by Lloyd, Tom
‘How would that be my fault?’ Nai shouted back, retreating as far as he could with hands outstretched towards Amber. ‘If it’s even true, I did nothing!’
Amber kept on moving. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t know, there’s no way he’d be able to hide something like that from his acolyte!’
‘You expect me to be privy to every conversation?’ Nai yelled back. ‘Purn was far more powerful than I! How would I know his orders?’
‘Maybe not, but you damned well must have known his links to Azaer, and you kept it from me.’
Nai gaped, his alarm suddenly eclipsed by outrage. ‘And you blame me for that? He was a necromancer, most likely one of the most skilled in the entire Land - of course Azaer had noticed him - but whatever dealings went on if there were dealings, I didn’t know the details!’
Amber stopped and lowered his scimitar. He started to think about what Nai had just said - then a greenish light flared in the mage’s open palm and the major felt a blow to his gut like a mule’s kick, throwing him backwards. He hit the ground hard, black stars bursting before his eyes.
His vision still blurred, Amber felt a foot press against his shoulder and instinctively curled, anticipating a second blow, but instead he was rolled roughly onto his back. He could just make out Nai’s furious face looking down at him.
The mage no longer looked in the least bit comical. Twin trails of green fire swirled around his right hand, which he’d drawn back, like a boxer ready to throw the final punch. ‘All you damn Menin,’ Nai spat, ‘you think you’re the chosen people; that someone like me doesn’t count, and you can treat us like dogs. That’s why the Litse hate you: they can see that arrogance in your eyes - that calculation that anyone not on your side must be an enemy, someone to be dominated. I didn’t tell you about Purn’s link with Azaer because by association it’d mean one more reason not to trust me.’
With an effort of will the necromancer took a step back and let the trails of magic dissolve harmlessly into the air. ‘Politics interested Isherin Purn just as little as they do me - who sits in which palace hardly matters when you’re unravelling secrets of the Land itself.’
He made to walk away, then stopped and looked back. ‘Despite the limitations of your tribe and profession, Major Amber, I respect you. But in my world we can’t afford uncertainty. My choices are to kill you now, or disappear well beyond your reach.’ His voice took on a cold tone. ‘Ready for me to decide?’
CHAPTER 24
‘Lord Fernal, this is madness!’ Count Vesna shouted, bursting through the door. ‘You cannot sign this treaty!’
Fernal looked up from his desk, then turned to the Chief Steward standing on his left. ‘Is this the sort of obedience I can expect from all nobles now?’
Vesna ignored the comment as he marched up to the desk. The braiding of his formal uniform was swinging wildly. ‘You’re signing the treaty?’ he demanded.
Fernal growled and stood. The Demi-God was large as a white-eye, and he towered over Count Vesna. The new Lord of the Farlan wore a strange amalgamation of robes and tunic, made of some silky grey cloth seamed with gold thread, with his snake-and-arrows crest embroidered on the front. The ducal circlet sat on his head, and the clasps holding his cloak were solid discs of gold. It was as formal as Vesna had ever seen Fernal, but as with Isak, it did nothing to hide the dangerous potential rumbling underneath.
‘I am signing the treaty,’ he said deliberately slowly, pronouncing each syllable with care, even as he ensured his massive canine teeth were on full display. ‘It must be done.’
Vesna remembered his place and backed off, turning to Lesarl instead. ‘Did you counsel this?’
‘Despite my appearance,’ Fernal continued, ‘I am not some unthinking monster. Lesarl advised me of the alternatives. The decision is mine.’
Vesna looked around the rest of the room, as though expecting to see a Menin envoy hiding in one of the corners, but seeing no one seemed to deflate the Aspect of Karkarn and he lowered his voice. ‘You cannot believe their assurances?’ he pleaded.
‘Lord Fernal is well-aware of the Menin’s trustworthiness,’ Lesarl answered for his master, ‘or lack thereof, but signing the treaty was the price of the dukes’ official recognition.’
The Menin had arrived only three days before, offering a non-aggression treaty that effectively drew a line under the whole matter of Isak’s crusade. Unlikely as the offer was, the three other Farlan dukes had all demanded it be signed.
‘So we abandon everything?’
Lesarl’s eye narrowed. ‘So we deal with one problem at a time. We need the nobles to fall in line; this is the only way it can be done.’ He raised a hand as Vesna started to object. ‘We’re in no position to go to war until the nobles are happy with their lord. That we are abandoning our treaties with Narkang I know all too well, but treaties are of little use when we cannot follow through on them.’
‘So you would allow the Menin to pick us off one by one?’ Vesna said with contempt. ‘The dukes and suzerains may force you to honour this treaty even when we’re ready, but it won’t stop the Menin.’
‘What happens next year is uncertain,’ Lesarl assured him, ‘and the nobility may yet be brought around with careful management. If the Menin have moved against Narkang by then the picture will look very different; they will start to feel vulnerable, more open to persuasion. Until that time we need them to recognise Lord Fernal’s title and authority for without that we have civil war. Only with the unified support of the nobility will we be able to regain control of the cults.’
