Forge of Darkness

EIGHTEEN

Calat Hustain paced through the bars of light that shot through the slats of the window’s shutters, and such was the frown on his angular features that Finarra Stone remained silent, reluctant to speak. From the main hall outside the room and from the compound through the window behind the commander, there was a seemingly endless clamour of shouting and the thump of footsteps, as if chaos had arrived like a fever among the Wardens.

‘You will not be accompanying us,’ Calat said suddenly.

‘Sir?’

‘I will take Spinnock with me, but I want you and Faror Hend to ride to Yannis Monastery.’

Finarra said nothing.

Her commander continued pacing for a few moments longer, and then he halted and turned to face her. ‘Captain, if I were a man who was plagued by night terrors, the worst nightmare I could imagine befalling the Tiste is a descent into a war of clashing religions. Faith is a personal accord between a lone soul and that in which it chooses to believe. In any other guise it is nothing more than a thin coat of sacred paint slapped over politics and the secular lust for power. We each choose with whom to have our dialogue. Who dares frame it in fear, or shackle it in invented proscriptions? Is a faith to be so weak that its only definition of strength lies in raw numbers and avowals of fidelity; in words made into laws and pronouncements, all of which need to be backed by an executioner’s sword?’

He shook his head. ‘Such a faith reveals in its violence of flesh and spirit a fundamental weakness at its core. If strength must show itself in a closed fist then it is no strength at all.’ He lifted a hand, made as if to punch the shutters of the window behind him, and then lowered it again. ‘You will deliver from me a message to Sheccanto. The Wardens defy the call to pogrom. Furthermore, if the brothers and sisters of the old orders should find need for assistance, they need only request it and we shall answer.’

Finarra blinked. ‘Sir, does that include military assistance?’

‘It does.’

‘Commander, we hear word now that the Legion has assembled against the Deniers and their ilk. Indeed, that Urusander himself has taken to the field.’

Calat Hustain resumed pacing. ‘Once you have delivered my message, captain, you are to send Faror Hend south. She is to ride to the Hust Legion, but avoid Kharkanas.’

‘And her message to Toras Redone, sir?’

‘I will give that to her myself, captain. I cannot risk you knowing the details, since once you have completed your mission at the monastery, you will ride north to intercept Lord Urusander. You will demand an audience with him.’

‘Sir, if they deem us their enemy then I may well be arrested.’

‘This is possible, captain, if all military propriety is dispensed with, and I admit I am no longer as confident in the upholding of such rules as I once was.’ He eyed her. ‘I understand the risk to you, captain.’

‘What do you wish me to ask Lord Urusander?’

His mouth twisted slightly at the honorific. ‘Ask him: what in the name of the Abyss does he want?’

‘Sir?’

‘For all his flaws,’ Calat said, ‘Urusander is not a religious man. His obsessions are secular. Has he lost control of his Legion? I begin to wonder. Thus. I will know from him his intentions.’

‘When do you wish us to leave, sir?’

‘Immediately.’

‘Sir, given the nature of my message to Mother Sheccanto, is it wise for you to relinquish your command here, even for a short time?’

‘I will know the truth of the new threat posed by the Vitr,’ he replied. ‘I will see for myself what remains of this dragon.’

She heard the faint scepticism in his tone and glanced away. ‘Sir, for what it is worth, I do not doubt a word of Sergeant Bered’s report.’

‘And the Azathanai?’

‘A sword and a woman’s armour were found beside the carcass, sir. Faror Hend has examined them and judges both well suited to the Azathanai.’

Calat Hustain sighed, and then shook his head. ‘I will see for myself. In the meantime, Ilgast Rend will command here, with the able assistance of Captain Aras.’

This detail still left Finarra with a sour taste in her mouth. Ilgast Rend was not a Warden. Even more disturbing, he had ridden in with Hunn Raal, only to become ensconced at Calat’s side for the past few weeks.

‘Find Faror Hend, captain, and send her to me. Ready your mounts.’

‘Yes sir.’

She stepped out into the main hall of the longhouse and into the midst of Wardens and servants rushing to and fro. The faint touch of panic among her comrades was disturbing, and she began to comprehend something of Calat Hustain’s unease: his evident disequilibrium. Were there Deniers among the Wardens? Fanatic worshippers of Mother Dark who would shed no tear at the slaughter of non-believers? Even here, she realized, this war could tear friend from friend, brother from sister.

Finarra saw Spinnock and Faror Hend seated at the far end of the long table dominating the hall. They were drawn close together, presumably to better hear each other through the cacophony as the rest of the table was being used by Wardens laying out the trappings of their armour for one last inspection. Finarra could see how Faror Hend had positioned herself to ensure that there would be incidental contact between her and her cousin. A spasm of resentment rushed through the captain, which she struggled to shake off.

Perhaps Calat Hustain had seen what she herself had seen. He had been explicit in telling her that he was taking Spinnock Durav with his company on their expedition to the Vitr. And he was sending Faror onward, down to the Hust Legion. But avoiding Kharkanas, where her betrothed is likely to be. A curious detail. I wonder what it means.

She made her way over to them. Was that a flash of guilt in Faror’s eyes when she looked up?

‘Sir.’

‘The commander wishes to speak with you, Faror.’

‘Very well.’ She rose, nodded cautiously to her cousin, and then made her way from the table.

Finarra pulled out the vacated chair and settled in it. ‘Spinnock, it seems you are to return to the Vitr without us.’

‘Sir?’

‘Your cousin and I are being sent elsewhere. It may be some time before we see each other again.’

The young man’s face displayed disappointment, but she saw no guile in that expression: no hint of darker regrets quickly hidden. Was he truly blind to his cousin’s unnatural attentions? ‘It would seem,’ she said, ‘that Calat Hustain no longer considers you a raw recruit, Spinnock. You are well measured by your deeds in saving my life, and it would not surprise me to hear of your promotion in rank before too long.’

His only response to that was an enigmatic smile.

Calat Hustain said, ‘It is my understanding that your betrothed rode with Sharenas Ankhadu to Kharkanas.’

Faror Hend nodded. ‘So I have been told, sir.’

‘In his zeal to discover your fate at the Vitr, Kagamandra Tulas revealed the virtues for which he is well known.’ The commander eyed her. ‘In failing to cross paths, Warden, you have missed an opportunity.’

She frowned. ‘I would not think it the last, sir.’

‘That does not help me now, however. Does it?’

It took a moment, but then she understood him. ‘Sir, my betrothed was elevated and now counts himself a noble.’

‘But he began as a captain in the Legion.’

‘Yes sir. He did.’

‘Then where, I wonder, does his loyalty lie?’

‘Perhaps, sir, Lord Ilgast Rend could better offer an opinion on that matter.’

‘You will ride with your captain to the Yannis Monastery, Warden, where she will deliver a message on my behalf. Immediately thereafter, you will part ways with her and ride to the Hust Legion encampment. While I have no doubt that Commander Toras Redone remains loyal to Mother Dark, it does not necessarily follow that she now sends her soldiers against Deniers. You will ascertain her stance and then return to me.’

‘Yes sir.’ It struck Faror, suddenly, that in Calat Hustain and his wife, Toras Redone, she saw a possible fate for her and Kagamandra Tulas. It seemed they knew little of each other and were content to keep it that way. That Calat did not know his wife’s mind on the matter of her faith, and what it might lead her to do with her legion, struck her as pathetic, and, in this instance, potentially disastrous.

‘One last thing,’ Calat Hustain said, ‘you are to bypass Kharkanas. Cross the river well downstream and avoid contact with Legion garrisons or troops.’

She thought back to her commander’s earlier words. ‘Sir, I could seek out my betrothed in the city, if only upon my return from the Hust Legion encampment.’

‘You could, but you shall not. Kharkanas is about to become a web. With an indifferent mistress at its centre, I foresee a convergence of

… males, each one eager for her embrace.’

‘Sir, your analogy invites the notion that whoever wins will end up being devoured… by Mother Dark. This seems an odd victory.’

He grunted. ‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it?’

Neither spoke for a time, until Faror Hend began to wonder if she had been dismissed.

Then Calat spoke. ‘You were displeased when the Yan Shake assumed responsibility for the Azathanai. I imagine they now regret their presumption.’

She thought back to Caplo Dreem with his airs of superiority, and Warlock Resh’s bludgeoning presence. ‘It would be pleasing to think so, sir. But then, by the Azathanai’s will, their river god was resurrected.’

‘Just so, and from this added injury to their ambitions, Warden, I wager your name has been cursed more than once.’

‘Sir, you imply a taint of cynicism to the brothers and sisters of the cult.’

‘You think me pessimistic by nature, Warden? Perhaps you are right. When Captain Finarra Stone is busy speaking with Mother Sheccanto, take the measure of the Shake. I will value your opinion on their determination.’

‘Sir, I am already of the opinion that Urusander’s Legion will regret antagonizing the Shake.’

‘If they rely upon the neutrality of the Wardens, then indeed they will.’

Shock rippled through Faror Hend and then she nodded. ‘We delivered T’riss to the Shake, sir, it is true. Rather, I did, and so I must bear some responsibility for all that has happened.’

