by Tom Lloyd
‘Stop!’ bellowed a voice behind him. ‘Put your weapons up!’
The soldiers came to a halt as if their feet had just been nailed to the ground. Ilumene, his head moving constantly to keep his eyes on both sets of soldiers, kept moving until he’d reached Haipar’s side. Then he lowered his sword and looked at the woman whose order had stopped the soldiers. The duchess, who was standing up in her open carriage, was a middle-aged woman with a proud face. Her fur-lined hood was pushed back to expose cheeks reddened by the blustery wind. Her hair was held back by a ruby-studded circlet. At her side was, Ilumene supposed, the duke, although all he could make out was an anxious face, above which was a rather smaller circlet.
‘No more killing,’ the duchess continued in a slightly softer tone. Ilumene waited for the soldiers to put up their weapons before doing so himself. He glanced over at Haipar. The woman had sunk to her knees, her head bowed as though sobbing - or praying. Ilumene kept his face blank, hiding his disgust at what the woman had become. She’d forgotten all her abilities, her bravery, her strength. She was worthless now, except as a wet-nurse for his Master, and that would not be for much longer. After that, her survival would depend entirely on Azaer’s appetite for cruelty.
Sheathing his sword, Ilumene nodded and, as if on cue, the child let out another wail. The heart-rending sound was enough to bring the duchess from her carriage. She was well-known to be childless, a situation the ignorant masses blamed fairly and squarely on her meek husband.
She was as tall and solid as Haipar had been when they first found her, but otherwise she could not have been more different. Her features were small, neat, and not a single sandy-brown hair was out of place. She wore earrings, spirals of gold encasing more rubies.
‘What is your name?’ she asked Ilumene as she pushed past her men.
‘Kayel,’ he replied hesitantly, casting a nervous look at the soldier who’d dismounted and taken up position at her side,
‘Hener Kayel.’
‘You’re not a native of the Circle City, are you?’
‘No, Canar Thrit,’ he replied before remembering himself and adding belatedly, ‘your Grace.’ Bugger; stupid mistake to make when I’m trying to look humble. Maybe she’ll think I’m overawed.
‘You’re a mercenary; signed, or looking for work?’ Her manner was open, almost welcoming; clearly Ilumene had succeeded in his attempts to impress her.
He shrugged. ‘Was working for some merchant, escorted him to the city. Supposed to be meeting him later to talk about more, your Grace.’
‘Good work, is it?’
Ilumene shrugged again and lowered his eyes, waiting for her to speak again. Good work, hah! You should have seen the flames of my last work!
‘You look like you’ve seen your fair share of fighting,’ the duchess said, looking at the rough scar on his cheek that ran to his mutilated ear.
Ilumene raised a hand to his ear and touched the scar. There were too many injuries on his forearms, even for a mercenary, but they were concealed by the long leather vambraces backed with steel links he wore - though in a moment of caprice he had wrapped twine haphazardly around the vambraces to remind him of the scars.
He shrugged, wearing a pained expression as he replied, ‘Been on the wrong side of a few fights, your Grace. I’m in no hurry to see many more, but I reckon I’m big enough to frighten off thieves still.’
‘Are you a deserter?’
Ilumene shook his head and looked at the ground as he feigned shame. ‘No regiment left to desert, Ma’am.’
‘And yet you didn’t fear to step in when you saw a child in danger - one I presume you don’t know, from the way you’re both dressed.’ She looked at him musingly.
Ilumene gave a bob of the head; that was all most rulers needed in response to their questions.
The duchess turned to Haipar and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. A rumble of disapproval came from the soldier behind her, but she waved his concerns away. ‘Fohl, you’re such an old woman sometimes! It’s perfectly obvious she’s barely strong enough to stay standing by herself.’ Gently she urged Haipar up and onto her feet again. ‘Are you hurt?’ she asked.
Haipar looked bewildered for a moment, her eyes darting between the duchess and Ilumene, then she shook her head.
