The ragged man

CHAPTER 15

It was not yet midday when Count Vesna reached the Tirah-Tebran border, and already he'd had enough. Advance warning of what was waiting there failed to lessen his disgust when he saw the banners in the distance – banners that had no place in this suzerainty. In contrast, the ruby shard upon his cheek tingled at the prospect of violence.

At his side General Lahk observed them impassively, his only sign of disapproval the ordering of his personal standard be carried by the advance scouts, alongside the red banners of mourning. The general was also a marshal of Tebran, and it was into his small domain they were riding. Lahk's obedience to tradition was absolute, but Vesna doubted Suzerain Temal or Scion Ranah would care about the small rebuke, if they even noticed it.

They had spent the previous night at the manor of Suzerain Tebran, once one of Lord Bahl's fiercest supporters; renowned for his strength, but now a broken man, drinking himself to death. His parchment-pale skin hung loose on his body, and when Vesna had broken the news of his scion's death in battle, he hadn't been sure if the suzerain had even heard him. Muttered apologies were all Tebran had given, and it had been left to his daughter, Anatay, to tell them why through her own grief.

'He was frightened for me, frightened for us all. There was only one of his hurscals here; the rest were with you, my Lord. He had to grant them leave to stay, to march under arms in the suzerainty.'

Vesna scowled and felt his armoured fist tighten around the reins. Threatening the weak to claim the protection of the law? It made the God in him bay for blood. Each suzerainty was a self-contained domain, subject only to the Lord of the Farlan – to ride battle-ready in another's suzerainty without permission was tantamount to a declaration of war, but with his troops not yet returned from the Circle City, Suzerain Tebran had nothing to back up his authority.

Technically they were within the law, but it was a gross flouting of custom, and at any other time Vesna would have sorted it out at the point of his sword. Now, however, he had to ignore the breach, the only way to avoid bloodshed on his return to Tirah. The heir to the Ranah suzerainty was a hot-headed thug who'd draw at the first provocation and whether a battle or a duel, it would only make a bad situation worse.

'Suzerain Torl?' he called, turning in the saddle to catch the attention of the grey-haired suzerain riding a little way behind him.

'My Lord,' Torl acknowledged, as formal in addressing Vesna as the rest of his fellow Brethren of the Sacred Teachings, despite their past years of close friendship.

Isak, Vesna thought sadly, was this how your life was? Always set apart, even from friends? Never allowed to be just part of the crowd? He shook the thought away. Time for that later.

'Do you know Suzerain Temal? I've met Ranah several times and he doesn't have the brains to get on his horse the right way round first try.'

'Yes, my Lord, well enough. Temal's got precious little affection for his subjects, but I'd never thought the man disloyal – or religious, for that matter.'

'So we have a whole new faction?' Vesna muttered. 'Gods, it's a wonder we ever got around to building a bloody nation here.'

Torl gave a noncommittal shrug. The ageing warrior had never been one for ceremony and was dressed like any cavalryman, only the badge with his Ice Cobra crest indicating he was a nobleman.

A red cape of mourning hung over Vesna's divine-touched left arm, hiding it from onlookers, but the rest of his clothes followed tradition. His oiled hair was tied down one side of his neck to cover the blue tattoos of knighthood there.

'General Lahk? How do you want to play this?'

Lahk looked back at the divisions of Palace Guard following them before replying, 'We cannot be sure of their intentions, and until proved otherwise we must assume they are allies. They have broken no law.'

'I suppose so,' Vesna said reluctantly. 'Riding on through would be insulting to their stations, however strongly Lord Fernal ordered us to return without delay.'

'They're not here to fight – no Farlan suzerain takes on the Ghosts, however mauled we might be.'

Vesna looked around. The Tirah Highway passed through mainly forested ground, but there were villages and towns around and clearings and fields dotted the landscape. Here there were sufficient trees to obscure his view, and space for a few legions of troops to wait for the order. The mountain-lines of the Spiderweb range stopped at Tebran's outer border, but ridges of high hilly ground remained and anyone advancing towards Tirah would continue to be at the disadvantage right up to the city walls.