‘Hardly. The Azathanai set out seeking an audience with Mother Dark. She would have managed it sooner or later even if unaccompanied.’

‘But would she have resurrected the river god if she had not encountered the Shake?’

He shrugged. ‘That we will never know. We deceive ourselves if we imagine that we proceed through life with any semblance of control over what is to come, and we should be thankful for the humility. For if it had been otherwise, if indeed every event in history were guided by our hands, then we have long since relinquished any claim to virtue. Every triumph we might weigh would be little more than a redressing of scales to answer our own crimes in the past.’ He gestured, as if dismissing not only his own words, but all of history and its host of sordid truths.

‘Sir, when I depart the monastery, will Spinnock Durav remain with the captain?’

‘Spinnock Durav will be riding with me to the Sea of Vitr, Warden.’

‘Oh. I see.’

He studied her. ‘Observe well the likely failure of my intercession, Faror Hend, and consider for yourself the crimes your loss of control shall force upon not just you, but many others.’

She felt herself grow cold and was unable to respond.

Calat Hustain looked away. ‘Dismissed,’ he said.

Faror Hend stepped out back into the main hall, her thoughts in turmoil. She saw her captain seated in her place at Spinnock’s side. The thought of joining them sickened her. This is Finarra’s work. She’s spun lies in Calat’s ear. Spinnock needs no mothering from you, captain, and by age alone you are a poor meet to his challenge.

Fury warred with shame in her. And now I must ride with you, obedient at your side. I am no child to be so curbed, and one day I will show you all the truth of that.

Glancing up, Finarra Stone caught Faror’s eye. The captain rose and approached.

‘Our mounts are being readied, Warden,’ she said.

‘Very good, sir. I will see to my kit.’

‘There is a pallor to your cast,’ Finarra said. ‘Are you unwell?’

Faror shook her head. ‘No sir.’

The captain ventured a faint smile. ‘I dread to think that the substance of the message you are to deliver to the Hust Legion has so stolen the life from your face.’

‘No sir, although I will admit that we seem caught upon a current-’

‘And see naught but rocks ahead, yes. We have our orders, Warden, and by these we will be guided.’

Faror nodded. ‘Sir, I must see to my kit.’

‘Do not take too long. I will meet you near the gate.’

Finarra Stone watched her Warden set off, and felt some surprise to see the woman studiously avoiding her cousin. She saw Spinnock’s gaze following Faror’s departure from the main hall, and then the young man rose, as if to set out after her. The captain moved forward.

Perhaps Calat had warned Faror away from her cousin. The woman had emerged from her meeting with a ghostly visage and had stood visibly shaken. If there was truth to this supposition, then their imminent journey together would be strained.

‘Spinnock.’

The young Warden turned. ‘Sir. It seems that my cousin is upset.’

‘Not upset,’ she replied. ‘Distracted. We are to leave at once and she must get herself ready.’

‘Ah, of course.’

‘Are you eager to return to the Vitr, Warden?’

He shrugged. ‘It did not top my list of immediate ambitions, sir. I regret no longer being under your command.’

‘We face difficult times, Warden. It may be some while before things return to normal and we can resume our routines. You will be in the care of Sergeant Bered while in the commander’s train.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You need not worry overmuch. He is a veteran of Glimmer Fate and the shores of the Vitr.’

Spinnock nodded, and then sighed. ‘I will miss you, captain.’

She felt something deep inside rise in answer to his words, and the sensation left her feeling momentarily weightless. She glanced away. ‘Let us hope Bered is better proof to your charms, Warden, than I am.’

Spinnock stepped closer. ‘Forgive me, sir. When I carried you back from the Vitr, ill as you were, well, I never tired of the embrace.’

‘Yet another reason,’ she muttered, ‘to regret my fever. Spinnock, be careful now.’

But he shook his head. ‘I know I am young. Perhaps too young in your esteem. But we-’

‘Enough of that, Warden. This is not the time.’

‘But it is all we have, Finarra.’

The figures moving past them seemed but blurs, like a host of wraiths bound to otherworldly tasks. She dared not meet Spinnock’s eyes, even though she knew that only in them could she right herself and rid her senses of the wheeling vertigo that threatened to take her. ‘It shall have to wait,’ she said. ‘Please, step back. There is proper decorum to consider.’

He did so, with a half-smile. ‘I do not regret my impulse, sir. At least now you know my feelings.’

And here I thought to seduce Faror, and find for Spinnock another woman’s arms. Confusion roiled in her and yet she felt almost drunk. ‘Be safe, Warden, and we shall one day resume this conversation.’

‘In private, I hope.’

‘That,’ she allowed, ‘would be best.’

Out in the compound, she paused, drawing deep, steadying breaths. She recalled little of that ride through the night, as Spinnock bore her back to the fort. Had he spoken to her? Cajoled her to keep her from slipping away? She had been bound to him, knotted by leather straps. She remembered the heat coming from him, and the sweat between them. He would have felt her against him, her breasts, her belly; even her arms had been drawn round his waist.

Warden Quill came up to her. ‘Sir, your mounts are saddled, equipped and waiting.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied. ‘Warden.’

‘Sir?’

‘You ride in Bered’s troop, yes? Good. I trust you have been informed that young Spinnock Durav will be with you.’

‘Indeed, sir.’

‘The commander thinks highly of him, Quill.’

The man nodded. ‘I will keep an eye on him, sir.’

‘Be not so obvious as to embarrass him.’

‘I have already known his company at the games table, sir, and would count him a friend.’

‘Oh. Of course.’

Quill smiled. ‘I will be guarding his left side, sir, with Stennis on his right.’

‘Very good. Thank you.’

She set off for the horses. Now, Spinnock, I’ll have my legs round you yet. As for you, Faror Hend, you have a husband in waiting, and too many crimes to cross to ever lie with your cousin. Even Calat sees the temptation in your eyes.

There was no guessing the paths of desire. He is young, but I will have him.

For a time.

‘I confess that I am without resolve.’

At Spinnock’s words, Faror Hend turned, to see him leaning in the doorway to her cell, his arms crossed and his eyes dancing with reflected light. She shook her head. ‘I have not seen that in you, cousin.’

‘I envisage a life where I am like a blade of grass, flattened by the faintest breath of wind.’

‘Then you will know bruises in plenty.’ She studied him. ‘What has taken you so, Spinnock?’

‘Brave words from me, while I stood far too close to our captain.’

She looked away sharply, returning to readying her kit bag. ‘There is a reason Finarra Stone is yet to find a husband.’

‘I see something wayward in her eyes, it’s true.’

She snorted. ‘She longs for no husband, cousin. She’d rather a wife.’ She looked back suddenly. ‘Did you not know that?’

The surprise on his face shifted into a smile. ‘Now there’s a challenge.’

Faror Hend straightened, moved close to him. ‘Spinnock, listen to me. She would play with you. You’re not the first man she has teased. But her lust lies in the feel of soft breasts in her hands, and yielding wetness between the legs. She shies from a stubbled kiss and hungers only for velvet lips.’

‘I shall scrape every whisker from my face, and deceive her in the dark.’

‘You deserve better than to be used.’

‘Hence the weakness of my resolve, cousin.’

‘Then yield to this.’ She grasped the back of his head and brought her mouth against his. She heard a grunt from him and then he pulled away. Faror moved close again and reached with her other hand between his legs, cupping the weight of him and feeling his heat through the silk.

Spinnock set his hands on her shoulders and firmly pushed her back. ‘No, cousin.’

‘Did you think me deaf to your invitations, Spinnock?’

He shook his head. ‘I thought we but played. A game with no risk of resolution. Faror, I am sorry, but this cannot be.’

She backed away and then swung round to fix the straps of her pack. Without facing him, she said, ‘Resolution is the least risk to such games, Spinnock, when in every move we fence in strategies of desire.’

‘Beloved cousin, do not misunderstand me. If we were not cousins, I would have earned revile from every Tiste for stealing you from your betrothed, for making of your body a thing well used.’

She struggled to slow her breathing, cursing herself for the pounding of her heart in her chest. Every ache felt delicious and yet tortured. She could still feel his lips against her own, and her left palm remained damp with his sweat.

‘What you did just now-’

‘Every game turns serious, Spinnock, eventually. Now let’s see your hasty retreat, cousin, and know the proof of unexpected resolve.’

‘My retreat, cousin, is the very opposite. Our captain awaits you, after all.’

She twisted round to glare at him. ‘In games of love, cousin, we all play to wound.’

‘That is a bitter vision, Faror.’

‘Is it? What greater courage than love’s confession? When the duelling is done unto exhaustion, one or the other must drop their guard, and then smile at the spilling of their own blood. Next comes the question: will the one doing the wounding now step close to set tongue to that wound?’

‘No, he will turn the blade upon himself, cousin, and so conjoin this crimson flow.’

‘And so the game ends with the promise of scars.’ She shook her head. ‘Play on, then, cousin, and think not of me.’

He edged out from the doorway, his expression filled with sorrow and dismay. ‘Fare you well in your journey, cousin.’

‘And you.’