‘And your child?’ Carefully, the duchess pushed aside the fold of cloth obscuring the baby’s face. Ilumene felt his breath catch at the cherubic features of Azaer’s mortal form. He looked up at the duchess and twisted his mouth into an enchanting smile. Ilumene, even a few feet away, could feel the arresting power of Azaer’s gaze as the duchess looked deep into his shadow-clad eyes. He shivered as he remembered the first time he had done the same thing.
‘I—’ The duchess sounded stunned. ‘Your child is beautiful.’
‘He’s a prince,’ Haipar whispered. From her dull tone it was unclear if she even knew what the word meant. The sentence had been learned by rote until she could not forget it, even if everything else had drained away from her mind.
The duchess nodded dumbly. After another second or two, the baby blinked and the spell was broken.
‘A prince indeed. I have never seen a more beautiful child. What is his name? How old is he, six months?’ the Duchess of Escral continued in a soft voice, sounding completely smitten.
Haipar shook her head and Ilumene had to restrain the urge to reach out and cuff her around the head.
‘A month,’ she whispered. ‘He is called Ruhen.’
‘A month only?’ The duchess turned with a sceptical look towards Ilumene who just shrugged again. ‘I think you have lost track of time a little, my dear. Your child is older than a month.’
Haipar started to shake her head again, but as she did so she caught sight of Ilumene staring at her and she faltered, frowning.
‘Are you certain?’ the duchess continued gently. ‘Well, no matter, a little confusion affects us all as we get older, I find. Come, let’s get you up into my carriage, for I would not sleep myself if I left a child as beautiful as this to go hungry tonight. The streets are too cold and cruel for one so young.’ She forced a small laugh. ‘And we must not forget that one cry from his lips was enough to inspire a jaded soldier to take on an army. Just think what greatness may await Ruhen when he learns to speak!’
More than you know, bitch, Ilumene thought. You’ll regret saying that so carelessly. Once you’ve served your purpose, the only thing your future holds is the pleasure of me fucking you over your throne while that sap of a duke watches, bleeding out his last minutes at our feet. And then you will join him—
‘Captain Fohl, perhaps you might find a space in the guard for one who fights as well as Master Kayel? I’m sure we could offer a better wage than most merchants. He’s proved his skill already.’ She waved a careless hand towards the fallen soldiers. One was clearly dead; the other two were still unconscious.
The captain looked less than impressed with the idea of having an unknown mercenary admitted to his troop, but he knew better than to argue with his mistress. When she had made up her mind about something, that was the end of the discussion.
‘Dare say we could find a uniform to fit him,’ Fohl growled. He was a slim man, past forty winters, with greying blond hair and a milkiness dulling the yellow of his left eye.
‘What do you say, Master Kayel?’ the duchess asked. ‘The Ruby Tower needs more guards than most merchants, and looking scary enough to ward off thieves will serve you just as well there.’
Ilumene looked at the ground and did his best to look uncomfortable. ‘Suppose I could manage that,’ he said at last, earning a scornful look from Fohl, who clearly thought his victory over the guards had been down to luck and surprise rather than skill.
Proper Litse stock, this one, Ilumene thought as he took the reins one of the cavalrymen offered him. Yellow hair, yellow eyes and arrogant as shit. Dare say you could find a uniform to fit me, but I think I’ll take yours. Even if you had both eyes working you�
��d never see me coming.
One squad of infantry was left behind to see to the injured. Ilumene kept his eyes on the road ahead, glancing only once at the crowd, where he picked out a face easily enough, a man with pinched features and scarred cheeks that spoke of childhood disease. As they trotted past, Ilumene caught a snatch of the man’s voice on the wind, too faint to make out properly, but he knew the words anyway.
The cries of a child: enough to make a coward become a hero.
Legana leaned out over the polished wooden balcony and looked down at the streets. The winter wind didn’t bother her; that was a small hardship when one had such luxurious lodgings. Raising her glass, she offered a general salute to the district and knocked back the last of the warmed wine.
‘If only every assignment could be so comfortable,’ the Farlan agent sighed, brushing a rogue strand of hair from her face. ‘I doubt Chief Steward Lesarl would approve of me lazing about just waiting for Zhia to turn up, but there’s really not a lot he can do about it, is there? So balls to him!’
