The Winter Vow

by Tim Akers

  “They are mostly dead,” Sorcha answered. She still had Ian pinned in her gaze. “And those who live are under the sway of a dark spirit. Understand what I’m asking. If we march south, it is to save your father. But if his will has failed, we may also need to save him from himself.”

  “I have only the garrison here,” Ian said, “and a few knights who have joined me along the way. Not enough strength to make a difference.”

  “Where do you think our strength lies? In swords? In horses? You must bring your blood south, Ian, and your name. The son of Malcolm Blakley rides to save his father. Tener will answer that call.”

  “Tener will not,” Ian said.

  “Tener already has,” Sorcha answered. “Abandon the castle—”

  “I have only just won it!”

  “Abandon Houndhallow, and save your father. Our full strength, and nothing less.” Sorcha rose and looked around the room. “We don’t have time to debate this. Hesitate, and we are lost.”

  Ian sat back in his chair, staring into the flames. He wanted to stay there forever, and never seek glory again. But, of course, he didn’t.

  * * *

  One week became two, and heavy snows blanketed the roads until they were moving at a crawl. By the time the forests thinned and the hills leveled into the rolling plains that dominated the approaches to the Reaveholt, a third week was quickly slipping away. Ian ordered the army into shelter, taking advantage of the last heavy forest to break the wind and give a little protection from the snow. Their train wound through the forest for miles. Everyone came south, every cook, every soldier, every servant. Houndhallow was empty. The strength of the hound marched through the snow.

  “This is as close as I want to get with the full force,” Ian said. “At least, until we know the disposition of the forces arrayed against us, and where our allies stand.”

  “If they still remain,” Sorcha said. “When I left your father’s side, he was desperate enough to be making deals with Sophie Halverdt. If she hasn’t betrayed him yet, the celestials might have broken them both.”

  “Might have, could have, but we won’t know until we see for ourselves.”

  “I will organize a scouting party,” Clough said.

  “I will be leading the scouts,” Ian said. “If there is advantage to be gained in the geography, I would rather see it myself. And if the armies have already fallen, well, I would see that for myself as well.”

  “It’s foolish to send the commander to scout the lines,” Sorcha said. “Let one of your sergeants do it.”

  “Let’s not pretend this is my army to command, Mother,” Ian said with a smile. “Once we know Father’s disposition, I will report it to you, and you will decide how he must be saved.” He kissed her on the forehead, shivering at the touch of her strange skin. He could tell by the look in her eyes that his reaction bothered her, so he bent again, and didn’t flinch this time. “Be safe, Mother. And watch my sister.”

  “I have risked the loss of husband and son to this war. Don’t think I will let her fall, as well.”

  Ian squeezed her shoulders one last time, then left the council tent. The snow was falling heavily, and the air was as cold as Ian had ever felt. He wrapped his arms around himself, squinting into the wind. He barely noticed Nessie sitting by the entrance to the tent, until she hopped up and started to follow him.

  “You’re going?” she asked.

  “I am. Anything’s better than freezing to death in this cold. It’s always warmer in the saddle.”

  “That’s a lie,” she said simply. “Be careful, brother. This winter isn’t natural.”

  “It’s just weather, Ness. You’re right, it’s very cold, but no worse than any other year.” He glanced down and could see she saw through him. “Maybe we’ve grown soft in Houndhallow, huddling by the hearth, sleeping under furs and drinking mulled wine. This is how our ancestors lived.”

  “Our ancestors are dead. Just be careful.” Nessie turned abruptly and disappeared into the driving snow. Ian shook his head.

  “Everyone’s scared of a little snow. After everything we’ve seen, it’s winter that shakes their hearts,” he muttered. Still, he pulled his collar tight to his neck, and hunched lower into the wind. The shiver that ran through his heart had little to do with the cold.

  37

  LADY BASSION GAVE them a room in the western tower, with a small window that overlooked the rapids of the Tallow. The rest of the tower was given over to soldiers of Galleydeep, and the few vow knights who rode with them. It was no coincidence, Lucas thought, that their room was more secure than most prison cells. For all her kind words, Helenne Bassion still did not trust any member of the house of Cinder. But especially Lucas.