When he was gone she shut the door, and then sat down heavily on her cot. The blood runs clear until every drop becomes a tear. The game is lost the moment you forget that it was ever a game. To hear the song of love is to be deafened by a chorus of fools! Wiping at her wet cheeks, she resumed her preparations.

‘One thing at a time,’ Calat Hustain said. ‘I need you here.’

Ilgast Rend grunted, and then sat down heavily in the chair behind the map table. ‘I cannot understand Urusander. He should have reined in Hunn Raal — Abyss take me, he should have had the hide whipped from the dog long ago.’

‘Hunn Raal’s machinations would have stumbled, and then stalled,’ Calat said as he paced. ‘Without that damned Azathanai’s interference at Yannis, this contest would have remained purely political, and so open to compromise. This war of faiths is like a weapon thrust into his hand.’

Ilgast shook his head. ‘Hunn Raal is of the Issgin line. This is all down to his family’s fall from glory. He yearns to be a noble and sees himself as his bloodline’s champion. He will ride the wave of every concession the Legion wins, and if the foam should turn red, so be it.’

Calat nodded. ‘His ambitions are well known, Lord.’

‘I will keep the Wardens in a state of readiness, commander. Of course I but hold them so until your return. Then, with great relief, I will yield to you and quit this.’ He looked up. ‘Friend, do you think me irresponsible?’

‘I cannot say, Lord. I continue to believe that the greatest threat to Kurald Galain is the Vitr. If you can glean its truths from among the Jaghut, or even the Azathanai, then we may all bless your devotion a century from now.’

Ilgast snorted. ‘A century? Then I will gird myself to weather a hundred years’ worth of curses until that time. Preferable, I think, to this wayward tugging I now suffer.’

‘In announcing your neutrality, Lord, you perhaps offer a way out for many, highborn and common alike. I cannot imagine that every old captain of Urusander’s Legion is thrilled with this pogrom. Those falling to their swords might be Deniers, but they remain Tiste. Lord, I am appalled by this turn of events.’

Ilgast considered Calat’s words. He rubbed at his face. ‘There is a madness, commander, that runs like a poison stream through us. It flows beneath the bedrock of our much vaunted propriety. The stone bears pressure until it cracks. Civility drowns in that vile flood, and the disingenuous thrive in the discord that follows.’ He leaned back, making the chair creak with his weight. ‘In my bleakest moments, I wish for the coming of a god, a thing righteous yet cool of regard. A god to reach down among us and pluck forth our most venal, self-serving kin. And then, in a realm that burns like acid through every deceit, every cynical lie, make for them all an unwelcome but most deserving home.’ He closed his eyes. ‘I long for a power to wash away the worst that is in us, Calat.’ After a long moment he opened his eyes again, to see the commander motionless, studying him. Ilgast managed a wry smile. ‘Would I fear such power in Mother Dark’s hands?’

‘Voice no confessions to me, Lord. I have doubts enough of my own.’

‘I wonder, where are our formidable wits, commander, that we should so easily be driven into this wash of treachery by thick-skulled, obvious fools? By the malign of intent and the heartless of spirit?’

‘You begin to question your neutrality, Lord?’

‘I suspect its evasiveness. Still, I see before me but one path not soaked in blood. I shall travel west, into the lands of the Jaghut and the Azathanai.’

‘And your Houseblades?’

‘They will maintain my holdings. That and nothing more. So I have ordered.’

‘Will you journey alone?’

‘I will take a handful, for the company.’

Calat nodded. ‘Lord, I shall endeavour to not linger too long at the Sea of Vitr. I see well the burden of this favour I have asked of you.’

‘If I can, commander, I will not move from this chair until your Wardens are once more safely under your wing.’

‘Trust in my officers, Lord.’

‘Indeed, and if possible, I will avoid the necessity of giving a single order.’

Calat strode to the door, gathering up his weapon belt and strapping it on. He faced Ilgast Rend. ‘This god you wish for, Lord. The very thought of it frightens me.’

‘Why so, commander?’

‘I fear that, in the name of righteousness, it would reach down and pluck us all.’ Calat Hustain departed, closing the door behind him.

Ilgast stared at that barrier of rough wood for some time.

‘In facing the unexpected,’ said Kagamandra Tulas, ‘we are revealed to ourselves. I have seen this borne out among the hunting dogs I trained. Some flee. Some growl. Some attack. But I would wager, not a single beast is truly surprised by its own actions. Yet, we cannot say the same, can we? Between our bristling hide and the muscles that might quiver underneath stretches a layer of shame, and it is upon that warp that self-regard weaves its delusions.’

The wind coming down from the north was dry and cool, carrying with it dust from the harvested fields, and chaff spun in the air like a presentiment of the snows soon to arrive. Sharenas Ankhadu contemplated her companion’s words, watching the wagons burdened with grain wending into Neret Sorr, although the village itself was almost lost amidst the tents of Urusander’s gathering Legion.

The residents of Neret Sorr would face a hard winter, she realized. Lord Urusander was confiscating the majority of the grain. There was the promise of payment and no doubt the commander would prove generous. But one could not eat coins, and with the stores of fuel wood and dried dung diminishing by the day, neither could coin feed a hearth fire.

Yet the people of the village were too cowed to complain. Over a thousand armed soldiers now lived among them, with more arriving day and night.

She set a gloved hand against her horse’s neck and waited to feel the animal’s warmth seep through. ‘You’ve not fled, friend. Nor have you growled in answer to the commander’s order, and I see no chance of you ever assaulting his position.’

‘And so I am frozen in place,’ Kagamandra confessed. ‘And still we have heard nothing from Kharkanas, yet each evening we look west and see the sun made copper by smoke. I fear for the forest, Sharenas, and all who dwell within it.’

‘I am expecting Sergeant Yeld to return to us soon,’ Sharenas said. ‘But even without the details, we can be certain that Deniers are being hunted down and butchered.’

‘Surely many have fled to the protection of the monasteries,’ Kagamandra said. ‘And this smoke but comes from homes set alight. Winter draws ever closer. Sharenas, will we see Tiste corpses frozen to the ground in the months to come? I am sickened by the thought.’

‘With luck,’ she said, ‘this absurd war will be over by then. Do we not still bow to the will of Mother Dark? Lord Urusander will march soon, and you can be sure that he will see justice set upon the murderers who act in his name. By blade’s edge, he will end the madness.’

‘And Hunn Raal?’

She had no answer to that question. The captain’s whereabouts remained unknown. Even cousin Serap could not say where Hunn Raal had gone. After a long moment, she sighed. ‘He will face Urusander or he will face the ire of the highborn. Will he take responsibility for this wretched pogrom? I rather doubt it. Besides, he is not the only captain loose in the countryside.’

‘It may well be,’ Kagamandra conceded, ‘that events have proceeded beyond his control, and that indeed the Legion has splintered, with renegade elements taking advantage of the chaos.’

‘I have decided on my place in this,’ said Sharenas. ‘And so must you, friend.’

‘No dog is so foolish as to stand in the path of a charging boar. Yet in this, the dumb brute shows more wit than me. I believe I will return to Glimmer Fate, and so bring to a close this pursuit of my betrothed.’ The smile he then offered her was, she suspected, meant to be wry; instead, it was a bitter grimace. ‘I will chase her down, if only to tell her that she need not fear me. That my zeal was ever honourable, and I will make my studied distance a gesture of respect. Though we clasp hands on the day of marriage, no other infliction will come by my touch.’

‘Kagamandra Tulas, you have learned to savour the taste of your own blood.’

His face clouded and then he looked away. His bared hands were white on the horn of the saddle.

Returning her gaze to the wagons on the road below, and feeling the chill wind loose icy serpents beneath her clothes, Sharenas shook herself and said, ‘My friend. Do look her in the eye and say the things you would say. I cannot gauge her answer beyond what I would feel if I were in her place. And what I would feel is anger and humiliation. You free her to love other men and deem this generous. But all women wish to be desired, and loved. I see your sacrifice as selfish.’

‘It is the very opposite of selfish!’

‘You would make a martyrdom of marriage. You would ask from your betrothed not her love but her pity. What will stand firm on such foundations? I see you both upon your knees, your backs to one another, each facing a door you long to pass through, and yet locked together by crimes of will and pride. She’ll not yield to your sordid invitation, since that could only serve to confirm your own sense of worthlessness — such a choice for a woman comes after years of hard weather in an unfeeling husband’s arms. The taking of lovers is a desperate search for things few would dare name. To make of this offer her wedding gift cuts to the core of her heart.’

‘But I am the one who speaks out of pity! She is young. She deserves what I once had, not this broken man old enough to be her father, who would flee his ageing years! I am too frail to carry the weight of every necessary delusion in this union!’

She shook her head. ‘Many a fine union has come from such disparity of age.’

‘It is crass and venal.’

‘You call her young and make of the word a belittlement. This hints of arrogance, Kagamandra.’