'They might if they have reinforcements nearby – our scouts and scryers could have missed an ambush easily enough.'

'Of the nearby suzerains the only one whose loyalty was in question was Suzerain Selsetin, and he died in battle at the Byoran Fens. There is no man of Duke Certinse's ilk here,' Torl pointed out. 'What would be their reason for such a risky venture, my Lord?'

Vesna shook his head. 'I don't know – and that's what has me worried. The past six months has shown us that the usual rules of the great game need not apply. I'm inclined to see hostility in any move I do not understand.'

'Sir Cerse,' Lahk called, prompting the colonel of the Palace Guard to urge his horse up to Lahk's.

Vesna watched him approach with a sense of sadness. Sir Cerse had been an eager young soldier when they first met not long ago – a political appointment, but keen to earn the loyalty of his men. Now there was a grim set to his jaw and a bandage covering one ruined eye. The colonel of the Ghosts had earned the respect of his men, but Vesna recognised all too easily a soldier who'd lost something of himself on the way.

'Sir Cerse, call a halt and ensure the men are ready for whatever might happen. We'll take two squads as escort and proceed to greet our peers.'

'Are you sure?' Vesna asked once Sir Cerse had returned to issue the order. 'Won't that just encourage them to act rashly?'

'"If your enemy intends to act, encourage him to do so rashly",' Lahk quoted in response. 'My authority ends with the military side of matters. Suzerain Torl, Count Vesna; I suggest you discuss the politics with Ranah and Temal, it is not my domain. If they do indeed intend us harm, let that come about before they discover Count Vesna's new allegiance.'

'I take your point,' Vesna admitted. He sighed and touched his black-iron fingers to the sword on his hip. 'It will be easily done, but let's hope it won't come to that.'

Riding ahead with a battle-scarred squad of Ghosts on each side, the three veterans did not speak until they passed through the advance companies of troops. They found themselves at an inn where Suzerain Temal and Scion Ranah were waiting. It was a big place, a three-storey stone building overlooking the single bridge across a tributary of the River Farsen, which cut through the heart of Tirah.

Soldiers were all around, and Vesna could see the inn's serving girls were struggling to meet the demand just from the hurscals. The more he looked, the more troops he saw – mainly light cavalry, of course, but also what appeared to be a division's worth of archers and spearmen.

'Good morning Suzerain Torl, General Lahk,' called Suzerain Temal, rising from his seat at a round stone table on one side of the inn named after it. He spared Vesna a look, but nothing more, making it clear he did not expect the lower-ranked man to speak until invited to do so. Vesna might be a hero, and Isak's right-hand man, but he was still a count, and ranked below both suzerains and generals. 'Please, join us in a cup of wine.' Palms upturned, Temal had pointedly dispensed with the usual formalities, something Vesna hoped was a good sign. That he was excluding Vesna was no great surprise; a suzerain had the right to speak only to his peers if he so chose, and if Vesna didn't speak, it was less likely Ranah would either.

The suzerain was a man of nearly forty summers. He had a welcoming smile. He wore his sword on his right hip because a childhood injury had robbed him of most of the use in his right hand. He'd not joined the army when Lord Isak had called his nobles because of it, but Vesna had heard he was a fair left-handed swordsman all the same.

Torl and Lahk dismounted and returned the suzerain's greeting. Vesna followed them. He had no intention of speaking until addressed, but the hatred on Scion Ranah's face made it obvious he'd be easy to provoke, whilst keeping within the bounds of protocol. Ranah disliked Vesna intensely – a matter of principle more than anything else. The fact that Vesna had seduced the scion's sister was less of concern than Ranah made out; in truth, he was jealous.

Ranah was a handsome man, and his unusually light hair made him striking among the dark Farlan. He was also a talented warrior, and he coveted Vesna's reputation more than he did his octogenarian father's seat. Count Vesna was the man Ventale Ranah was trying hard to be, but his exploits thus far had earned only his father's scorn, and he'd been completely ignored by the storytellers.

A man easily provoked into rashness, Vesna though as he reached for a cup and poured himself some wine.

