Cerisia’s face paled. “Women?”
“When we came to the Delondeur Baron, his inquiries led him to begin trying to read the entrails of women, yes. Women who were over a certain age, and had borne at least two or three children.”
“The Mother,” Cerisia said, with a small gasp. “He was learning of Her rise from…”
Gideon nodded. “Yes.”
“And you were there? Learning the craft?”
“I was assisting him,” Gideon replied, forcing his voice. “Handing him his tools. Telling the guards when he needed one.” His eyes swung suddenly down to the ground.
“I am sorry, Gideon. Truly I am.” Cerisia swung down off her horse and put an arm on the boy’s shoulder. “I had no idea.”
“I did not know that what I was doing was wrong,” the boy replied. “If anything I was curious. I was eager to learn, eager to please Bhimanzir so that eventually I could best him.”
“Gideon, if no one has yet told you this, you were a victim of the sorcerers as surely as the women you speak of.”
“No,” he replied, shaking his head. “I could’ve forced Bhimanzir to kill me. I knew I could’ve said the words that would have made him snap, have forced his hand. I was making a choice.”
“And had you done that, where would Bhimanzir be now?”
He thought a moment, then looked up at the priestess. “He would’ve killed Allystaire. And while I think there is a good chance Idgen Marte could’ve killed him…”
“You made the better choice, Gideon. Had you been able to change the fate of Bhimanzir’s victims in any way, I would say it were different. But you couldn’t have, could you? You would only have died along with them. In this, I think no one can fault you. By choosing as you did, you made it possible for Bhimanzir, and others like him, to be destroyed.”
“It might be as you say, or I may yet have sins I must pay for. I was not always an unwilling participant, as I said. I was curious, and I wanted to be counted among the Knowing.”
“And what changed that?”
“Allystaire did. I had seen Bhimanzir at torture before, but I hadn’t seen anyone resist him.”
“I am sure that his connection to the Goddess helped.”
“No,” Gideon said, shaking his head. “While his wounds may mend faster than those of other men—and I say may for I do not know for sure if that is true—what Bhimanzir did to him merely caused pain, not wounds. The Goddess did not come to his aid, for surely I would’ve felt it. No,” he emphasized, shaking his head. “Allystaire resisted Bhimanzir because of who he is, not because of what She made him.”
They had reached the road, and Cerisia looked east across the gently rolling countryside, towards the waiting keep and the Baron within. “You think of him as a father, don’t you?”
Gideon frowned and turned narrowed eyes upwards at Cerisia as she seized her pommel, prepared to mount her mare again. “Why do you ask? Why are having this conversation?”
“To be honest, Gideon, I ask you questions because you frighten me terribly,” Cerisia replied. “You are, I have no doubt, the most powerful being walking the world just now, given all the things I have seen you do. I would be remiss if I did not try to learn about the person behind that power.”
Gideon’s frowned deepened, but he answered. “He is my father in every way that matters.”
“Good,” Cerisia said. “I think there is much you can learn from him, and in turn, much you can teach him. There are few men who could offer you a better example, in the main. And yet…” She trailed off.
He didn’t reply, only cocked his head.
“Be mindful of the anger within him, Gideon,” Cerisia said. “When it comes upon him he is terrifying, and I am afraid it could lead him to ruin. In this, if nothing else, do not emulate him.”
“A paladin is meant to be frightening, Archioness,” Gideon said. “If you find him terrifying, I would suggest asking yourself why.”
Cerisia pulled herself back up onto her horse, sitting side-saddle with practiced ease. “I know that it was just as likely we would become enemies as we have allies, and that he does not trust me completely, nor approve of how my clergy live. Yet the Goddess I serve is the Mistress of Chance, and thus it feels likely to be a divine chance, rather than a simple one. Even so, I will not be blind to his flaws.”
“I should be leaving,” Gideon said shortly. “Be well, and ride safe to the Vineyards, Archioness.”
