The Ragged Man

by Lloyd, Tom

  Ranah was a handsome man, and his unusually light hair made him striking among the dark Farlan. He was also a talented warrior, and he coveted Vesna’s reputation more than he did his octogenarian father’s seat. Count Vesna was the man Ventale Ranah was trying hard to be, but his exploits thus far had earned only his father’s scorn, and he’d been completely ignored by the storytellers.

  A man easily provoked into rashness, Vesna though as he reached for a cup and poured himself some wine.

  ‘The invitation did not extend to you, Count Vesna. Your jewels are better-suited to a whorehouse than a table of peers,’ Scion Ranah snapped.

  ‘Suzerain Temal,’ Vesna said, raising his cup in toast and ignoring Ranah, whose outburst had permitted him to join the conversation. Temal would have to keep control of Ranah or lose face. ‘We would be glad for a chance to sit down and discuss the state of the Land with peers.’ He drained the cup and smiled. ‘But in the interests of harmony I suggest you send the boy away before his mouth gets him into mischief — unless it’s mischief you intend?’

  Before Ranah’s coughs of fury could resolve into a challenge, Temal drained his own cup and raised a hand to stop the scion speaking.

  ‘We do not intend mischief, I assure you; we are all nobles of the Farlan, after all. However, Count Vesna, perhaps a less antagonistic tone might be politic? I hardly think “boy” is the right description for a man only five summers younger than you.’

  Vesna shrugged off the reprimand, deserved as it was. As a count he outranked Ranah, at least until the man inherited his father’s suzerainty, and Vesna intended to make full use of that. ‘The last time I met the scion he was less than gracious towards me. It was only admiration for his father that prevented me from calling the scion out.’

  ‘That or cowardice,’ Ranah interjected, which earned him an admonishing look from Temal.

  Vesna ignored him. ‘I choose not to acknowledge any man inviting a challenge, but my position within the Land has changed and I can no longer overlook an insult.’

  With his iron-clad hand Vesna slipped his sword partway from his scabbard, just far enough to reveal the misty white lines of the Crystal Skull melded about the black-iron blade. ‘Nor would I even break a sweat in a duel with any man present.’

  Temal’s eyes narrowed, and he gave a small nod of understanding. ‘Be that as it may, I would ask you to show greater civility in future.’

  He turned to Ranah. ‘Any mention of a man’s honour is similarly uncivil and goes against our purpose of being here. I would appreciate it, Scion Ranah, if you would retire and see to those messages we were discussing earlier.’

  Ranah scowled, but as there was nothing he could do he turned without a word and stalked away, disappearing into the inn and slamming the door behind him. Once he was gone, Suzerain Temal broke into a relieved smile and gestured for his companions to sit.

  ‘I apologise,’ he began. ‘I spoke to Ranah before you arrived and he assured me he would behave.’

  ‘Easily forgiven,’ Torl said, ‘but the treatment of Suzerain Tebran is less so. Whether or not it was Ranah at fault, you choose the company you keep, Temal — you know what sort of man he is.’

  Temal nodded, looking glum. Shrewd politician that he was, he knew the ramifications of implying a threat to gain the right to march under arms in Tebran. A suzerain ignored the customs surrounding their law at his peril; neighbours became far less friendly with a man they couldn’t trust. ‘Such are the times that a man must keep company he finds distasteful. I will make suitable apologies to Tebran; my intention is quite the opposite from setting noble houses against each other.’

  ‘Then tell us plainly what your intention is,’ Vesna said.

  Temal scrutinised the Mortal-Aspect for a while. ‘I will do so,’ he said, ‘but now I see you’ — he gestured towards Vesna’s face and left arm — ‘well, I have questions of my own.’

  ‘They will be answered,’ Vesna promised him.

  ‘Very well. First, let it be clear I am not acting alone today. I’ve been in correspondence with many like-minded peers and I represent them here.’

  The statement prompted raised eyebrows, but nothing more; Torl and Vesna were content to wait to hear something of substance before commenting, and Lahk had pointedly pushed his seat back from the table to indicate the other two were speaking on his behalf.

  ‘I assume you know of Lord Isak’s decree regarding his successor, ’ Temal began hesitantly. ‘Perhaps you do not yet realise the extent of the outrage this has provoked.’

  ‘If you are going to suggest insurrection,’ Torl said sharply, ‘I would suggest you stop all thoughts down that path. However much they might dislike it, the Ghosts wouldn’t disobey an order to slaughter your troops to a man.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean,’ Temal said, raising his hands placatingly. ‘I mean only to set the ground for my words.’

  Vesna stared at the man’s expression and realised some spark of suspicion had flared inside him. Reading a man’s face was important to any duellist, but the intent was not so clearly marked on Temal’s face. There was something he wasn’t saying, some agenda running behind the truth of his words.

  ‘What you probably don’t know is that High Cardinal Certinse was murdered by one of his own clerks. I’m told the man was a fanatic who couldn’t accept Certinse’s decision to ratify Lord Isak’s decision regarding his successor.’

