The Grand’s mouth twitched. “We have moral codes do we not?” she asked. “What if, on a whim, I decided those moral codes were wrong? Tonight, as we march through this city, I could order all of you to go into the homes of Dekahn’s citizens, to kill men and women in their sleep and to break the skulls of their babes on the paving stones, without mercy or honor. Would any of you do it?”
“Of course not,” Skibs said.
“But I have made a change, Mr. Skibs. Is it not a good one?”
“It is a horrific one.”
“Yes,” she hummed. “Yes, it is. Now consider the Vandu. They have decided that women are to be owned, rather than respected as equals. What if I decided that men should be treated in such a fashion, that you should be treated as my property and never allowed to make your own decisions?”
“Then I would want ter change it back.”
“And that is exactly my point, Mr. Skibs. If the world can change on a whim, then it is a world fraught with peril. Change is not inherently good, because opinions are not inherently good. The world and its morals must be written in stone. We must have a divine source for right and wrong. We must have justice. Otherwise, we might change our minds about good and evil. We might one day decide, because of an opinion, that morality is swapped, and claim that murder is good, and that rape is just, and that people are property.”
Skibs frowned. “And what separates Just’s opinions from our own?”
“Because, Legionnaire. Just’s laws are not opinion, they are divinity.”
Bell twisted his reins. This was why he could not swear to Just. He did not have the Grand’s certainty.
It seemed Skibs was not content either. “But the gods are not consistent,” Skibs said. “What sets Just’s opinions above that of any other god?”
Cyleste laughed, terse and devoid of mirth. “Because Just is law. I would not consult Sailor on the best time to plant tomatoes, nor the Farmer on the tides, but Just, he is the arbiter of morality, just as the Farmer is the arbiter of what will grow and what will not.”
Maybe she’s right… How can I have faith if I do not trust my gods? I must believe that what they know is best. And yet… Trin had that same level of faith… she believed in Fate as strongly as Cyleste believed in Just.
Bell could no longer hold his tongue. “My grandmother was once Just’s Sovereign. She believed that the Drennish are a chosen people, to be held above all other Trellish. She claimed this truth was written in Just’s teachings and in all doctrine.”
“And what is your point, Legionnaire?”
“If his Sovereign could believe such a thing, what does that say of Just?”
Cyleste’s face grew dark. “That Just is not his Sovereign. Even the leader of his cult does not know his mind. Your grandmother was mistaken.”
“But she was his Sovereign, if she could misunderstand, then so could anyone.”
“Precisely proving my point. Only Just’s mind is pure when it comes to the laws of society, thus we should trust only the laws he has given us.”
Bell let his retort die on his lips. But what if he is wrong?
Skibs shrugged, his mouth working, but his mind seemingly unable to respond. The Grand smiled and turned back to watch the city. Looking disappointed, Skibs glanced to his wife. Rise put a hand on her husband’s shoulder and shook her head. Despite the warm gesture, her cheeks were clenched like she was stifling a laugh.
“If Just’s decided that these Dekahnians must die,” Acklin announced. “I can’t say I envy the heathens.”
“Nor do I,” the Grand said. “Nor do I.”
Bell’s horse stomped a hoof. He didn’t blame the animal for growing restless, it was the same reason he’d opened his mouth in the first place. He wasn’t ready for this. He had been trained for this, and had done his best to train the rest of his squad, but he wasn’t ready. He could only imagine how they felt. It was somewhat ironic that he was here. He had experience with sword and tower shield, and had been trained as a bodyguard, but when it came to combat he knew much less than some of the others. He couldn’t help but feel one of them should be standing in his place. Kenneth and Perval were both old veterans, each having at least fifteen years of service. Skibs and Rise had at least ten, and Bern five in the field.
For the officer in his squad, he was the least experienced among them, aside from Acklin and Tel. Had they remained scouts, that inexperience would not have mattered, but protection duty was another matter. At least they would spend the night at the Grand’s side. She would be the one making decisions, not Bell. Hopefully.