‘Without the sharing of years to bind two souls-’

‘Then share those to come. But at last we reach to the core of things. You yield your claim to your wife from a place of fear, a place deeply wounded and chary of sensation’s return. It is no sacrifice at all, but self-indulgence. Your every wound is a trophy, with suffering worn in most resplendent regalia. But you have outstayed its season, friend, and it is threadbare. If not a wife to draw these rags from you, then who? Hear me now. If you see no courage in each woman you look upon, then you are blind and, worse, you scorn the dignity of the woman you lost years ago. Go to Faror Hend. In this much at least, your instinct is true. But meet her eye and see for yourself — she will not flinch.’

When she looked across to him, she felt a sudden fear, so pale had his visage become. Remorse cut through her. ‘Oh, forgive me. I leap past all propriety. Send me on this wind with a curse and I will go without complaint. This is my flaw, and it pulls from my grasp every wisp of love. See well, sir, that my life is as forlorn as yours, and in my every word of advice I poorly hide my own bitter self.’

He said nothing for a long time, and then collected up the reins. ‘It is no wonder, then, Sharenas Ankhadu, that we are such friends. We take this hill by bold storm only to be bludgeoned half senseless by truths. The wind and the grasses mock our self-importance, and the season begins to show us a cold regard. Had I known more of you, I would have silenced every offer but yours.’

Her breath caught, and she felt heat rush through her. ‘I would strip the hide from you.’

‘And make of it a better trophy.’

‘Worn,’ she whispered as she met his eyes, ‘with pride.’

Then there was a moment, as if the sun had sliced through the heavy clouds, when the years were stolen from his gaunt face, and she saw the man a woman had once loved; a man from before the wars, from whom not every precious thing had been stolen away amidst violence and treachery. An instant later, it was gone and he broke her gaze.

‘We will not speak this way again, Sharenas Ankhadu.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I imagine not.’ But these words felt like water washing down cracks in stone.

‘I will leave in the morning. As a highborn, it is necessary for me to relinquish my rank in the Legion.’

‘It is soldiers like you and Ilgast Rend that Lord Urusander so values, Kagamandra. You stand bridging the gulf and through you he sees a path to compromise.’

‘You think he will forbid me?’

‘I do. That said, if you depart now, with the coming of darkness, then I will inform the commander tomorrow morning. If in anger he deems it prudent to pursue you, I will tell him that you have ridden to Kharkanas.’

‘Why not leave the same time as me, Sharenas?’

‘No. Too many of us cautious advisers suddenly abandoning Urusander will wound him, and the imbalance will open the breach for Hunn Raal’s backers.’

‘Urusander will not be tugged by fools.’

‘He is old, Kagamandra. Not in flesh, but in spirit. Daily we see his indecisiveness afflict him like a bout of illness, and again and again he steps out from the command tent — and that tent in itself is an affectation, and dangerous besides, since he yields his keep to that white-skinned witch — he steps outside, and looks long upon the Legion’s flag.’ She paused, and then said, ‘I cannot guess what thoughts take him in those moments, but they trouble me none the less.’

‘It seems,’ ventured Kagamandra, ‘that he values Serap’s presence.’

‘He does. She remains the least objectionable of Hunn Raal’s whores. But it is easily forgotten that she stands close to Hunn Raal, for the simple reason that she too is of the Issgin bloodline.’

Kagamandra grunted. ‘Wealth to the Legion and their estate restored? Yes, I see how those two desires are now intertwined.’

‘Many ambitions can share one root,’ she said, nodding. She reached across to him, with a hand warmed by horseflesh, and set it firm against his shoulder. ‘Give her what you dared give me this day, friend, and see how she answers.’

He nodded without meeting her eyes. ‘I will.’

Sharenas let her hand fall away. A moment later, looking out past the edge of the tent rows, she rose in her stirrups. ‘See that rider and the banner he bears? That is Sergeant Yeld. At last, we shall have word of the events at Kharkanas.’

‘I will hear of that,’ Kagamandra said.

‘Do not let ill news sway you,’ she said to him. ‘Make your loyalty your own, Kagamandra, and direct all duty to the woman you will wed.’

He sighed. ‘As you say.’

They kicked their mounts into motion, riding slow down the hillside to give time for the horses to work out any stiffness from their long stand upon the summit. The chaff rising from the stubble-filled fields swirled round them, and the dust remained high in the air, as if unwilling to settle upon the scene.

The old chairs in the Vault had the look of thrones, but only one remained intact. The other was a mass of wreckage pushed to a corner and Syntara wondered at the violence unleashed upon it. She was in the habit of seating herself in the one chair that remained, settling her head back against the deerskin hide. The walls were crowded with scrolls and volumes and the close air in the room smelled of mould and dust. Servants had brought in more candles at her command and the light filled every space now, driving away shadows and gloom. Their yellow hue painted the bleached skin of her hands where they rested on the arms of the chair, until it seemed to her eyes that she had been transformed into a thing of gold.

Darkness was not the only purity in the world. Something burned inside her, blinding bright. It had frightened Urusander, had driven the man from his own keep, as if by her presence alone his loyalty to Mother Dark was under threat.

True enough. I am indeed a threat to Mother Dark. And to all who would kneel before her. But Hunn Raal was right: it need not be that way.

Weakness and fear had driven her from Kharkanas, and in the time since she had, on occasion, amused herself imagining a triumphant return, with light scouring the city like a purging fire. Wretched river gods would wither before her. Mother Dark would shrink back, all her secrets revealed, every flaw exposed. Darkness, after all, was a place in which to hide. But something of these desires felt old, almost rank. They were, she had begun to realize, relics of her old life in the temple.

Still… who had not known a childhood in which terrors moved in the dark? It was foolish to reject the truth of instinct. There were good reasons to fear what could not be seen, and to distrust those who chose to remain hidden.

The Azathanai had bequeathed Syntara a gift. Its power was growing inside her, like a man’s seed in the womb. She felt full of blood, heavy in the breasts and swollen between her hips. Yet no weariness took her. She found little need for sleep and her mind felt sated, immune to the countless risks surrounding her. Urusander was yet to formally offer sanctuary.

‘ I am not a high priest,’ he had said. ‘ And this is not a temple. More to the point, High Priestess, I am not Mother Dark’s enemy.’

She thought back to her flight from Kharkanas. Accompanied by a dozen of her most loyal companions, bearing with them only what they could carry, she had rushed through the night, the countryside around them suddenly strange and threatening. The comforts and pleasures of the Citadel stung with bitter recollection, and she had known fury and spite in her soul, a soul still bleeding from the wounds the Azathanai’s cruel words had delivered.

But against the hardships of their journey in the days that followed, thoughts of vengeance had proved a potent fuel, and she had felt herself growing in strength with each step she took, as the Citadel and its world diminished behind them.

Hunn Raal’s promise of an escort never materialized, and it was her sense that the drunken fool had lost control of the situation. At night, they could see the glow of fires from the wood upon their left, and by day grey smoke hung over the forest. The Deniers had been set upon.

It was no shock to her when they came within sight of Neret Sorr and the stronghold of Vatha Urusander, and looked upon the gathering of an army surrounding the settlement, the row upon row of canvas tents, the vast corrals crowded with horses, the supply wagons and hundreds of soldiers moving about. The Legion had returned, and the alacrity with which retired soldiers arrived to resume their old lives dismissed all her cherished notions of Hunn Raal’s incompetence. Her confidence stumbled then, as she watched a picket troop approach on the road.

Her followers huddled behind her, and glancing back, she saw how dishevelled and unkempt they had become. Their fine silks were stained with the dust of travel; the makeup that had once enlivened their faces was gone and what she saw now was an array of expressions drawn and frightened. During the trek she had given them little, too consumed with fear and worry over the fate awaiting her. Her companions had been, one and all, caught up in illusions of power, and now she could see how they longed for its blissful return.

But the soldiers drawing up before them bore hard visages, and the corporal commanding them gestured with one hand back up the road, and then said, ‘There’s too many whores to feed as it is. Go back to where you came from. You’ll not find a single room in Neret Sorr, and the commander has rules forbidding your trade in our camp.’

Somehow, Syntara found the strength to simply smile. ‘Refreshingly direct, corporal. It is true: we have known the pleasures of many men. I am High Priestess Syntara, and these priestesses accompanying me are under my charge. I would speak with Commander Urusander, for I have news from the Citadel.’

The young man’s eyes studied her for a long moment, and then he nodded. ‘There was a rumour, I now recall. I see the paleness of your face beneath that hood, High Priestess. Very well, we shall escort you to the keep.’

‘Thank you, corporal. As you can see, our journey was made in haste and without the necessary amenities proper to the daughters of Mother Dark.’

‘We can summon a wagon if you do not mind waiting, High Priestess.’

‘Or, corporal, you and your troop can yield some room on your saddles, if the embrace of priestesses will not discomfort you too much.’

His brows lifted slightly, but he did not smile. A moment later, he edged his mount closer, kicked one foot from the stirrup, and then offered her a hand.

Syntara remained silent on the ride to the keep. She had given considerable thought to what she would say to Urusander, but in taking the measure of these common soldiers she could see that this was a troubled army, and that in turn was a reflection of those in command, and Urusander in particular. The soldiers had answered the summons, but now awaited orders, and none knew what those orders might be. Civil war exposed the flaws in a people, and though each faction would view its cause as just, the illness revealed was endemic, and so weakened everyone.

