The ragged man

CHAPTER 16

Count Vesna rode out from the tunnel beneath the Palace Barbican and hesitated. Nothing had changed except for the thinned lines of recruits assembled to welcome the Ghosts home, but, quite unbidden, his mind cast back to the day he first arrived here. The sights and smells had changed little in the intervening decades. While this return was a somewhat muted affair, Vesna felt his heart ache as the clatter and clamour of that day filled his ears, swamping his senses as completely as they had a young provincial noble on his first trip to Tirah Palace.

Not long past his seventeenth birthday and newly raised to his title, it had been a wary and angry youth who'd ridden into that massive hemmed space and looked around in wonder. Sotonay Shaberale had been at his side: a whiskered veteran of sixty summers who'd spent much of the previous two years teaching Vesna sword-craft. To Vesna's surprise, they had barely arrived when a bellow echoed out over the training ground.

All eyes had turned, first to the hulking figure of Swordmaster Herotay as he roared 'Shab!' followed by a stream of inventive, anatomically impossible obscenities.

The Swordmaster had run from the crowd of nervous youths he'd been inspecting – hopeful farm-boys and proud young nobles alike – who watched with alarm as Herotay dragged Vesna's mentor one-handed from his saddle and enveloped him in a bearhug that made the older man gasp.

'What have you brought me then, you whoring old bastard? How long are you staying?' Herotay had demanded, casting his appraising eye over Vesna. Vesna had slid from his saddle and offered the Swordmaster an awkward bow while Shab battered the man away.

'Just long enough to get you drunk and yer wife in bed,' Shab said with a levity Vesna had never heard before. 'I made the journey to show the faith I got in this boy, but he don't need me here to hold his hand.'

'All the way from Anvee? Death's bony cock, boy, you must be good!'

Vesna hadn't known how to respond to that; Shab had made it clear this wasn't the place for pride. The veteran had told only part of the truth in any case: the death of Vesna's father had hit him harder than he then realised, and Shab had come along as much to keep him out of trouble as to recommend his pupil.

'I realise the honour Master Shab does me,' he had stuttered, 'and I will endeavour to live up to it.'

Herotay had laughed. 'Don't you worry yourself about his honour, boy. The man's been sniffing around my wife like a horny ferret for thirty years now; there ain't much honour for him in my eyes. Mind you, you're prettier than Shab ever was, so maybe you'll do him proud there too.'

'How proud would you be now, Shab?' Vesna wondered aloud as he watched the Ghosts stream in, some to be reunited; all to share the grief of others. 'I doubt you expected this when you told Herotay I was destined for great things.'

For the hundredth time that week he rubbed the fingers of his left hand together, wincing at the numbed sensation – it was neither skin nor armour but something other. He could not inspect the join between the two; that was one thing he would have to trust Tila to do for him. The only visible join was at his shoulder where the pauldron sat; his cuirass had been no problem to remove, but everything from the pauldron to his fingertips was fused to his skin: from the mail that covered his inner arm and armpit to the raised ridge of the pauldron that deflected blows from his neck, it was all a part of him. It was maybe not flesh, but the loss of any piece would hurt like a bastard to remove, even the lion-embossed plate that protected the elbow joint.

Lost in his thoughts, Vesna was an island the wary mortals skirted as they went about their lives. Only a handful looked in his direction, and none for long – unlike that day twenty years ago. Then, they had all noted his face, and the special attention Vesna had received – it had been his first taste of the burden a reputation could build.

In the public trials Vesna had been the only one to knock down the Swordmaster facing him, but it had been mostly thanks to a slip and it worked against him in the end. Shab had told him that every man entered the Ghosts on his arse, and Vesna was no exception; Swordmaster Herotay himself had seen to that. The bruises from his wooden swords took a week longer than anyone else's to fade, but he'd given a good account of himself, and laid a clear marker.

Vesna shook the thought from his mind. He'd spent enough time thinking during the last few weeks to last any soldier a lifetime. Slipping from his horse, he beckoned over a groom and headed towards the main wing where General Lahk was waiting for him.

Before he reached the building a still figure caught his eye: a young man in the white robes of a chaplain, who was growing increasingly pale as he watched the returning Ghosts ride in. The cobalt-blue hem of his robe had a band of white running through it and the legion crest sewn over his heart was that of the Ghosts itself.

'Legion Chaplain?' Vesna ventured as he approached the young man.

The chaplain jumped, startled. 'Ah, yes sir, Chaplain Cerrat,' he said when he recovered his composure.

Vesna extended his hand, feeling a pang of sympathy for the youth. 'I've heard your name mentioned. Lord Bahl himself ordered your appointment, no?'

