by Tom Lloyd
The five men saluted and followed the adepts, leaving Amber and Kirl alone in the street.
‘Poor bastards,’ he commented quietly as he watched them go.
‘I don’t want to know,’ Kirl said.
‘True,’ Amber agreed, ‘you really don’t. It’s for the best though; it will save lives in the end. We’ve just got to stomach it.’
She smiled that lovely lopsided smile again and saluted, already turning away from him. ‘See you at the border, my friend.’
They sat on horseback, no one speaking. The silence was unnerving. Somewhere in the distance behind them came the mournful call of a lone kestrel, but from the ruin ahead there was nothing. Stones blackened by flame littered the ground, and dark grass grew over their edges, as though the Land was attempting to conceal this terrible folly.
‘Not one building stands,’ Count Vesna breathed from Isak’s side. ‘It was still burning when we left; the walls remained at least.’
They were not far from what had once been the Autumn’s Arch gate of Scree, the very place where the Farlan had entered the stricken city only a few months before. Now . . . Now it was only the road that told Isak where the gate had been. The only other traces of human endeavour were shattered beyond recognition.
‘They kept the heat fierce,’ Isak said dully, as though repeating something learned long ago. ‘The walls stood until the fires went out, but as they cooled, so they weakened.’ He felt a stirring all around him, a rustle in the shadow of his cloak that had no natural origin. They were still with him, four of the Aspects he had somehow torn from their God’s grasp in the shadow of His temple. The Reapers recognised this place - they remembered the slaughter done not so long ago on those very streets.
Up above, the sky was dark and threatening. The morning had started brightly, but before long thick banks of cloud had rolled across the sky from the north and now the air was cold, promising imminent rain.
‘Now there is nothing,’ croaked High Cardinal Certinse. He was shocked by the sight of something that could never have been adequately described to him. He might be cold and calculating, but Certinse’s reaction showed he was no monster. His link to Nartis had been severed years ago, so Certinse had not felt the Gods’ savage backlash as they raged at having been rejected by the people of Scree. While the cadre of mage-priests included in his bodyguard still felt the echo of that fury in their bones, he felt only terror.
Certinse had stared at the devastation for almost an hour before he ordered a cairn be built in memory of the dead, ignoring the objections. Whatever their crimes, he knew the people of Scree had not been remarkable in their impiety. They had not deserved this. No one deserved this.
A city had been obliterated, and what few survivors there were had been slaughtered by the blood-crazed faithful. With the walls fallen, they could see into the ruined city itself: the piles of rubble devoid of life stretching into the distance. Not even Chief Steward Lesarl had anything more than a rough idea of how many had died there. Few cared to contemplate the toll.
‘Has anyone gone inside?’ Commander Jachen asked. He was lost in his own memories of that last night of fighting. Since that day he had withdrawn from Isak’s inner circle. He still commanded the Lord of the Farlan’s personal guard, but he had no interest in doing anything more than following orders. Isak didn’t much blame the man; his shadow was a crowded place and since that last night in Scree the company there was increasingly unsavoury. The memory of their last stand at the Temple of Death, when the Reapers slaughtered their attackers, was far from glorious.
‘Who would want to?’ Certinse said, and no one could manage a response. There was a murmur from the assorted clerics in Certinse’s retinue, none of whom Isak recognised. No one said anything loudly enough for Isak to catch, but he knew they were afraid of the ruined city. He guessed they did not feel the horror inflicted upon it had cleansed the heresy from its streets.
The High Cardinal had been accompanied by a retinue of clerics from a number of cults. They didn’t trust each other - they’d all provided minders to report back - but the commander of the troops was Certinse’s man. He had been introduced as Colonel Yeren, though there were only two regiments escorting Certinse rather than a full legion. Isak saw both Count Vesna and Commander Jachen stiffen at the man’s name, and Yeren appeared pleased that his reputation, whatever it was, had preceded him.