Urusander might well have recalled his soldiers in some misguided attempt to protect them. But then, protect them from what? Hunn Raal had unleashed renegade troops into the countryside. From themselves, then. If I am right in this, then I understand the tensions I see here. This civil war could see Legion soldier hunting Legion soldier.

But even that was not the end of the troubles. There could be Deniers among them. Or at the very least, sympathizers.

And what of me? What place will I take in what is to come? Is my fate for Urusander to decide? Shall I crawl into his presence? ‘Corporal.’

The gate was directly ahead. ‘High Priestess?’

‘I would hope I have opportunity to redress my travelled state before seeing the commander.’

‘I would expect so,’ he replied, ‘as he is very busy. Do not be offended, High Priestess, if your audience with him is delayed by a day or two. In the meantime, of course you will be given attendants to see to your needs.’

‘Very good,’ she replied. A day or two? She felt her face growing hot. ‘I feel I need to emphasize again the urgency of the news I bring from the Citadel.’

‘I will be sure to convey that, High Priestess.’

As it turned out, she was given no time at all in which to cleanse herself, as the keep’s castellan, a perfunctory man named Haradegar, assumed responsibility for her at the keep’s entrance and, after attaching a score of servants to her priestesses, led her into the keep for immediate audience with Lord Urusander. She assumed no tactical subterfuge in this haste; rather, it spoke to her of the commander’s respect for her title, and if he was witness to the evidence of her plight, then perhaps she could make use of that.

Haradegar guided her to a chamber with shelves lining the walls, on which rested countless books and scrolls. One long table commanded the room, consuming most of the floor space. There were two well-made comfortable chairs, and one was in ruins.

After the castellan departed, she stood contemplating sitting down in the surviving chair. A moment later, Urusander arrived. ‘High Priestess, I have heard of what has befallen you. But still, I must ask: what are you doing here?’

Syntara would not beg. In Urusander, she saw a man under siege. She well understood the ambitions of those behind him. Men like Hunn Raal dreamed of their commander standing beside Mother Dark, as husband to the goddess. Once she and he were past the first moments of awkwardness between them on that day of her arrival, she said as much to Urusander, when they stood in this very room. ‘Lord, alone you have nothing to withstand her, and yet you must — but not as her enemy. Rather, present yourself as her one hope for peace. With my help, Lord, you can save Kurald Galain.’

He had moved past her then, only to turn and face her once more. ‘You must know her mind, High Priestess, as much as anyone can. What fate awaits Lord Draconus?’

‘Lord, she took a consort because she knows no man is her equal. Indeed, in her solitude, she seeks to protect everyone else. As it stands, any union with her will be unbalanced. This is what needs to change.’

He looked away. ‘I have the Legion.’

Syntara drew back her hood and shook her head. ‘Will you pour a husband’s love into a darkness without end, into a realm defying your touch, refusing the blessing of your eyes? Will you give your love to an unknown?’

He cursed her questions, but not for the reasons that she might have expected. ‘All this talk of marriage! Have I been consulted? Has Mother Dark? And now you speak of love?’

‘Lord, forgive me. I was led to believe… otherwise. As you say, worship is not the same as love.’

‘You have the truth of that,’ he snapped.

She had studied him then, seeing a man who had unconsciously backed to one corner of the chamber, his hands restless and reaching out as if to take up a scroll on the nearest shelf, or a book, only to draw away again. She wondered where was the hero he had once been? What reasons remained for this fanatical loyalty surrounding him? Vatha Urusander was forgetting who he was, and all that had elevated him in the eyes of others was behind him now — and he well knew it. She decided that she would have to adjust her strategy, and indeed make herself more open to this man before her. ‘Let us set aside notions of love, then, and speak of politics. You have announced the return of the Legion, Lord. The highborn cannot but see that as a belligerent act.’

‘I am told of religious uprising against Mother Dark.’

‘Do not believe the fear-mongering, Lord. The river god poses no real threat, barring how that cult clouds the way ahead.’ Seeing his frown she said, ‘I will explain. All this time, while you remained here in this keep, the highborn have been preparing against Lord Draconus. They oppose his growing power. When Mother Dark proclaimed the House of Purake as her First Children, the other nobles were much relieved. Even as they had each vied for that position, Lord Nimander and his three sons were one and all highborn and so confirmed the status of every Greater House. Indeed, it was thought that Lord Nimander would one day wed Mother Dark.’

Urusander was studying her, and she saw by his expression that he was unaware of the details she was telling him.

‘But Nimander died, and he died badly. There was even talk that Draconus was behind it. Much as I dislike the Consort, I do not share that belief. My point is this, Lord Urusander. The highborn are ready for war. Their Houseblades but await the command. For now, they cannot act against Draconus because he has done nothing overt. Though they do not know it, he refuses the throne beside Mother Dark’s — no, do not look so shocked. I was her High Priestess. She invited him and he refused her.’

‘If this was to be made known to the highborn, their fear of him-’

‘Would end?’ Impatience and disbelief had stained her tone and she dropped her gaze. ‘Forgive the interruption, Lord.’

‘Why are the highborn kept from this truth?’

She shrugged. ‘That Mother Dark keeps a lover is irritating enough. Should it become known that he defied her command, well, that amounts to blasphemy, does it not? Draconus is an arrogant man and I suspect this is at the core of the highborn’s dislike of him. He was late to the ranks of the nobility and lacks the appropriate humility.’

Urusander’s expression was incredulous. ‘For this, they would go to war?’

‘Lord,’ she said, ‘perhaps I am not as wise as Emral Lanear. Abyss knows, she would tell you as much. But I do understand this: whether political or personal, struggle is all about face. Status is longed for as a measure of others’ regard, and power itself is but a weapon, to be kept close to hand when all else fails to impress.’

He surprised her with a barked laugh. ‘And if I told you, High Priestess, that true justice stands in opposition to all that you have described…’ He shook his head. ‘If you see as clearly as this, then I suggest we elevate this discussion. I well grasp your warning — if the highborn stand prepared for war, it is no vast stretch to see them turning upon me and the Legion. This is absurd! I understand that Lord Draconus is not even in Kharkanas!’

‘He is not, Lord. But all now hear of your troops in the forest. They are killing Deniers, and, I wager, anyone else they find. Lord, many of these Deniers live in highborn holdings. Legion soldiers invade estate lands with impunity.’

Urusander looked away, and then abruptly sat in the remaining chair. ‘I have made an error,’ he said. ‘I should not have recalled the Legion.’

‘Lord, if that recall includes the renegade companies, perhaps this can be salvaged.’

He eyed her. ‘I did indeed underestimate you, High Priestess. It is I who should beg forgiveness.’

‘Withhold that sentiment, Lord. There are not two factions to this religious war. There are three.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘I have looked well upon the Legion’s banner,’ she said, ‘and see it as a sign. For all his foolishness, when Hunn Raal urged me to flee to you, Lord, well, I now believe some other force was speaking through him. You look upon me but do not question my transformation. Why?’

She saw his discomfort at her question. ‘High Priestess, I have no understanding of the ways of sorcery. The change I see I took to mark Mother Dark’s rejection of you.’

‘Nothing of what you see, Lord, was by her hand. I bear the Azathanai’s gift.’

‘And what is the nature of this gift?’

‘Lord, I wish I knew.’

‘Yet you proclaim yourself to be standing in opposition to Mother Dark.’

‘Perhaps, as the right hand opposes the left.’

‘And the river god?’

‘That god’s place in all of this remains to be determined, Lord. Best await a decree from Mother Sheccanto and Father Skelenal.’

‘It was my thought to send an emissary to them,’ Urusander said, one hand now upon the tabletop, fingers slowly drumming. He looked up at her. ‘I intend to disavow my Legion from the acts of the renegades. Indeed, I intend to outlaw them and set a bounty upon their capture.’

‘It is no wonder Hunn Raal is not here.’

‘You were the last to speak to him, High Priestess. What were his plans?’

‘His plans? In disarray, I believe. That said, he cannot but view as threatening certain rogue elements beyond the highborn and their Houseblades. It is my thought that he has travelled to the Hust Legion, seeking overtures.’

Urusander grunted. ‘Toras Redone is likely to arrest him on the spot. Even execute him.’

‘Hunn Raal’s courage is beyond question, Lord, and in his defence, he does believe that he acts in the best interest of Kurald Galain. He truly yearns to see you upon the throne beside Mother Dark’s own.’

‘I will bring him to heel, High Priestess, assuming he survives to return to me.’

There was iron in that promise. ‘Lord, I have need of a place for contemplation. This transformation in me is deeper than the skin I now wear. Vanity palls. So too secular ambition. When facing my sister High Priestess, I fear that I became her twisted reflection. There was poison in my heart, and I will not flinch from that truth.’

He rose from the chair. ‘This talk of sorcery makes me uneasy. You have my keep, High Priestess. I will go now to my command tent in the Legion camp.’

‘I understand that Lieutenant Serap is here. She will know more of Hunn Raal’s plans.’

‘She states otherwise.’

‘Do you believe her?’

