by Tom Lloyd
‘What do you mean?’
‘That damned Victory Memorial right inside the Carter’s Gate!’ Nai exclaimed. ‘Skulls and icons glorifying our lord - right where everyone can hardly fail to see it! It’s looking more like a shrine than any rag-strewn wall.’
‘I don’t remember your orders including the instruction to think about anything,’ Amber said quietly.
Nai slammed a palm on the table. ‘If that’s the case, get yourself some pet adept of Larat to spy for you instead!’
Amber sighed. On the other side of the room the three Litse sat bolt upright with alarm, like deer ready to flee. ‘I can’t trust any of them,’ he said in a low voice, ‘you know I can’t.’
‘Then don’t forget I’m no damn soldier,’ Nai hissed. ‘I’m not even Menin, and my loyalty isn’t blind. Your coin might look like army wages, but don’t think for a moment I can’t manage without you.’
Amber paused. ‘I’d never thought of it like that. How did you earn your keep, back in Scree?’
Nai gave him a cold smile. ‘Do you really want an answer? You really want to ask how my master came on his wealth? There are more than enough ways for a mage to easily earn an honest living, but as you can probably imagine Isherin Purn didn’t believe in any of them.’
‘You’re right,’ Amber agreed, ‘I really don’t want to know. As for impiety, no, I don’t care about that. I’m trying to work out what Sergeant Kayel and his friends are up to in Byora - whether all these prayers for intercession and missionaries to other cities are the scheme or the smokescreen.’
‘It would be a complicated smokescreen,’ Nai pointed out. ‘Their resources are limited, their numbers few. The missionaries are all, from what I can see, locals being recruited to the cause - the mad and the sick, beggars who’ve lost all hope and are desperate for salvation. What’s telling is that the Harlequins are in on it now.’
‘What do you mean?’
Nai grabbed a heel of bread and jammed it in the side of his mouth, talking as he chewed. ‘Aha, some real news to justify this sinner’s wages. There’s a Harlequin in the city. It was speaking in Burn the other day.’
‘What’s new about that?’
The necromancer grinned. ‘It wasn’t the usual stories the Harlequin was telling - some, but not all. It was mostly speaking of a child, one that would set us back on the path of the righteous. Damn storyteller did all but denounce every cult in the Land as self-serving criminals, leading us away from the embrace of the Gods.’
Amber gaped. ‘A child? They’re in league with the Harlequins? But, that’s . . .’ His voice tailed off and he sat back in his chair.
‘Surprising, aye,’ Nai said. ‘Means you’ve got to take them more seriously now. The Harlequins have never sided with anyone before, but all this fits together so neatly there’s got to be a plan there somewhere.’
‘But what’s the plan?’ Amber asked helplessly. ‘What am I missing?’
‘That I don’t know,’ Nai said as he tipped his chair back to balance it on its rear legs. It creaked and wobbled alarmingly. ‘But this plan’s not secret now, parts of it at least. Getting the Harlequins on your side will make every power-broker in the Land sit up and take notice, them and the preaching missionaries. That means they’re confident, either because they’re strong enough to survive on their own, or because what they’re up to doesn’t threaten anyone nearby.’
‘They’re not strong, even with the Jesters. The tribes that worship them aren’t an army and they aren’t here. They’re just a few Raylin, plus a bodyguard.’
‘But we’re the only ones who can hurt them,’ Nai said with a pointed look. ‘What if they don’t fear us - their Walls of Intercession are more than a shade akin to the memorials Lord Styrax has raised after every battle he’s won. If there is a purpose behind them, maybe it’s the same purpose.’
Amber leaned forward over the table and said in a hushed voice, ‘You think Lord Styrax is in league with the shadow?’
‘I’m not someone he confides in,’ Nai replied. ‘I don’t know if you are or not - I doubt even you really know - but the Lady of Luck’s dead and I don’t believe in coincidences.’
Amber looked bleak. ‘I don’t know all his secrets, but if you think Lord Styrax follows the order of any man, let alone some shadow, you’re the fool.’
‘So go and ask.’
