The Grave thief

CHAPTER 2

The corridor leading to her private study was draughty and dark, illuminated only by the lamp she'd brought with her. Queen Oter-ness felt like a thief, creeping through her own palace under cover of night while sensible folk slept. It was the very early hours, not a time she was used to seeing, but ever since she had conceived, true sleep had eluded her.

And now I jump at shadows, she thought wearily, and I fear to close my eyes no matter how many guards I have. I have become as paranoid as my husband.

She pulled her shawl tighter and paused at the corner of the corridor where she could see in both directions. She could hear only the rain battering the shutters and spattering down the stonework onto a balcony somewhere above. The White Palace of Narkang was cold now; at last autumn had turned to winter and the chill night air coming in from the ocean made her glad of the thick shawl King Emin had given her years before.

Oterness forced a smile; the shawl was so typical of the man. It was long enough to wrap around and keep her warm, and it bore a beautiful pattern — she'd not seen the style before, but according to Emin it was typical of Aroth, from where her mother's family had originated two or three centuries ago. What made it such a typically Emin gift was not the moonstones and topazes that decorated the lilies and humming-birds, but the fact that the design continued on the hidden knife that nudged her distended belly whenever she adjusted the shawl.

Still, it was a comforting touch, there in case someone tried to catch her when she was most vulnerable. Oterness shivered at the thought as her hand closed protectively over her belly, over the scars there. In case it happened again.

Her value to Emin had at first been only in her ability to influence the nation's high society, and that she had done with grace for decades. She smiled grimly to herself. The twittering matrons of Narkang's elite would be astonished at the result of any man assaulting their aristocratic queen now, since Ilumene's betrayal, for the name carved into her belly had given Oterness a terrible focus and she had learned quickly from the best of the Brotherhood.

Her stomach gave another lurch and banished all thoughts of combat, reminding her why she was up and about in the middle of the night. Every night a stomach ache assailed her as soon as she lay down to sleep, and once that had settled down, then her bladder started to complain. She was trying not to let it drive her to distraction, remembering that the morning sickness she thought would never end was now just a faint memory. A stomach ache she could handle — she had herbs to calm it, and the solitude of her nightly walk was becoming something she quite enjoyed. Jorinn, her maid, had opened her eyes and waited for a request for aid as Oterness struggled out of bed, then snuggled back down in her cot when none had come.

Dear Qods, I never expected to be waddling like this, Oterness thought with a wry smile. I feel like a hippo. And when I'm not lurching about like a drunken sailor, I'm sweating up a storm, just like Emin's uncle — and Oh, Kitar's gnashing teeth! Where is all this wind coming from? Now that I could out-fart any soldier of the Kingsguard it's a bit unfair I don't find it as amusing as they do. Not that a queen ever farts, of course…

She was just a few yards from the door of her study when she heard a distant sound over the unremitting rain: the crash of the main gate and the thunder of hooves. A low tolling punctuated the night: the sound of returning royalty.

'Well, I'm here, so that must be my dear husband at last,' she murmured, and manoeuvred herself around to start back towards her bedchamber. Emin would come to check on her as soon as he was off his horse. So much for trying to get back to sleep tonight.

As she made her way back towards the bed Oterness saw Jorinn looking up at her, cat-like, from her cot. She had made it very clear that she wasn't going to be fussed over, and Jorinn would not have expected her mistress back for half an hour at least.

'Come on, my girl, up and about,' the queen said briskly. 'Our lord and master returns. Breathe some life back into that fire and light a lamp, then alert the kitchen staff — it sounds like the whole of the Brotherhood has just arrived back.'

Jorinn hopped up and slipped her dress on over her sleeping clothes, tying her hair back with a green ribbon as she advanced on the fireplace. With practised deftness she brought the embers back to life with a small pair of brass bellows and used a twig from the kindling pile to light the lamp at the foot of the spiral stair that led up to the king's tiny private study. As she hurried towards the door she remembered herself just in time, skidded to a halt and offered Queen Oterness a brisk curtsey. The queen waved her away with a smile and eased herself into an armchair by the fire, pulling a blanket over her legs.

Jorinn jerked open the door and gave a squawk of surprise as the king stormed in. The handmaid only just managed to avoid being knocked over. Taking one look at his face, she didn't bother waiting to be dismissed but fled, quickly pulling the door shut behind her.

Oterness tried to make out her husband's expression, but his hat was still pulled low over his face to keep off the rain. Water dripped from him as he stopped abruptly in the centre of the room. He hadn't said a word.

'Gods of the dawnlight!' Oterness cried, 'Emin, what has hap-pened?'

The king hardly seemed aware of Oterness. His eyes were focused on the floor at her feet, as if he was unable to meet hers. She threw off her blanket, panicked by his behaviour, and forced herself upright. Emin flinched and shied away when Oterness reached out to take his hand. When she wrapped her fingers about his, she realised he was bone-cold, and trembling.

