‘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 cha
mber. 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 …’