‘Eh?’
‘That scarred bastard, Sergeant Kayel,’ Nai said brightly. ‘You think he’s one of Azaer’s disciples, and my money’s on you being right. Now I don’t know much about Azaer, but what I do know leads me to believe it isn’t one to advertise. To those in the know, all this preaching’s a lot of noise coming from a corner that’s normally quiet. They won’t believe all this has gone unnoticed by the man who’s just conquered this city, and still they don’t hide - so go and ask Kayel. No one draws attention to themselves while under Kastan Styrax’s thumb unless they’ve got nothing to hide.’
Amber nodded slowly. ‘Or they’ve got something to offer. You could be right there.’ He paused. ‘What’s your part in all this?’
Nai looked startled at the change of focus, immediately wary. ‘What do you mean?’
Amber was about to leap on the shift in the mage’s demeanour when he caught himself. He’s not just a mage, he told himself, he’s a necromancer; as a breed they don’t like scrutiny, and they don’t like questions, so this doesn’t tell me anything.
He changed tack slightly. ‘You heard me. What part are you playing in all this? You’ve sat in more than one camp, but exactly how many? One whole lot o’ things bugged me about Scree, and one of them was Zhia Vukotic not once showing any sign of sensing that abbot using the Crystal Skull they were all chasing.’
Nai’s brow crinkled in confusion. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Remember when we walked out into the Library of the Seasons, when it was a dead area for magic?’ Amber reminded him. ‘The change was clear as day on your face. There was no reason for Zhia to hide it if, during the course of a day, she’d sensed someone using a Crystal Skull, yet long before that Purn had detected it and contacted us. Purn’s house might have been closer than Zhia’s but she’s by far the stronger mage and she never seemed to notice.’
‘Zhia Vukotic is a politician,’ Nai argued, ‘and as gifted at it as her brother is with a sword. If she doesn’t want to give something away, she doesn’t.’
‘That’s crap - if she wants to hide something, she does, but that’s not the same as never giving nothing away - so why should she bother? She knew why I was in the city because Mikiss told her. And how she was around that lovesick boy from Narkang, that wasn’t an act either. So if she wasn’t hiding everything all the time, why would she have chosen something that didn’t matter? You better believe I was paying attention, and thinking of the debriefing I’d have to give if I survived.’
Amber took a deep breath. The flicker of suspicion at the back of his mind was growing with every moment. ‘If Zhia went looking for it, then sure, she’d find it - but why bother?’
Nai inclined his head to agree, but he didn’t speak, which only added to Amber’s certainty.
He continued, ‘And on the paranoia stakes, what sort of man could compete with one of the greatest heretics in history? A necromancer, maybe - but if Zhia Vukotic didn’t bother searching for such a thing, why would Isherin Purn?’
He rose suddenly from his seat, startling Nai and causing the mage to nearly fall backwards. ‘You fucking rat-bastard necromancer!’ Amber shouted, grabbing at Nai’s arm.
The mage tipped himself back out of his chair and rolled onto his feet out of the major’s reach.
‘What are you doing?’ Nai yelled, almost colliding with one of the Litse merchants as he scrambled back. The three stared in horror as the big Menin lurched forward, still unsteady after his injuries but no less brutal-looking for all that. The conversation had been conducted in the Menin dialect and they had no idea what was going on.
‘How would that be my fault?’ Nai shouted back, retreating as far as he could with hands outstretched towards Amber. ‘If it’s even true, I did nothing!’
Amber kept on moving. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t know, there’s no way he’d be able to hide something like that from his acolyte!’
‘You expect me to be privy to every conversation?’ Nai yelled back. ‘Purn was far more powerful than I! How would I know his orders?’
‘Maybe not, but you damned well must have known his links to Azaer, and you kept it from me.’
Nai gaped, his alarm suddenly eclipsed by outrage. ‘And you blame me for that? He was a necromancer, most likely one of the most skilled in the entire Land - of course Azaer had noticed him - but whatever dealings went on if there were dealings, I didn’t know the details!’
