by Tom Lloyd
‘We want a holy war as little as they do. Azaer doesn’t ask for control of your order. You’ve made a bargain with the shadow, but you have not sold your mind; Azaer doesn’t demand that of you.
‘The majesty of the Gods has been diminished by the actions of priests and our enemies, both Lord Isak and King Emin. Steps must be taken, or humanity faces a second Age of Darkness at best, while the Gods recover their strength. They might not have taken the losses of the Great War, but the cults have done fine work in turning worship away from them.’
Certinse raised a hand. ‘I know, I know.’
‘Then act: if your troops see Ruhen as the saviour the citizens of Byora do, so be it, but we don’t require any declaration of the council.’
‘And when they ask Ruhen’s ultimate goal? It is a question I’ve refrained from asking, but perhaps I need the answer before I go in there. Whether or not you lie to me, well, that’s what men of power do, but allegiance is a mutable thing and we must know the limits of your declared intentions.’
‘A legacy,’ Ilumene said without hesitation. ‘Redress of the imbalance in the Land is, we believe, not incompatible with forming a domain of our own.’
‘You make it sound like you are an equal partner with this immortal being,’ Certinse said, a warning in his voice.
Ilumene smiled. ‘Don’t worry, I know my place. I may be favoured son, but disciple I remain. My reward’s a bargain already agreed. Your councilmen will be suspicious of anything they don’t suggest themselves. Make it clear there’s enough of this Land to satisfy the ambitions of all, and they’ll be the ones with armies when the dust settles.’
Certinse nodded, almost light-headed at the idea of what the Land might look like once this had come to pass. All he knew was that change was coming, like stones tumbling down a hillside, and trying to resist was not an option, not now.
All that remains is to see how the hand is played, he realised as he marched through the antechamber. All eyes turned his way and for a moment none of them moved, then the older knight stood and saluted and the others sheepishly followed suit.
Certinse ensured he got a good look at the face of each while he returned the salute. It was enough to see that flicker of anxiety in their eyes. He didn’t need anything more.
Once inside the Hall of Flags the Knight-Cardinal shut the doors behind him and took a moment to look over the remaining members of the council. They were much depleted, the traditional eleven members whittled down to him and these four, an elderly sixth member having sent his anticipated letter of resignation in his place.
General Gort had died in some ridiculous last stand to protect the Temple Plaza in Scree, while Cardinal Eleil had suffered a fatal heart attack in his study one evening here in Akell. High Priest Garash had succumbed to red vein fever along with his followers in Akell Gaol, and High Priest Osir had reportedly died in a daemon attack as he travelled up from Tor Salan for this meeting, and High Priest Sechach had apparently not received the summons. Rumour had it the ageing cleric was confined to his own home after killing a serving girl by setting light to the room they were in, all the while gibbering about shadowy figures stalking the house.
No need to ask Ilumene if he knew anything about that one, Certinse reflected, even if I’m not so sure about Garash or Eleil. I can only hope Azaer considers my life more useful than my death.
‘Gentlemen, honoured council members – I thank you for the speed with which you have all attended my summons.’ Certinse bowed to the four men, lower than he needed to. He had found over the years that a little excessive respect at the start of council meetings smoothed most feathers nicely. He might be the Commander of the Knights of the Temples, but each of the four here were outright rulers of city-states and unused to obeying any sort of order.
‘This all of us then?’ General Afasin barked gruffly. The ruler of Mustet, the only white-eye on the council, was a tall, brown-skinned man of middle years. He had travelled the furthest to be here today – indeed Certinse was sure the man must have been much closer to be able to get here so quickly. No doubt his army had been probing the Sautin border again.
‘I’m afraid so,’ Certinse said. ‘General Abay has resigned, High Priest Garash died recently in custody and I’m sure you’ve heard about Cardinal Eleil and High Priest Osir.’
‘And Sechach,’ Afasin confirmed, nodding towards Duke Chaist opposite him. Chaist was the ruler of Embere, where the high priest lived. He had personally given the order to confine him.