  Interesting, he’s been careful to avoid saying the name Fernal — either to avoid having to speak his title, or to avoid having to refuse to.

  ‘Cardinal Veck has taken his place?’ Torl asked, his face grim. Veck had been among the worst of the fanatics when they left the city, and this could lead only to more trouble.

  ‘He has, and his first act was to rescind the Synod’s approval. Now while — ’

  ‘Wait,’ Vesna broke in, ‘first tell me this: do you and whoever you claim to represent accept Lord Fernal’s appointment?’

  Temal sighed. ‘We believe the decision has no basis in law, and on this point alone we are in agreement with the cults.’

  ‘An edict by Lord Isak was not legal?’

  ‘The law states the title Lord of the Farlan is for the Chosen only, and an appointed regent must come from the nobility. Lord Isak cannot simply nominate a successor; that invites the creation of dynasties.’

  There was a moment of silence. The point was valid; the Synod approval had been vital to shore up an uncertain claim. It was an irony that the move intended to provide a rallying point to the tribe had instead sparked fresh divisions within it.

  ‘And you think to make this point with an army at your back?’ General Lahk asked suddenly. ‘The politics are not my concern but I’m General of the Heartland, with orders enshrined in law that go beyond the current ruler of the tribe. If any army crosses this boundary into Tirah territory, I am bound to respond.’

  ‘You did nothing while mercenaries ruled the streets of Tirah!’ Temal said angrily, ‘and the new High Cardinal has been consolidating his power since the entire Palace Guard left.’

  ‘My duties are unclear regarding troops gathering on Tirah’s streets,’ Lahk said, unconcerned by Temal’s tone, ‘so Chief Steward Lesarl guided my actions and Lord Isak approved them. There is no issue of clarity regarding troop units exceeding a regiment crossing that border without permission.’

  Temal stood. ‘Unlike some suzerains I have heard of, military action is not our intention. We will only act if we hear reports of the cults breaking the law — but permit me to make this very clear: the power of the Farlan has always resided in the hands of the nobility, and that’s always been kept apart from the cults. No court-ranked nobleman may take holy orders; no cleric may hold command rank — this is the law that has kept our tribe strong, and we will defend that position against all who threaten it.

  ‘Inform the creature Fernal of our position. There are some who may intend insurrection — both for and against the cults, make no mi
stake about that — but I believe I represent a majority opinion among the nobility. We are willing to fight to stop the cults gaining any further control over the tribe, and we expect Fernal to withdraw his claim on the title of Lord of the Farlan.’

  Interesting, Vesna thought, listening to the measured tone of Temal’s voice. I think this one’s trying to be nice to all sides, and come out as the suzerain who helped avoid bloodshed. The more he smoothes things over now, the more useful he’ll appear to any future leader desperate to keep peace.

  ‘Who would you have take his place?’ Torl asked in a horrified voice, as though he was already expecting the answer.

  ‘You, my Lord Suzerain,’ Temal said stiffly, ‘to be regent of the Farlan until our Patron God chooses one to take Lord Isak’s place. You can unify our tribe, Suzerain Torl — perhaps you alone can prevent civil war.’

  Desultory drizzle welcomed the remaining regiments to Tirah; the faint patter wiped out by the sound of hooves on cobbles. Vesna rode at the head of the cavalry, watching the faces of those they passed and trying to gauge the mood of the city. There was no hostility in the faces he saw, but no celebration either. The citizens of Tirah looked tired to him, worn down by the struggles of the different factions, and the fear that accompanied those struggles. They waited impassively for the soldiers to pass, but as worried as that made him, the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn saw other things to concern him more.

  The presence of priests on the streets was no great surprise — their bile and fury would have dissuaded many from attending temple, so it had always been likely the priests would eventually follow — or chase — their flocks into the street. That every major street corner had a priest preaching was troubling, as was the venom with which they harangued passers-by — and even the cavalry, until their attendants hushed them.

  Every preacher had at least a handful of penitents guarding them, a necessary precaution considering the raised hackles their words were causing among the people. Vesna knew that folk wouldn’t go against armed troops, but angry words were being exchanged all over the city. He couldn’t help but be put in mind of Scree in the days before the population lost its sanity completely. He shuddered.

  When the procession reached the lower end of the Palace Walk, Vesna saw a crowd up ahead and called a halt. The people were blocking the street and he didn’t want to lead the cavalry close enough to spark either a panic or a riot. As he edged nearer however, he realised this was no mob, but a crowd listening intently. Vesna looked over the heads to see what was happening and blinked in surprise.

  There was what had to be a Harlequin standing on a makeshift gantry on the left. The diamond-pattern clothes and white porcelain mask were unmistakable, as was the entranced hush over the crowd.

  ‘Now that’s something I’ve never seen before,’ he commented to Suzerain Torl beside him. ‘A Harlequin preaching?’

  He’d spoken too quietly to be heard by anyone else, but all the same the Harlequin broke off from what it was saying and stared straight at him. Vesna felt the air grow cold as faces turned to follow the Harlequin’s line of sight. Their expressions were more annoyance at the interruption than anything else, but Vesna also smelled resentment in the air.