'The invitation did not extend to you, Count Vesna. Your jewels are better-suited to a whorehouse than a table of peers,' Scion Ranah snapped.

'Suzerain Temal,' Vesna said, raising his cup in toast and ignoring Ranah, whose outburst had permitted him to join the conversation. Temal would have to keep control of Ranah or lose face. 'We would be glad for a chance to sit down and discuss the state of the Land with peers.' He drained the cup and smiled. 'But in the interests of harmony I suggest you send the boy away before his mouth gets him into mischief – unless it's mischief you intend?'

Before Ranah's coughs of fury could resolve into a challenge, Temal drained his own cup and raised a hand to stop the scion speaking.

'We do not intend mischief, I assure you; we are all nobles of the Farlan, after all. However, Count Vesna, perhaps a less antagonistic tone might be politic? I hardly think "boy" is the right description for a man only five summers younger than you.'

Vesna shrugged off the reprimand, deserved as it was. As a count he outranked Ranah, at least until the man inherited his father's suzerainty, and Vesna intended to make full use of that. 'The last time I met the scion he was less than gracious towards me. It was only admiration for his father that prevented me from calling the scion out.'

'That or cowardice,' Ranah interjected, which earned him an admonishing look from Temal.

Vesna ignored him. 'I choose not to acknowledge any man inviting a challenge, but my position within the Land has changed and I can no longer overlook an insult.'

With his iron-clad hand Vesna slipped his sword partway from his scabbard, just far enough to reveal the misty white lines of the Crystal Skull melded about the black-iron blade. 'Nor would I even break a sweat in a duel with any man present.'

Temal's eyes narrowed, and he gave a small nod of understanding. 'Be that as it may, I would ask you to show greater civility in future.'

He turned to Ranah. 'Any mention of a man's honour is similarly uncivil and goes against our purpose of being here. I would appreciate it, Scion Ranah, if you would retire and see to those messages we were discussing earlier.'

Ranah scowled, but as there was nothing he could do he turned without a word and stalked away, disappearing into the inn and slamming the door behind him. Once he was gone, Suzerain Temal broke into a relieved smile and gestured for his companions to sit.

'I apologise,' he began. 'I spoke to Ranah before you arrived and he assured me he would behave.'

'Easily forgiven,' Torl said, 'but the treatment of Suzerain Tebran is less so. Whether or not it was Ranah at fault, you choose the company you keep, Temal – you know what sort of man he is.'

Temal nodded, looking glum. Shrewd politician that he was, he knew the ramifications of implying a threat to gain the right to march under arms in Tebran. A suzerain ignored the customs surrounding their law at his peril; neighbours became far less friendly with a man they couldn't trust. 'Such are the times that a man must keep company he finds distasteful. I will make suitable apologies to Tebran; my intention is quite the opposite from setting noble houses against each other.'

'Then tell us plainly what your intention is,' Vesna said.

Temal scrutinised the Mortal-Aspect for a while. 'I will do so,' he said, 'but now I see you' – he gestured towards Vesna's face and left arm – 'well, I have questions of my own.'

'They will be answered,' Vesna promised him.

'Very well. First, let it be clear I am not acting alone today. I've been in correspondence with many like-minded peers and I represent them here.'

The statement prompted raised eyebrows, but nothing more; Torl and Vesna were content to wait to hear something of substance before commenting, and Lahk had pointedly pushed his seat back from the table to indicate the other two were speaking on his behalf.

'I assume you know of Lord Isak's decree regarding his successor, ' Temal began hesitantly. 'Perhaps you do not yet realise the extent of the outrage this has provoked.'

'If you are going to suggest insurrection,' Torl said sharply, 'I would suggest you stop all thoughts down that path. However much they might dislike it, the Ghosts wouldn't disobey an order to slaughter your troops to a man.'

'That's not what I mean,' Temal said, raising his hands placatingly. 'I mean only to set the ground for my words.'

Vesna stared at the man's expression and realised some spark of suspicion had flared inside him. Reading a man's face was important to any duellist, but the intent was not so clearly marked on Temal's face. There was something he wasn't saying, some agenda running behind the truth of his words.