  Several days after their arrival, once the pattern of captive life was established and Lucas felt he could push boundaries, the frair returned to the courtyard to speak to the other priests of Cinder he had seen on his way in. He left Martin in their room to guard their things, but also because Lucas wanted to have a conversation that Martin would be better off not hearing.

  The guards circling the encampment of priests watched Lucas with mistrustful eyes, but made no move to stop him from approaching the other priests. It might have helped that Lucas no longer wore his vestments; he was dressed more like a scholar than a priest, and walked with the help of a traveler’s staff instead of the silver and black crook of winter.

  The priests knew him, though. Lucas had served with several of them in Heartsbridge, taken vows with them in Cinderfell, even argued theology with them when he was a younger man and interested in such things. They watched his approach like beaten dogs, anxious for attention but wary of the stick.

  “Brothers,” Lucas said when he was close enough. Several stirred from their places around the fire, but most only turned their heads in his direction, faces slack. They were malnourished, and the thin robes of their vestments were hardly proof against the cutting wind that whipped through the courtyard. The sight of their suffering sent a chill through his bones. One of the priests stood.

  “Frair Lucas, you seem well,” he said. Lucas had to squint into the man’s face to recognize him, so wasted were his features. “Yes, I am Cassius Vermette, humbled at long last. We no longer need to argue about Cinder’s task of endless sacrifice as reflected in our daily suffering.” He pulled his thin robes closer and smiled a joyless smile. “I have suffered enough in this life. I am ready for the quiet, or the coming of summer.”

  “No priest of Cinder should ache for summer’s arrival, friend. It’s bad theology.” Lucas clapped the man on the shoulder and was shocked by the knobbly bones and wasted muscle. “The years have been hard on you.”

  “No more than on any other,” Vermette said. “Lady Bassion, on the other hand—”

  “Keep your tongue, Vermette,” another priest said. He was facing away from them, huddled by the fire. “You don’t know where this man’s loyalties lie, nor his purpose in coming to us.”

  “François, you know Frair Lucas. You supped with him.”

  “Yes, I know the frair. I remember him in different clothes, though.” The priest twisted around, looking at Lucas with distaste. Half of his face was covered in mottled bruises. “Have you given up on Cinder, Lucas, now that it is dangerous to call his name?”

  “I am as faithful to Cinder as I have ever been.”

  “The faithful are here, Lucas, around this fire. Suffering. And yet you have rooms in the tower, and a lordling of Suhdra as your escort. And you appear before us in a layman’s clothes, as though the vows of Cinder mean nothing to you!”

  “These are dangerous times. I have seen priests murdered on the open road, and monasteries burned without remorse. There are many claiming to be faithful celestials who have thrown Cinder aside, and cling now only to Strife. A mob, led by knights of the winter vow, chased us out of Greenhall,” Lucas said. “If I didn’t travel in disguise, I would not be here at all.”

  “Cinder asks difficult things
of us, sometimes,” François said bitterly. Frair Vermette took Lucas by the elbow and turned him away.

  “Do not judge him for his anger,” Vermette said. “François lost many friends to Bassion’s fury. But anger is Strife’s realm, and we are of Cinder. He will come around. Why are you here, brother? There is nothing but trouble here.”

  “Everywhere is touched by this present conflict,” Lucas said. “I was tasked with bringing the heretic Sacombre to Heartsbridge for judgment, but met trouble along the way.” He summarized his journey from Houndhallow to Greenhall, after Sacombre had revealed his heresy; and LaGaere’s betrayal of his trust, his flight with Sacombre, and eventual death at the hands of the man he was trying to help. Finally, he spoke of Sir Horne’s heresy.

  Vermette nodded sagely. “We have seen reversals, too. We thought we were rallying to Bassion’s aid, to put down Blakley’s rebellion and return the church’s guiding hand to Tener, but we were betrayed. Not by Bassion, as some would like to believe, but by our own brothers. But Bassion and her people hold us in contempt because they saw priests of Cinder summoning gheists and murdering their friends.”