Amber stopped and lowered his scimitar. He started to think about what Nai had just said - then a greenish light flared in the mage’s open palm and the major felt a blow to his gut like a mule’s kick, throwing him backwards. He hit the ground hard, black stars bursting before his eyes.
His vision still blurred, Amber felt a foot press against his shoulder and instinctively curled, anticipating a second blow, but instead he was rolled roughly onto his back. He could just make out Nai’s furious face looking down at him.
The mage no longer looked in the least bit comical. Twin trails of green fire swirled around his right hand, which he’d drawn back, like a boxer ready to throw the final punch. ‘All you damn Menin,’ Nai spat, ‘you think you’re the chosen people; that someone like me doesn’t count, and you can treat us like dogs. That’s why the Litse hate you: they can see that arrogance in your eyes - that calculation that anyone not on your side must be an enemy, someone to be dominated. I didn’t tell you about Purn’s link with Azaer because by association it’d mean one more reason not to trust me.’
With an effort of will the necromancer took a step back and let the trails of magic dissolve harmlessly into the air. ‘Politics interested Isherin Purn just as little as they do me - who sits in which palace hardly matters when you’re unravelling secrets of the Land itself.’
He made to walk away, then stopped and looked back. ‘Despite the limitations of your tribe and profession, Major Amber, I respect you. But in my world we can’t afford uncertainty. My choices are to kill you now, or disappear well beyond your reach.’ His voice took on a cold tone. ‘Ready for me to decide?’
CHAPTER 24
‘Lord Fernal, this is madness!’ Count Vesna shouted, bursting through the door. ‘You cannot sign this treaty!’
Fernal looked up from his desk, then turned to the Chief Steward standing on his left. ‘Is this the sort of obedience I can expect from all nobles now?’
Vesna ignored the comment as he marched up to the desk. The braiding of his formal uniform was swinging wildly. ‘You’re signing the treaty?’ he demanded.
Fernal growled and stood. The Demi-God was large as a white-eye, and he towered over Count Vesna. The new Lord of the Farlan wore a strange amalgamation of robes and tunic, made of some silky grey cloth seamed with gold thread, with his snake-and-arrows crest embroidered on the front. The ducal circlet sat on his head, and the clasps holding his cloak were solid discs of gold. It was as formal as Vesna had ever seen Fernal, but as with Isak, it did nothing to hide the dangerous potential rumbling underneath.
‘I am signing the treaty,’ he said deliberately slowly, pronouncing each syllable with care, even as he ensured his massive canine teeth were on full display. ‘It must be done.’
Vesna remembered his place and backed off, turning to Lesarl instead. ‘Did you counsel this?’
‘Despite my appearance,’ Fernal continued, ‘I am not some unthinking monster. Lesarl advised me of the alternatives. The decision is mine.’
Vesna looked around the rest of the room, as though expecting to see a Menin envoy hiding in one of the corners, but seeing no one seemed to deflate the Aspect of Karkarn and he lowered his voice. ‘You cannot believe their assurances?’ he pleaded.
‘Lord Fernal is well-aware of the Menin’s trustworthiness,’ Lesarl answered for his master, ‘or lack thereof, but signing the treaty was the price of the dukes’ official recognition.’
The Menin had arrived only three days before, offering a non-aggression treaty that effectively drew a line under the whole matter of Isak’s crusade. Unlikely as the offer was, the three other Farlan dukes had all demanded it be signed.
‘So we abandon everything?’
Lesarl’s eye narrowed. ‘So we deal with one problem at a time. We need the nobles to fall in line; this is the only way it can be done.’ He raised a hand as Vesna started to object. ‘We’re in no position to go to war until the nobles are happy with their lord. That we are abandoning our treaties with Narkang I know all too well, but treaties are of little use when we cannot follow through on them.’
‘So you would allow the Menin to pick us off one by one?’ Vesna said with contempt. ‘The dukes and suzerains may force you to honour this treaty even when we’re ready, but it won’t stop the Menin.’