Cerrat's face flushed with nervous relief as he gripped Vesna's forearm. 'He did, sir, yes.'

'Stop that,' Vesna said sharply. 'I don't care how young you might be – you must remember your position, Legion Chaplain Cerrat. You are on Colonel Carasay's command staff now; your military rank is equivalent to mine, even if a chaplain can't issue orders.' He turned his head so Cerrat could clearly see the two gold earrings in his left ear.

'Take it for granted and they'll make your life a misery,' Vesna continued, 'but put it aside to avoid throwing your weight around and they'll never respect you. Without respect a chaplain's just an angry priest, and the Gods know we've had enough of those.'

Cerrat swallowed and bobbed his head. 'You're right, sorry. I've only been here a few days; this is all a bit of a shock, both the position and the influence I'm told I have within the cult. I arrived here as a novice.' The new legion chaplain had a boy's face but a soldier's build; he was bigger than Vesna had been when he first arrived, and he was unlikely to have stopped growing yet.

Vesna forced a smile and clapped his black-iron-clad hand on Cerrat's shoulder. 'As did I, as did we all.'

At the contact Cerrat's eyes widened. He wasn't a battle-mage, but he was an ordained priest of Nartis now, and he would be able to feel something of Karkarn's spirit within Vesna, even if he could not yet put a name to it.

'Some of us arrive with greater expectation on our shoulders than the rest,' Vesna assured him with a smile, 'men we've revered saying we'll surpass them, but you look strong enough to bear that weight. Only those who ask great things of themselves achieve them; just don't be in any rush.'

Cerrat nodded in understanding. The chaplains were the heartbeat of the regiments; the fiercest and most uncompromising among them; he had much to learn from his flock to be able to fill the position he'd been given.

'Enough of that,' Verna said. 'Do you know where I can find Lord Fernal and the Chief Steward?'

'They're in the main wing – meeting an envoy from Merlat who arrived a few hours ago.'

'Thank you.' Vesna looked back at the crowd of soldiers behind them. 'This evening, when they're all settled, go and find Sergeant Kishen and get drunk with him. That'll be the first lesson in your education in dealing with the Ghosts.'

Having dropped the new legion chaplain squarely into the middle of the lake, Vesna collected General Lahk and together they made their way through the Great Hall to the quieter private areas beyond. Just before the wide, ornately decorated main staircase was the ducal audience chamber. A pair of guards suggested Lord Fernal's presence within.

Vesna didn't recognise the livery, but it wasn't much of a surprise: a dark-blue snake coiled around a sheaf of arrows, its head raised toward an occluded moon. They were admitted without a word and entered to find five people standing before the massive ducal throne, the seat of Farlan power.

The throne, hewn from a single piece of dark wood and inlaid with symbols of the Gods, was built for white-eyes. It lacked the intricate detailing found on its equivalent in Narkang. Too heavy for two normal men to lift together and able to resist an axe-blow: everything about it said solidity, strength and permanence – and the blue-skinned Demi-God Fernal suited it perfectly.

At the sight of the new Lord of the Farlan Vesna was reminded of Lord Bahl. Fernal wore plain, loose breeches and a white linen shirt over which spilled his mane of dark cerulean fur. The last time they had met Fernal had been wearing only a tattered cloak, replaced now by one of blood-red, to show he too mourned Isak. But it was the silver circlet on Fernal's crumpled brow that gave Vesna the biggest start.

He had to move quickly to catch up with General Lahk and kneel before the bastard son of Nartis, barely remembering in time to unclip his sword from his belt and offer it forward. As he did so, Vesna cursed his own stupidity. He'd had weeks to get used to the idea of Fernal being named the Lord of the Farlan, but still the sight of Fernal wearing a ducal circlet had tripped him.

'General Lahk, Count Vesna, welcome home. Please, rise.'

Fernal still had trouble with the rolling vowels of a dialect unsuited to one with the teeth and tongue of a wolf, but his deep, booming voice was that of a lord all the same.

He looks the part, he sounds the part, Vesna thought as he returned his sword to its usual place. Now we just need to find out how much he's willing to fight for the part.

'Lord Fernal,' the pair said in response, for the benefit of the envoy as much as tradition.

'General, I'm sure you have much work to do dealing with your troops,' Fernal said. 'If you wish to leave and see to them please do so.'

Lahk bowed and left as smartly as he had arrived. He had no interest in the dealings of politicians.

Vesna glanced at the others in the room. His eyes went first to Tila – it had been all he could do not to seek her out immediately, but he knew the envoy would have been watching and any deviation from tradition would have been noted. When at last their eyes met he felt a weight lift at pleasure which had blossomed on her face.

