by Tom Lloyd
‘I will kill you.’ Vesna raised his sword.
Carel spat on the floor at Vesna’s feet and tossed the log aside. ‘What are you waiting for then? I spent years around Isak and his temper; your grief’s nothing new. Want me to count the number of times he threatened me? From his thirteenth summer, that boy was strong enough to kill any man in the wagon train, and I’ve got the scars to prove his temper - and so does’ - he faltered momentarily, but caught himself - ‘and so did he.’ The rage in his eyes lessened, to be replaced by something Vesna recognised.
When Carel continued it was in a much quieter voice, though he was no less defiant. ‘You ain’t the only one who’s lost here, Vesna. You ain’t the only one who grieves for Tila.’
‘What do you want from me?’ Vesna asked.
Carel shook his head and his shoulder sagged. Now more than ever he looked the old man he was. ‘There’s no one here can tell you what to do. You’ve got to figure that out yourself - but if you just sit there I’ll keep swinging this log ’til your brains spill out or you gut me.’
‘Is this some sort of joke?’ Vesna said in bewilderment. ‘Just get out and leave me alone.’
‘Sorry, my friend,’ Sir Dace said with an apologetic shake of the head. Vesna’s oldest friend took a pace forward and pushed aside the Mortal-Aspect’s raised sword. ‘It’s no joke. You’ve been sitting here for more’n a week, and we won’t take it any more. Whether the words were spoken or not, you were married to Tila, and I swore to stand sentinel to that marriage.’
‘There’s no honour to defend now,’ Vesna whispered, dropping his sword. Dace stepped forward and slipped a shoulder under his friend’s arm.
‘Yes, there is,’ Dace said, his face tightening, ‘yours and hers. You think she’d want this? You think this is the memorial she deserves? A hero crippled with grief? A man both blessed and useless in one?’
Vesna shook his head. ‘What Tila would want?’ he whispered. ‘She’s dead, Dace, she doesn’t want anything now, and I — I can’t go on, not this way.’
‘No,’ Carel declared. ‘No, you can’t go on this way. I don’t agree with what you’ve done to yourself, but it’s done, and if your wife could accept it, so can and must I. And she did accept it, wholeheartedly and without reservation. She knew she’d be sharing you with Lord Karkarn, and there was never one word of complaint, not even after you left with the crusade. It was the duty you felt, the duty you chose, and she would never have stood in the way o’ that.’
‘You made her proud,’ Dace said, his voice soft, ‘so damned proud I could hardly believe it. You’re my best friend, and the finest soldier I ever met, and I’m proud to have served with you and fought alongside you - you know that. But for Lady Tila, it wasn’t just that. You were far more to her than your skill with a blade, much more, and I’d rather die than see you disappoint her that way. I won’t allow you to be less than the man she believed you to be.’
Tears were streaming down Vesna’s face, every time Tila’s name mentioned hitting him like a punch in the belly. In his mind he could see her, looking at him from the doorway, seeing the state of him now: hair matted and greasy, earrings of rank discarded, his body rank, his clothes filthy and stinking. ‘I don’t have the strength,’ he mumbled, ‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘You do your duty,’ Carel said gravely, ‘for better or worse, you do your duty. Karkarn’s your lord now, and Isak showed you the path. You make your fear and your pain a part of you; you use them as weapons, if what’s needed.’
Vesna sagged, leaning heavily on Dace. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘I don’t even know where to start.’
Carel and Sir Dace exchanged looks. ‘You start with a bath,’ they said together.
‘Ah, Vesna,’ the Chief Steward said, seeing the door to his office open, ‘do come in.’ He gestured to one of the chairs. ‘Please, have a seat.’
‘What do you want, Lesarl?’
The Chief Steward gave him an appraising look. The count still looked ragged around the edges, but it was a vast improvement on the wreck of a man Lesarl had tried to speak to a few days before.
‘What have you done with my clothes?’ Vesna continued, doing a poor job of hiding his mounting anger, but if Lesarl noticed it he gave no sign.
‘I removed them,’ Lesarl said eventually, sitting down behind his desk. There were leather-wrapped files scattered everywhere, but Lesarl didn’t take his eyes off Vesna as he reached out and touched one of the files with two fingers. ‘They are the accoutrements of a count of the Farlan, and legally you cannot possibly be that.’
