A sharp double rap on the door disrupted her chain of thoughts. She moved to her desk and quickly rearranged the papers, hiding one amid the pile. “Come in.”
Shani marched into the room, dressed in a pair of tight sky blue breeches and matching jacket. Her black hair was held back with a narrow comb, which accentuated her long face. It really didn’t suit her. On the other hand, the colour and cut of Shani’s clothes were very becoming, and the trousers showed off her gorgeous legs. Talandra was about to make a comment to that effect when she remembered herself. Shani offered a formal bow, which saddened Talandra more than a little.
“Your Highness. Are you well?” she asked formally.
“Well enough. Please, take a seat,” said Talandra, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of her desk.
“Thank you,” said Shani, sitting down opposite. Her amber eyes briefly passed over the stack of papers. Talandra noticed faint purple lines running across Shani’s cheeks and up the sides of her neck, an indication that she wasn’t getting enough sleep.
“Busy, your Highness?”
Talandra pushed one letter deeper into the stack. “Always, but I have time to meet with you. What do you have for me?”
Shani took several small pieces of paper from her jacket. Talandra noticed several had been folded many times, no doubt from being attached to the leg of a bird or bat. It was hard to believe that only days ago she had been the one visiting the belfry and aviary to collect coded messages from her spies.
“This morning I received a report from Zecorria. Civil war has officially broken out.”
Talandra heaved a long sigh and took a moment to consider the consequences. Shani waited until she gestured for her to continue. “Yesterday High Priest Filbin publicly spoke out in front of a huge crowd against King Taikon. He called on the people to cast out the false prophet. He also admitted to being fooled and begged for their forgiveness.”
Talandra grimaced. “Let me guess: he received it?”
Shani gritted her teeth and nodded. “He offered to stand down as head of the Church of Holy Light. He said he was not worthy to lead them.”
“Which only made the people able to relate to him, and now they love him even more.”
“He’s a public hero. There were marches and peaceful protests until a soldier killed one of the protesters. The governors of various districts convened an emergency Council and unfortunately split into two factions. Taikon’s group of supporters is smaller, but there are many people who still believe he’s their saviour and prophet. Since then Filbin has beseeched the people to learn from his mistake and join him and the others in opposition.”
Talandra was fuming. “Did you read my reports about High Priest Filbin?”
“I saw them.”
“Then you know what kind of a man he is. It turns my stomach to think of people worshipping that deviant as a hero and saviour.”
“He could have an accident,” suggested Shani. “He’s overweight, and not exactly a young man any more.”
Talandra waved the idea away. “Even if it were made to look natural, someone would claim it was done by one of Taikon’s supporters. It would only make things worse, and I don’t want him made into a martyr. It’s bad enough I have to hear about him, I don’t want my grandchildren hearing his name.”
An awkward silence settled on the room at her words. This high up in the city the only sound she could hear from the streets below was an occasional faint cry of a street vendor.
“Temples devoted to Taikon are being defended by the Chosen in Zecorria,” said Shani, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “Elsewhere the Chosen don’t really exist any more. They never had a foothold in the southern kingdoms, and I can only guess what’s happened to them in Morrinow.”
“Thanks to the rebellion the temple in Perizzi is nothing but ash, and they’re planning to build something else on the site. I’ve also heard directly from the Queen of Yerskania about this. She’s pledged to find any dedicated Chosen who went underground, and she strikes me as a very determined woman.”
“Your Highness—”
“Please Shani. Don’t call me that when we’re alone.”
“Your Highness,” Shani said again, and Talandra sighed. “I would advise reserving judgement on the Queen. While she is to be admired for her recent efforts, she did allow Taikon to manipulate her. I appreciate the circumstances were extreme, and I’ve no doubt she will be more alert going forward, but we cannot solely rely on her to avoid similar situations from developing in the future.”
Talandra moved to the window and stared out, unable to look at her former lover and, apparently, former friend. “What do you advise?”
“Gunder has asked for a number of new agents to be sent as soon as possible to establish a larger presence in Perizzi. Yerskania is still the trade heart of the west, and everything will pass through the capital as before.”
“I agree. When can they be ready to leave?”
Shani coughed politely. “I anticipated your response, Highness. They left this morning with the first group of merchants.”
“Very good. Keep me informed.”
“Yes, your Highness.”
“Before you go, I have a gift for you,” said Talandra, moving to her desk.
She took out a small set of three black iron keys and passed them across to Shani. “Those are the keys to the Black Library,” said Talandra. “Every secret I’ve accumulated over the last twenty years. As head of my network, it’s now yours.”
Shani was speechless.
“Was there anything else?” asked Talandra.
“No, your Highness.”
Shani got up to leave, but paused beside the desk, pulling one of the sheets of paper from the middle of the stack.
“May I ask what this is?”
Talandra saw she was holding the sketch she’d made a few hours earlier. “The idea came to me in a dream.”
“What is it?”
“A monument,” said Talandra, taking the sketch of the monolith from Shani. “For those who died, and for the future, so that no one will forget what happened. I considered having the names of the dead carved into it.”