Tila wore a plain white dress, and her luxuriant dark hair had been swept to one side and wrapped in a red mourning scarf embroidered with a prayer for the dead, one of the few in the Palace to have done so. The period of mourning was technically over, but it was traditional for the army to mourn until it had returned; Vesna guessed Tila was doing the same.

The envoy himself was a knight Vesna didn't recognise, despite being of a similar age; he too had battlefield honours tattooed on his neck. He bowed respectfully to Vesna while Chief Steward Lesarl, looking older and more fatigued than Vesna had ever seen, gave him just the briefest of nods.

Behind Lesarl were two armed men who looked like neither noblemen nor soldiers; each was carrying a rapier and long dagger, the weapons of a trained duellist, and Vesna guessed them to be agents of the Chief Steward. Curiously enough, they flanked Lesarl rather than Fernal, suggesting they were there to protect him rather than their lord.

'Count Vesna, your own business will have to wait until we are finished here,' Fernal said as the door was shut behind Lahk, 'unless there is anything you wish to say first?'

Vesna shook his head. Fernal was asking whether he still considered himself a subject of the Lord of the Farlan. 'No, my Lord, I await your pleasure.'

'In that case, Sir Jachers here was just outlining the position of the Farlan's westerly dukes.'

'Both of them?' Vesna asked sharply, looking at the envoy.

The Dukes Lokan and Sempes rarely agreed on anything since Lokan had poisoned his uncle – Sempes' distant cousin – to take the dukedom, and their 'disagreements' had resulted in one sea engagement and three outright land battles, not to mention an entire dossier of clandestine actions.

'Both. I am a man of Perlir,' Sir Jachers clarified, 'but Duke Lokan contacted my lord when he heard of Lord Isak's death. Their concerns on the subjects in hand are close enough that they speak with one voice.'

'And that would be your voice. What are the subjects being discussed?'

'Principally: the legality of Lord Fernal's appointment, Lord Fernal's intentions regarding this position, the continuing problems with the cults, and Lord Isak's crusade.'

'Has Duke Lomin added his voice to this discussion yet?' Vesna asked, wondering how Lord Isak's appointment would be reacting to the news.

Lomin had shown the rest of the tribe he was as independent as his peers when he refused to send troops to join Isak's 'crusade', but how he would react now was anyone's guess. Their information on the man was not complete enough for sensible guesses to be made, he'd proved that much.

Sir Jachers shook his head. 'The mind of Duke Lomin is not known to my master, they have met but once. Anticipating the wishes of Duke Lokan is somewhat easier. Duke Sempes has sent me here with all possible speed so that swift decisions might be made, if any agreement can be reached. He believes acting before the suzerains do so en masse is the best way to guide their actions.'

'In that he is correct,' Lesarl broke in. 'With your permission, Lord Fernal, might I suggest we bring the discussion to a close for the time being? There is much that needs to be done now the Ghosts have returned and you might wish to consider Sempes and Lokan's positions before proposing a resolution.'

Fernal nodded. He knew how little of the nation's politics – Isak had asked him to take this position because he wanted a leader who could be a symbol for all, as well as a warrior. A nose for politics would have been the least of Isak's requirements.

'A good idea. I will sleep on it. Now, if you would give me the room? I must speak with Count Vesna before he goes about his duties.'

The others left smartly, Tila ushering Sir Jachers away and Lesarl only too keen to be about his work. Vesna watched her leave, feeling fresh pangs of guilt over leaving Isak on the battlefield. His death would have hurt her badly. Tila was still young, and she had been closer to Isak than to either of her brothers. However much they had infuriated each other, the bond between them had only strengthened with every squabble.

'Vesna,' Fernal said softly, 'what have we done?'

He looked up, startled. 'My Lord?'

'Look at us,' Fernal continued, spreading his arms wide, 'was this a goal for either of us? You, the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn? I, Lord of the Farlan? How did we end up this way?'

'I couldn't say, my Lord.'

Fernal shook his head sadly. 'I do not know what to do. Lord Isak hoped my appointment would heal rifts, provide the Farlan with a figure to rally around.'

'Lord Isak never fully understood his nobility,' Vesna pointed out, hearing the bewilderment in Fernal's voice, 'but the very fact that you claim the title has delayed outright civil war, that I promise you, my Lord.'

'And now? What do I do now? I keep being asked questions I cannot answer! The dukes claim my appointment is illegal, they are threatening to break away from the nation if I remain.'

'What do you want?'

Vesna's question seemed to catch Fernal off-guard. The massive Demi-God peered at him for a while, his mouth open just enough for Vesna to catch a glimpse of pointed teeth.