His gaze narrowed. ‘I begin to wonder whom to believe, High Priestess. Advisers seem to breed like vermin around me, and the more there are the fewer I trust.’

She bowed. ‘I will remain in the keep, Lord, and not seek you out.’

Urusander’s smile was ironic, but he left without another word. It was some time before she understood, and could give words to his expression. ‘ Why did you not make that vow in Kharkanas a week past? ’ In courtesy, he had not uttered this question, but she knew now that such courtesy was more than she deserved.

Few shadows in the room, and darkness humbled and cowering wherever it could — these details whispered like blessings through her thoughts. He gave her his keep, but said nothing of sanctuary. She wondered if enemies were seeking her, hunting her. In matters of trust, she was no different from Urusander himself.

Perhaps this is what can bind the two of us.

Would that Osserc were here. She had heard that he was a fine-looking man, possessing a wealth of appetites yet purportedly weak in spirit. A useful combination, all things considered.

Syntara had begged time and place for contemplation, and this sentiment was humble in its veracity. She still struggled to abjure the influence of old hatreds and spites, but her own thoughts, when speaking with Urusander, returned to her again and again. Dark and Light… as the right hand opposes the left.

Urusander, I begin to see a way to draw those hands together, to clasp in union and so find strength in balance. And no, we need not speak of love, only necessity. Something I think you understand. We shall make you Father Light, whether you welcome the title or not.

She had promised that she would not seek him out. She could hold to that promise, for now. Three religions in conflict was an untenable situation. The river god and its followers would have to be expelled, perhaps sent beyond the borders of Kurald Galain. This could be done with little or no bloodshed. It was said that Dorssan Ryl flowed south across vast, empty lands before issuing its black waters into a distant sea. Not quite empty, perhaps, but then, the Forulkan were hardly in a position to argue at a sudden invasion of refugees. The Legion had turned half their settlements into burnt-out graveyards, and had driven the rest to the edge of that distant sea.

There were ways through the times ahead that could bring to an end the violence, and if she was seen to have taken a dominant role in averting open civil war…

Still, the promise of light remained locked within her. Did she need sacred ground? A temple of her own, blessed in the name of… of what? Light, in answer to Mother Dark? Liossan… who can deny the cleansing powers of revelation, when the very word points to something revealed, to the hidden exposed; and if we make of her mystery a host of banal truths, then Urusander can stand before her and be seen as her equal.

Cut me free, Mother Dark, and see how I take you down a notch or two. For the good of us all, of course. The good of Kurald Galain.

Back in the Citadel, there had been little time for contemplation. But now she began to see its manifold rewards. She rose from the chair and then turned to study it. Mother Dark sits upon the Throne of Night.

We shall need an answer to that.

Renarr stepped out on to the narrow balcony girdling this side of the Old Tower. She could look down on the courtyard with its scurrying figures, and beyond that to the settlement below ringed with rows of white tents.

Smoke and dust hung over Neret Sorr in thickening palls. Her home had been transformed, far beyond the details she could observe from this height. For all the crowds and canvas tents, it seemed small, paltry in its ambitions and frail in its presumptions. She remembered its streets and alleys, its crouched houses and cramped shops, and looked with a strange kind of envy upon those tiny shapes moving where she had once walked.

Modest lives marked only the succession of dreams set aside, or broken underfoot. The game of living was one of focus, an ever-narrowing horizon of what was possible and what could be achieved; but this made sharp and bright the lesser triumphs. A partner’s love, a child given to the world, an object well made by a crafter’s hands. Glories hid in the elegant fold of a new cloak, in the unscuffed and unworn display of new boots or moccasins; in a head of hair artfully arranged to complement clear features and vigorous health, or the paint that pretended to the same.

She remembered her own vanities as would someone who had grown past their toys of childhood, and just as the child who was no longer a child looked upon those toys with a sinking feeling that was new, that was ineffably sad, so too did she see what she had left behind, while before her was a future bereft of wonder.

These thoughts and notions settled in her now, too complicated for the world she had known, too fraught to encompass for the young woman she had once been. That woman had given her love to a man broad in his emotions, as quick to laughter as to tears — almost child-like in his rush from one extreme to the other, where wounds healed quickly and life could return to warm his eyes in an instant. He had fought against ridicule and had known blinding rage, and then had wept over one careless swing of his fist.

It would not have mattered. Bruises faded and cuts healed, and innocence could grow back like a scab and so seal past wounds, and if beauty was marred, then the disenchantment was temporary. But future lives had a way of vanishing before one’s eyes. Possibilities died down at the roots, and before long everything above ground, once so resplendent with promise, withered and lost colour, and then the wind came to strip it bare. The path ahead of her was a place of dead trees and dead grasses, a dead river beneath listless light, with a ghost at her side who had nothing to say.

Such were the gifts of her new place in this new world. Adopted by a guilt-ridden lord, she now found herself in a tower, lifted higher than anything she had ever known before: lifted past her dreams until they sat like forgotten toys at her feet. In her mind she saw herself walking down the stairs, along the corridors with their cold, stony breath, out through the doorway and into the dust-veiled courtyard, and then beyond the gate and continuing, step by step, into the town that she once knew. She saw the old women marking her passing and how their heads tilted close together as words were whispered. She saw the new speculation in the eyes of the men, and the curiosity of children who no longer felt able to call to her in greeting. She saw the expression of wives and mothers as they were dragged back into their own past and the girls they had once been, where everything was still possible, and come the night they might hold tighter their husbands but not for reasons of love. Instead, they would need those embraces to give comfort against the losses that now crowded their thoughts.

She saw herself walking down to the taverns, where the air was charged with laughter, and if some of it sounded strained, it was still forgivable and quickly swept past. Flushed faces would turn her way, painted eyes suddenly gauging, as she moved through the crowd, and before long a man smelling of ale would press against her, and she would cling to him, smiling at his awkward jests, seeing his desires behind his guarded expressions. Before long, he would, in her imagination, turn to the innkeeper and hire a room and old Greniz would nod with a sour gleam in his eye and hold out a greasy hand. Coins would flash in the gloom and in the moment her man moved to take her through the doorway to the back rooms a woman would brush close and say, ‘There’s a cut, jes so ya know.’ And Renarr would nod and for the briefest of moments the two women would lock gazes and pass between them the fullest understanding of this new shared world.

A world of pleasure and despair entwined, down among the dead roots. This was where her imagination took her, cold and rushing like a mountain stream, painting details she knew nothing about.

Witch Hale came out to stand beside her. ‘He is gone,’ she said.

Renarr nodded, if only to appease the old woman. But she had seen her father die some time before, when she had met his eyes and saw in them no feeling, and he had but studied her, detached, as if gathering details. And she had understood something then. This was how death came to the dying: from the inside out; and this was how the living took it: from the outside in.

She gathered about herself the new, rich clothing a guilt-ridden man had bestowed upon her, and then said, ‘I am going down to the village.’

Coming from the barracks, where she had been lounging with a half-dozen veteran sergeants before hearing the bell clang, Lieutenant Serap made her way across the compound towards the keep’s front entrance. She saw that Sergeant Yeld had returned. A crowd surrounded him, but he was holding up his hands, as if to defy their questions. Haradegar had rushed inside a few moments earlier, to sound the bell that would summon Urusander back up to the keep, and thence to the Campaign Room.

Two more riders appeared from the gate and Serap glanced over to see Sharenas Ankhadu and Kagamandra Tulas. They cantered across the courtyard, forcing a path through the milling soldiers, stablers and servants, and reined in close to Yeld, who pushed free, straightening against his weariness, and saluted Sharenas.

Serap reached them, but said nothing as she followed Yeld, Sharenas and Kagamandra into the keep. Their boots rang hollow as they marched down a corridor, the walls of which bore only the bleached impressions of the tapestries that had once lined it. The sergeant looked worn, as befitted someone who had ridden through the night.

Serap had been given to understand that Captain Sharenas had sent Yeld to Kharkanas. She had assumed that the sergeant carried orders to Hunn Raal, demanding his return. But my cousin is not in Kharkanas. What then the cause of this tension?

Castellan Haradegar, along with the High Priestess Syntara, was awaiting them in the Campaign Room. As she had done the few other times she had seen the High Priestess, Serap found herself staring at Syntara, half in fascination and half in revulsion. She forced herself to look away and concentrated instead on Sharenas. ‘Captain, did you by chance see Commander Urusander on the road up to the keep?’

‘He comes,’ she replied. ‘Sergeant Yeld, I trust your insistence that we make this a command meeting is justified by the news you bring.’

‘It is, sir.’

‘Were you able to speak with Hunn Raal?’

‘No,’ Yeld replied. ‘Sir, it is believed he has journeyed to the Hust Legion, bearing wagons burdened with gifts to the soldiers. Presumably, sir, he seeks entreaty with Commander Toras Redone, to ensure that no hostilities arise between our legions.’

‘Does he now?’ Sharenas said, eyes narrowed. She then swung to Syntara. ‘High Priestess, I wonder about the role you imagine for yourself at this meeting?’

‘Permit me, captain, to stand as a symbol of your unease.’

Sharenas scowled. ‘I doubt any of us needs one so animate, High Priestess.’