She straightened up and tugged at her sleeves. Even after several months under Zhia Vukotic’s determined tutelage Legana was still far from what Zhia considered a noblewoman to be; she preferred her plain leather tunic and breeches any day. Dresses were for women - not what Legana considered herself - but the sharp-eyed vampire would have noted an improvement in the cut of Legana’s clothes all the same. The knife in her boot and short-swords on her belt remained, of course.
‘But what are you doing with your time while you wait?’ The woman’s voice came from the room behind her.
Legana cursed; the room had been empty and she’d locked the door herself. She moved quietly to one side, grimacing as she knocked her glass off the balcony. She had her swords drawn as she turned to face the newcomer in one smooth movement.
‘A little unnecessary,’ the woman continued, sounding amused. She took a step forward, motioning for Legana to lower her weapons. Legana felt a shiver down her arms, and they went numb. Unbidden, the weapons fell to the floor. As the woman moved closer, the weak daylight illuminated her long copper hair and her startling emerald eyes.
‘Gods!’ Legana breathed, for a moment stunned into stillness, then she dropped to one knee. ‘Lady.’
‘Just one of us, my dear, but you got there in the end.’
Legana could feel Fate’s assessing eyes on her.
‘Oh, do get up, girl. Grovelling suits neither of us.’
Legana obeyed, but she kept her eyes low, desperately trying to remember her childhood lessons. They’d all thought it a big joke when the temple-mistress had told them the protocols for addressing their Goddess, but now Legana found herself wishing fervently that she’d paid a little more attention. Catching sight of her short swords on the floor at her feet, she felt a pang of shame and tried to nudge them behind a drape with her toe.
‘Never mind those,’ the Lady said. ‘Why don’t you fetch me a glass of that wine?’
Legana surprised herself at how eagerly she complied.
‘And it looks like you’ll be needing another glass too,’ Fate called out from the balcony.
Legana looked back to see the Goddess leaning out over the balcony, looking down and, of all things, blowing a kiss to someone shouting below. There was nothing to interest a Goddess out there; it was just a minor street in Coin, the city’s financial district. There were no temples here - not even to Fate, the variously named Goddess of Luck - which was why Zhia Vukotic had wanted her to take rooms here.
Oh piss and daemons, Legana realised, did I drop that glass on someone? Quickly she joined her mistress on the balcony and, a little hesitantly, handed Fate her wine.
‘Ah, thank you.’ Fate had a sly smile on her face as she sipped the wine and settled into a chair. After a moment she indicated Legana should take the other. Legana did so feeling awkward and heavy-limbed next to the Goddess, who had sat as gracefully as silk billowing on the wind. ‘I think you caused a young man to wet himself in the street,’ she said abruptly. ‘Did the vampire not ask you to maintain a low profile then?’
Dark Place take me, she’s here about Zhia, Legana thought with a sudden sense of dread. I’m dead - dead and damned.
‘She, ah, I—’ The words faded in her throat as Fate made a dismissive gesture and Legana felt her entire body freeze; all too like a dog responding to its mistress’s command.
‘I’m not here about the vampire, not principally, anyway,’ she said after a moment.
‘So why are you here then?’ Legana tried not to sound curious, and afraid.
The Goddess gave a soft laugh that felt like icicles prickling down Legana’s spine. ‘To do what I do best; to present a choice.’
‘A choice? For me?’ Legana’s startled look only amused Fate further. ‘Why? What sort of choice would you need to offer? I’m a devotee of your temple, I’m yours to command.’
‘Oh come now, you’ve never been the most pious of women, have you? I hardly think a divine proclamation would be appropriate.’
There was no anger in Fate’s voice, but Legana still trembled slightly, fighting the urge to fall to her knees. She knew that was the effect the Gods were supposed to have on mortals, but it was alarming to experience it in person. She wasn’t frightened of much the Land had to offer, and she’d been trained to be a killer of the highest calibre, and yet the merest hint of a smile from her mistress sent shivers down her spine.