'Not this,' was the eventual answer. 'Power has never interested me, and the politics of men even less so. If my father chooses a new white-eye for this position tomorrow I will give thanks at his temple for the first time in my life.'

'You wish to return to Llehden?'

'Of course, it is my home. But I do not wish for civil war among the Farlan either; I fear leaving now will spark that.'

Vesna didn't speak. There was nothing he could say. Lesarl would have already told Fernal all he needed to know about the Farlan nobility. Without a ruler, they would fight. It was as simple as that.

'If it helps,' he said eventually, 'I am as adrift as you, my Lord. Lord Karkarn has given me only one order, to ensure the Farlan Army is ready when it is required. At present I am unsure how that will even be possible without killing every argumentative noble in the tribe.' Vesna gave a tired laugh. 'And there are a lot of them!'

'Then for that reason and several others I call you brother,' Fernal announced with a smile to share the humour. He gave Vesna a dismissive wave. 'Go, I need to be alone – how you humans think with the noise of a city all around you I cannot understand. Go and greet your intended; life does not stop with the death of any man.'

Before he went to find Tila, Vesna knew he had one more person to see first. It would take a division of Ghosts to drag him from her side once he was there, but she would understand the delay – indeed, when Vesna went back out onto the training ground, he caught sight of her face, and the little wave she gave told him she had anticipated his next mission.

Amidst the chaos of the training ground it took him a while to work out where to go. He knew Carel was a typical soldier, however long ago he had retired from the Ghosts. In grief they tended to go silent or loud, and drunk in both cases. Even after he'd lost his arm in battle Carel had been a formidable presence in the palace, never more comfortable than when he had a drink and an audience. With his world turned upside down, Vesna guessed the veteran would go the opposite way and seek out silence the way Vesna wanted himself.

'But he'll want to work; a man like that can't sit still for long,' he said aloud, starting off across the training ground as servants and soldiers parted before him.

The palace forge was the closest of his choices and when Vesna ducked his head inside and peered through the smoke he realised he'd been correct. None of the few men within looked like a marshal, but he spotted Carel's swordstick propped against a wall.

As he closed the door behind him Vesna felt a tremor in his eyes as they adapted with unnatural speed to the gloom. By the time the door was shut he could see perfectly clearly.

This was the main weapons forge, and Vesna could see it was running at full capacity, in anticipation of the Guards' losses. Keeping three furnaces and six anvils running day and night was gruelling work, not allowing time for idle talk. Vesna saw Carel at the back, working in unison with another man. They weren't doing the finesse work, that was left to the skilled smiths, but even a one-armed man could lift a hammer and beat a lump of steel.

'Change it,' said Carel's partner when he noticed Vesna standing behind them.

With a reluctant exhale, Carel let the hammer slide through his fingers. As he took the tongs, he noticed Vesna for the first time. Carel looked ragged in body and soul: sweat- and grime-stained, his white hair was grey with dirt and tied back with a fraying strip of material. His blood-shot eyes looked empty.

'Thought your count was off,' he said to his companion in a hoarse voice.

To Vesna he said nothing, but there was no need when the pain and years were plain on his face. The count felt a sudden pang of fear in his belly. He realised he had no idea what to say to the man who had been a father to Isak.

Carel watched him hesitate and gestured to his partner to continue, turning the steel shard to the correct position. When the man did so Vesna realised the fingers of his right hand were frozen in a twisted grip and he was using his left: another damaged veteran, he assumed.

'You were there?' Carel called after three blows with the hammer.

Vesna shook his head. 'He ordered me to lead the army away. He died to save us all.'

Carel's expression darkened. 'Rode a long way to do that.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean we should've seen it'd end that way an' stopped the boy.'

Vesna took a cautious step forward. 'Carel, he was Lord of the Farlan; the choice was his. It wasn't one he took lightly, I know that much. It was a risk he thought worthwhile, and no one would have been able to persuade him otherwise.'

'Really?' Carel snapped, glaring up at Vesna. 'Used to joke the Gods set me on the Land to keep that boy out o' trouble. Don't seem like a joke now, just a failure.'

'You couldn't have stopped him,' Vesna said firmly. 'His mind was made up.'

'What if I helped him make it? What if he made those choices 'cos of advice I gave him?' There was a waver to Carel's voice that betrayed the guilt hanging over him like a leaden cloud.

'When did you ever know him to do anything but what he wanted?'

The old man looked down. 'I told him to face what he feared – an' if he feared anythin', it were those dreams of death. He knew they weren't just dreams.'

'Carel, he wanted to strike at his enemies before they were ready, he wanted to take his destiny in his own hands and not let others dictate to him. The only fault to bear is mine and Lahk's, for not seeing how the battle was going to unfold.'

