by Richard Ford
Some scholars of ancient history stated it was she, and not the Windhammer, who had first established the Teutonian Free States and that it was Arlor who had followed her into battle against the daemons that threatened to annihilate the tribes of men. True or not it mattered little, for both were now venerated across the Free States. Temples dedicated to the seasons were in each of the four city-states, but the Temple of Autumn was by far the largest. It was a place of devout worship, a fortress monastery where the wisdom and philosophies of the gods were taught alongside strict martial traditions. Where priestesses were inaugurated and warriors tempered.
It was also the place Kaira Stormfall called home.
She stood in the central courtyard, a training square for the Shieldmaidens of Vorena, but also consecrated ground and a place of devout worship. On clear days the Matron Mother would often lead the Daughters of Arlor in prayer here, while the Shieldmaidens watched from the sidelines, guarding their territory, ever vigilant. Now though, the square was being put to its primary use — a practice yard — and nothing but the sounds of battle permeated the air.
Under Kaira’s watchful eye young acolytes of Vorena were being trained in all manner of weapons. The youngest girls, some barely more than five winters, used wooden swords, their bodies covered in layers of light cloth armour lest they became overzealous. Older girls, almost ready to become full Shieldmaidens, trained with real weapons, their blades razor sharp, their spear tips easily able to penetrate the most well crafted plate.
At Kaira’s side stood Samina, her sister in all but blood, and a warrior equal to her in rank. They called her the Coldeye, for her ability to stare down the most ferocious opponent; her aim with spear and bow was almost matchless.
Almost.
Kaira was more than her sister’s match, as she had proved a number of times, and the rivalry still burned between them.
‘No!’ Kaira barked suddenly, striding forward to grasp the haft of a javelin about to be thrown by one of her students. The girl, maybe thirteen, was a square-jawed acolyte called Reham, gifted to the Temple years before by her pious parents. She had not yet graduated sufficiently through the ranks to be granted her maiden’s name, and Kaira guessed if she carried on like this she never would.
Kaira took the javelin. ‘You’re still throwing the tip forward like a ball. This is a javelin.’ Reham stared back at her sheepishly. ‘You must thrust the haft through the tip, otherwise you might as well throw a stick at your enemy.’ Kaira hefted the weapon to her shoulder. ‘Throw with the javelin, not against it. This weapon is not dependent solely on brawn — technique will always beat strength.’ With that she flung the javelin effortlessly at the target board thirty yards away. It hit dead centre, spearing the wood and echoing around the noisy courtyard.
Reham and the rest of the trainees stared in awe.
‘Wise words you should all heed,’ said Samina, coming to stand beside Kaira. ‘But do not disregard the importance of power in combat. Sometimes there is simply no answer to brute strength.’
Kaira raised an eyebrow at her sister’s intervention. It was not the first time the Coldeye had publicly expressed a differing philosophy of warfare. As was so often the case, her seemingly straightforward statement was a challenge in disguise.
‘You can’t abide just observing and teaching, can you?’ said Kaira under her breath. She knew what was coming.
‘A javelin,’ said Samina, to one of the acolytes. Instantly a weapon was placed in her waiting palm. She tested the balance for a second, took a quick sidestep and let fly. The javelin soared across the courtyard, over the heads of the trainees. It embedded itself in one of the mannequins used for practising the placement of critical blows. The wooden statue wobbled, transfixed by the javelin, then came to rest, like a taunt to Kaira from fifty yards away.
Kaira saw her students standing agog. For the briefest moment she considered taking up another javelin, clearing the courtyard and demonstrating her superior skills, but what had she to prove? Let Samina have her moment. The Coldeye so rarely had opportunities to prove her worth these days. With the armies gone north and the Shieldmaidens left behind as little more than temple guards, it seemed they never would.
‘Carry on,’ Kaira said. Instantly her students went back to their routines.
‘Most impressive.’