‘I’m afraid I don’t understand, my Lady.’
‘I do have a mission for you, that is true, but first I have a proposal.’ The Lady leaned forward suddenly and Legana flinched involuntarily before finding herself once again mesmerised by the unnatural emerald shine of Fate’s eyes.
It reminded her of a friend who’d won a set of dice with emeralds marking out the numbers on each face. A week later he’d offered her all the money he’d won to take the dice off his hands. Few mortals would survive such luck for long.
‘You were in Scree; you saw what happened there.’
‘I saw, but I didn’t understand much of it,’ Legana admitted, unable to hold the Lady’s gaze for long, though she found herself continually drawn back to it.
‘For a time the Gods were driven out of the city; the natives turned against my kind.’ Fate spoke in a whisper, now no trace of a smile on her face. ‘It was never intended to last, that much we do know, but the precedent is, let us say, concerning us.’
‘And the fervour?’ Legana asked timidly, unsure what reaction her question would receive. ‘I’ve heard mild-mannered priests are suddenly preaching fire-and-brimstone; that it’s driven some to violence already.’
‘I am mindful of the situation,’ the Lady said, a fierce look in her eye, ‘but there are others whose anger is unmatched since the days of the Great War. There was hurt done to several of the Upper Circle, and they demand vengeance.’
Legana shuddered. That sounded distinctly worrying. ‘And what would you have of me, Lady?’
‘A bargain,’ Fate said. ‘The mistakes of the past should not be repeated. Our greatest failure of the Great War was to pay insufficient attention at the outset. Immortals are not suited to the mundane details of mortal life, yet I suspect that is the battleground on which we will soon be fighting.’
The Goddess paused and inspected Legana’s clothes, which looked even shabbier than usual when compared with Fate’s dark green dress, which flowed around her in a breeze Legana couldn’t detect. After a moment, she said, ‘What I would have you do is to join me. Normally I make little use of priests or champions, but I believe this - and more - will be required if we are not to be left behind in the coming conflicts.’
‘The coming conflicts? What do you mean by “join you”?’
Fate hesitated. ‘We have reached the Age of Fulfilment, and I am blind to what may come to pass. There are so many possibilities, and all conflicts are as one; dark portents feed off one another. There is no single enemy to face, but a hurricane of potential
to unravel, to comprehend and map. The Gods are not united. They have different goals, and will not share followers willingly - we will never again see Nartis commanding Menin armies, or Death walking the streets of a city to rally its poorest in its defence. The deeds of the Great War broke us in many ways.
‘As for what I mean by joining me, I mean just that. I suspect I am the first of my kind to make such an offer but I doubt I will be the last.’ She produced a delicate golden necklace of the finest workmanship, studded with emeralds. ‘We Gods need mortal agents such as we have never required before. Legana, I offer you the chance to become part of me - to share my power and act in my name.’
‘You want me as your Chosen?’ Legana gasped. Of all the things she might have imagined, this would never have occurred to her, not for a—
‘Nothing so feeble,’ the Lady said with a sniff. She did not yet offer the necklace to Legana, though it was plainly part of the bargain. ‘I intend you to be part of me, not my servant. I wish you to be a Mortal-Aspect. You will walk the Land with my strength and my authority.
‘Place this necklace around your throat and you will become an Aspect of Fate, no longer fully mortal, but not entirely divine. I require a mortal mind to see what I cannot, a mortal body to fear what I may dismiss.’ She looked at Legana, something like sorrow in her eyes. ‘My dear, this will not be an easy decision. Such a thing has never happened before, and I cannot promise you I am certain of the effect. But I cannot wait long. I give you until dawn to make your decis—’
‘There’s no need,’ Legana said with a sudden surge of confidence. ‘My Lady, I accept.’
Fate gave her a quizzical look, but this time Legana refused to let her gaze fall. The word ‘Chosen’ had sent a thrill racing through her body. She had been raised by devotees of the Lady, treated with nothing but kindness; even punishment for misbehaviour had been lenient by comparison with tales she’d heard about the cruelty some novices suffered at other monasteries and temples.