by Richard Ford
They got beaming smiles in some places, but Nobul could tell that behind half of them there was little friendship. He found himself looking round at the slightest noise, keeping his hand close to that short blade, conscious of the whistle hung about his neck in case they needed help. But he was also conscious of the respect they were being shown, just for wearing the uniform … or was it fear? People moved out of their way as they approached and if someone looked like they were up to no good they’d disappear as soon as Nobul and Denny approached them.
Nobul had to admit: he was beginning to enjoy himself.
As the afternoon wore on and there was no sign of any trouble he even relaxed a little. It was then that the questions began.
‘So, Bakhaus Gate. Not many blokes still around from those days. You must have seen some sights?’
‘None that I’d wish on anyone else.’
‘No … course not. Just wish I could have been there is all. Wish I could have done my bit like you lads.’
Nobul didn’t answer. There was no point shattering anyone’s dreams of glory and battle, even if they were talking shit. Let the lad have his dream. Hopefully he’d never have to experience it, but if the Khurtas swept down across the Free States and he had to face them at the city gates he’d learn soon enough what the reality was like.
‘Did you see the Black Helm in action?’ said Denny, his eyes widening. ‘That was the tale most made me want to sign up for the Greencoats. One of the old boys from Leach Street used to tell us about the Black Helm. Held the Gate single-handed while the king got his wounded out of the breach. They say he took half a dozen beast-man pelts, wielding that hammer of his like it weighed nothing, smashing those lion-faced bastards all over the place.’
‘Those kind of stories ain’t usually right in the telling,’ Nobul replied.
‘No,’ Denny agreed, obviously feeling foolish for being caught up in an old man’s tales of war. ‘Six pelts does sound like a load of bollocks. Bloke probably never even existed.’
They walked on in silence as the sun fell beyond the north wall.
All Nobul could think was that six pelts was a load of bollocks.
By his reckoning, it had been more like a dozen.
SEVENTEEN
Kaira waited in the anteroom, stripped of arms and armour. It was a silent chamber, built for contemplation. She had meditated here many times, eyes closed or staring at the bare, white plaster. But she was not meditating now.
Her whole world seemed to have crumbled in a few short hours. The High Abbot’s screaming had almost brought the roof of the Temple of Autumn tumbling down around their ears. Samina had come running, closely followed by more of her sisters. Then the Exarch herself.
She had said little. Merely ordered Kaira to her chambers. Later she had come, guiding Kaira to the vestibule where she now sat, awaiting her fate.
It had been a grievous act, but one Kaira could not bring herself to regret. That foul pig of a man deserved everything she had given him, and more, but now she was the one who would be punished. She was the one who would suffer for her actions.
The waiting was beginning to grow unbearable. It was as though she had been condemned, as if the gallows awaited her — though she knew the Daughters of Arlor would never see her harmed. The Shieldmaidens, however, were much sterner with their punishments.
Kaira had contemplated running. Though the door to the anteroom was closed, it was not bolted. She could easily escape this place and, should she wish to leave the Temple, there would be no one who could stop her. But Kaira Stormfall had never run from anything before, and despite having dishonoured her vows, she was still loyal to the Temple of Autumn and those within it. She could never run away from her duty to this place.
Footfalls in the corridor outside. It was not the first time she had thought they were coming to take her to judgement. Unseen figures had been passing by the chamber all night and day, some quick with urgency, others measured and slow. These steps approached with a purposeful rhythm, stopping when they reached the door. Kaira watched as the handle turned and the door opened, allowing herself a smile when Samina entered, but her friend did not return the gesture.
‘Sister,’ said Kaira, standing.
‘I am sorry,’ Samina replied. ‘They’ve sent me to fetch you.’
Kaira nodded. ‘I understand.’ She stood tall and proud, ready to meet her fate. ‘We should not keep them waiting.’