“Before you go, Gideon, would you accept my blessing?” She extended a hand uncertainly. “I do not know what you think of it, and I would understand if you refused. Yet if our Goddesses must work together then there is no reason we cannot accept one another’s benediction. I would accept yours in return, if you were to offer it.”
Gideon thought a moment, his face becoming the impassive mask it so often was. “You know that extending any of your power towards me is dangerous, yes? I could seize it, draw so much if through you that it would kill you.”
“You won’t,” Cerisia said, calm certainty in her tone and her features.
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because you said yourself you are Allystaire Stillbright’s son.”
“I wouldn’t do it on purpose. There is much I still don’t understand about my Gift.”
“Then I am offering you an opportunity to learn. And need I remind you that chance rarely goes against me?”
Gideon shrugged and walked to the side of her saddle, felt her hand lower onto his head.
“May Fortune smile upon you. May all your ways and means be favorable. May the wind be strong in your sail and the rain soft on your field. May chance lay lightly upon your heart and may you fear no risk. Be neither miser nor spendthrift and the Goddess will surely reward you as you deserve.”
Gideon felt a small tingling in the air, a gathering of power, though very small. Coalescing within Cerisia, it sank into him, and into the well of power that the Goddess’s touch had opened within him, a cup of water tossed onto a half-full bucket.
He cleared his throat and bowed his thanks, then reached up to place his hand on hers, thinking for a moment on the words. “May the Mother find you in sun or in shadow, but never in darkness.” He felt again a trickle of power flow through him into the world, into the woman whose hand he touched. She flinched slightly as she felt it, and he stepped away.
“Be well, Archioness. I hope Baron Innadan finds you persuasive.”
She smiled, and slipped her mask from an inside pocket of her cloak, tying it with a silk ribbon around her head. While the gems were gone, Cerisia’s own eyes provided enough jewel-like glitter in the blank gold of Fortune’s face. “He shall, Gideon. Be well.”
She gave her horse a gentle kick and rode on. Gideon gathered his Will, closed his eyes, and focused his mind on Thornhurst, on the steps of the Temple, and concentrated on being there, standing upon them, feeling their sun-soaked warmth.
He vanished, and the Archioness of Fortune sped up her horse, carrying with her the first missives of the Mother’s Crusade.
* * *
While Cerisia and Gideon came to know and to bless each other hundreds of miles away, Allystaire rode alongside Garth and Audreyn as the first elements of the Oyrwyn encampment began moving through the village on the start of their trek north.
“I sent the scouts ahead this morning,” Garth was saying, “while the men broke down the camp and packed. Given their long idleness I thought it best to have men rather than animals bear the weight of tents and gear. I don’t expect resistance, or at any rate, not much more than the odd bandit or deserter.”
Allystaire raised a hand to cut him off. “Garth, you do not report to me any longer, remember?”
The blond knight sighed, sagged in his saddle. “It is easy to fall into old habits, Ally.” He held his gauntlets lightly in one hand, tapped th
em with metallic clinks against the scale armor that lay across his thigh. “How many times had we done this? Breaking down a camp in the early turns, marching all day, hunting for some Delondeur knights to teach a lesson to, or setting a trap in the mountains for some Harlach bastards. I’d give anything for it to be that way again.”
On Garth’s other side Allystaire could see Audreyn’s face darkening. He raised his hand again, but in her direction, rather than her husband’s.
“Garth, have you listened to nothing I have said in all the weeks you have been here?”
“Of course I have,” he protested. “Peace and all that. And I know deep down you’re right, but damn it all!” Garth slapped his gauntlets against his thigh with a clatter. “It’s what I was made for, Ally! The riding, the hard living, the hot blood of battle, the glory at the end of it.”
Allystaire lowered his head and sighed. “What glory was that? The glory of having killed other men, whose names you did not know, whose widows and children you would never see.”
“Damn it! You’re the one who made me what I am, Ally. You taught me all of this, made me good at it, made me love it.”
“And if you would listen now, I would teach you something else. War is neither glorious nor pretty, Garth, not as we fought it all those years.”