'Then maybe I blame you too!' Carel roared suddenly, his voice loud enough in the enclosed space to stop the smiths mid-stroke. 'You left that field greater than you were, as blessed by the Gods as he once was! Isak was barely grown, for all his size, alive for fewer years than you been a professional soldier. Aye, he were a wilful shit at times, but he always wanted to be more than the colour o' his eyes. He trusted us to keep him so!'

He turned away, staring into the wincing heat of the furnace, and Vesna could see Carel's whole body shaking. The only sound was the scrape of steel on the anvil's surface.

'We failed him,' the veteran continued in a much quieter voice. 'We din't stand in his way when he needed us. His blood's on our hands.'

Carel looked at his palm as though looking for blood, and seemed to notice for the first time how hard his hand was shaking.

'Leave me be, Vesna,' he muttered, 'I got work to do here an' I can't do it like this. Go find your bride. She needs you, not me.'

Karkarn's Iron General stared at the ageing Ghost and felt the words dry in his throat. It was nothing he'd not said to himself on the long journey home, but to hear it from the mouth of another was completely different. To hear it from someone who'd loved Isak so deeply cut through his armour like a burning shard of light, scorching the hardened soldier's heart with frightening ease.

He felt himself stumble as he retreated, the weight on his shoulders even heavier now, hot shame gripping him as he fled outside. Only then could he breathe again, but it did nothing to ease the guilt rekindled inside him.

Mihn stopped in the woods and looked around. The gentle clatter of rain on leaves surrounded him, drowning other sounds – but for a moment he thought he had heard something, a faint noise… something out of place that set his palms prickling. After a while he realised he was holding his breath and relaxed, a wry smile on his face.

'I'm getting jumpy in my old age,' he muttered, starting off down the rabbit-run again. Hanging from his belt was a young hen pheasant, the fruit of a good morning's hunting. It felt good to be fending for himself again, brushing the dust off skills he hadn't used in a while and becoming less dependent on the locals.

What little silver he had brought with him had been enough to buy fowl for egg-laying. The witch appropriated half of everything he trapped as payment for the food she brought – just as well, now rumours of the ragged man had spread throughout Llehden. Few would come near the lake now.

Mihn wound his slow way back to the lake, checking each of his snares as he went. As he came out from the trees he saw Isak standing at the shore, staring over the water, Eolis drawn and by his side. He wore a long patchwork fur cloak the witch had brought, old and ragged enough to frighten Chera if she ever returned, but still serviceable.

The white-eye stooped badly, his left shoulder dipping as though the lightning-scarred arm was a lead weight, and his head was permanently hunched forward. The damage done to him in Ghenna had turned him old before his time: as old as the hollow look in his eyes.

Mihn hurried over, but he saw nothing at Isak's feet, nor any blood on his blade. The sky had remained dull all day, though the rain had lessened to a desultory smattering. 'Isak? Is all well?' he asked anxiously.

The white-eye didn't move. His eyes were fixed on the distant shore, though he wasn't looking at anything in particular; his mind was further away. The fitful breeze did little to disturb the surface of the lake. A flock of black-necked gulls hovered over the northern edge where ducks and geese squabbled.

Everything looked peaceful enough to Mihn. Isak's pup was watching them sleepily from the small shelter outside the cottage Mihn had built for him. The hound, finally named Hulf by Isak, tired easily still, his exuberance outlasting his enthusiasm. Even if he had been chasing the geese grazing too close to the cottage, it shouldn't have been enough to drag Isak outside.

'I dreamed,' Isak said at last, his voice distant.

Mihn's heart sank. Despite Ehla's best efforts, Isak still had more memories than were good for him, and his dreams were rarely pleasurable. 'What of?'

'An empty house by a lake. A cold house.'

'That is all?'

'I woke in the cold house. I couldn't remember my name. It was all gone – who I was, where I came from. Only the lake was real. The lake and the smell of mud on the wind. I was a ghost, empty and…'

There was silence as the pair stood side by side on the shore – until an abrupt bark from Hulf brought Mihn back to the present and he turned to encourage the oversized puppy over to them. He crouched down and draped an arm over Hulf's back.

'I couldn't move. As cold as the lake,' Isak continued, oblivious to Hulf's snuffles of pleasure as Mihn rubbed his ears. 'I was dead, but still standing.'

'He is gone from you, Isak,' Mihn said, looking up. 'You need not think about Aryn Bwr any more. You are free of him and his influence.'