As the two warriors walked the halls of the Temple, the Daughters of Arlor moved from their path as they always did, only this time Kaira felt no pride. Now, all that surrounded her was shame, and though none of the priestesses showed her any disrespect she still felt she had betrayed them and the tenets by which she had been raised.
The warriors made their way solemnly to the antechamber outside the Matron Mother’s sanctum. As Kaira had expected, Daedla stood waiting for her.
‘This is where I leave you, sister,’ Samina whispered. Kaira offered her a solemn smile before she departed. As much as she wanted Samina by her side, she knew this was one battle she would have to face alone.
Daedla opened the door to the sanctum, saying nothing. Kaira chose not to look at her, not wanting to see her look of condemnation as she walked past, and the door was closed behind her.
At the great oaken desk sat the Matron Mother, and to her right hand stood the Exarch. Both looked serious, but what had Kaira expected? That they would greet her with open arms and easy smiles? That they would treat her like a hero?
‘Come closer,’ said the Matron Mother. Her voice was calm and measured. Kaira could detect no anger in it. As she walked forward she could see the Exarch looked stern, but that was no great surprise — the greatest of the Shieldmaidens always bore a grim visage.
‘Please, sit.’
Kaira was taken aback by the Matron Mother’s request. Without thinking she sat in the seat that awaited her. She had not been expecting this. She had been expecting to be admonished, forced to stand to attention while the two heads of the Temple railed at her for her behaviour.
Then the Matron Mother asked the strangest question — ‘Are you well?’
Was she well? She had been condemned to a cell and forced to await her fate for savagely beating the High Abbot of Ironhold. It was highly likely he had called for her execution — at best her banishment from the Temple of Autumn. Was she well?
‘Yes, Matron Mother,’ she replied.
‘Good. That is good. Of course your sisters are most concerned for you. We are pleased we can put them at their ease.’
‘How is the High Abbot?’ She asked the question before she could stop herself. It was foolish, she knew. It would have been prudent to wait. If the Matron Mother wanted her to know, she would have told her, but prudence was something that Kaira seemed to have thrown to the four winds recently. Why be any different now?
A flash of a smile crossed the Matron Mother’s lips. It was there for only a second, but it was definitely there.
‘He will recover,’ she replied. ‘Though he has demanded to be sheltered elsewhere in the city until he is fit enough to make the journey back to Ironhold. But you must not concern yourself with him.’
A curious thing to say. Why should she not concern herself with him? He was, after all, why she had been summoned here.
The Matron Mother pushed herself up from her chair. Other weaker women might have used a cane to aid them at such an advanced age, but the Matron Mother, despite her years, walked on her frail legs seemingly by the power of her will alone. She moved around the desk, and laid a hand on Kaira’s shoulder.
‘The Exarch and I have been discussing you at length. Discussing your future.’ So at least she had a future. That was something for which to be thankful. ‘And it is clear your future lies beyond the walls of the temple.’
Kaira felt something tighten in the pit of her stomach. Her teeth clenched and for a moment the room seemed to swim before she forced herself to regain control.
‘I am to be banished then,’ she replied.
It was to be expected. She should count herself lucky that was to be her only punishment.
The Matron Mother smiled. ‘On the contrary. You think we would abandon you to the vagaries of the outside world? You think we would squander the loyalty and skills of such a valuable servant? Rather we should pull the walls of this temple down around our ears than be so wanton in our disregard of you who have served us so well.’
Kaira considered the Matron Mother’s words, unsure of her meaning. ‘If I am not to be banished then why am I to be sent away?’
‘There is a task we wish you to perform. A mission of sorts that will take you into the city. It is a dangerous task, and one we would consider for no one else. Recent events mean you can be sent away without being missed. Everyone will believe you to be banished, but we will know the truth of it.’ She patted Kaira’s arm conspiratorially.
‘What mission?’