‘I regret that you seem disposed to be suspicious of me, captain.’

‘High Priestess, I doubt that ranks high among your list of regrets,’ Sharenas retorted. ‘But since you will speak of them, I would hear more.’

‘Very well. Among my foremost regrets, captain, is that I do not yet know my place in this meeting, or any other. The uniform you wear announces your role no matter what the setting. To look upon you is to understand your talents in command, in warfare, and the logistics that are necessary to maintain a company of soldiers. Now, do not shy away as does Lieutenant Serap, and look upon me. What do you see? I stand here announcing a changed world, captain. If its taste is bitter, then spit me out and proclaim the end of change for all to hear. Who can say if the world will heed you?’

Sharenas stared at the High Priestess for a long moment, and then snorted. ‘Forgive me, High Priestess. It was my understanding that you women of the temple talked only with your cunts.’

‘You have bent an ear too often to Ilgast Rend, captain. He comes from a time when swords ruled and spoke for all. We sought to oppose and indeed usurp that domination, and offered the pleasures of lovemaking instead. Is it not curious that he finds us such a threat?’

‘Perhaps I have indeed listened to Ilgast Rend too often,’ Sharenas admitted with a faint smile. Then the smile faded. ‘Alas, the age of swords has returned.’

‘This regret has ascendancy in my soul, Captain Sharenas, if you would know the list complete. But then, I see before me soldiers one and all, and so anticipate an enlivening of expressions with whatever dire news your sergeant is about to deliver.’

Yeld grunted as if Syntara’s words had delivered a blow to his chest. He coughed and said, ‘My pardon, High Priestess, but I anticipate no joy from the tale I must tell.’

They heard the thump of boots from the corridor and a moment later the door opened and Urusander strode into the room. Whatever fires Serap had seen reignited in Urusander had dimmed beneath the burden of the Legion’s rebirth. Or, perhaps more likely, it had waned beneath the fugue of confusion now afflicting the companies that had gathered in answer to his summons. He looked harried and in short temper as his flat eyes fixed on Sergeant Yeld. ‘I am waiting,’ he said.

‘Sir, I must tell you a tale of massacre.’

Urusander’s hard, angular face darkened. ‘I am sickened enough, sergeant, by the reports I have already had. This murder of Deniers must cease, even if I have to lead my entire Legion into the wood.’ He swung a glare on Serap that made her recoil. ‘These renegades will hang.’

Yeld shifted uncomfortably. ‘Sir, these victims were not Deniers. They were highborn.’

Urusander seemed to stagger. His back connected with the wall behind him. ‘Speak on,’ he whispered.

‘Sir, forgive me this dread news. The House Enes wedding procession was attacked. Lord Jaen and his daughter were slain. Hostage Cryl Durav as well. I was told that the first to find them was Enesdia’s brother, Kadaspala.’

A sound came from Urusander, but Serap could not pull her gaze from the sergeant, and she saw Yeld’s face suddenly twist. ‘Sir, in grief the artist gouged out his own eyes. It is said he is lost in madness. He curses all who seek to comfort him. He curses Mother Dark. He curses Lord Anomander for delaying too long in Kharkanas. Among the dead were bodies of Deniers, but Kadaspala accuses Legion soldiers — he — he points a finger at Captain Scara Bandaris’s company, which he met in the wood.’ Yeld abruptly stopped, and Serap saw how the poor man trembled.

No one spoke.

Then Sharenas Ankhadu whispered, ‘Scara would not do this. Commander, Kadaspala has indeed gone mad. He rages at the world.’

Kagamandra slumped into a chair and sank his face into his hands.

‘Still your thoughts,’ said Syntara in a cold, hard voice. ‘All of you, draw down hard upon the outrage and horror afflicting you. Yes, I but stumble on this new path, but I am struck. A question assails me. Lord Urusander, hear me.’

His bleak eyes fixed on her.

She took his silence as assent. ‘By what laws shall we be governed? Soldiers of your Legion demand recognition. They demand compensation for their sacrifices. They insist that the gifts of this world do not solely belong to the highborn. Well then’ — and her uncannily pale eyes now travelled across them — ‘show me this grief for the fallen peasant. For the Denier cowering under superstitious dread. A poor young girl’s father has just died in this keep. From the tower I saw a funeral procession up to the town’s cemetery only two days past. And yet. And yet. Look upon yourselves. See how you measure this latest tragedy, as a loss of greater worth. Why? Because the slain are highborn.’

‘This attack is unseemly,’ said Sharenas in a low growl. ‘You berate us for the breadth of our feeling? Who weeps more for strangers?’

‘I refute your defence, captain. If you will weep for one, then weep for all. Know that every stranger has kin, has loved ones. Every stranger was as trapped in their skin as we find ourselves. I have stood here. I have listened. I watched you all suddenly appear upon the top rung of grief’s ladder.’

‘You speak cruelly, High Priestess,’ said Sharenas, ‘and so pluck our open wounds. But I hear no offers of balm or healing in your words.’

‘By what laws shall we be governed? This question burns me, captain. Its flames rage high, engulfing my soul. Take upon yourself the burden of the righteous, but do so with humility. Weep for us all — I assure you none here will run out of tears.’

Sharenas’s hands had curled into bloodless fists at her sides. ‘To what end?’

‘Justice.’

Urusander’s head snapped up, his eyes suddenly hard and bright.

The High Priestess straightened, as if suddenly proud of the curse that bleached her skin. ‘I know of no law that proclaims the death of some to be greater cause for grief than the death of others.’

‘There is one,’ Sharenas said. ‘We gauge their deeds in life, for some. For others, we measure our distance from them, and the closer they are, the deeper we grieve. When you speak of a deluge of tears, I see not a blessed ocean, High Priestess, but a bitter sea. The laws that bind us are measured by the limits of our flesh, and the capacity of our souls. What you demand would empty us-’

‘Leaving what?’

‘The Abyss.’

‘A crowded soul, captain, is a place of shadows and gloom. Scour it clean, and nothing will remain to block the light. Hear me. I tell you, I am so afflicted. I am burned away inside. All that remains of the woman I once was is this shell you see before you, and see how even it is transformed by the Light burning in my soul.’ She stepped closer to Urusander. ‘Lord, do what needs to be done, to return Kurald Galain to peace. I will await you, and as proof of my power I will yield now this gift.’

Kagamandra Tulas rose suddenly, sending the chair toppling. Hands to his face, he staggered to the door, and then into the corridor. The sound of his feet as he fled was like that of a drunken man.

Sharenas snarled something Serap could not make out, and then rushed after her friend.

A moment later golden light spilled out from the High Priestess, filling the chamber. Blinded, Serap cried out.

She heard Syntara speak. ‘When all your grief for the dead is washed from you, what remains? Each of you, turn now from death and face life. Grieve not for the dead but for the living. For kin and stranger both. Grieve, until you are ready to come to me.

‘Come to me, and we will speak of justice.’

The light poured in, filling Serap’s flesh, her bones, setting all it touched to flame. She fell to her knees, and wept like a child.

Shuddering, Kagamandra Tulas leaned against the wall at the corridor’s end. Sharenas reached him, drew him round. He resisted, but her will would not be denied and a moment later she held him in her arms. ‘Damn that High Priestess,’ she hissed. ‘Shock weakened us and she pounced — no, I cannot guess at her ambitions. I know only to fear them. This much I have learned.’

‘Stop,’ he said. ‘There will be war now. Don’t you see that?’ He pushed her away with a hard shove that sent her stumbling. ‘I’ll not fight. This I swear! I’ll not fight!’

She stared at him from across the corridor. There were people in the main room and they had turned in alarm at this confrontation, but her eyes were for her friend and none other. ‘Kagamandra, please. The highborn will do nothing. Not yet. None of them — not even Anomander. They need to summon the Hust Legion. And the Wardens. They need to make an alliance with Sheccanto and Skelenal-’

His eyes widened. ‘What?’

‘Listen. A rival to Mother Dark was born in the room we just left.’

‘I would not listen. I stoppered my ears! I will not!’

Sharenas shook her head. ‘Not Syntara, friend. She was but a mahybe, set among us Tiste by the Azathanai. There is no hope of any of us gleaning the purpose of that, unless it was to see Kurald Galain destroyed. We have seen the beginning, but cannot know the end.’

‘There will be war!’ His shout bounced from the walls, echoed fierce into the Great Hall.

‘I am not blind, Kagamandra. But nor am I helpless, and neither are you!’

‘I will not fight!’

The door to the Campaign Room slammed open further up the corridor and both turned. A moment later, Urusander appeared.

His skin was white as alabaster, his once-grey hair shot through with threads of gold.

‘Here then,’ Sharenas said in a low voice, ‘comes her rival.’

Urusander strode past her and stood before Kagamandra Tulas, who stared at Urusander as if he had come face to face with a ghost, a singular apparition bearing with it a thousand losses exhumed, shaken clean, proffered like trophies. His back pushed harder against the wall when Urusander raised a hand, as if to touch him. A moment later the hand fell back.

‘Old friend,’ said Urusander. ‘I beg you, ride to them. Tell them that I was not behind this. Tell them that I will hunt down these murderers. Tell them the Legion is at their disposal.’