Behind them Isak heard the horses growing restless. He turned in his saddle and looked at the column of troops stretching back. With the full deployment of the Palace Guard and the army he had a total of seven thousand cavalry with him, and five thousand infantrymen, who were already trailing behind - most likely too far to be of any use when they encountered the enemy. An advance guard, a thousand light cavalry under General Lahk’s command, led the way ahead of the main group as they pushed hard to catch up with Suzerain Torl’s force.
Isak was accompanied by Suzerains Fordan, Selsetin, Foleh, Lehm and Nerlos, and Scions Tebran and Cormeh, while Saroc, Torl and the newly raised teenager Suzerain Tildek were with the lead army. Each of the suzerains and scions had brought their hurscals as ordered, and at least a division of standing troops. Isak had stopped counting at three dozen wagons just for the heavy cavalry’s armour.
Troops in red and yellow livery caught his eye: two regiments of light cavalry, flanking some two dozen mages from the College of Magic. Lesarl’s special order had invoked standing agreements with the college, which had provided four of its most able scryers, sixteen battle-mages of varying power and a pair of healers to aid the twenty-odd portly priests of Shotir riding at the back of the column.
And he was expecting more soldiers from Lomin, up to fifteen thousand men. They’d be coming through the only large pass through the mountains, on Lord Chalat’s heels, collecting scouts on the way. The band of mountains between Lomin and Scree were home to a mass of small goat-herding villages hidden away in narrow, twisting valleys. The isolation and the savage creatures that roamed the mountain wilderness had made the villagers a tough breed - and the best scouts in Farlan lands.
‘It’s a good force,’ Isak said to himself, shaking off the oppressive mood, ‘and I’ve urgent matters to deal with. Where is the lead army?’ he asked Certinse.
‘At the Twins, we estimate, if he hasn’t passed them by now,’ Certinse said, tearing his eyes away from the dead place ahead of them.
‘The Twins? Torl must have been pushing them hard.’ Isak pictured the dead river channel he’d once travelled down with the wagon-train. The two mountains were two-thirds of the way between Tirah and the Circle City, and no army from the south could stretch its supply lines further than that. There were only half a dozen towns of any significant size on the sparsely populated plains south of the Twins and north of the Circle City.
‘It’s the sensible thing to do,’ Vesna said. ‘Keep moving so fast the troops don’t have time to think - and it’ll allow the dross of peasants who’ve joined them to fall behind again. That sort of rabble of fanatics, madmen and bandits won’t stand in a fight, they’ll just get in the way of his cavalry when they try to hide behind them. He knows they’re not going to be attacked this side of the Twins, and a crusade runs on its own fire. If he’s lucky he can force thirty miles a day out of them - even if it does kill some of the horses.’
Isak nodded. The suzerain was a hard taskmaster, but every night he would walk the camp, talking to his men. A little consideration from the general went a long way in any army. While Suzerain Torl’s battered armour and whitening head were not easy to pick out as he prowled the lines of tents, his gold earrings of title gleaming in the firelight marked him as he shared a joke or a drink with the soldiery.
‘Every general has his way,’ Carel had told Isak. ‘You and General Lahk are the rocks they know they can depend on, powerful and unflinching. Vesna’s the hero they all wanted to be as boys, and Torl’s the father to every man-jack of them - and you better believe men will fight to the death
for their father.’
Isak had immediately bristled at the comment and Carel had spent the next five minutes persuading his lord the comment hadn’t been a veiled rebuke. The memory of his frail ego almost put a smile on Isak’s face, in spite of the sight of Scree.
‘Might I ask why you summoned me back?’ Certinse asked, breaking his thoughts.
‘You may,’ Isak said slowly, dragging his thoughts to the present. ‘As you know, the situation has changed. I’ve decided to mobilise the army and—’
‘Against whom?’ one of Certinse’s attending clerics broke in. The priest of Vasle was the smallest of the lot, and had no sign of rank on his blue robes.
Isak had barely even registered the man’s existence - and he certainly hadn’t expected a lowly unmen to speak to him.
Commander Jachen gave a splutter at the interruption, but it was Suzerain Lehm who spoke first. ‘Who in Ghenna’s festering depths are you?’ he snarled, his hand automatically moving to his weapon and running his thumb along the curved spike on the reverse of his axe, shaped to resemble a thorn in deference to his rose petal crest.