Bell thought back to something Ivan had told him the day he had arrived at the university. “Just don’t let the Cleric die,” Ivan had said. “And if you do, clean up afterward.” When he had passed the advice on to his squad, Bell had left the second part out.
The loud ring of metal sounded on Bell’s left and then the whinny of a horse as Acklin’s steed shifted away. Bell glanced to his left, and Acklin offered him an apologetic look before dismounting to retrieve his shield. “Sorry,” he said. “It slipped.”
“That’s what the strap is for, soldier,” the Grand mocked.
Acklin blushed, but no one else said anything. He knelt and lifted the heavy shield with both hands. His entire body shook as if he might buckle under the weight of his armor. Bell had offered to find the man a suit of leather, the sort he had found for Tel, but the man had refused, too proud to wear leather while the others wore plate.
Frankly, Acklin had been given a pass when he should not have. Too small to carry the large, cumbersome shields, Tel had been reassigned to a group of archers for the evening. Right now, Bell was wishing he’d done the same with Acklin. The Grand intended to lead the charge into Dekahn, with Bell’s squad as her escort. Her presence would draw resistance the way torches drew moths, and with Acklin’s limited experience, he might be better off stationed elsewhere.
The Grand seemed to read his mind. “I hope your people are ready, Legionnaire Cobbren.”
“As ready as we can be,” Bell said. And if that is not ready enough, you’re the one who decided scouts could be bodyguards. Skibs and I make sense, but the others…
Bell knew he shouldn’t worry so much. Perval, Kenneth, Bern, and Rise were all capable. Acklin might be less experienced, but experience had to start somewhere. And it’s not like I have room to judge.
Herald Marl trotted up on their right, her horse wearing the extravagant and eye-catching tabard. Speaking of people not to envy… She would be dangerously visible in the coming assault.
“Herald Marl, is all prepared?”
“Yes, Grand. All units are accounted for and ready.”
“Excellent, alert the hornsman to begin the march.”
“Of course, Grand,” Marl said. She looked distraught. “Grand?”
“Yes, Herald?”
“Legionnaire-Scout Eddings has returned, ma’am. He wishes to speak with you. He claims it is urgent.”
“Certainly, bring him forward.”
Marl nodded, but she did not move.
The Grand frowned. “Why do you hesitate, Herald Marl?”
“It is just that… Legionnaire Eddings has returned with some unusual stories. I am not certain his mind remains hale.”
“Oh?” the Grand mused. “Bring him forward. I wish to hear these stories for myself.”
“Yes, Grand.” Marl saluted then turned her horse to ride back the way she had come.
Skibs leaned over in his saddle and whispered in Bell’s ear. “The missing scouts,” he said.
Bell nodded but said nothing, his attention fixed on the back of the Grand’s head.
The Grand lifted her reins and turned. “Ready, gentlemen?”
“Yes, Grand,” Bell said.
“Very good.” Cyleste clicked her horse into a trot, and Bell and Skibs parted, taking point on either side of her. Acklin, Kenneth, and Perval rode to Bell’s left, each paced a foot behind the other. Rise and Bern mi
rrored the pattern on the other side, the final spot reserved for Marl. Should the Grand require cover, it would be easy to surround her and close formation.
Marl returned with a legionnaire in scout’s leathers and a dirt smeared tabard. By his damp curls and red cheeks, his face looked to have been recently washed. He wore a smile, more proud and brazen than Skibs’. The man nodded exuberantly as Marl whispered in his ear. Words passed between them and a sneer fell on Marl’s lips. The man turned his horse to the Grand and rode ahead. Marl quickened her pace, unwilling to let the man announce himself. She met the Grand and her guard a pace ahead of Scout Eddings. Regardless, the Grand ignored her. She waved Bell aside and he parted to allow the scout and Marl room to ride alongside her.
“Scout Eddings, good of you to join us. I am told you have news for me?”
Eddings blushed and that emphatic nod returned. “No, ma’am, not news as such, but a message, my Grand. Sent by a god, I was.”
A scoff drifted from Skibs’ wing; Bern lowered his visor to hide his embarrassment. With a finger at his waist, Bell motioned for silence. Eddings had a reputation for being an eccentric. That he also had an overzealous sister who claimed Eddings was a prophet, did little to help his reputation.