'Still I dream.' Isak scratched the stubble on his cheek, then looked at his fingers, as though shocked at the state of them. The end joint was missing from both middle and little fingers, and the rest bore ragged scars from struggling against his chains. Quickly he lowered his hand, slipping it protectively under his armpit and shuddering as his body remembered the pain.

When he composed himself once more, he crouched also, reversing Eolis to keep it well clear of Hulf's inquisitive nose. 'I dreamed daemons came. To the cold house with chains in their hands. They came for me and I killed them. Their blood stained my hands and feet. It reminded me who I was. In the blood I remembered my name.'

Mihn looked at Eolis again, but the sword was spotlessly clean. 'It was only a dream, Isak; it did not happen. There were no daemons, the cottage is warm and cosy, and you are not alone. You are safe now.'

Isak nodded, his face caught between a grimace and a smile. 'Safe,' he echoed with a hollow whisper, 'but is it me I remember? Aryn Bwr's name remains in one place – the prison in Ghenna made for his soul. They wanted him to feel that pain again and again. Is the pain I feel from my scars, or from forgetting a part of me?'

'That I cannot answer, my Lord,' Mihn said, bowing his head in grief. 'But here I remain, to remind you of the man you were and the life you lived. We knew this would be the hard choice, the terrible choice, but it had to be made.

'You have broken the prophecy; the threads of history that bound you are all parted. You are free of it now, free to choose a new path – free to stop those who would have used you to their own ends. And you will never be alone in this. I am with you to the end.'

'But how can I trust you?' Isak asked with a curious, twisted expression Mihn could not identify, 'when you've not even noticed Hulf eating your pheasant?'

Tila trotted down the stone steps of the main wing and looked around. Vesna was not in sight and a flutter of alarm began in her heart. It had been an hour since she'd seen him head out to the forge to speak to Carel. She was under no illusions about Carel's grief; she had broken the news herself, and held him while he sobbed. Still, he'd been a long time.

Just the memory of Carel's fury and pain made Tila want to weep. The veteran understood death better than she. Even now Tila could barely accept Isak was dead; it seemed impossible, unthinkable. That seven-foot lump of muscle and foolishness hadn't been like the rest of them. Ever since returning from the battle of Chir Plains Isak had possessed an unnatural quality, some spark of vast power at odds with mortal life.

She'd watched Vesna spar a dozen times and his skill was exceptional, she'd lain in his arms and felt the strength in his chest. The count from Anvee was a soldier well-deserving of his reputation as a hero, but even so, him she could fathom. Isak had been something more: a force of nature who suited his nickname of the Stormcaller. And now the storm was gone.

She bit her lip and hurried on, forcing herself to scan the faces in the distance, however unnecessary it was. Vesna would stand out from the crowd easily enough; that she couldn't see him with one glance meant he was not here.

'Lady Tila?' said a cautious voice to her right. Tila whirled around to face the nervous young legion chaplain she'd met a few days before. 'Ah, my lady, are you looking for Count Vesna?'

'I am, Legion Chaplain Cerrat, have you seen him?' Tila's reply was rather more brusque than she had intended and Cerrat backed away a little. She had to remind herself that there were no women in the chaplaincy monasteries.

'My lady, he is… Ah, come with me, if you would be so kind.'

Cerrat led her almost the length of the training ground, weaving through the bustle to skirt the barracks and stables that backed onto the long perimeter wall. He walked quickly, looking back every few seconds to ensure she was keeping up. As they neared the furthest corner of the compound they came to the much-repaired black tower, once the keep of Tirah's first castle.

Tila felt her alarm intensify as she saw a crowd assembled outside at the foot of the stone staircase that ran up the side of the tower. The people looked wary, shifting nervously as they looked from her to the door at the top of the stairs. There were wives and servants there as well as soldiers.

'The shrine?' Tila asked, dreading the answer.

'He is there. The mourners, they fear to disturb him, my lady, but they wish to offer for their lost.'

Tila nodded, understanding the anxiety she could see in the faces ahead. There was a shrine to Karkarn there; it was custom within the Palace Guard to offer sacrifices to Karkarn as well as to Death for their losses in battle. The scriptures told of great heroes wearing a ruby around their necks at their Last Judgment, an indication that they had killed, but the act was honoured by the God of War. The relatives would want to pray, to leave a drop of blood in the offering cup for each hero lost.

The crowd parted before Tila, and she made her way straight up, not trusting herself to linger at the bottom in case she lost her nerve. As she entered the dark shrine room, the light from the doorway spilled across the floor and illuminated the hunched form of Vesna in the far corner.