“You’re still fighting, Allystaire. Your armor and your hammer may be all brightness and glimmer now but I know you’ve put blood on both of them.”
“Aye, and I will again. But only if I must. Tell me one time, on all those campaign mornings you remember with such fondness, that we were driven by necessity to kill the men we sought to kill.”
“There were times Harlach were coming over our border.”
“Claiming useless mountains, without fertile valleys or veins of iron. Why should men die over bare rock and ice? And more than likely Harlach was coming over our border because we had done the same to them a month or a year or decade before. It must end.”
“Then when can a man fight, Allystaire? Must he politely wait for his enemy to arrive and beg his pardon?”
“When he must, Garth. When failing to do so would lead to more death, more ruin.” They’d ridden beyond the northern gate now, cresting the gentle rise of land that gave them a view of the timber-walled village behind them, and Allystaire shifted in the saddle and raised a hand to indicate it. “Take Thornhurst. Why did we fight a battle here? Was there glory to be gained? Prizes of ransom or treasure?”
Garth shook his head almost sullenly. Beside him, Audreyn sighed.
“We fought here, and died here, to protect homes, spouses, children, Lives that had been built and rebuilt. Lives that, to men born to what you and I were born to, once seemed so very small. Yet how big or how small a village seems owes much to where a man was born, does it not?”
“What do you mean?” Garth frowned, his long, pale, beard drooping and hiding his mouth.
“Coldbourne Hall and Highgate and Wind’s Jaw are grand homes, full of silver plate and gemmary, fine tapestries and furs, and when such a place is sacked, knights and lords the Baronies over weep for its loss and sing of its grandeur. And yet, who loses more? The knight whose hall is lost but still keeps his title, his income, his horses, and arms, or the village man whose life is ruined utterly when a one-room cottage is torched? Do they write songs for the villages we burned in our wake?”
“We were careful to burn only the buildings, Ally. Your orders. We left stock alone unless we bartered for it, and you hung anyone who interfered with the women.”
“A pathetic excuse. A thin blanket to warm my soul at night, done for the looks of the thing rather than any real benefit. If I had any courage at all back then Garth, any, I would have left every village alone. I would never have led armies that were out for conquest and plunder only.”
“I can’t believe I’m hearing this,” Garth said, disgust in his tone, and he turned his mount, preparing to spur it, until Audreyn reached over and caught his reins. He met her eyes, something passed between man and wife unspoken, and he turned back to Allystaire with a sigh. “What would you ask of me then? I can’t renounce who I am. I won’t.”
“When you return home, speak with the poor folk who answer to Highgate, the farmers and shepherds. Learn how small their dreams are: a harvest not trampled in the field, sheep not stolen and butchered by deserter’s brotherhood or another Baron’s army or their own Cold-damned knights, a child not pressed or become a camp follower. Then think on the devastation we wreak upon them when those dreams are shattered. Take what you learn to the Young Baron, and convince him to come to the congress.”
Garth sighed heavily, began tapping his gauntlets against his hauberk again. “I was never much of a talker, Ally.”
“We will both do what we can, brother,” Audreyn put in. “But you know Gilrayan Oyrwyn. He has never been a man of peace, and he will not be now unless he can see some advantage in it. We will need other means.”
“I will not be part of a revolt unless it is thrust upon me like in Delondeur,” Allystaire said, “nor will I be in league with assassins.”
“Your imagination remains limited, brother, to think that these are the only ways to influence the Young Baron’s decision making. We will do ask you ask, both with our own folk and in Wind’s Jaw, and we will do more.” Audreyn edged her horse around Garth’s and rode it up beside Ardent, whose eye followed her and her mount carefully, though he didn’t bite or snap at them. “I would carry the Mother with me, Allystaire, along with your missives of the peace congress. After seeing what She offers—after speaking with Idgen Marte and with Mol—I can no longer pray earnestly in the chapels of Braech, or Fortune, or with an Urdaran monk.”