“Scout Bern,” the Grand challenged. “Do you have something to say?”
“No, ma’am, but Legionnaire Eddings could see the gods in his shit, ma’am, and has done so before.”
Eddings shook his head, unperturbed by Bern’s accusation. “No, no, this is different. I spoke to him in person, I did. He was in the flesh. Scout Pin can tell you, he was there. He saw him.”
“And where is this Pin?”
“Well, I carried him back, but he’s still asleep.” The legionnaire looked to Marl and Marl was primed with an explanation.
“Scout Pin is indeed asleep,” Marl said. “The courtesans attending him say he is healthy and free of wounds, but as of yet, they have been unable to wake him. Whore Dellings believes he will wake of his own accord, but it may be some time.”
“I see…” the Grand mused. “Eddings, your story please. From the beginning.”
“A course, Grand.” Eddings swallowed and licked his lips. “We was out doing our patrol when Pin spotted a man headin’ towards the city, a lanky looking fellow, with a sharp chin and a flat nose. Looked like a Vandu, he did, so’s we figured he was a scout, so I split us into pairs a two so’s we could corner ‘im. Well, me and Pin followed him, and we sees ‘im heading to the top of this rise, so we start climbin’ and we get to the top and all the sudden, the same man appears outta nowheres, just lyin’ there on the ground. Me and Pin draw our swords, and then the man rolls over and grabs Pin’s leg and Pin falls asleep, a course I thought he was dead at the time.”
Eddings drew a deep breath before continuing. “So’s I’m ready to attack this man, and he tells me that I ain’t showing him the proper respect, sayin’ I forgot who he was, and so’s I knew it right then. Men don’t appear outta nowheres, Grand. ‘Twas a god, ma’am, appearin’ to me in the flesh. He said he was a god and that mortals had forgotten their place. He seemed real upset about it, ma’am. Then he said he had a message for my master and the next thing I knew I was asleep.”
“And?”
“And when I woke up, Pin was still asleep, so’s I picked him up and came back.”
“And what was his message?” the Grand clarified impatiently.
“Oh,” Eddings yipped. “A course, Grand. A course. He said he had to speak with you, but he wanted to see the city first.”
“Is that all, Legionnaire?”
“No, ma’am. He called me his holy messenger, and he said that I was special.”
The Grand shook her head pityingly, but Eddings did not notice. “That must be wonderful, I’m sure,” the Grand said, “but I was referring to the message. Was there more to his message?”
“Oh, yeah. He said he had news from his Father… Uhmm Father Order he called him. His Father Order. I didn’t know what he meant, but he said that his father lived in the city.”
The Grand’s gaze shot to Eddings. “Are you certain that is what he said, Legionnaire? He said that Father Order was in the city?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Can you repeat it exactly?”
“A course, ma’am. He said he wanted to see his father’s city and then said Father Order had sent him.”
“He said it was his father’s city, not that his father lived in the city?”
“Those sound the same thing to me, Grand.”
“Which was it?”
“The first one. His father’s city.”
“You are certain?”
Eddings nodded and the Grand’s stare darkened. She paused, as if deep in thought, then “You are dismissed, Legionnaire.”
Eddings lifted his hand as if to beg more time. “But there’s more, Grand.”
“You’re dismissed,” Cyleste repeated. Marl seized his reins and pulled him away.
“Martha was right,” he called to the Grand. “I’m a prophet, like she said. The gods have appeared before me and I am their messenger.” Eddings chattered over his shoulder until well behind the next line of riders. He passed out of sight, but even then, Bell could still hear him explaining to Marl how he was also a herald.
Bell regained his position next to the Grand and steeled himself. “Is this Father Order important, Grand?”
The Grand ignored him. Her face held no emotion, but her mouth worked silently, as if she were chewing on some thought. Certain she hadn’t heard, he drew a breath to ask again.
“Yes, Bell,” she finally answered. “Very important.”
“Is he a threat, Grand?”