‘You stole my clothes?’ Vesna gestured at the dark grey brigandine he wore, far plainer than anything he would normally wear in the palace. The only detail was a small bronze pin on the collar bearing Karkarn’s device.
‘And your earrings,’ Lesarl replied brightly.
Vesna’s black-iron-clad fingers flexed. ‘You think now’s the time for this conversation?’
‘I am bound to enforce the law,’ Lesarl said by way of reply. ‘Naturally the cults are demanding all your worldly possessions and deeds now belong to them, but given the unusual circumstances, it will be easy to delay any ruling for as long as you need.’
‘Need?’
Lesarl again pointed to the chair. ‘Please, Vesna - sit.’ When at last the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn did, Lesarl continued, ‘Your title and noble possessions will be held by the Lord of the Farlan until such a time as you express a wish as to what should be done with them.’
Vesna leaned forward. ‘You can piss them away for all I care. They hardly matter now.’
‘They matter quite a bit,’ Lesarl corrected, ‘symbolically, as much as anything. You have been a faithful servant of the tribe and you are a hero of the Farlan Army - I tend not to piss away, as you so delightfully put it, such powerful symbols.’
‘As you wish. I’ve no use for them,’ Vesna growled. ‘Is that all you wanted from me?’
Lesarl pushed forward a second file, a slim one this time. ‘Not quite. First you should read this.’
‘Why?’ There was no reply and after a moment Vesna gave in and grabbed the file, knocking some on the floor as he did so. He flipped it open and read the top page. ‘It’s a murder report.’
‘Indeed it is. Look underneath.’
Vesna did so and frowned. ‘Another murder report. Both priests; what’s wrong, Lesarl, one of your agents go beyond their remit again?’
‘Can you see the link between them?’ Lesarl asked. ‘It’s rather easy to spot.’
‘They’re both priests of Karkarn - is that why you think I’ll care?’ Vesna stood. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, Karkarn and I aren’t exactly speaking right now.’ The iron fist tightened again. ‘If he hadn’t interfered at the shrine there’s a good chance . . .’ He stopped, then whispered, ‘There’s a good chance Tila would still be alive.’
‘And you would likely be dead,’ Lesarl pointed out. ‘Karkarn saved your life, and like it or not, it was the right thing to do.’
‘Right?’ Vesna yelled, slamming his fist onto Lesarl’s ornate monstrosity of a desk, hard enough to make it shudder under the impact. ‘You had better carefully consider the next words to come out your mouth.’
‘Vesna,’ Lesarl said in a quieter voice, ‘I do not pretend to know your pain, I would not presume that.’ He took a long, slow breath, and saw Vesna do the same after a moment. He had had years of practice with Lord Bahl’s grief and temper over the murder of his lover, replayed in Bahl’s dreams, thanks to the Menin. He could recognise the tipping points well enough. ‘Vesna, you must believe me: it gives me no pleasure to remind you, but someone has to.’
‘Remind me of what?’
‘As much as it will make you laugh until you’re sick - remind you of your duty.’
Vesna gaped. ‘Duty? You think I care about duty now?’
‘Of course not.’ Lesarl held up a hand to stop the angry retort he could see forming on Vesna’s lips. ‘
Lord Bahl taught me about duty: it’s a heartless mistress, but it binds as powerfully as love, or grief.’
He stood up and walked halfway around the desk. ‘Vesna, we’ve known each other for many years, and in all that time your duty has guided your actions and shaped the man you have become - a man who realised he was being offered a difficult, unforgiving path, and who had the courage to take it all the same.’
‘Whatever you’re getting at,’ Vesna said, rising and heading towards the door, ‘I’m not interested.’
‘Really?’ Lesarl said in a sour tone. ‘Then perhaps I was wrong all those years ago when I first asked you to work for me. I had thought you more than just a thug for hire. I didn’t think you’d ever be one to run away from your duty, not ever.’
Before he could blink Vesna had moved back to the desk and grabbed Lesarl by the throat, driving him backwards into a bookcase of files.