'What you probably don't know is that High Cardinal Certinse was murdered by one of his own clerks. I'm told the man was a fanatic who couldn't accept Certinse's decision to ratify Lord Isak's decision regarding his successor.'

Interesting, he's been careful to avoid saying the name Fernal – either to avoid having to speak his title, or to avoid having to refuse to.

'Cardinal Veck has taken his place?' Torl asked, his face grim. Veck had been among the worst of the fanatics when they left the city, and this could lead only to more trouble.

'He has, and his first act was to rescind the Synod's approval. Now while – '

'Wait,' Vesna broke in, 'first tell me this: do you and whoever you claim to represent accept Lord Fernal's appointment?'

Temal sighed. 'We believe the decision has no basis in law, and on this point alone we are in agreement with the cults.'

'An edict by Lord Isak was not legal?'

'The law states the title Lord of the Farlan is for the Chosen only, and an appointed regent must come from the nobility. Lord Isak cannot simply nominate a successor; that invites the creation of dynasties.'

There was a moment of silence. The point was valid; the Synod approval had been vital to shore up an uncertain claim. It was an irony that the move intended to provide a rallying point to the tribe had instead sparked fresh divisions within it.

'And you think to make this point with an army at your back?' General Lahk asked suddenly. 'The politics are not my concern but I'm General of the Heartland, with orders enshrined in law that go beyond the current ruler of the tribe. If any army crosses this boundary into Tirah territory, I am bound to respond.'

'You did nothing while mercenaries ruled the streets of Tirah!' Temal said angrily, 'and the new High Cardinal has been consolidating his power since the entire Palace Guard left.'

'My duties are unclear regarding troops gathering on Tirah's streets,' Lahk said, unconcerned by Temal's tone, 'so Chief Steward Lesarl guided my actions and Lord Isak approved them. There is no issue of clarity regarding troop units exceeding a regiment crossing that border without permission.'

Temal stood. 'Unlike some suzerains I have heard of, military action is not our intention. We will only act if we hear reports of the cults breaking the law – but permit me to make this very clear: the power of the Farlan has always resided in the hands of the nobility, and that's always been kept apart from the cults. No court-ranked nobleman may take holy orders; no cleric may hold command rank – this is the law that has kept our tribe strong, and we will defend that position against all who threaten it.

'Inform the creature Fernal of our position. There are some who may intend insurrection – both for and against the cults, make no mistake about that – but I believe I represent a majority opinion among the nobility. We are willing to fight to stop the cults gaining any further control over the tribe, and we expect Fernal to withdraw his claim on the title of Lord of the Farlan.'

Interesting, Vesna thought, listening to the measured tone of Temal's voice. I think this one's trying to be nice to all sides, and come out as the suzerain who helped avoid bloodshed. The more he smoothes things over now, the more useful he'll appear to any future leader desperate to keep peace.

'Who would you have take his place?' Torl asked in a horrified voice, as though he was already expecting the answer.

'You, my Lord Suzerain,' Temal said stiffly, 'to be regent of the Farlan until our Patron God chooses one to take Lord Isak's place. You can unify our tribe, Suzerain Torl – perhaps you alone can prevent civil war.'

Desultory drizzle welcomed the remaining regiments to Tirah; the faint patter wiped out by the sound of hooves on cobbles. Vesna rode at the head of the cavalry, watching the faces of those they passed and trying to gauge the mood of the city. There was no hostility in the faces he saw, but no celebration either. The citizens of Tirah looked tired to him, worn down by the struggles of the different factions, and the fear that accompanied those struggles. They waited impassively for the soldiers to pass, but as worried as that made him, the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn saw other things to concern him more.

The presence of priests on the streets was no great surprise – their bile and fury would have dissuaded many from attending temple, so it had always been likely the priests would eventually follow – or chase – their flocks into the street. That every major street corner had a priest preaching was troubling, as was the venom with which they harangued passers-by – and even the cavalry, until their attendants hushed them.

Every preacher had at least a handful of penitents guarding them, a necessary precaution considering the raised hackles their words were causing among the people. Vesna knew that folk wouldn't go against armed troops, but angry words were being exchanged all over the city. He couldn't help but be put in mind of Scree in the days before the population lost its sanity completely. He shuddered.