The shrine was in the form of an ornate weapon-stand in the centre of the room that bore a crossed sword and axe, and, underneath, a brass prayer bowl stained by decades of blood offerings. All around the weapon-stand were symbols of Karkarn and his Aspects. A fireplace on the left, behind the weapon-stand, was occupied by a black-iron dragon, burning the incense that filled the air in its upturned claws. The walls were festooned with weapons, and links of copper armour, each one inscribed with the name of a fallen Ghost.

Tila left the door open a finger-width and went over to Vesna, who was sitting on the floor, his black-iron-clad hand pressed against his temple as though praying to Lord Death.

'Vesna?' she whispered, trying to ignore the changes and just see the man she loved underneath.

He flinched and gave a great sigh before looking up.

Tila felt her eyes widen at the sight of the ruby on his cheek, but it was the exhaustion in his eyes that chilled her more.

'He blames me,' Vesna whispered, 'as well he might.'

Tila sat down beside him, taking his armoured hand in hers. 'Carel grieves, nothing more. Grief makes liars of us all. He does not mean what he says.'

'I should have stopped him,' Vesna insisted, 'I should have died in his place.'

Tila felt her breath catch at the very thought, but she forced it away. 'Do you think that is what he would have wanted? You never understood how Isak could be so accepting of your feelings for me, but it's because he realised what it meant to be a white-eye after that first battle. Violence flowed through his veins, but he found a reason to channel it. As he watched our feelings for each other grow, Isak realised he could live with the violence. He knew he had to accept it as his lot in life, so that others might find something different, something better.'

'And what about Isak?' Vesna said bitterly. 'What does he get for his sacrifice? He was just a boy!'

She pulled his unresponsive hand closer and finally felt his fingers close about hers. 'I didn't say it was a fair exchange, just that Isak was happy to make it. And remember; he's one of the Chosen, Isak's place in the land of no time is assured.'

A discreet cough came from behind her. 'Curious that you bring that up,' said a quiet voice behind her.

Tila barely had time to turn before Vesna was upright and standing protectively in front of her. After a moment she felt him relax and step slightly away so she could see the speaker. It was a man, that much she could tell, and he appeared to be dressed in shifting robes of darkness. As her mouth fell open in astonishment, the figure gave a dismissive gesture with both arms and the black swirl melted into nothing, revealing a white silk tunic and both arms covered in ornate bronze armour.

'Lord Isak has not knelt before the Chief of the Gods, he has not passed to the land of no time,' said Karkarn, God of War, bowing to Tila with all ceremony.

In her astonishment and horror Tila found herself unable to move, let alone kneel before the God, but his imperious face showed no displeasure.

'What do you mean? Say it plainly,' Vesna growled.

'Remember your place, my Iron General – it is not to question me,' the God said coldly.

'How am I supposed to serve you if you withhold information from me?'

'Stop your petulance,' Karkarn said sharply, his face flickering slightly between the cool, emotionless expression and the wild face that Tila guessed was his Berserker Aspect. 'It is not for you to know the secrets of the Land, especially if they were kept from you by the one you grieve.'

'Isak?' Tila found herself blurting out, 'this is his doing?' She stopped, casting her mind back to the months he'd spent in Tirah before leaving with the army. 'Is that what he was up to – what he and Mihn were conspiring? He was planning for his own death?'

'What happens after death is not my domain,' Karkarn replied, 'and Lord Death is not one to be questioned idly on the subject. I do know that your white-eye has not passed through the halls of Death, and that is no simple feat.'

'What does it mean?' she asked, her voice breaking.

Karkarn gestured towards Vesna. 'I merely answer my servant's plea,' he said, and vanished in the blink of an eye.

'Vesna, what did he mean by that?' Tila asked, bewilderment clear in her voice.

The count took Tila's hand once again. 'I questioned the choices I had made, the service I had given Isak. I don't know where this path will lead, but what hope do I have if I've already failed those around me?'

'But now you know that isn't true – you know Isak was fixed upon this path, wherever it took him?'

'I wish it were as simple as that,' he sighed, looking down at his love. 'But yes, it's at least clear now that Isak had a plan – why he could not trust me with it, I don't know – Ah, damnation! I've as many questions now as I had before – ' He stopped for a moment, then said, 'No, maybe not quite. At least I can believe he didn't die for nothing. It's scant comfort when my dear friend is dead, but it's something.'

Tila stood on her tiptoes and drew him close. Vesna wrapped his arms around the young woman and bent to her, and she kissed him. They stood together, embracing closely, for several minutes, until Vesna returned the kiss with surprising fervour.

When Tila did at last pull back slightly, she settled her cheek against his. 'It's been too long since you last did that,' she murmured, breathing in the scent of his body. She kissed Vesna lightly on the throat and looked up at him, relieved to see some of the strain on his face had eased.

