your way, then. I think a warrior of Khannis’ standing would be mortified if he knew the Commander of the White Guard thought he was playing games.
I somehow doubted that, for even from where we stood I could see the fighter laughing even if I could not hear him as he and Bahrin dodged around each other trying to tap the other with the short canes they held. Eventually the pair stopped chasing about and Khannis threw a casual arm over Bahrin’s shoulder, bit out the stopper of his waterskin and passed it to the youth. The warrior suddenly caught sight of me watching, started to remove his arm from the youth and then dropped it back as if he had suddenly remembered that there was no longer any need to fear such casual contact. I supposed it would be some time before the Morlans recovered sufficiently to allow themselves to relax fully with each other.
“What will happen to the Aergin’s Enclosure now, Markos?”
There was a sudden explosion and a huge ball of fire rose up at the edge of Morlan sector followed by clouds of sparks and black smoke. The king gave me a cute and very disturbing smile. “Does that answer your question?”
Indeed it did! Markos had ordered all the gold from the Enclave to be gathered by the smiths and rendered into small ingots. These would then be taken in their batches as they were created to Aidor and his priests where they would bless and exorcise them according some very ancient and obscure rite. Markos reached into a small pouch and pulled out a carved waxen disk that just fit in the palm of his hand. On one side an obviously very skilled artisan had carved Keelan’s face and on the other was Markos’ crest laid over an image of the shattered Qor-hadthin.
The herald eagles Jalin and I had seen on the final day of his State Council had, as Jalin supposed, been sent to every governor of every region in Morla informing them of the destruction of the M’rgaerdjinn during the Great Invocation and commanding them to seize all goods, chattels, gold and specifically the records of the Order’s executions fro
m the Chantries. Every Chantry would be stripped bare. Anything of use was to be immediately distributed to the needy of the area; fuel, food, utensils, furniture—everything. Any priest or Gaerim offering resistance was to be put to the sword without hesitation. The priests’ guards would be offered the choice of conscription to the regular army or exile. The priests would be given the option of exile or death; in either case they would take nothing but the robes they wore.
Once the Chantry was cleared it was to be razed and a memorial stone was to be erected in honour of those lives destroyed by the various generations of Aergin. Not one Chantry was to be spared. And Markos’ command came with the edict that if any Chantry remained on his return to Morlan soil the Governor responsible would be immediately executed in the manner now prescribed for treason. I let out a long sigh. Markos had not let the moment slip from his grasp.
“I could not afford to. This was far too great an enterprise,” he said, staring briefly into the morning sky. He turned his gaze to the waxen coin in his hand, turning it to look at his father’s image. “Some might say paid for at far too exorbitant a price,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.
I placed my hand over the coin and clasped his hand in mine. “But I doubt that your father would ratify that claim.”
Markos smiled, withdrew his hand and turned the coin over again. When all the gut gold in the camp was suitably prepared Markos intended that it would be minted into the coin he now held and ten pieces would be sent to the surviving families of those who had been murdered in the generations of madness. Markos knew it could never make full restitution for what had been done to the men and their families, but at least it might serve to help those left destitute by the loss of their main providers to start new and more profitable lives. The wives and children of men condemned under the Qor-hadthin were inevitably shunned. None would employ the widow of a man so destroyed and the children would simply be ignored if they took up begging.
The widows would frequently take their offspring and move to another city, but this rarely helped for the priests would make a point of tracing the movements of “The Tainted” and so often the only course of action left the women was prostitution while the “more suitable” boys might find themselves conscripted into The Order Itself. A horrible and ignominious chapter in his nation’s history, the young king observed.
“And one that you have finally closed.” I said
Markos gave me a tired smile. “Not without some very impressive wizardry from you and Jalin,” he said. “But when I thought your friendship and respect lost to me, Meriq, I thought I would never find strength to finish this.”
We stopped then at a small tavern tent and called for some light ale. Markos handed me his cup and I took a sip, passing mine to him as I did so. It turned out that he and Keelan had hatched the plan to overthrow the Aergin and destroy the Qor-hadthin after Markos had witnessed the extent of my abilities in our first skirmish together when I crushed the Legionnaire’s heads with my thoughts. The second part came when Jalin exposed not only his ability to hear and send thoughts and images but also to cause physical effect such as cuts and the like.
“It was too good an opportunity to pass up.” Markos said quietly.
“And your father’s death? Was that part of the plan too?”
“Of course.” Markos said, “I was not so happy about that part, but Keelan insisted that if the plan was to work it would need a new king under a new oath of Justice and Honour and the letter and spirit of the Law—and all that—to actually make it work. He is—was,” the young king corrected himself, “a master of strategy. The business with Tariq and Jae’nt was just the final spicing of the bread. A fortuitous co-incidence, though for a moment I thought things might go seriously awry. Especially when that shovaqi titan simply opened his mouth and admitted everything.” Markos paused to sup his ale. “It did work out rather well though, acquitted by Divine Intervention having stated his “crime” openly.”
I heaved in a heavy breath. “And I thought I navigated with a tight sail.” I said.
Markos stared up at the sun. “Should I remind the Lord Ez’n that we are due at his dwelling to review things with the Kyr-Garrin?”
I gulped down the remaining ale. “I’m so glad you did. I had completely forgotten!”
The men I considered my “core group” were already gathered and standing to attention when I arrived.
