by Ben Blake
*
So they will come, thought the Lady of the Hidden House, sitting neatly on a chair in her rooms. A square of folded paper lay open on her lap. It bore the same message that had been delivered to Riyand less than an hour before, if in a different hand, and though she wasn’t aware of the precise timing, Ailiss would not have been surprised.
It was useful to have an agent in the Basilica. Ailiss always knew what those malignant monsters were thinking, what they were likely to do in a given situation. It was that, as much as incantations and glimpses of how the future might be, which had allowed Sarténe to hold its own in the endless diplomatic skirmishing of the past decades. Her word was listened to in this land. Why not? It was she who kept the sacred books. The trust had been hers, and that of the women before her, for more years than she cared to recall.
It was a trust she had failed, it seemed. Not through her own fault, perhaps, but she had been aware of Riyand’s shortcomings from the start. She didn’t mean his preference for male lovers: who a man brought to his own bed was his own business, as far as she could see, as long as both partners were willing. But the lad had never been destined for the High Seat in Sarténe, and never been fit for it either. His father and grandfather had both been remarkable men, clever and guileful, able to feint and dance with the All-Church while throughout Sarténe the Elite multiplied like greenfly on leaves. Riyand’s elder brother had shown signs that he might be the same, before the plague seized him.
Such a small change, Ailiss thought, still sitting in her chair beside the fireplace. Such a small change, for Riyand to be taken instead of Bohend. There was always grief for a death, and perhaps she should not be so willing to trade lives, as though it was she who sat in the highest seat of all and passed judgement on souls. But it was hard, so hard not to sometimes. Bohend would not have blundered in dealing with the emissary the All-Church had sent, Ailiss was sure. And he wouldn’t have ordered the man killed by the river either, as she was almost certain Riyand had done. Either thing could have been used by the Basilica as an excuse for war: an excuse, really, was all they had been looking for. The game had been to deny them that, to profess shock at this alleged heresy, and then smile and say but really, it can’t be that bad, can it? Promise to look into the claims. Waste time sending messages to and fro, to and fro, checking some insignificant point of detail or other without ever actually doing anything.
All ruined by the Margrave’s stupidity, and by the even greater idiocy of the murderer by the river, who had not only killed a priest but had allowed a witness to see it all, and not noticed him.
People will die for it, she thought bleakly, and was glad when a soft knock preceded Gaudin into the room.
His expression was sombre, and with reason. Behind him came the four visitors, Calesh and his wife at the front, with Baruch and Raigal Tai looming behind them like sentinels. She felt her heart lift a little as they approached. What her vision – call it that – had shown her all those years ago had been true. These three men had found the Book of Breathing exactly where she had said it would be, and had brought it back to her across the sea. She had allowed herself a moment of exultation when Baruch put it in her hands. It was a fine thing done, and for all the fame that had come to Calesh for his courage and skill in open fields, Ailiss knew which deed was the greater.
It had been these three, and one other. Luthien Bourrel was missing now, gone to answer a higher calling, and there was no blame in that. Still, Ailiss believed there might be a part left for him to play, before all was over and the wind played idly among broken stones. There were always four corners to a square, four points to a compass, four elements in the world. Earth, air, fire, water. A motif that recurred in stories told across the world was giant, wise man, soldier, king. Here were three, the giant and the soldier, and the king who led them. But they needed their wise man, if they were to rediscover their strange alchemy and be complete again.
They would need to be complete. She drew a breath and faced them, and they came to a halt before her chair.
“They are coming,” she said simply.
Gaudin looked at her with compassion in his dark eyes, but Ailiss was watching the others, and they behaved just as the four had when she first called them, eleven years before. None of them shifted, exactly, but there was an air of turning half towards Calesh, waiting for him to respond. You are the king my dreams chose, she thought as she studied him. Be that king. We need you to be, if anything is to survive.
“Lady,” he said finally. He came forward a step. “Will you give me your support, in taking control of the Hand of the Lord?”
“I will,” she said. “This is your war, Calesh. You must fight it.”
“And the Margrave?”
“Rules Sarténe,” she answered. “I don’t see why that should interfere with your generalship, do you?”
He nodded, satisfied with his business but not pleased by it. That was as it should be, and he’d never been a prideful man. He hesitated and then came forward again to drop to his knees before her. “I’ve dreamed so long of what I would say if ever I saw you again, Lady, all the questions I would ask. And now there’s no time. Will you bless me before I go?”
She stood up, and put her hand slowly into his hair. “You have had my blessing, such as it is, since I first met you. This is your time. May you walk in sunlight through it, and may Heaven guide your steps. You deserve it.” She smiled at the surprised look in his eyes at that last. “You have suffered me to speak, and this shall be your consolation. Go in love.”
He rose, and taking her hands he kissed the palms. “Thank you, Lady. We’ll leave you now. You will go to the fortress at Adour, in the Aiguille?”
“I’ll go,” she said. She looked at Farajalla, standing with the others a little behind Calesh. “And you, my dear? Do you ride with your husband, or with me?”
The woman’s eyes went to Calesh, and for a moment their fingers brushed together.
“With you,” Farajalla said. “Until my husband comes for me.”
Calesh looked as though he wanted to kiss her, but something of the mood in the air must have reached him, for he squeezed her hand instead and strode away. Baruch and Raigal followed after him: neither of them had spoken a word since they entered the room, though Ailiss’s blessing had been as much for them as for Calesh alone. She thought they understood that. If not they would have knelt themselves, but these men had always stood together, since that first day. What was given to one was given to all.
Perhaps even to the one who was missing. Ailiss couldn’t see the end of that thread. Her days were drawing short now, and more was hidden from her eyes than had been, when she was young.
She turned to Gaudin, standing solemn and silent by the door, and he felt the weight of her gaze and looked up at her.
“Well, old friend?” she asked quietly. “Will you help me pack, and come with me to Adour?”
“I will come,” he answered, limpid-eyed.
“Thank you,” she said. Her throat felt tight and she pushed the feeling away: it was a weakness, and she had no time for it now. “We had some good times here, Gaudin, didn’t we?”
He nodded mutely.
“When we leave we’ll burn it,” Ailiss said. “Burn all of it, so those murdering beasts cannot walk through these rooms of ours, and make stories of what we did there.”
There was shock in Gaudin’s eyes, but Ailiss ignored it and turned towards the door. There were tears in her own. Tears, for the first time in half a lifetime, and she did not want him to see.
Book Two
Wise as Serpents