‘What happens next year is uncertain,’ Lesarl assured him, ‘and the nobility may yet be brought around with careful management. If the Menin have moved against Narkang by then the picture will look very different; they will start to feel vulnerable, more open to persuasion. Until that time we need them to recognise Lord Fernal’s title and authority for without that we have civil war. Only with the unified support of the nobility will we be able to regain control of the cults.’
‘There is a greater war to be fought,’ Vesna argued, feeling increasingly desperate. ‘Are we going to sit here and do nothing? Isak lost his life trying to stop Azaer before his power-base developed further. Are we to do nothing?’
‘We can do nothing,’ Lesarl said very deliberately. ‘There can be no officially sanctioned action against either the Menin or those within their sphere of influence.’
‘What in Ghenna’s name is that supposed to mean?’
Lesarl gave him a cold, reptilian smile. ‘It means, Count Vesna, that no soldier or nobleman of the Farlan nation can act in any way that might contravene the treaty Lord Fernal will be signing this afternoon - while you are off marrying the delightful Lady Tila.’
Fernal pushed forward a piece of parchment that had been sitting in front of him, one bearing three official seals and the angular marks Vesna recognised as the Demi-God’s signature.
‘What’s this?’
‘The deed of trust to your estate,’ Lesarl said. ‘As a man of religious status, you are ineligible to hold military rank or title. This deed, back-dated to your return, entrusts all such affairs to the Lord of the Farlan until such a time as there is an individual to legally take possession of such things.’
‘Such as a wife?’
‘I believe a wife would suffice, yes.’
Vesna looked from the slender politician to his massive lord. ‘What’s the point of all this? The wedding’s this afternoon; surely this is a technicality hardly worth the time of the Lord of the Farlan.’
‘Nevertheless, such matters are best attended to in the correct legal manner,’ Lesarl replied smoothly, ‘so please sign and renounce your title in favour of any offspring the future Countess Vesna may bear you. You should also resign your army commission - unless you intend to join the chaplaincy branch of the cult.’
‘Are . . . are you telling me I should continue a fight alone?’ Vesna asked hesitantly.
‘Not at all. Lord Fernal could never condone such a decision. However, without the constraints of title, you would be free to act as you see fit, and as your God commands - this you should have realised by now, but since you failed to I thought it best the matter was brought up before your marriage. What opinions the God of War might have regarding the subj
ect of continuing the fight I leave to theologians.
‘Furthermore, whether or not others choose to join you in this matter is entirely up to them. Special Order Seven has been rescinded and all constraints upon military personnel are removed.’
Vesna was silent a while as he signed the document. ‘Men under arms are no longer landlocked, and title regains precedence over military rank,’ he said slowly. ‘They may cross borders without written orders and release those in their service if they so wish.’
‘That was but one of the constraints of the Special Order, Count — ah, I believe Iron General is the correct term to use now?’
‘What in the name of the Dark Place am I supposed to do, then?’ Vesna whispered, ignoring the question.
‘To pursue a war against Azaer? I believe King Emin is the expert there; perhaps you should ask him. But first, there is something else you must do.’
‘What’s that?’ Vesna asked sharply.
Lesarl gave him a broad smile and indicated Vesna’s dress uniform. ‘Marry that poor girl, Vesna, if she’ll still have you. I believe your bride is waiting for you.’
Outside Tirah Palace the air was heavy and a cold wind blew. Vesna stopped on the stairs leading down to the training ground and squinted up at the sky. He couldn’t see the sun and a dark grey bank of cloud had appeared on the northern horizon and was being driven by the wind towards them. There was a promise of rain in the air. The Farlan considered that a good omen - he was, after all, to be married at a shrine to Nartis, so peals of thunder and pouring rain could hardly be anything but a blessing from the God of Storms.
‘Vesna,’ called a slim man in armour hurrying over from the forges. He carried a teardrop shield and an eight-foot spear, both new, beautifully forged by the palace armourer. ‘You’re early; we don’t need to leave yet.’
‘I have to speak with Tila before the wedding,’ Vesna said once he’d gripped the man’s arm in greeting. ‘I know, Dace,’ he continued as the man opened his mouth to argue, ‘but this is more important than tradition.’