‘There is a greater war to be fought,’ Vesna argued, feeling increasingly desperate. ‘Are we going to sit here and do nothing? Isak lost his life trying to stop Azaer before his power-base developed further. Are we to do nothing?’
‘We can do nothing,’ Lesarl said very deliberately. ‘There can be no officially sanctioned action against either the Menin or those within their sphere of influence.’
‘What in Ghenna’s name is that supposed to mean?’
Lesarl gave him a cold, reptilian smile. ‘It means, Count Vesna, that no soldier or nobleman of the Farlan nation can act in any way that might contravene the treaty Lord Fernal will be signing this afternoon - while you are off marrying the delightful Lady Tila.’
Fernal pushed forward a piece of parchment that had been sitting in front of him, one bearing three official seals and the angular marks Vesna recognised as the Demi-God’s signature.
‘What’s this?’
‘The deed of trust to your estate,’ Lesarl said. ‘As a man of religious status, you are ineligible to hold military rank or title. This deed, back-dated to your return, entrusts all such affairs to the Lord of the Farlan until such a time as there is an individual to legally take possession of such things.’
‘Such as a wife?’
‘I believe a wife would suffice, yes.’
Vesna looked from the slender politician to his massive lord. ‘What’s the point of all this? The wedding’s this afternoon; surely this is a technicality hardly worth the time of the Lord of the Farlan.’
‘Nevertheless, such matters are best attended to in the correct legal manner,’ Lesarl replied smoothly, ‘so please sign and renounce your title in favour of any offspring the future Countess Vesna may bear you. You should also resign your army commission - unless you intend to join the chaplaincy branch of the cult.’
‘Are . . . are you telling me I should continue a fight alone?’ Vesna asked hesitantly.
‘Not at all. Lord Fernal could never condone such a decision. However, without the constraints of title, you would be free to act as you see fit, and as your God commands - this you should have realised by now, but since you failed to I thought it best the matter was brought up before your marriage. What opinions the God of War might have regarding the subject of continuing the fight I leave to theologians.
‘Furthermore, whether or not others choose to join you in this matter is entirely up to them
. Special Order Seven has been rescinded and all constraints upon military personnel are removed.’
Vesna was silent a while as he signed the document. ‘Men under arms are no longer landlocked, and title regains precedence over military rank,’ he said slowly. ‘They may cross borders without written orders and release those in their service if they so wish.’
‘That was but one of the constraints of the Special Order, Count — ah, I believe Iron General is the correct term to use now?’
‘What in the name of the Dark Place am I supposed to do, then?’ Vesna whispered, ignoring the question.
‘To pursue a war against Azaer? I believe King Emin is the expert there; perhaps you should ask him. But first, there is something else you must do.’
‘What’s that?’ Vesna asked sharply.
Lesarl gave him a broad smile and indicated Vesna’s dress uniform. ‘Marry that poor girl, Vesna, if she’ll still have you. I believe your bride is waiting for you.’
Outside Tirah Palace the air was heavy and a cold wind blew. Vesna stopped on the stairs leading down to the training ground and squinted up at the sky. He couldn’t see the sun and a dark grey bank of cloud had appeared on the northern horizon and was being driven by the wind towards them. There was a promise of rain in the air. The Farlan considered that a good omen - he was, after all, to be married at a shrine to Nartis, so peals of thunder and pouring rain could hardly be anything but a blessing from the God of Storms.
‘Vesna,’ called a slim man in armour hurrying over from the forges. He carried a teardrop shield and an eight-foot spear, both new, beautifully forged by the palace armourer. ‘You’re early; we don’t need to leave yet.’
‘I have to speak with Tila before the wedding,’ Vesna said once he’d gripped the man’s arm in greeting. ‘I know, Dace,’ he continued as the man opened his mouth to argue, ‘but this is more important than tradition.’
Sir Dace laughed and took a pace back, standing to attention, presenting spear and shield formally. His sleeves and trousers were fitting to the occasion but the rest, as was traditional, were what he would wear into battle. ‘You’re telling that to the wrong man, my friend,’ he said with a smile. ‘You might have always been my better with a sword, but there’s no damned way I’m crossing Lady Tila!’
The two men were the same age; they’d known each other for decades. Dace sported the single gold earring of a knight under his wild black curls, and the same blue tattoos on his neck as Vesna. Born to a cobbler, he had won a place in the Palace Guard the year after Vesna and the two had soon become friends. The day Vesna won his martial honours on the battlefield, Dace had been close behind his friend; he was one of three men knighted that day. Family life had taken Dace away from the army, but for ten years he had stood at Vesna’s side, both on the battlefield and on the duelling ground, just as he was about to as the famous rogue at last followed his friend’s example and married.
‘My circumstances have changed,’ Vesna explained in a lower voice, ‘and Tila needs to know before we marry.’
Sir Dace’s smile widened. He handed his friend the spear and reached into a pocket to out pull a letter. ‘Something you need to learn about married life,’ he explained. ‘They’ll outflank you more often than not, especially when they’re as smart as your intended. Best thing is to accept it without a fight.’ His grin widened. ‘Let that be my first act as sentinel for your marriage!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Vesna swapped the spear for the letter and saw it bore his name in Tila’s handwriting.