  He started to turn his horse away from the crowd when the Harlequin called out over the tense quiet, ‘Brothers, there you have the embodiment of war — sitting so proud with blood on his cheek, stained and burdened by the life he has led. Pity him, fellow children of the Gods, for men of war have lost the path of peace and pain fills their soul.’

  Vesna checked behind him to ensure his soldiers hadn’t instinctively drawn their weapons.

  ‘I fight in the name of the Gods,’ he called back, aware that he needed to respond in some way. ‘I fight with the blessing of the Gods.’ Death’s cold rattle, why is a Harlequin starting an argument with me?

  ‘You are as lost as the cults. It only remains to be seen if you wish to seek peace, or continue to add to the pain sickening this Land,’ the Harlequin retorted.

  ‘You claim greater wisdom than the Gods?’ Vesna demanded.

  The Harlequin gave a slow, pitying shake of the head. ‘NotI — all I claim is a desire to fill my heart with peace, to be as a child and free myself of the burden of years that cloud a mind.’

  I don’t think I’m likely to win an argument about the merits of peace, Vesna thought, tugging his red cloak a little to ensure it completely covered his armoured arm. But I’ll find out nothing by backing off.

  ‘What of the wisdom that comes with age?’ he ventured.

  ‘That too is clouded by the fear driving the actions of men. It is only by letting the baggage of life fall away that men ensure their decisions are not tainted or swayed.’

  ‘Let me guess: you have a suggestion for how to do that?’

  ‘Not I,’ the Harlequin intoned; ‘I do not appoint myself arbitrator for the deeds of others. Every man and woman must choose their own path in this life. I offer no ritual for absolution, no mantra to cleanse the soul of its stains. We must all find innocence in our own way — we must all serve innocence in our own way.’

  Before Vesna could think of a reply the Harlequin raised its hand, pointing at the part of the crowd that was blocking the centre of the street. ‘My siblings, we cannot hope to find the path to peace just by blocking the path of war,’ it called in a laughing voice, diffusing the tension in the air. ‘Please, allow the men of war to pass; a child would not be so prideful as to mind standing in the gutter and nor shall we!’

  A smattering of laughter accompanied the shuffling of feet and in moments the street was clear enough for the troops to pass. Gesturing for the column to advance, Vesna rode on slowly, giving the Harlequin a respectful nod as he passed. It did nothing in response, but he felt its eyes on his back until he crossed Hunter’s Ride and started on the last stretch leading to the Palace. As he neared that Vesna realised there was another unpleasant surprise waiting before he made it inside the walls.

  ‘Gods, I’ve got enough to worry about, haven’t I?’ he muttered under his breath.

  ‘Soldiers?’ Suzerain Torl said, casting Vesna a questioning look. Torl was older than the men under his command, and he had to rely on their eyesight for anything in the distance.

  ‘Aye, they’re penitents,’ Vesna said grimly, ‘but maybe this is one argument today I can win.’

  ‘Are you going to reveal your full authority, my Lord?’

  ‘How long would I be able to keep it a secret in any case? It’s a surprise the city didn’t all know before we arrived.’

  Vesna spurred his horse into a canter and broke away from the column, covering the ground quickly. A regiment of penitents had formed up around the fountain-statue of Evaole at the centre of the Barbican Square. Vesna took in the whole scene with a single glance: the Palace gates were shut and archers stood ready on the battlements above. The rest of the square was deserted.

  The penitents looked nervous, shifting restlessly while the priests in charge of them bristled at his arrival — or one of them did at least; the other was a priest of Karkarn, of middling rank by the hems of his scarlet robes. His reaction had been one of opposites; stepping boldly forward, then faltering, most likely when he saw the teardrop on Vesna’s face.

  ‘Count Vesna, the city rejoices in your return,’ announced the other priest, somehow contriving to sound disapproving of what he’d just said. He was a man of Nartis, and as tall as Vesna, though he lacked a warrior’s muscle. His features were small and rounded with cheeks like a baby’s, but his expression was rapacious.

  ‘Really?’ Vesna said in a dead tone and looked around. ‘I didn’t notice anyone celebrating. Is that what you’re doing here?’

  ‘No, my Lord, we are here on the orders of the High Cardinal himself — ’

  ‘To besiege the Palace?’ Vesna broke in, recognising the pious tones of a fanatic; it was easy enough these days.

  ‘To ensure the rule of law and the will of the Gods are done,�
� the priest snapped back. ‘The abomination Chief Steward Lesarl has installed in the Palace must be driven out, along with the Chief Steward himself. The impious ways of that wicked man have forced our hand, and we stand here in defence of the entire Farlan tribe, against the machinations of inhumans and all outsiders.’

  ‘Last stand of the faithful, eh?’ Vesna growled. ‘I was present at one of those in Scree. I can tell you: it brought us only hurt.’

  ‘Unmen Dors!’ hissed the priest of Karkarn, ‘perhaps it is time we left?’

  ‘Leave?’ Dors shrieked at his fellow unmen, ‘and disobey the orders of the High Cardinal, the voice of our Gods himself?’