  “Why does Bassion let you walk free at all, then? Why not lock you in the cells?”

  “Because the host of Cinder lost as many souls to those heretics as did Lady Bassion. The heretics murdered priests, celestes, vow knights… any who got in their way.” Vermette sighed. “There was a time I understood the things of this church, but I have no idea what is happening to us, even now.”

  “I have seen the heretics at work. They understand us because they are us; inquisitors, vow knights, priests of winter and summer. Sir Horne was a faithful knight of Suhdra, and yet she summoned gheists as though she was born to the tribes. I don’t know how they got to be so widespread, or what they’re after, but they have turned the church against itself, and Suhdra and Tener have followed suit.” Lucas glanced over at the other priests. “These men and women suffer not for their faith, but for their fear. We need to band together with the truly faithful of Strife, and root this corruption out.”

  “Then you had best start with Lady Bassion. The duchess will not kill us, but she won’t let us live, either.” Vermette glanced up at the north tower, where Bassion held court. “They take us away to their secret chambers, one at a time, and we don’t come back. Frair Villar went last night. I felt his death in my dreams. It is only a matter of time before it is my turn in Lady Bassion’s little room.”

  “I will do what I can, brother. Trust me.”

  “Thank you, frair.” Vermette shook his hand, thin fingers disappearing into Lucas’s palm. “And thank the gods you have come. If she will listen to you, we may be saved.”

  “I work not to save you, but the church,” Lucas said. “And all Tenumbra with it.”

  * * *

  Lucas returned to his rooms to find Martin standing nervously by the door. The boy had washed and changed, and was once again wearing the red and yellow of House Roard. Lucas raised his brows.

  “Have you carried that outfit all the way from Greenhall?” he asked.

  “Lady Bassion provided it, though where she got the material… never mind. She sent something for you, as well.” Martin nodded to the narrow bed in the corner of the room.

  Two robes lay spread across the blankets. One was black, chased in silver, the robes of an inquisitor. They were slightly too large for Lucas, and were thin at knee and elbow. Lucas wondered what had become of the previous owner. The other robes were pale cream and fresh. Penitent robes. Lucas ran his fingers over the fabric.

  “She is not subtle, our Lady Bassion,” Lucas said. “I take it we have an audience with her?”

  “In an hour. Which will you wear?”

  “Both, and neither. I have nothing to repent, and nothing to hide.” He turned sharply to the door. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To our audience. Lady Bassion may rule this castle, but the church holds dominion over everything under the sky. Helenne has forgotten her place in the world.”

  Out in the courtyard, the soldiers and priests lounging around watched the pair very closely. They processed from their tower to Bassion’s, Lucas in the lead, Martin only a step behind, neither man looking left or right as they marched. No one got in their way. No one, that is, until they reached the door to the northern tower.

  The guards refused to budge. As Lucas approached, both men crossed their halberds, barring the way. Lucas scuffed to a halt.

  “I am Frair Gillem Lucas, inquisitor of Cinder, and the gods’ faithful representative on earth. If you have any respect for the celestial church, or the gods above, you will let me pass.”

  “Your audience isn’t for another hour. In the meantime, Lady Bassion has ordered there are to be no priests of Cinder in the north tower,” one of the guards said. “My apologies to the gods.”

  “It is not to the gods you must apologize, but to me. For generations, Heartsbridge has been the center of Suhdra, and all Tenumbra as well. The Circle of Lords meets there, not because it is their will to do so, but because it is the will of the celestriarch. And you think to defy me now?”

  “Our loyalty is to Galleydeep, not you. If you want—”

  “We both know the lie in that. If the celestriarch orders House Bassion stripped of its lands and titles, and its lord exiled, it would happen. At his word alone.”

  “Then go to Heartsbridge and win his word,” the guard answered. “Until then, no priest of Cinder enters this hall.”