“It would be taller than the city walls if you did that,” said Shani, and the thought sobered them both.
“Tempting, but it would be depressing to have its shadow hanging over everyone. Even so, it needs to be big, so that everyone coming to Charas can see it from far away.”
The pain from everything must have been constricting her throat worse than she had realised, as Shani laid a hand on top of hers. Talandra looked into her amber eyes and Shani offered a friendly smile.
“I think it’s a good idea. Something needs to be built. No one should ever forget.” Shani withdrew her hand and stepped back. Perhaps friends, then.
“I can’t decide if it should be made from local yellow stone, or something else,” mused Talandra.
“It will come to you,” said Shani. “I have to go.”
“Of course.”
“Highness,” said Shani, with another little bow, and this time the title didn’t sting as badly as before.
Once Shani’s footsteps had receded Talandra pulled out the other letter she’d hidden at the bottom of the pile. The wax crest wasn’t familiar, a fox and three swords, but she’d heard of Lord Bragnon and knew him to be a powerful man from the south of Seveldrom. He was a rich noble who owned thousands of cattle used to make the famous Seveldrom leather armour. What she hadn’t known, until she read it in his letter, was that Lord Bragnon had a son who had fought in the war as an unranked warrior.
The marriage proposal was worth a moment of her time to consider, but it would be the first of many.
Talandra slipped the letter into a drawer to look at another day, and picked up the next report.
CHAPTER 47
Hargo felt uncomfortable. And itchy. The itchiness came from the bandaged cut on his right arm and the gash in his scalp. He knew it meant the wounds were he
aling and likely weren’t infected, so he’d live and have more scars. Not that it mattered. Zera used to be a Sister of Mercy. She’d seen far worse. He shuffled from foot to foot as if on hot stones. The others looked at him again, as if they expected him to do something. His sense of unease grew.
“What?”
Black Tom sidled closer, his breath stinking of liquorice as usual. Hargo used to like the stuff every once in a while. Now the smell of tarr made him think of the war. He never wanted to smell it again. “Are you gonna say something?”
Not for the first time Hargo wished Orran was here. The little rat-faced bastard had an easy way with words. And women. Not that he often talked his way into a woman’s bed, but it didn’t stop him trying. He took the knocks and just tried again with another. Eventually he got it right. If only he’d done the same with his wounds and kept trying, not gone and died. Just like Tan and Rudd and all the other lads. Just like Vargus.
They’d all seen him fall. It was right after the Vorga champion had cut up a dozen of them and Vargus had taken it down. Stuck a sword right up inside it, like it was fucking the blade. Even then the big bastard was too stupid to know it was already dead. They’d cheered, but only for a short time. Soon enough more of the green-and brown-skinned bastards came at them, whooping and clicking their teeth. He’d been stuck fighting two with Orran, but he’d seen the ones that went for Vargus. Maybe they were angry about their champion, or maybe they just didn’t like his face. Hargo hadn’t been worried, until one of them cut Vargus and then everyone saw him fly over the wall with the other.
After, when the Warlock was dead and they opened the gates, he and some of the others searched outside for Vargus. The stench was worse than anything he’d imagined. Rotting bits of men and piles of pink and blue innards. Giant swarms of flies and crows had already eaten their favourite bits, eyeballs and the like. The rest was just a giant pile of purple, green and black meat, some of it bloated and ready to burst. Some of it didn’t look like it had ever come from a living creature.
There must have been two thousand men who started the search for Vargus. After two days with nothing to show for sticking their hands into innards, there was just him and a handful of others. Some reckoned he was still alive and was out there somewhere. Some thought he would come back, like the old pagan God that rose from the dead. After the third day, even Hargo knew the truth. Vargus was gone. He might have been the start of the Brotherhood but the huge crowd of men gathered today showed that he wasn’t the end of it. And suddenly he knew exactly what to say to them. Hargo cleared his throat and turned to face the others.
“Vargus wasn’t a great man, and he wasn’t no saint,” he said looking out at a sea of faces. Most he didn’t know, but all of them had that look in their eyes. They’d all lost friends and family. They’d all lost brothers, and they were all the same. That was why they were here, stood in front of an empty grave. “He was a tough old bastard. And he was my friend. The first day we met he knocked me on my arse. I’m strong, always have been, but I was cocky. Thought I knew how to fight, but he taught me otherwise. And he taught me about family.”
There were lots of grunts and noises of agreement. Men turned to look at those around them, and even though there weren’t two that looked the same, they all saw the truth.
“I had a brother when I was a boy, but he fell and broke his neck. Can’t much remember him, so I grew up without brothers, until a few weeks ago.” Hargo hadn’t spoken about his brother in more than thirty years. It felt strange to share it with so many. Like he was telling them all a secret no one was supposed to know about him. “Most of you won’t know this, but someone in the west heard about the Brotherhood. They knew we were fighting better than before, so they sent someone to kill Vargus, thinking that without him it would end. But it won’t.” Hargo clenched his fists and stared out at the hundreds of men, daring just one of them to argue with him. But all he saw was smiling faces, nodding heads and then came cheers of agreement.