‘So few are the representatives of the Gods,’ Cardinal Sourl croaked. The emaciated man peered around his fellow generals, his recently adopted austere lifestyle clearly taking its toll and advancing the onset of old age. ‘This Order has indeed lost its way.’
‘This Order has been driven from its path,’ Certinse snapped, making Sourl flinch, ‘hijacked by fanatics whose illegal acts forced me to retaliate. Do not remind me of your part in events, Sourl.’
‘You brought us here for this argument?’ Afasin rumbled. ‘I could have stayed at home and had it there.’
‘But which side would you have been on, General?’ Certinse retorted. ‘Or is it Cardinal? I confess I am confused as to which title you prefer these days.’
The white-eye was very quiet for a dozen heartbeats. His skin was dark enough that Certinse couldn’t see if he was flushed with anger, but the set of his jaw suggested Afasin was fighting the urge to draw his sword.
‘The Circle City is not only the only place where there have been tensions, but some of us managed to avoid wholesale slaughter while we got over the worst,’ he said at last.
‘Then I congratulate you on such deft handling, General Afasin, but we have not all been so fortunate.’
There was a creak and a thump as the last man there, General Telith Vener, pushed his chair back and dumped his feet on the table. He folded his arms, making a show of getting comfortable. ‘Wake me when the pissing contest is over, Chaist,’ he asked the man next to him, ignoring the hiss of contempt he received from his neighbour. The two had spent the previous summer fighting for control of the city-state of Raland and Duke Chaist was not a man to be gracious in comprehensive defeat, it appeared.
Certinse turned away from Afasin, his point made. General Vener was the biggest problem he had, and the man knew it. He had ducked every request for a private meeting beforehand and had made it clear who held the power right now: the wealth of Raland could sway most decisions in times of war.
‘I apologise if we’re boring you, Vener – perhaps I could turn the conversation towards a more stimulating subject?’
‘That would be nice,’ Vener said, closing his eyes and not shifting position. ‘Perhaps we could discuss this saviour I hear you’re intent on forcing on us? It’s one thing to sell your own men as mercenary escorts to Prince Ruhen, quite another to devote the entire Order to his service.’
The general was a lean, fit man whose physical prime seemed to have extended ten years longer than most men’s. He was five for six summers younger than the newly decrepit Cardinal Sourl, but Vener hadn’t succumbed to greying hair or a thickening waist yet. Certinse guessed Sourl would die within a year, but he had the creeping suspicion Vener would still be leaping from his horse when Certinse himself had need of a cane.
‘I intend no such thing,’ Certinse said calmly, ‘but I hope you will recognise the Land is at a crossroads and the Order should act decisively?’
‘Take advantage of the chaos, you mean?’
Certinse felt his hand tense; Telith Vener taking the moral high ground was enough to make any man choke with disgust.
‘Let me get this straight, Vener. You are still a member of the Knights of the Temples, correct?’
‘I am.’
‘Why?’
That made the bastard open his eyes at least. ‘What sort of a question is that?’
‘A fair one,’ Certinse said. He didn’t bother waiting for an answer; he wasn’t trying to humiliate the
man, just to get his attention. ‘From what I can gather, you appear to be against the very concept of a saviour. You feel we should not step in to restore order to chaos, even when daemons have free reign over the wild parts of the Land and the Gods are weakened by enemies unconfirmed. Beyond a belief your uniform brings out your eyes, I’m not certain what reason you have for being a member of the Order.’
‘You of all men accuse me of that?’ Vener roared, jumping to his feet. ‘Given the violence that has gone on between priests and soldiers here, you ask what reason I have for being in the Order?’ He started towards the door. ‘The stench of hypocrisy in here has become too much for me, I think—’
‘General,’ Certinse broke in, ‘please retake your seat. I accuse you of nothing. As for hypocrisy, I am willing to admit I too have forgotten the founding principles of our Order in recent years.’
Vener halted and glared at him. ‘This child, Ruhen, has reminded you?’ he asked sceptically.
