by Lloyd, Tom
There was no sign of blood having been spilled, and the only indication of confrontation was at the guardhouse, a square building on the left of the gate, where the attack alarm on the roof was sounding again.
‘Who’s outside the gate?’ Swordmaster Pettir wondered aloud, but he didn’t get a chance to speculate as a group of soldiers and noblemen marched up to address Vesna.
‘Leave this place!’ roared a middle-aged man wearing a single gold earring of rank. He wore chainmail and a heron crest on his brown and white livery. Vesna didn’t recognise the man, but he had half a dozen hurscals at his side, and they had their hands on their hilts. ‘You have no authority over the cults!’
‘And what, pray, has that got to do with you?’ Vesna replied in a calm voice, ignoring, for the moment at least, the lower-ranked nobleman’s deliberate flouting of the traditions of respect. ‘You are a titled man. You can have no affiliation with the cults.’
The man shouted, ‘My allegiance to Nartis is my own business, not yours.’
‘If you have taken holy orders, then it is my business,’ Swordmaster Pettir interrupted. ‘As Knight-Defender of Tirah, I am charged with enforcing the rule of law in the city. What say you?’
‘I say I am a man of piety, you damned jumped-up peasant, and the Gods shall strike you down as a heretic if you claim otherwise - just as the charges upon which Count Feers was arrested are tyrannical, and against the will of the Gods.’
‘But they are still the law,’ Vesna answered, ‘so you’ll step aside and allow the Palace Guard to do their duty.’
‘Under whose authority?’
‘That of Lord Fernal.’
The man spat. ‘The creature Fernal bears no authority. It has no right to claim rule over the noblest tribe of man.’
‘That is a matter for your betters to decide,’ Vesna said, nudging his horse forward while signalling for his troops to remain. ‘The law on holy orders remains, however, and Count Feers has broken it; he must answer for his crimes at the Temple of Law.’
‘Count Feers is guilty of nothing but proclaiming the majesty of the Gods and their authority over all,’ the soldier roared.
‘Then the Gods will see to it he is acquitted,’ Vesna said. ‘Until then he is under arrest.’
‘You may not have him, nor may your lackeys!’ the nobleman screamed, pointing towards the gate. ‘We serve the Gods. We will die to protect their majesty.’
Vesna stopped. Clearly there was something he did not yet know about the situation. ‘Who is outside the gate?’ he asked.
‘The heretics you sent to murder priests, the criminals who wish to plunder the temples and steal rule of the tribe from those the Gods intended,’ he snarled.
Vesna scratched his cheek, where the ruby in his skin was suddenly itching fiercely.
‘Kill them all,’ whispered Karkarn in his ear. ‘There is no place for madmen and fools in this Land.’
Vesna instinctively shook his head at the sudden intrusion, as though he could dislodge the God from it, and his hand twitched towards his sword before he could catch himself.
The nobleman saw the movement and took a step back to plant his feet more firmly. He gripped his sword.
Enough of your help, Vesna thought as he drove the War God from his thoughts. This must end without bloodshed, otherwise it will lead to civil war.
Carefully, deliberately he withdrew his hand, and when the nobleman had relaxed a touch Vesna dismounted. A man on horseback had a clear advantage in battle - whether they would admit it or not, Vesna knew the veterans would see it as a pacifying action. He removed his helm so they would be able to see the ruby on his cheek more clearly and walked towards them, not deviating when they turned aside and opened up the path towards the guardhouse.
The penitents standing ready at the door retreated when he reached them. Vesna could feel the eyes of everyone in the market on him, watching every small movement, waiting for the action that would spark the violence.
He thumped on the guardhouse door and called out, ‘Sergeant? Is all well in there?’
He could hear the scuffle of feet inside, then the sound of boots on a ladder before the reply eventually came. ‘Aye, sir, we’re not harmed.’
‘Then open the door please, and bring your prisoner out.’