“Vargus always told me the Brotherhood wasn’t his. It was just something he’d been taught and passed it on to us. Might be true, might be bullshit, but he said it so we wouldn’t think he was some sort of priest, like those Lord of Light fellas. Always telling you what to do and how bad you’ve been.”
“Lantern fuckers,” muttered Black Tom. His words were echoed by many in the crowd and there were other curses and grumbles. Hargo waited for it to go quiet again. He wasn’t going to shout. He still didn’t know why he was the one saying these words and not someone else. But they all seemed to be listening, so he would say what was in his head. Slowly the crowd went quiet again and they all stared at him, making his skin itch worse than before. He didn’t like having so many people watch him all at once.
“Make up your own mind. I’m not here to tell you what to do. It’s what Vargus would’ve said if he were still alive. The war might be done, but I’m not going to forget the Brotherhood. I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to. It’s part of what kept me alive. I don’t know what will happen next year, or the one after that, but I’ve seen crops get blighted and animals die in the fields, and no one knows why. I expect times will get hard again, but when they do, I’m not facing them on my own any more.” Hargo slapped Black Tom on the shoulder and the little man grinned. “And if he gets in trouble, and needs help, I’ll do what I can. Because he’s family.”
There was nothing else to say. Hargo took a moment to think on Vargus as he stared down at the grave. It didn’t seem as if they’d met only a few weeks ago. It felt like Vargus had always been there, always been a part of him. His body was gone, probably stripped down to bones by now, but Hargo knew he wouldn’t forget him, or stop talking about him.
Black Tom offered him a skin of something and Hargo took a long pull. Something fiery hit his stomach and its warmth quickly started to spread. Black Tom took a drink and then tipped the rest onto the grave.
Hargo started the long walk back to the city with Black Tom at his side. It took him a while to notice, as others usually stepped aside when they saw him coming, but all of the other men were staring at him. It was the same look they’d given Vargus. One that meant he was someone special, someone to listen to. For once Hargo wished he wasn’t such a big man and could disappear into the crowd. Once they were back in the city he wouldn’t be noticed in such a large place. After that he’d gather his things and set off for home.
“Where you headed, Tom?”
Black Tom spat out a greasy wadge of tarr. “Not sure. Could go home, but don’t much fancy it.”
“Why’s that?”
“My old man. He expects me to take over the family business. Never wanted to before, can’t see it happening now. Expect my younger sister will do it instead. She’ll do a better job anyway.”
Now that they were past the last of the crowd Hargo breathed a little easier. Looking over his shoulder was a mistake. Lots of them were still watching him. He turned away and ignored them.
“What’s he do?”
“Owns a bunch of Sorenson bulls in the south.”
Hargo considered it. “Quiet life as a cattle farmer sounds good after all the noise.”
“He’s not a farmer. He owns ten thousand head of cattle. Others do the farming. He just runs the abattoirs and tanneries for making armour.”
Hargo stopped and turned to face Tom. “Ten thousand?”
“Yeah.”
A cold prickle ran across the back of Hargo’s skull. “Who’s your father, Tom?”
Tom spat again and resumed walking. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Are you noble born?” asked Hargo, and Black Tom cackled, but then his face tightened into something sad and bitter.
“There’s nothing noble about me.”
“That’s the truth,” agreed Hargo.
Tom laughed and his pained expression eased. “Did you mean what you said?”
“About what?”
“That I could call on you if I was in trouble.”
“I wouldn’t have said it otherwise,” said Hargo.
Black Tom said nothing and Hargo was happy to walk in silence. All around them the land was scarred and battered. Everywhere the earth was torn up and much of the plains had been churned into mud. It took them a while longer, but they skirted around the valley where Balfruss had killed the Warlock. No one liked to go there. Some of the others had stood on the walls and watched the whole thing, right up until the end. Hargo had been in the hospital with Orran choking out his last few breaths. Even so he’d heard the thunder and the crack of lightning. At the end, Orran had gone quiet in the arms of a Sister, a big busty one with a kind face. He’d died snuggled up to her tits with a big smile on his face. After seeing how some had died, Hargo thought Orran had it lucky.
When they’d closed his eyes and covered him with a sheet, Hargo had gone outside and started walking. Somehow he ended up at the wall, and by then it was over. All the faces around him were happy, with people cheering and laughing. Some were even drinking but then Balfruss came back, walking through the gates by himself. He walked right past Hargo and the others as if he couldn’t see them.
In the last few weeks Hargo had seen hundreds, maybe thousands of men die. He’d come close a few times himself, and had even ended up in the hospital twice. None of those who lived were without scars. Even the freshest spotty-faced lad who’d not held a sword until two weeks ago was now a veteran.
Every single one of them had stared into the face of death. They’d come to know it, to hate it, to loathe it for taking people away they cared about. But they’d all courted the black-hearted bitch, and now they knew her better than their own wives.
The look on Balfruss’s face that day was something Hargo would never forget. On that day, death wasn’t a woman, it was a Battlemage.
After he’d walked past, some men and women fell to their knees, one or two cried and more whispered to their God. They prayed they never saw him again and gave thanks he was on their side.
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