But Kagamandra shook his head. ‘I will not, sir. I go to find my betrothed. I will take her from Kurald Galain. As far away as we can ride. If need be, I will bind her with ropes, a gag about her mouth, a sack for a hood. Sir, leave me alone.’

There were tears on Urusander’s cheeks. He stepped back, his gaze dropping. ‘Forgive me,’ he whispered.

‘I will go,’ said Sharenas.

The High Priestess was approaching, and behind her in the corridor walked Serap, Yeld, and Haradegar. With their pallid visages, they made an uncanny procession. Behind them all, white light spilled and roiled like smoke, drawing closer.

‘I will go,’ Sharenas said a second time, pushing herself forward. She reached out and grasped Kagamandra’s sleeve, pulling him with her as she set out for the front door.

‘Yes,’ said Urusander behind them, ‘best to flee, my friends. I cannot stop her.’

Sharenas cursed under her breath. In this light, even justice will burn.

Dead?

Ilgast Rend sat behind the desk, frozen, like a man nailed to his chair. He stared across at the dishevelled messenger with the red-rimmed eyes. Panicked thoughts flitted through him. Send a rider to Commander Calat Hustain. Recall him. The Vitr will have to wait. We now have war.

But I cannot wait. The soldier in me cries out. Urusander is still weak. His companies are scattered across the realm. He hides in Neret Sorr and deems it a distant island in rough seas. I have the Wardens in readiness, and here I am like a hound-master holding a thousand leashes. I swore to do nothing, but that vow — foolish old man! That vow was made in a time of peace.

Highborn blood had been spilled. Innocents had been slaughtered.

Urusander, you pushed too far. But I see you in your keep, enthroned, and all the crows in your company chatter and caw until you are deafened, and the flapping wings blind you and the rush of air is sweet blessing against your face, and you think this the measure of the world.

Will we await your next move?

I think not. He struggled to control his breathing, and cleared his throat, twice, before speaking to the messenger. ‘I trust Lord Anomander has assembled his Houseblades. I trust the other Greater Houses are stirred to arms.’

‘Milord,’ said the messenger, ‘there were slain Deniers at the scene-’

Ilgast Rend snorted and rose suddenly. ‘We are to believe the rabbit showed teeth? The crassness of such deception delivers a mocking insult. No, we are not even meant to be fooled. Urusander’s Legion has struck — I saw as much in Hunn Raal’s eyes, when in argument he bludgeoned with threat and indignation in equal measure. He invites confusion, but does so with contempt.’

‘Your orders to me, milord?’

‘Rest, and then take three horses and ride to Calat Hustain in the Glimmer Fate.’

‘Best I not rest, milord,’ said the young man.

‘You are exhausted.’

‘This news is urgent. Perhaps another rider in my stead?’

‘Rest. I would not have this tale become blurred beneath too many layers of varnish. Calat will hear from you what I have heard. But add this: I lead the Wardens to Neret Sorr. I intend to attack Lord Urusander while his forces remain scattered. I intend to cut out the heart of this rebellion.’

The man’s face was grey, but he saluted.

‘Send in my captains,’ Ilgast Rend said to the man as he made to depart.

‘At once, milord.’

Ilgast Rend sat once more. He settled his hands upon the flat, worn surface of the desk. The soldier in me sees clearly. He expects us to wallow in our grief, to stand unmoving in our shock. This was calculated to make us reel in disbelief.

He began to suspect the complicity of the Shake — Skelenal and Sheccanto could not be pleased at the resurrection of their long-dead river god. How many Deniers even recognized the religious authority of the monasteries?

They have done nothing to prevent the slaughter of the Deniers, have they?

The tramp of boots approached along the corridor outside the room. Ilgast Rend drew a deep breath. He folded his hands together on the desktop. To still their trembling.

With a third of their journey to Yan Monastery ahead of them, Finarra Stone and Faror Hend came upon the first mass of refugees. Their state shocked Faror, and she followed her captain when Finarra led her horse and second mount off the track. They reined in to watch the hundred or so broken figures shamble past.

‘Where are they going, sir?’

‘East, as you can well see.’

‘There is nothing out there,’ Faror objected. ‘Except for this season’s headquarters, and that is but a modest fort of bound grasses and salvaged wood.’

‘Just so,’ Finarra said. ‘Ilgast Rend is about to face a nightmare in logistics.’

Disbelieving, Faror Hend shook her head. ‘Sir, we do not have enough food. Or shelter. And the winter on the Glimmer Fate-’

‘I am aware of all of that, Warden.’

‘Yes sir. Your pardon.’

‘Deniers, one presumes,’ said Finarra, studying the wretched men and women. ‘But few of them old, few of them children, and no newborn. There is something here, Warden, that is not right. Select one — that thin man who’s twice looked at us — and bring him here. I will have the truth from him.’

‘Yes sir.’ Faror Hend dismounted and made her way to the bedraggled man her captain had singled out. He saw her coming and seemed to sag. When she gestured, he pulled away from the others and limped over on bandaged feet.

‘Do not fear us,’ Faror Hend said to him. ‘We are Wardens and would hear what news you have to tell.’

The man squinted at her, and then shrugged.

Together they re-joined Finarra Stone.

The captain wasted little time. ‘You are east of the monasteries, sir. What refuge do you people seek?’

‘They sent us away,’ said the man.

‘Who?’

‘The Shake. But first, they took our children. That was the bargain they offered. Food for us, and the promise that our young ones would be safe with them.’

‘And the elderly?’

The man shook his head, and then smiled as if at a joke. ‘Our mothers and fathers were of the wood and the river. They chose to remain. Now they are all dead.’

‘The Wardens cannot keep you,’ Finarra Stone said to him.

He shrugged again.

‘They can, perhaps, protect you from bandits and… other enemies. But against starvation and the cold of winter, they cannot save you.’

‘We have nowhere else to go.’

‘Are there many more of you on this road?’

The man nodded, shifting weight from one bloodied foot to the other.

‘You may go, sir,’ said Finarra Stone.

They watched him hobble his way back to the ragged column. The breath hissed from the captain. ‘They took the children.’

‘Sir,’ said Faror Hend. ‘You carry word to Sheccanto and Skelenal that the Wardens are pledged to them. But if Calat Hustain knew of this — that the Mother and Father of the cult were turning away their flock, and making of children bitter coin…’

‘We will deliver our message,’ Finarra said, gathering up the reins. Then she paused and looked across to Faror. ‘Forgive me, Warden, I have made of this journey a tense one, unpleasant. The waters are muddy between us, and I regret that.’

‘As do I, sir.’

‘But such things diminish before the plight of those we see here on this road.’

‘Yes sir.’

Finarra hesitated, and then said, ‘When you are done with the Hust Legion, Faror Hend, choose a place in which to wait.’

‘Sir?’

‘A place. Tell me of your choice before we part, and I will see to it that word will be sent to… to whomever you wish to know of it.’

Faror Hend held her captain’s gaze. ‘Sir, I will not desert the Wardens.’

‘Name a place, and tell me by whom you will have it known.’

‘Sir, if word must reach someone, it must be my betrothed. But I say again, I will not desert the Wardens.’

Finarra nodded. ‘I understand. Nevertheless, think of a place-’

‘A refuge.’

‘In the season to come, Faror Hend, love will need such refuges.’

Faror studied her captain for a time, and then nodded. ‘I will give it some thought, sir.’

‘Very good. Now, we shall have to ride overland — I expect this road to be impassable at least as far as Yannis Monastery.’

‘Could you have made such a bargain, sir?’

Finarra shot her a look. ‘I have never birthed a child, Warden, so I cannot say.’ Then she shook her head. ‘If they see no hope ahead, and yet are offered salvation for their children… well, what mother and what father would not sacrifice their own lives to save those of their children?’

‘The Shake well understood that, I think,’ Faror said. ‘Still. When I came upon one of their troops, in the wreckage of a bandit camp, it was said in passing that they had made a similar offer, only to have the mothers slit the throats of their own get.’

Finarra blinked. ‘That seems a selfish act.’

‘Perhaps, sir, some hold freedom higher than life itself.’

‘Well enough if that life is your own. I doubt a single child welcomed the blade’s kiss.’

Faror Hend fell silent, unable to argue against her captain’s words. But the recollection haunted her. They rode on for a time, slowly as the ground was uneven and stony. Then she said, ‘Sir, for nights afterwards, I dreamed of mothers and fathers killing their own children. But no bargains had been offered them, and no threat drew close to force their hands.’

‘A disturbing dream, Warden, if there was no cause to their deeds.’

‘But there was, sir, of sorts. With each child slain, I saw the slayer’s wealth grow, in coin stacks, in gems and silks, and slaves at their feet. I saw them grow fat, but through windows there was the flicker of flames, drawing ever nearer.’

‘Let us bend to our task here, Warden, and speak no more of ill dreams.’

When Finarra Stone pushed her mount ahead, into a pace verging on reckless, Faror Hend followed. The day’s light was fading, and upon the track to their left, the stream of figures lost all colour, gave up no light, and soon were swallowed in the gloom.