The Matron Mother looked to the Exarch. Kaira looked to her too — the woman who was as much a mother to her as anyone ever had been. She was strong featured and handsome. In her prime she had been stronger, faster and deadlier than any Shieldmaiden since Vorena herself. At Bakhaus Gate it was said she had defended the very life of the king and slain a warbeast of the Aeslanti with nothing but a broken spear. Age might have lined her face, but she still commanded total respect.
‘The Temple of Autumn has learned of a plot.’ The Exarch spoke, as always, in a measured, steady tone. ‘Innocents are to be shipped abroad and sold into bondage. We need you to find those responsible and eliminate them before they can succeed.’
Plots? But why would the Temple of Autumn concern itself with such things?
‘How do we know of this?’ Kaira said, confused. The temple was no clandestine guild; it had no spymasters in its employ.
‘We have eyes and ears throughout the city. They learned of this some time ago, but only now are we in a position to act.’
‘Eyes and ears? You mean spies? The Daughters do good deeds for the poor and the sick. The Shieldmaidens protect the temples and the city. Why would we need spies?’
The Exarch smiled. ‘Our temple has come under threat from many sources over the years. Almost been brought low many times. We have learned that caution and information are as valuable as spears and shields.’
‘But if there is such a plot why would we not just alert the Greencoats, or the Inquisition?’
‘Because they would merely blunder in. They would make their arrests and punish the guilty, but the real power behind the plot — the true evil — would escape, as it always does. To succeed fully we must be subtle. That is why you must carry out this task for us.’
‘But I am no spy. I don’t understand what you want of me.’
‘Not the role of spy. We already have an informant within the plotters’ organisation but they are not in a position to do more for us. We need someone of your unique skill and prowess to enter this organisation and destroy those who seek to enslave our people.’
‘But how? I am no mummer. I cannot act a part. The Temple is all I have ever known.’
‘You will need to act no part,’ said the Exarch. ‘You have seen to that already. Having committed sacrilege within the walls of the Temple of Autumn, you will be banished onto the streets of the city. That will be no deception, but the truth. People will not know that it is only temporary. Later you will be contacted by our agent and invited to join the organisation of which we speak. Once inside, you will carry out the tasks they give you until the moment is right to strike. You will simply do as you are bid.’
Kaira felt an unaccustomed anxiety rising within her as the Exarch spoke. She had only ever been in the city on military duty, never alone; how was she to infiltrate some kind of criminal ring and break it up? Must she become a common assassin?
But what choice did she have?
‘When must I leave?’ she asked.
The Matron Mother placed a consoling arm on her shoulder. ‘You must leave now. There is little time to waste. Speak to no one before you go. Though we trust our sisters and daughters, absolute discretion is essential.’
‘But what must I do? I don’t know where to go or how I might begin.’
‘You will have directions to an inn north of the city. There you will be contacted and told what to do next.’
Kaira looked to the Exarch. Tried to make it a look of resolve, but she felt she must have only looked pitiful. The Exarch raised her chin, demanding strength as she always had, and Kaira Stormfall was determined not to disappoint.
‘Very well. If that is your will, I am bound to serve it.’ And she really had no choice.
‘When this is over, you will be welcomed back a hero,’ said the Matron Mother. ‘It will be as though you never left us. And always remember: Arlor is strength. Vorena is courage.’
Kaira stood and repeated the Matron Mother’s words, gaining no real reassurance from the cant. She bowed to them both before turning and leaving the sanctum.
In her chamber a plain woollen cloak and battered leather satchel awaited her. Within the satchel was a set of drab clothing, a purse containing five crowns and a map showing a route to the inn where she would meet her contact. She donned the simple travelling garb and covered her head with the hood of the cloak.
Fortunately, the great courtyard was empty as Kaira crossed it to the main gate. As she went, she dared not look up to the statues of Vorena and Arlor lest they be looking down with judgement in their dead, stone eyes.