‘Ah, beggin’ yer pardon, sir, but who’s givin’ the order?’
‘Count Vesna, acting under the authority of Lord Fernal.’
Using Fernal’s disputed title seemed to do the trick. He heard the screech of heavy iron bolts being drawn back, and something heavy being dragged from the reinforced oak door. It opened cautiously, just enough to catch sight of the man outside, but Vesna’s armour alone was unmistakable to any man of the Ghosts. Quickly the door opened all the way to reveal the grim faces of a dozen Palace Guards, dressed in full battle armour. Behind them was the whiskered face of Count Feers, purple with outrage as he barged towards Vesna.
‘You of all men come to accuse me? Murderer, adulterer, hypocrite — ’
Vesna raised a cautioning hand. ‘Think very carefully about your next words, Count Feers. Tensions are running high and there are already serious charges against you. If you incite others to violence against the Ghosts . . . well, I doubt you need much convincing as to the Chief Steward’s vindictive nature. He would extend any punishment laid down upon you to every member of your family.’
The threat had the desired effect; Lesarl’s reputation among the nobility was well deserved. However deep his fanaticism, Feers had a large family and it was a fair bet at least one of them meant something to him. It took a few heartbeats, but then the count’s shoulders sagged and he capitulated, allowing the Ghosts to lead him out without further resistance.
‘Ah, my lord?’ one of the soldiers still in the guardroom piped up.
Vesna turned to see four anxious faces. ‘What is it?’
‘Outside the gate, my lord, there’s a couple of regiments out there, under the command of Suzerain Yetah.’
‘Tsatach’s fiery balls,’ Vesna groaned, ‘that’s the last thing I need right now.’
Now he realised why the Palace Guardsmen were looking so concerned. Kollen Yetah being here right now meant trouble in some form or another, though this was a curious twist, considering the nobleman’s words of a minute ago. Yetah’s family had been as entrenched in the Knights of the Temples as much as any man’s, for a century or more - although they had always complied with Lord Bahl’s edicts about the Devoted. Suzerain Yetah was an unlikely person to be bent on defiling temples.
‘He’s demanding the gate be opened immediately.’
‘I’m sure he is.’ To himself Vesna muttered, ‘Damn, what part is he intending to play?’ He didn’t wait for the men to respond; there was only one way he’d get an answer and that was by speaking to the man himself.
‘Open the gate,’ he ordered.
The sergeant saluted and directed his men to start the process of removing the great bolts locking the gate closed. ‘Lot of angry soldiers out there, sir,’ he commented in a neutral voice, not wanting to sound like he was questioning orders.
‘I know, but neither of us has the authority to deny a suzerain, and General Lahk is not here at present.’
Vesna confirmed the Ghosts with Count Feers were not being prevented from joining their comrades. The various troops under command of the cults hadn’t moved. They didn’t look happy about the situation, but as long as no one was raising weapons, Vesna was happy.
As soon as the gate opened a tall man with a mop of curly hair stormed through, four knighted hurscals at his heel. He looked good for a man ten summers older than Vesna, though he walked was a noticeable limp, favouring the right leg that had been recently broken when Lord Isak had called for soldiers to join his crusade.
Yetah wasn’t the only suzerain to have moved troops into Tebran, just the boldest. He was an experienced soldier, having spent almost ten years in Lomin commanding a cavalry division, but he appeared
to have lost none of his youthful belligerence in that time.
He walked straight up to the count, making a dismissive gesture when Vesna made to kneel and offer his sword, and cried, ‘Good to see you again, Vesna- I hear congratulations are in order. Some filly broken you at last, or are you just getting old?’
A cuirass was plainly visible under the suzerain’s livery, and he carried a red broadsword with a lightning flash down the blade that reflected his family’s long-standing allegiance to the Devoted.
‘A bit of both, my Lord Suzerain,’ Vesna replied coolly. ‘I am glad to see you are recovering.’