  Lucas paused, drumming his fingers on his staff. Finally he leaned in, until his nose was only an inch away from the guard’s face.

  “Let me ask you a question. If I truly wanted to get past, and I was a danger to Lady Bassion, do you think you could stop me?”

  “These are my orders, my—”

  “Have you tangled with the naether? Have you fought a demon carved from your own nightmares, given shape, set against you by the will of an inquisitor? Does your armor stop the shadow’s blade?” Lucas split his face in a maniac’s grin. “When you go to sleep tonight, do you think that sword will do you any good in my realm?”

  “You are not making your case, Lucas,” Martin said tightly.

  The two guards looked properly terrified, but Lucas’s rant had drawn the attention of the rest of the courtyard. Two dozen armed knights lounged attentively nearby, hands resting on swords, ready to spring into action. Lucas looked around, then patted the guard’s chest. The man flinched back.

  “My apologies. You are only doing your job, and that is all any of us can do. Just remember that, while you answer to Lady Bassion, she is only mortal. I answer to the gray lord, Cinder, god of graves and winter. And I will do my duty to him, no matter the cost.”

  Lucas turned on his heel and was about to walk away when a voice came from inside the keep. “Let them pass.”

  The guards looked around in confusion, then slowly pulled their halberds back. A knight of the winter vow walked past, slight and beautiful, wearing a veil of cream lace across the face of her helm. She stopped in front of Lucas.

  “You are Frair Lucas, inquisitor to Sir Elsa LaFey, the same who escorted Ian Blakley through the wilds, and followed Gwen Adair to the witches’ hallow.”

  “I am,” Lucas said, turning slightly toward her.

  “Go through,” she said, and stepped aside.

  Lucas paused, glancing at Martin, then addressed the vow knight. “Sir, have we met before?”

  “No. But I have stood with Malcolm Blakley, and with Sophie Halverdt, and now I am here. Your words make sense to me. Whatever has come before this, the church must stand together.”

  “Thank you. I will remember this.”

  “If you must. We will have much to forget, when this is through. Much to forgive.” She bent her head and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of hulking knights that surrounded them. But the guards did not move to block Lucas’s entry. He and Martin hurried through.

 
“That was strange,” Martin said. “Who do you think she was?”

  “I’m not sure. But for now, let’s take advantage, before those guards return to their senses.”

  The tower was built around the northern gate, and protected it from invaders. The main passage was riddled with murder holes and archer eyes, and the floor was crossed with multiple runnels, each crossed by a small bridge. Martin looked down at the channels with curiosity.

  “For blood,” Lucas said sharply. Martin nodded and hurried on.

  They found Lady Bassion holding court at the end of the hall, between the chains that held the massive outer gate in place. She was sitting on a throne, legs primly crossed, hands resting on a naked sword. A strange cup rested beside her, steam coming off its surface. Two vow knights stood rigidly at her side. When Lucas entered, the two knights drew their blades.

  “Has it come to this, Galleydeep? Lord Halverdt kept priests at his side, whispering fears into his mind, warping his soul with terror. Look what became of him. Do you wish to follow his path?”

  “Gabriel Halverdt kept priests of Cinder at his side. These are vow knights,” Bassion said, gesturing to her companions. “Brighter hope, from a brighter god.”

  “Whereas you keep your priests of Cinder penned up outside like dogs, starving to death. Do you think the gods will judge you less harshly because you’ve chosen a different heresy than his?”

  “You have not suffered under Cinder’s gaze as I have.” Bassion folded her hands in her lap, but the stiff anger in her voice carried through the room. “I let those priests live. That is more than they deserve.”

  “The celestial church is Cinder and Strife, bound together, standing against the ravages of the gheists and the dangers of moral decay. It is not one or the other, depending on your mood, or your experiences in life. I am sorry that Sacombre’s heretics tricked you. I am sorry so many have died at the hands of men and women pretending to be faithful priests of Cinder. But it is that deception that must be remembered, not the betrayal. These void priests want to split the church, set Strife against Cinder, and Tener against Suhdra.”