Kaira turned to see Daedla standing behind her. The Daughter of Arlor was short, diminutive even, and had a habit of turning up unexpectedly. Her amiable smile masked a keen and calculating nature; Kaira knew to be always on her guard around her. Not that Daedla had ever done her harm but, as a Shieldmaiden of Vorena, Kaira had always been taught to keep her counsel around the Daughters of Arlor. Two different factions of the same religion, they were discouraged from mixing, lest the violent nature of one taint the benevolence of the other.
Samina and Kaira towered over the stooped Daedla, who, despite her only middling years, was hunched like a crone.
‘Your new recruits look a keen batch,’ said Daedla, as they watched the youngsters begin their drill once more. ‘It seems the students get better every year. Where do they keep coming from?’
‘Most are orphans of the plague,’ Kaira explained. ‘Even so young they understand they must prove themselves or face being cast out from the safety of our walls.’
‘That is surely not necessary. Arlor’s Daughters would take care of them,’ said Daedla proudly, but Kaira knew different.
‘More refugees are flocking to Steelhaven every day, and there is only so much the Temple can do. Our armies need supplies to the north: crops, livestock, weapons. There will be few resources for those of us left in the city once the king begins his campaign. With more mouths to feed than ever before it will be a long winter for those who do not prove themselves worthy to remain within our walls.’
‘You make it sound so bleak, sister. We Daughters of Arlor take a very different view.’
Kaira frowned. As compassionate as Daedla’s words were, Kaira knew they were impractical. However good the intentions, pride and benevolence would always, ultimately, be subordinated to survival. The plague had certainly taught that. The Temple of Autumn and its Shieldmaidens had been quarantined during the scourge of the Sweet Canker, to avoid the sickness that would leave the place defenceless. Some of Arlor’s Daughters had been allowed through the gates to minister to the sick, but none had been allowed to return in case they contaminated the Temple. When the plague was over, most of them were dead.
Despite her expressed compassion, Daedla had not been one of those who had gladly sacrificed herself to bring solace to the sick.
‘What brings you to the courtyard, Daedla?’ asked Samina, impatiently. ‘We would not want to see you tainted by our martial display.’
‘Oh, I am long past the fear of taint,’ Daedla replied with her enigmatic smile, which only served to annoy Kaira even more. ‘But the Matron Mother has summoned you.’
‘The Matron Mother?’ Kaira asked. ‘What does she want us for?’
Daedla shrugged. ‘I am simply the messenger.’
Kaira glanced at Samina, who only shot back a confused look. Quickly they made their way from the courtyard to change into their ceremonial regalia. It irked Kaira a little that they were being so hasty; Daedla was probably relishing this eagerness to respond to the Matron Mother’s call, but there was really no alternative. Though Kaira’s superior, the Exarch, was the highest ranking Shieldmaiden, and the sisters obeyed her implicitly, the Matron Mother held ultimate sway within the Temple of Autumn, and a personal summons from her was a great honour … or, on occasions, the ultimate disgrace.
‘What do you think this is about?’ Samina asked whilst placing her breastplate over the tight, silver brigandine beneath and securing the buckles.
‘I have no idea,’ Kaira replied, but the possibilities were rushing though her mind. Some kind of mission? Might they be required to leave the Temple and head to the front — to fight beside the king? Such a prospec
t excited her. Though defending the Temple and its inhabitants was her main duty, she relished the thought of real combat, instead of endlessly patrolling the walls of their impenetrable bastion.
Having donned their armour they strode though the Temple’s vast corridors towards the inner chapel, carrying their ceremonial helms, with their golden swords at their sides. In uniform they both intentionally mirrored the statue of Vorena. Only Samina’s dark, cropped hair and Kaira’s blonde distinguished them. Seeing their approach in full regalia, the Daughters of Arlor and the Shieldmaidens all moved aside, bowing their heads in respect.
As the two warriors reached the antechamber to the Matron Mother’s sanctum, Daedla was ready for them, two white-veiled handmaids at her side.