‘Enough of your shit! You’ve used me like a toy for years - in the service of your own sick sense of humour more than the tribe. Is this anything more than the petulance of a twisted child whose plaything has been stolen away? You sicken me, you and all those who play games with the lives of others! I’ve had enough of it; I’ve lost more in your games than anyone could be asked to give, and I’m not playing any more!’
‘You’ve lost?’ Lesarl gasped, ‘you accuse me of petulance? You claim you’ve lost more than anyone should?’ Vesna shook him like a dog, but Lesarl continued with sudden, rare anger, ‘Damn you, Vesna, you’re not the one who’s lost here; you’ve come out ahead of the rest of us and now you think you can just walk off with your winnings? Tila lost, Lord Isak lost, Lord Bahl lost - the Gods alone know how many soldiers who looked to you for inspiration lost as they died in battle. It wasn’t their fight, it wasn’t their war - but they marched for the tribe, and they died for the tribe!’
Lesarl struggled out of Vesna’s grip and wrenched at his tunic to right it. ‘They are the ones who’ve lost in this war,’ he said contemptuously, ‘and you honour their memories by running away. You’re wrong, Iron General - this is a game you’ll see to the end, and that’s a choice you’ve made already. The only question is whether you realise your duty must come before your grief in time to ensure their sacrifices were not made in vain. You need to act - you need to find the courage your friends have shown and do your duty, no matter the cost.’
‘You want me to chase after Lord Styrax and die at his hands too? Maybe run away like Mihn on some witch’s errand — ?’
Lesarl’s face purpled. ‘You think Mihn’s run away? Nartis preserve us, you really are just a stone-headed soldier, aren’t you? Didn’t you see the tattoos he put on himself?’
Vesna frowned, confused. He realised he had never seen Lesarl so incandescent with rage. ‘Of course I did - but I’ve no mage’s schooling.’
‘And you never even bothered to investigate.’ Lesarl shook his head in disgust. ‘I don’t know whether it was something he cooked up with Lord Isak or if he just guessed his lord’s mind, but Mihn has made as much of a sacrifice as you - probably even more; I imagine it will last a great deal longer. He’s not let anything get in the way of his duty.’
‘What in Ghenna’s name are you talking about?’
‘Hah, exactly! Charms of protection, charms of silence - even a rune that echoed the one on Lord Isak’s chest! He linked his soul to a white-eye, one who had been dreaming of his own death for months, who believed it would be at the hands of Lord Styrax — and who then marched south towards that death.’
Vesna found himself sinking back down into his chair. ‘At the battle — He said — He was talking about being a gambler, and the quality of his friends ... I thought he was just talking about the battle, about saving the army.’
‘I don’t think he wanted anyone to know,’ Lesarl said, more gently now. ‘I doubt he wanted anyone counting on something as crazy as that. After all, who knows how it might work out? All I have are my suspicions, and the certainty that Mihn wouldn’t ever let fear interfere with his duty. If duty took him to the Dark Place then there he would go, without hesitation.’
Vesna realised the wetness on his cheeks was tears, and a hundred clamouring thoughts were filling his mind. ‘Then maybe he’s a stronger man than I,’ he muttered, ‘because I don’t have the strength to carry on.’ For the first time he felt embarrassed at his weakness, but he was done. He truly had nothing left to give . . .
‘Yes, my friend, you do. You have the strength of a God running through your veins, and you have a task ahead of you. This war isn’t over, and you must play your part to the end.’ Lesarl’s voice was breaking.
‘Where . . . Where do I even begin?’ Vesna could not hide the sob.
Lesarl gestured to the reports on his desk. ‘You are now Lord Karkarn’s man; as Chief Steward of the Farlan I can no longer give you orders.’ He managed a sly smile. ‘However, there are pieces of a puzzle here that you may draw your own conclusions from.’
‘The dead priests,’ Vesna said slowly, ‘someone is murdering priests of Karkarn. An assassination attempt was made on me - by a true Elf assassin with a magical arrow . . . and that’s something we’ve heard before. The Krann of the Chetse was possessed by a daemon after being shot with a magical arrow, at the orders of Lord Styrax.’
‘The Chosen of Karkarn,’ Lesarl repeated, ‘apparently weakening the God he is, or was once, aligned to. What else?’
‘My noble status? How does that fit in?’
‘Do you remember our conversation the morning of your wedding?’