‘I am Unmen Eso Kass,’ the priest said, hunching his shoulders as he peered up at the suzerain, ‘and my question remains; against whom is the army mobilised exactly? I have not yet heard anything regarding the heretic of the Menin.’ His thin lips were so bright against his skin they could have been painted.
‘Just an unmen?’ Lehm said, his anger momentarily blunted by surprise. ‘A damn parish priest, and you presume to question the Lord of the Farlan? Get out of my sight before I have you whipped.’
Isak kept silent, knowing he shouldn’t even acknowledge the insult, but he felt his hand tighten all the same.
‘Kass, you go too far,’ Certinse snapped at last. ‘Leave us.’
‘High Cardinal, this is a holy crusade; the troops must be under the command of the cults, and fighting to destroy the heretics! There is no place in a crusade for political concerns!’ the unmen protested.
All around Isak there was an explosion of furious voices. Lehm was not the only one to spur his horse forward but Isak beat them all to it. Quick as a snake he drew a dagger from his belt and threw it straight. It pierced the unmen’s eye and Kass’s head snapped back, his jaw falling open in an expression of surprise before momentum took him out of the saddle.
The voices stopped as the corpse slid to the ground, slowly enough for Colonel Yeren, who was next to him, to reach out and pluck the knife from the wound. He ignored the blood that sprayed over his horse’s flanks as he did so.
‘Anyone else,’ Isak began quietly, ‘who suggests command of my soldiers be taken away from me will also find themselves paying the price for sedition. Is that clear?’
The arrayed clerics were still staring aghast at the twitching body with blood still pouring from the pierced eye. The High Cardinal managed a strangled whimper and a shudder that could have been intended as a nod.
Yeren, by contrast, carefully wiped clean the dagger, a broad smile on his face, as though murdering priests was a commonplace occurrence in his world. ‘Perfectly clear, my Lord,’ he said cheerfully, nudging his horse forwards as he held the dagger hilt-out towards Isak. ‘And might I compliment you on a fine throw?’
Isak ignored the man as Jachen moved to take the dagger from the mercenary. He passed the knife to his lord.
Show them the storm, let them fear its return, he thought, recalling Lord Bahl’s words to him. Following the advice was harder; it called for restraint to follow anger, and Isak’s temper did not cool so easily. But it was good advice. Fully aware that they were expecting a display of the normal white-eye temper, he kept his voice level.
‘Playing games with Lesarl is one thing,’ he continued. ‘Your ridiculous Morality Tribunals, and whatever else has gone on in Tirah recently - it has all been tolerated. But we are in a state of war now, and any challenge to my authority will receive the same treatment.
‘The Farlan are at war - a war you are part of - and you need to ensure your minions understand what this entails. If they interfere with military matters, if they do not show the proper respect, they will be flogged as a soldier would. If there is organised opposition to my command, I’ll slaughter the whole damn lot of you.’
In spite of himself Isak could hear the building anger in his voice and he took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax a little.
‘It—Yes, that is understood,’ Certinse managed, adding, ‘my Lord,’ hurriedly. ‘The recent laws are no excuse for breaches in protocol, and you remain the Chosen of my God. Unmen Kass did not speak for the cults.’
Isak inclined his head to the High Cardinal and slid his dagger back into its sheath. ‘Good. I am glad we understand each other.
‘Now back to the matter at hand. I summoned you here because I shall be joining the clerics’ army as quickly as possible, but tensions remain in Tirah and I wish you to return and work with the Chief Steward to ensure the smooth administration of the city.’
From the expressions on Certinse’s retinue, Isak realised the ploy had worked. Inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. They assumed they would be ruling the city in the absence of Isak - and his Palace Guard - but Certinse had been told exactly what powers he would have, and Lesarl was certain the High Cardinal would not overstep his bounds. It was a bit of a gamble, but Isak was sure Lesarl could handle it. And crucially, it meant the crusade would lose its most rabid of leaders, who would all be running back to the city.