It pained her that she could not say goodbye, could not embrace Samina one last time, but it could not be. No one must know the reason for her leaving — one loose word might jeopardise her mission. If Kaira was ever to return to the temple, she knew she had to succeed.
The gate stood open, and, as she walked through, the Shieldmaidens on guard did not even look at her. Kaira took her first step beyond the threshold and felt the pressure of the outside world almost as a physical burden. She was no longer Shieldmaiden, no longer protected by her temple and her sisters. The future was daunting, but she would meet it head on, as she always had. Always would.
Up the Avenue of Spears, a road she had walked along a hundred times before, she felt more lost with every step. At the end of it she opened the satchel and took out the crude map, gripping it tight to stop her hands from shaking.
This was madness. She was a Shieldmaiden of Vorena, a warrior born, now afraid to be left alone in the city. Steeling herself, Kaira followed the scant directions, wending her way north and quickly finding herself in an area she was unfamiliar with.
The closer she got to her destination, the more insalubrious became the sights and smells of the street. Kaira had seen the drunks and wastrels of the city before, but with the advantage of wearing her armour of office, which had naturally commanded respect. The crowds had always cheered, moved aside to allow the Shieldmaidens passage. Now, just another traveller on the street, she had no defence against the gawping looks of the citizenry. As she made her way, she avoided the shady figures that lurked at street corners and in doorways. She was not afraid of what they might do, but of what she might have to do should one of them approach her. How would it help her mission to risk trouble with the Greencoats before she had travelled a league from the temple?
More disturbing to her, though, were the whores who seemed everywhere, selling themselves for a few coppers. Kaira had heard of these women, of course, but she had not imagined they would be so brazen, plying their trade openly on the streets. It sickened her. How anyone could fall so low. Surely they could find sanctuary in the temple? Surely the Daughters could care for these women and save them from a life of degradation?
But as Kaira pushed through the press of human filth, she soon realised that would be impossible for the sheer numbers of these pitiful beings. The Temple of Autumn could not give succour to them all.
By the time she reached the inn it was getting dark. Lamplighters
were at work on the lanterns that hung intermittently on their iron stanchions. Kaira saw a sign hanging limply outside a three-storey building, its crudely painted sigil announcing it as the Pony and Fiddle.
She walked in, holding her cloak tight around herself as though to shield her from the denizens within. Once inside she realised she needn’t have worried. Through the candlelit gloom she could make out fewer than half a dozen patrons, none seeming concerned with her. Nothing barred her way as she walked to the bar. A thin, greasy figure behind it straightened as she approached, as though he had been expecting her.
‘I have come from the Temple of Autumn,’ she said, keeping her voice low. It pained her to be skulking so, like just another ruffian off the street.
‘Yep,’ said the greasy man, turning to pick a dark iron key from where it hung with others on a row of hooks. ‘Follow me.’
He led her through the bar and up a creaking set of wooden stairs to the first floor. It was even darker here, and Kaira pulled back the hood of her cloak, the better to see any danger that might be lurking.
The man unlocked a door at the far end of the corridor and ushered her in.
‘I’ll bring food later,’ he said as she entered the room. In the candlelight she could see a small bed and a wooden table sitting beside it. Other than that the room was bare.
‘What do I owe?’ she asked, reaching for her satchel.
‘Taken care of,’ he replied, then closed the door.
Kaira stood in the gloom for several moments, listening to his footfalls creaking down the stairs.
Then it was just her in the dark and the silence.
For the first time in her life, she felt truly alone.
EIGHTEEN
Governess Nordaine was an altogether humourless woman and stultifying in her dullness. Why the king had ever chosen to take her into his employ was well beyond Janessa’s grasp. She was completely unsuited to be a tutor of either knowledge or manners. The woman wore drab shades of grey, concealing her entire body — from the headscarf on her tiny head to the frayed hem of her skirts. How she could teach style and deportment when her own was so lacking was a mystery Janessa and Graye had mulled over many a time.