Allystaire smiled broadly, though the expression was ill suited to his blocky, scarred face. “When we can come among the people of Oyrwyn, we will, but until then—”
“I know,” Audreyn said. “Mol has give me a scroll of prayers and I have spent lots of time with Idgen Marte this winter. I am no priestess, and I do not mean to be. But I will tell anyone who asks what I know of Her, and I will teach them the prayers the Voice gave me.”
“Be careful. Of Braech’s priests especially. I think it likely that the next battle I fight will be with them,” Allystaire said, and for a moment he was chilled at the thought of bare chested, tattooed berzerkers hurling themselves into battle. For a moment, just a moment, he felt and he saw something else, something huge and fierce and glowing angrily, but it was gone as quickly as it came.
“I’ve the power to expel them from Highgate lands,” Garth said. “Just say the word.”
“That is a decision you must make yourself, Lord of Highgate,” Allystaire said. “Remember that I am no longer your warlord. I would still be your friend and your mentor if you will let me, though.” He extended one arm towards the taller, paler man, who clasped it hard.
“Brother of Battle?” Garth’s voice was hopeful.
“Let us try to be brothers in peace as long as we can, Garth,” Allystaire said. “And be brothers of battle when we must.”
Garth nodded, braids at the side of his head bobbing, and pumped Allystaire’s hand twice, then let go.
Audreyn drew closer to him still, leaned out of her saddle, and threw her arm around his neck. “Goodbye, Allystaire. If I can help you bring about this peace, I will.”
Allystaire slung an arm around her back, mindful not to pull her from the saddle. He lowered his head against hers and murmured to her. “I am still sorry, Audreyn, for all the months you spent alone. Forgive me for that. I beg you.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Ally,” she murmured back. “You did the best you could.”
“No,” he protested, pulling back and shaking his head. “I never did, and I never knew it until now.”
“Then you are forgiven, though I don’t believe you need to be.” Then, clearing her throat, she said,
“We have said our goodbyes to our brother, but would the Arm of the Mother offer us his blessing as we leave?”
“Of course,” Allystaire said, before he realized it, and he found himself frantically searching for the words. Please, Goddess, he thought, slightly hopelessly, then lowered his head and lift a hand out to Garth and Audreyn both. The words rolled from him without much thought.
“May the Mother guide you and keep you. May love be warmth in your hearth and your heart both in equal measure. May you want for nothing but the light of the next day. May the memory of Her sun bring you beyond any darkness.”
Allystaire lowered his hand to the pommel of his saddle, and lifted his head. He felt, as much as heard, a chime ring in the air, and he nodded in farewell to his sister and her husband.
“Go with the Mother. And be safe. Audreyn,” he called, as the pair started to ride off, “if ever you need me, pray. Think of me, of Mol, of Gideon. We will know of it.”
She nodded, then turned and let her horse trot, the animal naturally moving alongside Garth’s huge black destrier, equal in size to Ardent. Allystaire watched the column move, the ranks of men marching in time, boots like a rolling drumbeat on the track, the Highgate Towered Wall and the Coldbourne Hawk snapping above ranks of dark green-tabarded men shouldering axes and spears. For a moment, just a moment, he felt the pull of it, the urge to ride to the head of the column, small though it was, and direct it to his will.
But then Allystaire Stillbright looked back to the village that was his home, saw the curved roof of the Temple and caught a glint of sunlight off its windows, and rode back to it.
CHAPTER 24
The Vineyards
Before Cerisia came within shouting distance of the sprawling length of the castle’s curtain wall, she had pulled a thin, well-polished wooden pole from where it was strapped across the back of her mare. From her saddlebags, she pulled free the banner of Fortune, the nude form of her Goddess picked out in threads of silver and gold. With fingers that remained nimble, even while gloved, she tied it around the pole and lifted it high. The wind caught it as she rode forward and snapped it taut against the pole, and she knew well that the glittering threads woven along its silk length would catch the sun. Any guard watching the road would know that one of Fortune’s Temple rode towards them.
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