‘The Matron Mother awaits,’ said Daedla, beckoning towards the door. As Kaira took a step forward Daedla said, ‘If you please, sisters. Your weapons.’
It was a foolish and annoying protocol, but the Matron Mother frowned upon weapons being carried in her presence, and forbade them within her sanctum. Reluctantly Kaira and Samina unbuckled their sword belts and handed the weapons to the waiting handmaids, and with her sickly smile still plastered to her face Daedla heaved the door open, bowing her head as the Shieldmaidens strode past her and into the sanctum.
The Matron Mother sat at a massive oak desk covered in parchments. She scribbled on a piece of vellum with a long elaborate quill, whose feather danced in time to the scratching sounds. Kaira and Samina stopped before the desk as the vast lead-lined door closed behind them with a resounding thud. Moments passed and Kaira could hear her own heart beating. She stared straight ahead, standing at attention, a sentinel of discipline awaiting the Matron Mother’s notice; but still the old woman continued her incessant scribbling.
Finally, she placed the quill in its well and looked up, her rheumy eyes regarding them from beneath heavy wrinkled lids. The Matron Mother wore the plain white smock of the Daughters, but not the usual veil, and her dry, silver hair was tied back in a simple clasp.
‘Thank you for coming,’ she said with a smile that creased her entire face. She looked like a kindly old woman, one who might spend her latter years gifting alms to the poor or knitting shawls for street urchins. Kaira knew otherwise; the Matron Mother was a stone hard and powerful icon, whose words must be obeyed, whose example revered. ‘You are probably wondering why I have summoned you here.’ She paused, but neither Kaira nor Samina spoke. ‘The fact is, I have called for you both because you are the finest warriors of this temple, perhaps even all the temples in the Free States. As such you are to receive an honour.’
For the briefest moment Kaira felt her heart leap. This was a mission, perhaps an opportunity for them both to leave the city and act in defence of the country.
‘Word has reached us from the Temple of Winter in Ironhold. The High Abbot is making his way to Steelhaven to visit us and attend the Feast of Arlor at the royal palace. He will require a bodyguard while he is here — the finest warriors we have to offer.’
As quickly as it had soared, Kaira’s heart sank. Though guarding the High Abbot was a great honour, fighting at the front with the armies of the Free States was all she had ever trained for. She wanted to protest, but knew the decision had been made. Nothing she could say would change it. Samina, however, was not above complaining.
‘Surely the High Abbot has his own guard of honour, the Sons of Malleus?’ she said, her voice doing nothing to mask her disappointment. ‘Why does he need us? We have duties within the temple. Our recruits are at a crucial stage of their training.’
‘Your students will still be waiting once this duty has been fulfilled. It is unlikely the High Abbot will be staying long.’
‘But surely the Exarch would rather we concentrated on our training than guarding visitors?’
If the Matron Mother was shocked by Samina’s petulant question she didn’t show it. ‘The Exarch agrees with me, that the High Abbot must be protected by our best. It is a great honour, one you should both relish.’
‘We shall, Matron Mother,’ Kaira said, before Samina could say anything further. The Matron Mother’s placid mood could change without warning, and the last thing Kaira needed was Samina landing them in trouble.
The Matron Mother smiled. ‘I realise this must come as something of a disappointment to you both. Menial duties within the Temple are beneath the pair of you. You want nothing more than to head north with our armies, that much is clear, and so you should. You are warriors born. To fight in defence of your nation and religion is what you were raised for.’
‘We live to serve,’ Kaira answered, though she agreed with everything the Matron Mother said.
‘I know you do. And we are grateful. It is how I know I can trust you with this duty. And fear not — when it is fulfilled there will be more for you to do. Things more suited to your skills. If King Cael’s army cannot stem the flood from the north you may well be called upon to aid his forces.’
‘We only wish to fight in defence of the Free States,’ Samina said. ‘To do what we were trained for.’