The Grand shrugged. “Yes, he is, but he is far away, for now.”
“And what of his son?”
“We shall see, Bell. Order has many sons, some more dangerous than others.”
Bell nodded. “It’s a strange name,” Bell mused. “I can see why Eddings thought the man a god. Order sounds almost like a god’s title.”
“Yes,” the Grand said. “Yes, it does.” She drew a hand from her reins to hover beneath the white circle painted on her chest. “Enough talk, Legionnaire. We will enter their bow range soon. I do not expect resistance, but regardless, we should rid ourselves of distraction.”
Bell saluted and returned to formation. Gods, does she expect us to simply walk into the city? He suppressed the urge to ask.
Marl returned, and without comment, fell into position behind Bern.
Beneath the lights of the city, Dekahn’s wall stretched as a second black horizon. The city’s multistory wooden towers glowed like lit torches. Bell had read stories of Dekahn’s magnificent craftsmanship; wooden towers several stories high, designed not for defense, but some other purpose, long forgotten.
The towers amazed him. Sure, the chapel in Trel was much larger, but it had been built by a god, and in stone and mortar, not wood. He didn’t understand how wooden buildings that size could resist the elements for as many centuries as they had, but he was no carpenter, for which he was glad; there was a hint of mystery in his ignorance, and he feared understanding might ruin the wonder. He would much rather appreciate such beauty than spend his days obsessing over the science of it.
Whispers drew Bell’s attention. Behind him, Kenneth and Perval argued, their words too quiet for Bell to understand. Those two had been strange of late. Perval looked nervous, on edge, while Kenneth seemed impatient. Bell did not think it unusual that an old veteran like Perval would be so unnerved by the coming battle; it seemed a thing one might never grow used to, not even with twenty years of experience. Perhaps, despite their training, they were all unprepared for this.
The wind changed and the smells of the city wafted to Bell’s nose. It smelled of horses and burning coal. The city was quieter than he expected. The wall looked dead in the night, devoid of any shadows that might give away a guard’s position. He heard the sound of gears, and chains grindi
ng against stone, as a pool of light blossomed, spreading from a single line to a large rectangle on the field before them. Horses sped through the open gate, carrying men in leather harnesses and women in wool cloaks. Vandu. Two riders stopped and pointed at them. Bell drew his sword and readied his shield. The Vandu were a good two hundred yards away, but a horse could travel that distance quickly.
“Do not worry yourselves,” the Grand said. “They are not concerned with us.”
She was right, the Vandu riders trotted into the pool of light then turned their horses to the north. A group of men rode at the head followed by shapes so small that they could only be children. The Vandu looked to be fleeing, but not enough of them. The train vanished into the night, heading for the northern forest. The riders that had pointed, reined in their horses, and without a second glance, followed their cohorts.
“Gods,” Skibs swore. “The little ones are better riders than I am.”
Rise twisted in her saddle, her mouth agape. “Where are they going?” she asked.
“Only time will tell,” the Grand said. “Most likely, they have lost their faith.”
“Shall I send some scouts after them?” Marl asked. “It could be a trap.”
“No, let them be. We will not see them again.”
Marl huffed, but did not argue. Bell was grateful; he’d heard enough of their arguments already.
Bell eyed the sliver of city between the gates. It seemed too convenient, that as they marched toward the city in the dead of night, the gate would suddenly open and admit them without a struggle. There were no silhouettes that raced across the opening… And the lack of guardsmen along the wall took another meaning. It felt an obvious trap, but the Grand’s confidence had not waned. She had expected this from the beginning; a convenient opportunity aligned at the perfect moment. And the moon had been her sign. Her certainty. She must have an ally, but what kind of ally allows for that level of certainty?
A spy within the city perhaps. An influential one… someone highly ranked within the Guard or maybe even Lock’s royal court. Bell put on his helm and lifted the visor. The desire for protection overcame him. The Grand watched him out of the corner of her eye as a lopsided grin quirked her lips. Skibs sucked his lips against his teeth, a sound Bell had grown accustomed to. He followed Bell’s example and donned his helm.
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 58