‘The grace of the Gods works in myriad ways,’ Certinse said by way of reply. ‘The child has played only a part, I assure you of that. More importantly, this Land cries out for protection and leadership, and we can give it both.’
‘We?’ General Afasin echoed, leaning forward in his chair. ‘An army of the devoted, that’s our creed – under command of the saviour. Are you saying the child is the saviour of our prophecies or not?’
‘I’m saying that Ruhen holds a unique position in the Land, but his message is one of peace. This child has no desire to lead an army, so why force one upon him? Whatever we do or do not acknowledge publicly, the common folk in every quarter of the Circle City see him as an emissary of the Gods. Given the iniquities the cults have imposed these past few months, his message is perhaps not as heretical as we might normally have believed.’
All four men blinked at him: Sourl in disbelief, Vener, Chaist and Afasin each trying to process the implications and to find the benefit for them.
‘You would cast out the priesthood?’ Sourl demanded at last, ‘and follow these peasant preachers all the way to the Dark Place instead?’
‘No,’ Certainse said firmly, ‘the priesthood cannot be cast out. There would be no Order without them. But it is this council, not unelected priests, which rules the Knights of the Temples, and it has always been clear that our soldiers must outnumber the priests.’
‘Why do we need this child, then?’ Vener asked, at last retaking his seat. ‘Even as a figurehead, the mission of the Order is clear enough, established down the centuries. So why now take direction from some child?’
‘A child who willingly faces down daemons,’ Chaist pointed out. ‘There our theology coincides.’
Theology? A child of that age shouldn’t know what the word means, you damn fool! You still think him just a child? Certinse screamed in his head, but he smiled and said, ‘A wise observation, my friend. The child has set his stall against corrupt priests and daemons – which is entirely consistent with our creed – and if he truly is an emissary of the Gods, his word and followers deserve the protection we can offer.’
‘And what can the child offer us? The common folk are fickle; their approval of this child might not last through winter.’
Certinse nodded and opened his mouth to reply, then paused as though hesitating. He pulled his chair back from the table and sat. At last he started, ‘Ruhen counts the Harlequins among his followers; I hardly think he’ll be so easily forgotten. However, we are men of the Land, men of power and politics.’ He raised a hand to stay any objections as he continued, ‘Our obligations have always been to the temporal as well as the spiritual: ours is a Land where both armies and natural disaster have destroyed cities, where priests are murdered and temples lie empty because of the actions of the few.
‘Ruhen’s Children go to preach to all peoples, to reignite their faith in the Gods. Our military might can ensure that takes place safely. In the process both our reach and his will be extended accordingly. Gentlemen, on such an understanding I have a new member of the council to propose: Lord Gesh, Chosen of Ilit and Lord of the Litse.’
Both Afasin and Vener jumped in their seats when they realised the implication.
‘Ruhen offers us the entire Circle City?’ Vener demanded. ‘Can he really deliver Lord Gesh?’
Certinse nodded. ‘The Litse are a pious tribe who share our devotion to the Gods, but they have spent decades constrained by the cults in a way we’ve only recently been able to appreciate. For anyone – us or Lord Gesh – to take Ruhen as their declared lord is to invite chaos, but to foster understanding between par ties …Well, that is more palatable for all involved.
‘Byora will not object to the sight of our uniforms on its streets, but its free status will help Ruhen, and foster trade with our neighbouring states. Ismess and Fortinn quarters will formally become Knights of the Temples protectorates.’
‘The trading heart of the West,’ Vener mused. ‘Tor Salan was crippled when the Menin conquered it – Ruhen’s message might find fertile ground there if we carry it, Helrect and Scree too.’
‘In Sautin too,’ Afasin agreed. ‘Anyar’s murderous rule wins him little affection with his people.’
Certinse solemnly bowed his head in acknowledgement and pressed his hands together. ‘And Narkang’s eastern lands: the Menin have made that area a lawless, beleaguered place, the people abandoned to their fates by a godless king. Gentlemen, the Land itself cries out for intercession and the Knights of the Temples must answer that call. It is our holy and moral duty.’