Yetah pointed to his leg. ‘This? Pah, teach me to jump fallen trees on an old horse. Have you arrested Count Feers?’
Vesna blinked. Yetah’s information was better than he’d have expected; the arrest warrant had only just been issued and had barely been announced to the city. ‘He is in custody, my lord; the stand-off is over.’
‘But the bastards are still here?’ Yetah exclaimed, looking past Vesna. ‘They’re still armed? What’s stopping you? They should all be in irons and on the way to the gibbet by now!’
‘Gibbet? Sir, why are you here, and leading troops into the city no less?’
‘Doing what must be done,’ Yetah snapped. ‘If you will do nothing about this gradual coup by the cults, then it falls to the armies of the Farlan to protect our nation.’
‘Coup?’ Vesna said in a daze. ‘Yetah, you’re a member of the Knights of the Temples — ’
‘You will address me as “my Lord Suzerain” - need I remind you that we are not peers?’ Yetah replied sharply. ‘As for my allegiances, they are none of your concern. I am a nobleman of the Farlan and a loyal soldier of the tribe. Whether or not a usurper currently holds the ducal throne, my duty to the tribe remains. I will not stand idly by while bloody mutinous priests exploit the majesty of their Gods to take power.’
Vesna looked back and saw the penitents drawing back, but rather than fleeing they were taking a defensive position at the mouth of a side-street. ‘My Lord Suzerain, what you propose would result in a pitched battle in the streets of Tirah - we would have civil war — ’
‘If there are traitors within the tribe, let them declare themselves so,’ Yetah shouted towards the penitents. ‘This creeping theft of authority must stop. The politicking and deal-making to sell the nation is over. They will learn our resolve and discover the consequences of their actions.’
Vesna raised his hands, a pacifying gesture that kept them away from the hilt of his weapon as much as anything. Yetah’s hurscals looked as fiercely resolute as their master, and itching for a fight.
Vesna had been hearing reports of suzerains reacting against the cults since returning to Tirah, but thus far it had been small-scale actions in distant parts. Suzerain Saroc had routed a party of a hundred soldiers at a monastery on his land, where they had been conducting Morality Tribunals and Tests of Faith that amounted to torture, but that had been the biggest engagement so far. Every morning brought news of deaths from one part of the nation or another, but they were all skirmishes involving a few dozen combatants at most. This was on another level entirely.
No one could ignore a battle involving hundreds on the streets of Tirah, nor fail to react to it. From where he was standing Vesna’s view was restricted, but he could see at least two regimental banners behind Yetah.
‘Suzerain Yetah,’ he said carefully, ‘contrary to what you have heard, the rule of law still governs the streets of Tirah. If you bring troops onto the streets of Tirah, you would be breaking the law, and force us to respond.’
‘Don’t bother to threaten me, Vesna, your position in all this is as much in question as that of the monster you serve now,’ Yetah growled.
‘Lord Fernal was named legitimate heir and Lord of the Farlan by Lord Isak, and I act in his name.’ Vesna paused, trying to slow things down as much as he could. ‘Suzerain Yetah, you must see that Lord Isak realised we need a strong ruler this coming year; we cannot wait for Lord Nartis to appoint a new Chosen! Without a figure to unite the tribe we will be invaded and conquered by the Menin.’
‘Whatever the consequences of Lord Isak’s warmongering, we will not accept a non-Farlan to rule the tribe - otherwise we might as well submit to Kastan Styrax and see his flag fly from the Tower of Semar!’
Vesna took a step back and lowered his hand to his hilt. There was obviously going to be no reasoning with the man. The ruby on his cheek glowed bloody red. ‘Sir, with the greatest respect, I cannot allow you to lead troops into Tirah; I will not let you pass.’
‘You do not have the authority to stop me, damn you!’ Yetah roared, drawing his sword. ‘You should have already given up the rights and rank of title - whoever your master, you have no right to command the Ghosts now, so get out of my way. I am acting to protect the tribe, and to stop me you will have to cut me down!’