'I have… I have-' The king's words were awkward and jagged, quite unlike his usual mode of speech, and the effort of saying those four words appeared to have exhausted him.

'Emin, come and sit by the fire,' Oterness said, pulling him towards the armchair. 'You're chilled to the marrow.'

Emin didn't sit, but clasped her fingers tightly within his own and stared into the flames for a few moments, until a sudden shiver ran through his body.

'You're frightening me now, whatever has happened? There have been some awful rumours flying round the city-'

'They're true,' he interjected sharply, 'they're all true.' With a sigh Emin sank down to his knees before the fire, letting his wife's hand slip from his grasp.

'All of them?' Oterness gasped. 'Scree is gone? The Gods destroyed the entire city in punishment? Opess Antern told me every priest in Narkang has been acting strangely, and even the moderates are preaching that a time of punishment has come.'

'The Gods took no hand in the fall of Scree,' Emin whispered in a soft, tentative voice, as though he could hardly believe what he was saying. 'They came too late to help anyone; too late to punish anyone — but that didn't stop their vengeance.'

He took a deep breath, as if summoning his strength to speak of the terrible events. 'The day after the firestorm that destroyed Scree, we spent the day recovering from the fighting and tending to the wounded. The people had gone mad; almost the whole population had become blood-crazed monsters. It was like Thistledell all over again — that village where the survivors destroyed all trace of the village's existence? — but on a city-wide scale.'

He ignored her gasp of horror and went on. 'The next day, Lord Isak led his troops to a new encampment north of the city, abandoning his Devoted allies of the previous night. They had defended the Temple District from the mobs; a foolish last stand, and they only survived when he summoned the Gods to their aid. Somehow that boy invoked the Reapers, and their cruel claws were indiscriminate in their slaughter.

'Afterwards, Isak refused even to meet envoys from the surviving Devoted troops. They had lost all their high-ranking officers; the man in charge, Ortof-Greyl, I think he was called, was a major, their only surviving commander. He wasn't up to the task — he was like a boy alone on his father's boat and lost at sea. I think he kept expecting the Farlan to send him orders, but they never came. We sat there for a whole day, in rain that didn't stop until well into the night, doing nothing, saying nothing. No one bothered to set watches, or pray, or even to cook.'

Emin raised his hand to his face and pressed his long fingers to his temple, as though trying to force out whatever was in his memory. Oterness lowered herself gingerly to kneel down beside him and pulled his hands away, holding them in her own.

'Go on,' she said gently, knowing he had to finish the story.

'The following dawn I was awakened by a headache pounding away at my skull, as if Coran himself had taken his mace to it. The major felt it as well; he and the lower-ranking Devoted officers were all affected. The healers were all occupied with the badly injured, and my mages were insensate after their efforts to get us out of the city. It hurt as badly as any wound I've ever had — but it was only when one of the Devoted chaplains had something burst in his brain that we realised-'

'What was is?' Oterness breathed in horror.

'Apoplexy,' Emin said, clutching his head again, 'a rage beyond anything I'd ever felt before, a hatred filling me up and consuming me.' He looked up, a pleading in his eyes that his wife had never before seen in two decades of marriage. 'It built up throughout the day, and- Oh Gods!' He stopped for a moment, and then continued, the words bitter in his mouth, 'My men didn't stop me. They couldn't stop me.'

'Stop you doing what?'

'The refugees,' he whispered, 'there were thousands who'd not been affected by the madness, camped on the other side of the city. They had only a handful of city militiamen to protect them. Devoted officers are all ordained priests, it's a requirement of their Order, and — fool that I am — I am too. We felt the rage of the Gods running through our veins and we couldn't control it. We didn't even hesitate.'

'Oh Emin, what did you do?' Oterness couldn't hide the horror in her voice even as she drew her husband closer and he sank, sobbing, into her arms.

'We killed them! We killed them all. We felt the Gods walk beside us, the Reapers and more besides, all burning with anger I cannot begin to describe. The refugees were innocents; the militiamen just frightened fools, decent men who would not abandon the defenceless to Fate's cruelties. We left none alive. I can still hear the screams — every night I hear them, and I smell their blood upon me.

'We left the dead for the scavengers and just walked away. I… I don't remember much of the following days. The land around Scree was as dead as the city. We watched the smoke rising from the last of the fires as we walked to the Temple of Death where Lord Isak had made his stand, but the stink drove us away. The whole Temple Plaza was full of corpses, most as unarmed and pathetic as those we'd killed the day before. And, Gods help me, I prayed with the Devoted officers amidst the carnage, and I felt holy — vindicated, even. I didn't see the horror of what had been done; only satisfaction that the first step had been taken.'

'First step?' she asked, trying to hide her fear.

'The first step towards a purer Land.' There was pain in his voice now, and he hugged his royal bride tighter, like a frightened child. 'All these years I've fought the fanatics, and now I find myself the worst among them.'