‘This is a letter for you to pass on to Lesarl,’ he continued, motioning to Jachen, who handed Certinse a sealed envelope. ‘The contents are a matter of national security; please read and re-seal it without showing anyone.’
Certinse nodded, understanding Isak’s meaning well enough. The letter fully detailed their collusion, and Certinse would have to keep it from his colleagues or be forced from his position. It also concerned matters of succession in the event of Isak’s death, something he would need the High Cardinal’s support for, because there was no clear successor. As head of the Synod, Certinse would be able to confirm a ruler - or spark a civil war. Isak hoped Lesarl had gone into sufficient detail when he’d explained to Certinse exactly how he would be killed if he reneged on his promise.
Too much gambling for my liking, Isak thought as Certinse tucked the letter away from the keen eyes of his entourage, and not least because of my choice of heir. With the barest amount of formality, he made his goodbyes and ordered the army to continue.
The priests started off just as quickly, all pointedly ignoring the unman’s body lying in the dirt. Two penitents were left to dig a grave. As he rode away, Isak realised they weren’t even bothering to find a river to bury the priest of Vasle beside. In their anxiety to leave Scree behind, they contrived to forget all semblance of custom.
Scree: our memorial to forgetting who we are, he thought bitterly.
CHAPTER 28
The wind roared past Styrax as he led his army towards the Circle City. Ahead, Ismess, the southern quarter, stood out against the Land’s winter livery of browns and greys. All that remained of the ancient city of the Litse was a dirty white half-circle of ancient buildings surrounded by squalid shantytowns, all huddled against Blackfang Mountain. In the centre he could just make out the only impressive part left: the enormous stepped walkway leading up to the Library of Seasons.
Lord Styrax was joined by his son and his general. They gazed upon the city as the Menin warhorses, bred huge to bear the weight of white-eye soldiers, cropped the sparse winter grass. After weeks of marching, only a few miles of windswept pastureland and the arc of a river that ran off the mountain now separated them from Ismess.
‘A perfect day for a battle,’ Kohrad commented. ‘Wind behind us, ground dry and firm.’
Lord Styrax nodded. ‘A fine day,’ he agreed. ‘Shame about the view, though Ismess’s glory was fading even in Deverk Grast’s day.’
‘Can manage a lot more fading over a thousand year
s,’ General Gaur added from his usual position on Lord Styrax’s right.
The Menin lord agreed. Ismess was a dump; the whole Land would benefit if he just rode in there and burned most of it to the ground, killing their incompetent rulers on the way. The last bastion of the Litse was crippled by religion and the rule of idiots, a miserable prison for Ilit’s few remaining followers.
‘Do you remember the intelligence report?’ Styrax asked his bestial general.
Gaur gave a twitch of his shaggy head. ‘About conquering Ismess? Hah! Teach me for not believing someone when they’re the expert.’
Styrax smiled, causing tiny lines to appear around his eyes. Unlike most Menin white-eyes, he was a cultured man. Rather than the usual mess of wild curls prevalent in the Reavers, the white-eye regiment, his thick black hair was cut short. His face was clean-shaven and unblemished - when he had served in the regiment he had avoided the traditional facial scarring many of the Reavers sported, and his beard had always been neatly braided. His differences had sparked dozens of fights and it had taken eight deaths for them to accept his dominance.
‘“Only distaste for slaughter and vague piety prevents any of the other quarters from conquering Ismess,”’ he quoted. ‘“While preserving the balance of power is the reason given, it is an empty argument as the benefits to all quarters would be realised within a few seasons.” ’
‘“Ultimately, all that prevents this,”’ Gaur finished, ‘“is the sense that such an act would be pathetic to behold; that the rulers feel it is beneath them.” ’
‘ “Beneath them?” ’ Kohrad echoed. ‘It’s a good idea, but they would be embarrassed?’
‘Exactly so,’ said Styrax. ‘Deverk Grast was not the first to identify the Litse’s endemic problems; he was just the first to try to solve them by genocide. Sometimes a helping hand isn’t so welcome.’