‘Read the letter,’ Dace advised. ‘A God I might not be, but Karkarn himself could give you no better advice.’
Sir Dace had travelled south from Anvee after news of the crusade had reached there and all able nobles had been called up. Despite having four children waiting at home, Dace had stayed at Tila’s request. A Farlan wedding called for a man to assume the position of sentinel to the marriage, to watch over the happiness of both parties - and, occasionally, to defend the honour of one or the other, which explained why Vesna, hardly the guardian of marital fidelity, was sentinel to several marriages.
Vesna tore the letter open and scanned the half-dozen lines. As he read it his frown slowly softened.
My dearest,
By now I am sure Lesarl has given you the deed of trust and intimated that you are no longer bound by your military obligations. Let me remind you that Isak was my friend also, and I grieve for him as much as you. You must do what you can to further the cause he died for, but that has no bearing on our marriage. Today we will be married, no matter what tomorrow may bring - and this I do with full understanding, so let Lord Karkarn himself defend you if you try to make my choice otherwise.
With all my love on our wedding day,
Tila
‘See what I mean?’ Dace said cheerfully, ‘anticipated and outflanked. You never stood a chance, my friend.’
He thumped Vesna on his plate-armour shoulder, wincing slightly as he caught his palm on the black-iron.
‘I can still ask Karkarn to be my sentinel,’ Vesna growled, trying to be stern, but feeling his irritation melt away as he reread the letter.
‘And he too will have better sense than to cross a young lady on her wedding day,’ Dace declared. He thoroughly enjoyed being a family man, and he intended to savour every moment as his renowned friend followed in his wake. ‘And anyway, I didn’t see Lord Karkarn taking a paddling in the barracks last night - if I have to share the pain from your wedding rites I’m damned-well going to get some of the pleasure too!’
Vesna grinned at last. ‘Aye, and cruel on you that I don’t feel pain like a normal man these days.’ He took a last look at the letter and pictured Tila writing it. ‘Who am I to argue then?’ he said, unable to restrain his smile.
‘That’s better; at last the face of a man getting married!’ He grabbed Vesna by the sword-arm and started to drag him towards the barracks. ‘Now come and have a last meal with us; there are still a few filthy stories about you that need to be aired before you mend your ways.’
Vesna complied willingly and they repaired to the officers’ quarters, where, surrounded by men he’d fought alongside for years, he found himself the butt of altogether too many jokes. Vesna’s grin was even wider by the time they filed out and mounted up to proceed north to the New District, where Tila’s family lived.
While Vesna had the right to be married in the grandest temples in Tirah, too many were under the direct control of clerics hostile to the nobility. The cults had withdrawn their military threat as soon as it was clear the nobles would unite behind Lord Fernal, but tensions remained.
High Chaplain Mochyd was willing to conduct the service, so Tila had instead chosen an old shrine in the New District and scaled down the ceremony so Lord Fernal, along with half the guard, would not have to attend. As Vesna led a column of fifty Ghosts in dress uniform through the streets he felt a rare jangle of nerves in his stomach.
‘Okay?’ Dace asked, leaning in his saddle towards Vesna.
The Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn nodded, his face pale. ‘Just wondering what comes tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? You wake up with a sore head and a better girl than you deserve!’ He laughed. ‘What comes after that is in the hands of the Gods, so you just need to get the first bit right before you start worrying about the rest. And for pity’s sake get that damn look off your face or she’ll want me for her wedding night instead!’
Vesna laughed at the suggestion, but it shook him from his gloom. They continued in cheerful spirits the rest of the way, the Ghosts singing lewd marching songs until they were within sight of the shrine. A few yards out they dismounted and left their horses in the charge of a young lieutenant and formed up in two columns, flanking Vesna and Sir Dace.
The shrine was on a fork in the road, with a door at the top of a dozen stone steps on either street. It was an ancient building, even by the standards of Tirah, and comprised three concentric circles of pillars
below a curved roof that rose to a sharp peak in the centre. Directly below that was the carved heart of the shrine: a strung bow resting in crooked stone branches, surrounded by images of Nartis’ face and stylised lightning bolts.
Behind the shrine was a raised garden, enclosed by a stone balustrade, that stretched twenty yards to the stone side wall of the building behind it. Over the slanted roof of the shrine itself he could see a pair of trees that shaded the garden.
There was quite a gathering there, despite this being a restrained affair. A group of nobles clad in all their formal finery were gathered around the steps, while Tila’s immediate family, the High Chaplain and a handful of her closest friends stood around the heart of the shrine.
As he approached, Tila stepped into view from behind the High Chaplain. His beaming bride was wearing a formal dress of blue and white, its simplicity serving to highlight her beauty. Her head was partially covered by a matching blue shawl embroidered with white and gold, and she wore charms to various Gods and Goddesses woven into her hair - a wedding was the only time all Gods were welcome at any temple, so Tila wore her favourite charms safely.