When the procession reached the lower end of the Palace Walk, Vesna saw a crowd up ahead and called a halt. The people were blocking the street and he didn't want to lead the cavalry close enough to spark either a panic or a riot. As he edged nearer however, he realised this was no mob, but a crowd listening intently. Vesna looked over the heads to see what was happening and blinked in surprise.

There was what had to be a Harlequin standing on a makeshift gantry on the left. The diamond-pattern clothes and white porcelain mask were unmistakable, as was the entranced hush over the crowd.

'Now that's something I've never seen before,' he commented to Suzerain Torl beside him. 'A Harlequin preaching?'

He'd spoken too quietly to be heard by anyone else, but all the same the Harlequin broke off from what it was saying and stared straight at him. Vesna felt the air grow cold as faces turned to follow the Harlequin's line of sight. Their expressions were more annoyance at the interruption than anything else, but Vesna also smelled resentment in the air.

He started to turn his horse away from the crowd when the Harlequin called out over the tense quiet, 'Brothers, there you have the embodiment of war – sitting so proud with blood on his cheek, stained and burdened by the life he has led. Pity him, fellow children of the Gods, for men of war have lost the path of peace and pain fills their soul.'

Vesna checked behind him to ensure his soldiers hadn't instinctively drawn their weapons.

'I fight in the name of the Gods,' he called back, aware that he needed to respond in some way. 'I fight with the blessing of the Gods.' Death's cold rattle, why is a Harlequin starting an argument with me?

'You are as lost as the cults. It only remains to be seen if you wish to seek peace, or continue to add to the pain sickening this Land,' the Harlequin retorted.

'You claim greater wisdom than the Gods?' Vesna demanded.

The Harlequin gave a slow, pitying shake of the head. 'NotI – all I claim is a desire to fill my heart with peace, to be as a child and free myself of the burden of years that cloud a mind.'

I don't think I'm likely to win an argument about the merits of peace, Vesna thought, tugging his red cloak a little to ensure it completely covered his armoured arm. But I'll find out nothing by backing off.

'What of the wisdom that comes with age?' he ventured.

'That too is clouded by the fear driving the actions of men. It is only by letting the baggage of life fall away that men ensure their decisions are not tainted or swayed.'

'Let me guess: you have a suggestion for how to do that?'

'Not I,' the Harlequin intoned; 'I do not appoint myself arbitrator for the deeds of others. Every man and woman must choose their own path in this life. I offer no ritual for absolution, no mantra to cleanse the soul of its stains. We must all find innocence in our own way – we must all serve innocence in our own way.'

Before Vesna could think of a reply the Harlequin raised its hand, pointing at the part of the crowd that was blocking the centre of the street. 'My siblings, we cannot hope to find the path to peace just by blocking the path of war,' it called in a laughing voice, diffusing the tension in the air. 'Please, allow the men of war to pass; a child would not be so prideful as to mind standing in the gutter and nor shall we!'

A smattering of laughter accompanied the shuffling of feet and in moments the street was clear enough for the troops to pass. Gesturing for the column to advance, Vesna rode on slowly, giving the Harlequin a respectful nod as he passed. It did nothing in response, but he felt its eyes on his back until he crossed Hunter's Ride and started on the last stretch leading to the Palace. As he neared that Vesna realised there was another unpleasant surprise waiting before he made it inside the walls.

'Gods, I've got enough to worry about, haven't I?' he muttered under his breath.

'Soldiers?' Suzerain Torl said, casting Vesna a questioning look. Torl was older than the men under his command, and he had to rely on their eyesight for anything in the distance.

'Aye, they're penitents,' Vesna said grimly, 'but maybe this is one argument today I can win.'

'Are you going to reveal your full authority, my Lord?'

'How long would I be able to keep it a secret in any case? It's a surprise the city didn't all know before we arrived.'

Vesna spurred his horse into a canter and broke away from the column, covering the ground quickly. A regiment of penitents had formed up around the fountain-statue of Evaole at the centre of the Barbican Square. Vesna took in the whole scene with a single glance: the Palace gates were shut and archers stood ready on the battlements above. The rest of the square was deserted.