'That's not true,' Oterness insisted, 'you are not the same as them; you're no coward who interprets holy words according to his own prejudice; who twists the scriptures to use them as tools they were never intended to be. The king of this nation is not such a man. The father of my child is not such a man.'

'My child,' Emin gasped, a flicker of life returning to his eyes as he struggled to straighten himself up. 'How is our child? Are you both well?'

Oterness hugged him. 'We're both well, Emin, we're strong and healthy.'

He stroked a reverential hand over her belly, his eyes widening in wonder as he realised how large she'd grown. 'Oh my child, what is this new Land you will be born into?' he asked, his voice shaking.

'A Land yet to be determined,' Oterness answered gently, 'a Land that you have fought twenty years to forge, Emin, and one you cannot give up on now. I know you, better than those who work in your shadow, even Morghien. You've worked for years to contain these fanatics, and these new reports of priests demanding greater measures are just an escalation of that age-old problem. Your agents are still at work; your networks remain in place. Only yesterday Count Antern brought a letter from one of your spies, sealed with green wax.'

'Green wax?' He sat up a bit straighter. Usual matters of state were sealed with red wax, matters of national security used white, and he encouraged his queen to read both, even in his absence — there might have been other women with lineage equal to that of the former Lady Oterness Bekashay, but her intellect was far beyond that of any of the other potential wives, and her help in governing his kingdom remained invaluable. But the green wax was different; it denoted messages concerned with his war with Azaer, the shadow, and that matter he was determined to spare her.

'It's up on your desk,' said Oterness with a nod toward the spiral stair behind him. The pulpit-like mezzanine was shrouded in shadow, for Jorinn knew not to set foot on the stair, let alone go up, even to light the lamp on the king's desk.

Emin helped his wife into her chair before going to retrieve the letter, which was folded up so small that it could be concealed in the palm of a hand. He opened it, and read the message inside, his eyes darting towards Oterness as he finished. Without speaking he went to the bell-pull by the fire and gave it a sharp tug to summon Coran, his white-eye bodyguard.

'Can't it wait? You need to eat and rest, give yourself an hour at least,' Oterness said, concerned, though she knew he would ignore both his own needs and the hurt he was feeling and attend instead to the demands of his position.

But will you never let it out? Your rage at Ilumene's betrayal was buried deep, but it's still there — and now? You're asking too much of yourself, my Emin, far more than any man should.

'I will rest soon,' the king replied at last, gripping the back of her chair and resting his hands on her shoulders. Coran stormed in without knocking as usual, his expression blank.

'Give this letter to Anversis Chals; tell him to draft a plan for Midsummer's Day.'

'Anversis? Your uncle?' Oterness interjected with a puzzled look. '1 thought he was no part of your war — doesn't he spend his days researching migration patterns?'

Emin smiled. 'True enough.'

'Surely you've not found a use for his obsessions? The man is so indiscreet — you can't possibly trust him with your secrets!'

'Also true,' the king sighed, 'but he has applied his theories to the movements of Harlequins and this letter is the first sign of something we've feared since Thistledell.'

'We?'

'Morghien and I. You remember when I first met him?'

Oterness nodded warily. 'Something about a ghost in the library your father had sponsored, and Morghien saving you from it.'

Emin scowled. 'It was no ghost, it was Azaer. The shadow was unable to resist the lure of a library open to the whole population, all that knowledge, available to everyone, and it started to rewrite some of the books, changing our history. At the end of that week I had declared war against an intangible immortal, and I had a sister to bury. There is one group of people better equipped than any other to edit history, and Rojak showed us at Thistledell the power a minstrel can wield.' He raised the letter before handing it to Coran. 'This is a report from Helrect: a Harlequin passing through there in late summer made a mistake when telling a story!'

'A mistake?' Oterness said, surprised. 'But Harlequins have perfect memories, don't they? That's the whole point.' She ignored Coran as he offered the pair a perfunctory bow and hurried out.

'Exactly. And now we need to pay great attention, to see whether any other instances crop up.'

The queen froze. 'You said "draft a plan for midsummer". What sort of plan, exactly?'

Emin crouched down at her side and put a protective hand on her swollen belly. 'If they have become the servants of Azaer, even unwittingly, the damage they could cause could be incalculable. In Scree, Azaer's disciples turned the citizens against the Gods — what if that happens across the whole Land? We have had so few opportunities to derail the shadow's cause, and I must not flinch now.'

'You would kill them all?'

'It seems,' said Emin slowly, 'that there is nothing I will not do.' He bowed his head, a man defeated by his own deeds.

'Fate's pity, did Scree have such an effect on everyone? Did no good come of it at all?'

The king laughed coldly. 'No good?' he echoed, then the hardness faded from his face and was replaced with a look of profound sadness. 'Doranei, that poor boy Doranei: he fell in love.'