The Matron Mother nodded wryly. ‘You should be careful what you wish for, Shieldmaiden. The High Abbot will be here within three days. I expect you to be ready and waiting for his every command.’
‘We shall, Matron Mother,’ Kaira said. She bowed, as did Samina.
‘Very good,’ the Matron Mother replied, before turning back to her parchments. The Shieldmaidens took this as their signal to leave.
As the two warriors retraced their steps through the corridors of the temple it was clear the Coldeye could keep her peace no longer.
‘Guard duty?’ she said furiously, scattering a group of Arlor’s Daughters who had been unlucky enough to cross her path. ‘Guard duty? What is the Exarch thinking, allowing this? The High Abbot has his own warriors-’
‘Enough,’ said Kaira, glancing up and down the corridor. ‘This is not the place.’
Samina was angry, but gritted her teeth. The pair of them remained silent as they made their way back to the chamber of arms. Once inside, Samina flung her gilded helmet at the wall where it bounced with a clang.
‘I’m as annoyed as you are,’ said Kaira. ‘But it is our duty.’
‘It is our duty to defend the temple. Not act as handmaids.’
‘It is a great honour, sister. That is why we were chosen.’
This seemed to calm Samina slightly, though her annoyance was still obvious. ‘We’d better be richly rewarded for this. We should at least be allowed to take the Shieldmaidens north to aid the king. That’s all I can say.’
‘I’m sure it’s not,’ replied Kaira with a grin.
There was silence for a moment, before the two of them began laughing. But, as they unbuckled their ceremonial armour, the words of the Matron Mother seemed to nag at Kaira — be careful what you wish for.
THREE
It was a sad unwanted building in the shoddier part of the city, an old disused chapel, a remnant to the Old Gods that just hadn’t got around to collapsing yet. Birds had taken to nesting in the rafters, rats under the floorboards and termites in the walls. In a city long past its best, this was one more relic of bygone days, evidence of a golden age now all but rotted and dead. It was perfect for Merrick Ryder’s needs.
He checked his attire one last time, self-consciously adjusting collar and cuffs. Merrick was going for a particular look; as if he’d come from money but fallen on hard times. This was crucial to his act and explained the silken shirt, masterfully tailored jacket and britches, not brand new, but not moth-eaten either. Like a master angler, he could select just the right bait and present it in just the right spot. All he needed now was the old trout.
And in she came.
Lady Elina Humburg glanced around the chapel, eyes wide and fearful. In her fine frock and with her painted face and her glittering jewels, she was clearly unused to being in this part of the city.
Merrick could have shown himself straight away, could h
ave spared her the fear, but where was the fun in that? Besides, he wanted her nervous, afraid. It would make this subterfuge that much easier to pull off.
He watched her for several moments, letting the tension build, and just when she looked as if she might flee in fright, he stepped out of the shadows.
‘My lady,’ he breathed, ‘I cannot thank you enough for coming.’
She turned with a jangle of jewellery — a sound that never failed to fill Merrick with excitement — and rushed into his arms. ‘Oh, my Lord Franco, how could I ever stay away?’
He embraced her, holding her close, making her feel safe, feel wanted. An easy act, at which he was well practised. Hells, he’d done this more than a dozen times, but Merrick Ryder was nothing if not proficient.
‘It’s like a dagger to my heart to think you might put yourself in danger,’ he whispered into her ear. She shuddered at the nearness of his lips and he felt her grip him all the tighter. ‘The Sultan’s spies could even now be watching us, waiting to strike.’
‘The danger is worth it, Lord Franco,’ she answered, gazing at him. ‘And I know there is nothing to fear when you are close.’
He paused for a second, his lips hovering near hers, letting the expectation build. Then he kissed her. She responded vigorously; a truly passionate kiss — he had to give her that — but then Lady Elina was a passionate woman. Just a shame such passion was wrapped in a body so clearly partial to sweetcakes and honey wine. Luckily, Merrick wasn’t courting the woman for her looks — but rather for her seemingly endless riches.