CHAPTER 11
Travelling in the wake of Tirah’s Ghosts, Isak and his companions made good time heading north. Like all travellers in those parts they skirted well clear of Llehden, that strange, isolated shire in the heart of Narkang territory where Isak had recuperated. A sense of longing had Isak again and again turning Toramin in the direction of the cottage by the lake, and each time Mihn corrected the horse’s path without comment. He knew the direction Isak’s thoughts were taking: Llehden had been a sanctuary for him, a place of quiet and calm. But Isak could not return there now. The people of Llehden avoided the lake where Isak had lived for fear of the Ragged Man, a local myth of a vengeful spirit without a soul. That role had now been filled by another. The Menin lord was even more suited to it than Isak had been, and as a result that lakeshore would now be as perilous as the locals believed it to be.
‘Always the wagon-brat,’ Isak had muttered to himself two days before they reached the Morwhent, the great river that ran all the way west to Narkang.
‘A little more than that, my Lord,’ Mihn responded.
The suggestion prompted a shake of the head from Isak. ‘Not any more. We’re coming full circle now: no longer a lord, no longer a man with a home. Llehden’s the last home I’ll ever have and I can’t go back there now.’
‘Look around you,’ Mihn said gently. ‘How many of us truly have a home? Me? Vesna? Legana? You are far from alone.’
Isak laughed unexpectedly. ‘I didn’t mean that as a complaint, my friend. If anything it was the opposite.’
‘This is your home,’ Mihn said after a moment’s thought, ‘riding in the wilds, not wearing a ducal circlet and playing statesman.’
Isak nodded. ‘This’s all I have ever really known. Here I can think. In Tirah I was as out of place as Bahl – that man was born to be some sort of saviour; it was never me.’ He smiled. ‘All those titles and expectations, the armies of men looking to me for guidance … Vesna could have been a king, but not me; I was born to tear things down. The best I can hope for is to give someone else the chance to rebuild.’
Mihn guided his horse closer and spoke quietly. ‘Not everyone has found such peace out here.’
Isak followed Mihn’s eyes to where Vesna rode alone, his head bowed. ‘What can I say?’ he whispered.
‘Nothing that will help, but still you must. He is your friend.’
He looked up at the sky. ‘When we stop for the night.’
> When the light started to fade a few hours after that Isak called a halt and set to attending to his horses’ needs. The battle-mage, Fei Ebarn, walked a long circle around their small camp, warding it against daemon incursion. The effort was most likely unnecessary; daemon sightings had been few since they’d left Moorview, and if any still walked Tairen Moor they would keep their distance from power they couldn’t match.
At twilight, their brief meal finished, the others settled down. Isak watched Vesna for a few minutes as the Mortal-Aspect sat lost in his thoughts, his eyes fixed on the distant swirls of dark cloud on the horizon. Eventually Isak rose, carefully not to wake the hound lying between him and Mihn, and skirted the fire to reach his friend’s side. Only when Isak crossed his field of view did Vesna look up, but he said nothing by way of greeting. Isak looked down at him for a few moments, wondering how best to broach the subject with him, before a thought occurred to him: I’m no duke now, no landowner or nobleman; I’m just another troublesome white-eye wagon brat.
He grabbed Vesna by the man’s metal-clad arm and hauled him up. In his surprise Vesna didn’t even try to fight him off. Only when he was on his feet did he shake Isak off, an angry look on his face.
‘Come on,’ Isak said, heading for the line of trees on a rise that was protecting the camp from the wind. Trusting Vesna would follow rather than argue with a turned back, Isak walked over the rise and sat down on an exposed root on the other side. He fished out a tobacco pouch and filled the bowl of his pipe and was lighting it with a brush of the thumb as Vesna appeared and sat down opposite. The white-eye looked out into the darkness beyond Ebarn’s invisible perimeter line. He still wasn’t sure how to proceed, and hoped Vesna would be the first to speak.
‘Well?’ Vesna demanded at last.