Yetah started forward, certain in the knowledge that Vesna wouldn’t kill a man of higher rank, but when a sword-tip appeared at his throat Yetah nearly tripped in his surprise and outrage. He looked at the count and blinked. ‘Vesna, I mean you no harm. Step aside and let me pass. If you kill me, you will be cut down, or the law will see you hang, you know that.’
Vesna nodded. He did know it, and he knew too there would be no defence he could bring that would avoid it. Suzerain Yetah was his superior, both in title and military rank, and if he killed the man and avoided a hanging, that would invalidate any claims Lord Fernal might make about protecting the tribe’s laws. He just had to gamble that he wouldn’t kill the man.
‘Then lower your sword, sir.’
‘I will not.’
Yetah lurched to the left, trying to step around Vesna, but the count was a renowned duellist and swordsman, and he was there before him, his sword still raised. Yetah swatted the tip away from his face with his own blade, but as he advanced Vesna stepped forward and dropped his shoulder into the suzerain, shoving him backwards.
‘Damn you, Vesna,’ Yetah snapped. He struck without warning but Vesna was faster and caught the blade, again stepping into Yetah and this time hammering the pommel of his sword against the suzerain’s cuirass.
The move drove him back another pace, but the space was quickly made up by the youngest of the hurscals, who swung a wild blow at Vesna’s head. The count retreated, fending off blows for a few paces before flicking his opponent’s sword away and punching the man’s arm with his black-iron fist, snapping the bone and sending the man reeling into the hinge of the now-open gate.
A second man attacked with more purpose, his shield raised high. Vesna, moving with blurring speed, stepped around the hurscal’s lunge, and the man fell screaming. A diagonal cut had sheared his shield in two, and the arm behind it.
The others hesitated, stunned by the count’s unnatural speed.
Vesna took a step back. He could feel the power of the Crystal Skull begging to be used. As soon as he focused on it the Skull emitted a bright white pulse, and the remaining hurscals stopped dead in their tracks.
‘Enough - stay your swords,’ Vesna called. ‘Suzerain Yetah, order your men back. I will not kill you, my lord, but I will kill any other man who tries to pass.’
No one else stepped forward. Vesna met the eye of each one. None had the strength of will to keep their weapon raised. He pointed to the injured men.
‘See to your comrades, then leave this place and return to your own lands. Tell any others you meet: the law is not yours to protect, unless so ordered by the Lord of the Farlan. If any man intends to kill his fellow Farlan, he must face me first.’
He turned away and stopped dead when he saw the companies of the Palace Guard were lined up in defensive formation. Sir Cerse, the legion’s colonel, offered him a crisp salute, and after a moment he returned it. They had been ready to defend him, even to fight their own alongside him if necessary.
And that’s a gift even Gods cannot give, Vesna thought as the ranks parted to allow him through. S
wordmaster Pettir handed him the reins of his horse.
‘Lesarl will be pleased with you,’ Pettir said with mocking cheer.
Vesna scowled. ‘This cannot continue.’
CHAPTER 19
Ruhen smiled, his face turned to the afternoon sun. Its diffused light cast a pale yellow tint over the valley, while long shadows enveloped the waiting soldiers. He felt its warmth on his face as he breathed in the fresh clear air. Winter’s grip was lessening day by day and he could smell the change in the air, even if the arguing delegates nearby couldn’t.
In the wake of the dragon, the valley housing the Library of Seasons had taken on a dismal air. All of the white stone buildings had been damaged and the beast’s gigantic corpse still rotted below the southern cliff, but today Ruhen could taste something other than decay on the breeze. A hundred yards away there were tables set out on the grass, as close to the centre of the valley as they could judge. Without Ruhen close at hand Duchess Escral’s wits had returned enough for her to lead the debate, but as yet there had been no progress.