Vesna felt a black weight descend on his mind and it took him a moment to collect his wits again. ‘About my religious status, and continuing the war alone.’
‘Indeed - although you will not be alone. General Lahk has expressed a wish to take holy orders, to devote himself to the service of your God. Recent history aside, the structure of our military does not allow for religious status. I have consulted the law and the matter is unclear, but I believe any soldier or officer who takes holy orders must be relieved of their military positions.’
‘You would allow the Farlan’s most experienced general to leave?’
Lesarl shrugged. ‘If he were a priest, I would have no option - my only choice would be whether or not to prosecute him. That aside, he - and any other soldier in that position - would be free to chart their own course, or that of their God, naturally.’
‘I see,’ Vesna said. ‘And if those soldiers took some mementos of their former lives, such as horses, weapons and armour, that might be overlooked.’
‘If their commanding officer were a sentimental type? Doubtless.’ Lesarl gestured to the open door to his office. ‘None of this could possibly be condoned by the Lord of the Farlan, of course, having signed a treaty with the Menin, but he can hardly be blamed for the actions of a few religious fanatics.’ He paused. ‘Not twice, anyway. At any rate, Vesna, I have much work to be getting on with and you look like a man with some hard thinking to do. Perhaps you should consult your God, as my father used to say.’
‘My God? I’m not sure I can stomach that yet.’
‘Duty, my friend, does worse than sicken us,’ Lesarl said gravely as he ushered Vesna out, ‘but either we endure it, or we fall. There will be no second chances in this game.’
The Chief Steward returned to his desk and brandished another leather file. ‘We live in times where men kill even Harlequins - Harlequins, for pity’s sake! Whether or not that has to do with Mihn’s self-appointed mission, it’s astonishing; it’s madness. These are the times we live in now, Vesna, when nothing is sacred. Our efforts now may be all that determine what of the Land survives these events that have been set in motion — whether they be they men, tribes or Gods.’
Vesna’s face was ashen as he left. Lesarl shut the door behind him and stood with one hand pressed against the wood for a while. It was cold to the touch, polished smooth, and stained by age.
He faced the seat where Tila had worked al
ongside him the past few months, and murmured, ‘Thank the Gods I was not born a hero. I would not wish that on any man.’
CHAPTER 29
‘Well, engineer, will it work?’
The engineer froze in his tracks, like a rabbit that had seen the eagle’s shadow. Lips pressed firmly together, he turned to Lord Styrax, but it didn’t do any good. As soon as he looked directly at the black-armoured warrior his nerve failed and he began to hiccough.
The wyvern behind him was constantly trying to eat any horse that came near, and, according to the sergeant escorting him, it had only recently learned not to try and eat General Gaur. Its savagery was blunted, rather than tamed, and he was scared of it, yet the statue-still Lord of the Menin somehow unnerved him more.
‘Aye, I believe so, my Lord,’ he replied cautiously, remembering to bow only after he’d spoken. ‘It’s a battering ram; there’s not much to go wrong.’ The engineer wasn’t a real soldier, and the campaign had taken its toll. He felt exhausted, and as out of place as he looked, this fat little man of fifty summers, but every battle won took him a step closer to home, so even the task of fitting wheels to a huge tree-trunk had been carried out with exacting care.
Styrax turned and the man wilted under his scrutiny. ‘I know that, engineer,’ he said, no trace of emotion in his voice. ‘You are not a man of nostalgia, it appears.’
For a moment the Menin lord’s gaze drifted away into the distance. There were dark circles around his eyes, indications that Kastan Styrax was still just a man, and grieved as any would, but the white irises were colder than ever.
‘Ah — ’ He tried to reply, but found his mind empty of words. Last time Styrax had spoken those words to him, Lord Kohrad had been at his side, ready to prove himself to his father. The very idea of bantering with a grieving white-eye made his limbs tremble.
As the tribe’s foremost expert in artillery and siege weapons, he knew only too well what terrifying forces could be produced by wood, sinew and metal, to be unleashed as required. Such weapons had a resonance, a restrained stillness, like that he felt now in Lord Styrax’s presence. Power hummed through the man and strained at the clamps keeping it in check. The engineer fought down the urge to run, his deepest instincts screaming to be away before such catastrophic force was unleashed.