The penitents looked nervous, shifting restlessly while the priests in charge of them bristled at his arrival – or one of them did at least; the other was a priest of Karkarn, of middling rank by the hems of his scarlet robes. His reaction had been one of opposites; stepping boldly forward, then faltering, most likely when he saw the teardrop on Vesna's face.

'Count Vesna, the city rejoices in your return,' announced the other priest, somehow contriving to sound disapproving of what he'd just said. He was a man of Nartis, and as tall as Vesna, though he lacked a warrior's muscle. His features were small and rounded with cheeks like a baby's, but his expression was rapacious.

'Really?' Vesna said in a dead tone and looked around. 'I didn't notice anyone celebrating. Is that what you're doing here?'

'No, my Lord, we are here on the orders of the High Cardinal himself – '

'To besiege the Palace?' Vesna broke in, recognising the pious tones of a fanatic; it was easy enough these days.

'To ensure the rule of law and the will of the Gods are done,' the priest snapped back. 'The abomination Chief Steward Lesarl has installed in the Palace must be driven out, along with the Chief Steward himself. The impious ways of that wicked man have forced our hand, and we stand here in defence of the entire Farlan tribe, against the machinations of inhumans and all outsiders.'

'Last stand of the faithful, eh?' Vesna growled. 'I was present at one of those in Scree. I can tell you: it brought us only hurt.'

'Unmen Dors!' hissed the priest of Karkarn, 'perhaps it is time we left?'

'Leave?' Dors shrieked at his fellow unmen, 'and disobey the orders of the High Cardinal, the voice of our Gods himself?'

'Enough,' Vesna shouted, loud enough to make even the fanatic hesitate. The penitents were staring at Vesna with increasing apprehension. He knew his reputation as a warrior wasn't the cause; it was the effect of Karkarn's blood flowing through his veins. Time to use that divine authority.

'Unmen Dors,' Vesna continued in a quieter voice, 'you will lead your troops away from this place and instruct the High Cardinal they are not to return. You will do this now.'

'You do not issue the cults with orders,' Dors squeaked with outrage, 'you have no authority over us! It is our duty to see the abomination is removed from the seat of power and prevented from issuing his monstrous orders!'

Vesna didn't bother to respond; there was no reasoning with a fanatic. He felt something flicker inside him, something stir and grow. A coppery taste bloomed on his tongue and the Land grew suddenly sharper, each line and shadow more defined. He felt shadows spill from his shoulders like a mantle of boiling darkness and a sudden surge of rushing power flowed through his limbs.

The shadows cascaded all around and flooded the cobbled square around his horse. Vesna took a slow, deep breath and twitched back his red cloak to reveal the iron-clad arm. Tight, twisting energies snaked around the black-iron plates and Vesna saw Unmen Dors' eyes widen.

'Get out of my way and take your mercenaries with you,' Vesna snarled, feeling his face flicker as he spoke – the spirit of the God of War was coming closer to the surface. The ruby teardrop blazed with crimson light and cast a bloody corona around Vesna's head.

He felt the reverberations of his voice in his mortal bones; the whole of Barbican Square appeared to shudder with every syllable. The unmen's resolve collapsed and he staggered backwards, his hands raised as though to protect himself from a physical blow. The priest of Karkarn sank to his knees, white-faced and terrified.

The penitents, all mercenaries, no doubt, shrank back. Those among them who prayed would pray to Karkarn, and none would doubt the God's presence now. They began to shuffle away while Dors still cringed under Vesna's stare, but the tall priest was stirred to action when he heard the scrabbling footsteps of the penitents racing away.

'You may tell the High Cardinal he is not to send troops to the Palace again,' Vesna called after them. 'If he wants to debate religious authority with me he can come alone.'

He looked up; the archers were staring out over the battlements, the same look of horror on their faces as the fleeing penitents.

'What do you lot think you're waiting for?' he called. 'Get that damn gate open before your commander arrives or you'll wish it was a bloody prince of daemons waiting down here!'