Iannos was standing with Alna and a new page, who was supposedly Jalin’s replacement, I had yet to meet properly shifting from foot to foot.
“I have tried to serve the refreshments to the men twice but they will not have it until you go in.”
“It’s alright, Iannos,” I almost laughed at his earnestness. “Do not fret so. The men will neither starve nor dry out like prunes for a short delay.” I pushed my way through flap. “Gentlemen, my apologies
Aenar, Maegor, Tyrel as the eldest of the titans, Jae’nt and Tariq through his right as Prince’s Consort, Dthor naturally, and an intimidatingly densely built Morlan Hoplite called Abben, who before the most recent and welcomed addition of Aarin, had been my newest addition all saluted and then settled on the banks of cushions pulling their various reports from satchels and pouches as Iannos came in and set the low table in the centre of our gathering.
There was not a great deal of business to work through. Supplies and rations for the White Guard, repairs to armour and weaponry. Drills, assessments and the like and it was not long before the scrolls and folios littered the floor and we were reclined sipping ruby spike and spice tea engaged in but general conversation.
It was just as we began to gather up the paperwork that Iannos appeared in the doorway with Karyn. She looked pale and somewhat unnerved. I motioned her forward.
“T’pahq, forgive the intrusion but I need urgent word with the Provost.”
Aenar’s head snapped round. “Is it Daryth? What has happened?”
Karyn nodded. It was indeed Daryth, but she had no idea what had happened. “Aenar, you really need to come and see for yourself. T’pahq I believe you should come as well.”
Jae’nt jumped to his feet pulling Tariq with him. “And I for one and not going to miss seeing what has put this woman of steel in such a fit!” he stated.
When we arrived at the infirmary it was to find Daryth bathed, impeccably groomed and scrubbed, bright-eyed and fidgeting anxiously in Kylos’ grip. The boy’s face burst into a radiant smile as Aenar walked through the entry flap and despite the best of his effort Kylos simply could not hold the boy.
“Lord Soldier! Lord Soldier!” Daryth practically launched himself like a spear hitting the Provost full in the chest and almost taking the man off his feet. Aenar’s arms clamped instinctively around the boy. “By the gods, Daryth, calm yourself before you explode like a kayet’s grenade!”
“I did as you said, Lord Soldier and made myself well and strong again.”
Aenar turned to Karyn who simply threw up her open hands. She had extracted all the embedded gold from the boy over the four days he had been with her. She had worked slowly and methodically, used the smallest needles and finest silk she could to stitch the wounds. She stopped speaking and just stood for a moment with a mixture of worry and bewilderment on her face.
“But . . . ?” I prompted.
She motioned Daryth over to her whispered something to him and then lifted the boy’s tunic.
“So you have removed the stitches?” Aenar said puzzled. “How is that significant?”
Karyn gaped at him. “Do you not see, Aenar? I have not removed any stitching and neither do there seem to be any scars. This boy has been restored to health and I assure you it has not been by my hand.” She turned and motioned one of the healers to pass her a torch. “And then there is this.”
At her request Daryth shed his tunic and she passed the torch back and forth across the boy’s torso. The effect was as shocking as it was amazing, for as the torchlight illuminated Daryth’ skin one could clearly see
glittering gold imprints left by some of the charms that had pressed into him as if they had been embossed or branded on his skin. She handed the boy back his tunic.
Aenar motioned Daryth back to his side. “Well, my little warrior. You have kept your word to me and so I shall keep mine to you.”
Kylos hurried to his lover’s side. “Do you think . . .”
“I gave my word and it will not be broken, Kylos. I will see you back at our quarters and we will talk properly there.”
The young archer turned to me as the Provost left us with Daryth trotting along beside him. “T’pahq? What think you?”
I had to confess I was mystified, but if the boy had a magic of some kind it could quite easily be the faculty of healing himself. Jalin was capable of some remarkable feats with his mind magic. I gave Kylos a reassuring hug reminding him that over the campaign we had seen feats of magic that were simultaneously terrifying and awe inspiring, so why fear a little boy who might simply be able to heal himself.
Kylos smiled, still not completely convinced by my words. “And if it is more—something worse? Something foul that seeped from that awful cesspit that called itself a Chantry?”
“Then we will deal with it, Kylos. We always deal with such things do we not?”
†
CHAPTER 38
TOUCHED BY THE GOD
WITH ALL of Markos’s “state business”, as he called it, now resolved, and with Aarin and his army formally accepted into the Alliance the Kings ordered the camp struck and the march on to Medravia and our appointment with the Black Legion to recommence. The orders were well received by the men who cheered when the heralds announced the orders. And as preparations to strike began, the crippled and deposed, but now satisfactorily healed Aergin and his remaining priests were escorted from the encampment by several of their former guards, the Gaerim, who were clearly taking pleasure in so doing.
As the disgraced priests moved through the camp Morlan soldiers began to line the route and before long the passage out was lined as many as twenty men deep. Some spat at the men as they passed, some jeered and some cheered waving battle scarves or their battalion sashes. Others threw refuse and rotting meat or vegetables but others, though quite few, stood silent; some even bowed their heads or saluted as the group passed. I supposed it would be quite a time before some Morlans would be ready to relinquish the past and it was only natural that some of the more indoctrinated—and I included Zarin in this—would never be able to accept the end of such a significant part of their history.
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