'It has, and I have needed it badly.' Vesna patted the pauldron fused to his shoulder. 'Anything more might be a bit uncomfortable, I'm afraid.'

Tila ignored him and ran her fingers tenderly over the black-iron plate. 'It's certainly not enough to put me off,' she declared, her fingers moving to his cheek, 'even if you are wearing more jewellery these days too. Has anything else changed?'

Vesna laughed, for the first time in what felt like years. 'Not the man inside,' he said. 'Karkarn was insistent that he was not looking for a warrior to fight in his name. He wanted the man I am, and so a man I remain.'

'But you are still changed; I can feel it in your arms. You've been touched by a God; you carry a part of him within you. Do you still need sleep? Food? Will Karkarn visit us every day? Will you age like a man, or a God?'

Vesna raised his fingers to her lips to stop the questions. 'I can't answer, not yet, but I can assure you that I'm still a man, with all of a man's needs and frailties. The rest is unknown; we'll have to discover the answers together.' He gestured towards where Karkarn had been standing a few moments before. 'As you've seen, my God is reluctant to reveal everything.'

'And what of me?' Tila asked in a small voice.

'What do you mean?'

Her eyes lowered and her hands fell away. 'Where do your loyalties lie now? This cannot have failed to change you inside. Whatever you believed when the offer was first made, you now have a God's interests to serve.' She hesitated, then, her voice barely audible, she said, 'What room is there in your life for a foolish girl half your age?'

'Tila, my Tila,' Vesna said, tilting her head up to look her in the eye, 'it would take more than the tears of a God to change my heart.' He took her hands again, and pulled her close, and kissed her, gently. 'Tila, I know the duty I now bear, but you have to believe that it will never eclipse what I feel for you. Just as the rage of the Gods turned mild-mannered priests into fanatics, so I have been irrevocably changed by you, and I am equally devoted to my cause.'

She blushed, and squeezed his hands. She was turning her head up for another kiss when her eyes widened and she stopped back half a pace. 'Vesna, that reminds me: Lesarl's been investigating the fanatics further and he thinks it was those who were actively praying when the spell over Scree was broken were the ones most badly affected. You mustn't expect all of Karkarn's priests to accept you easily.'

Vesna looked at his beloved. He had been agonising for days over how he would explain his new condition and that really wasn't the response to his declaration he'd been expecting. 'Well, thank you for ruining the moment for me! Do you have to think like a politician all the time?' He smiled to take the sting out of his words, and Tila blushed again, this time in embarrassment.

'I'm sorry, I just remembered, and it's important.' Suddenly she poked him hard in the chest. 'Hang on, didn't you just compare me to the bloodlust that's been tearing the Land apart these last few months?'

'I… ah – ' Vesna stammered, 'no, no – I didn't mean it that way at all!'

'And yet that's how it came out. You soldiers really are as brainless as mules, sometimes.' Tila's face lit up, and she hugged him. 'You're very, very lucky I'm still going to marry you, Count Vesna; I can't think how you'd ever manage around all these Gods without me.'

Vesna held her close, immeasurably cheered. Just the sight of this beautiful girl, the scent of her perfume, the touch of her soft skin, had done much to lift the bleakness surrounding him, though his heart remained heavy.

'I should thank you for that, then – and believe me, I do,' he said. 'So. Have you set a date for this salvation of mine?'

'A month from now,' Tila replied promptly. 'I would drag you before Lord Fernal right this very minute if it were up to me, but my mother would never forgive me, and that is too great a burden for us both to bear into our new life. Much of her family live in Ked, and need time to get here. But Mother believes it is possible to organise what she's describing as "a modest celebration" in a month. And the Gods themselves help anyone who gets in her way – she may be my mother, but that woman would terrorise the Reapers themselves if they stood between her and her only daughter's wedding.'

'A month?' Vesna croaked.

'A month,' she confirmed, a steely look in her eye. 'As short a time as possible – because you may well be sent off to fight at any moment.'

Despite the turmoil in his head, Vesna had the sense not to argue. Very carefully, very deliberately he closed his mouth, trying not to swallow visibly. He loved this woman with all his heart, but he had been a bachelor – and a highly popular one at that – for many years, and couldn't help but feel daunted at the new trick this old dog was going to learn. But he had made his decision. 'A month it is then. If there's fighting to be done, I suspect it'll be in Tirah anyway.'

'Really?' Within a blink of an eye the quick-witted politician was back. 'Can you tell me why?'

'Suzerain Temal and Scion Ranah were awaiting us at the border – with troops. I doubt they'll be the only ones. Now the tribe's leadership is in question, support and swords will be up for sale – and don't expect them to all side against the clerics, either.'

'All the more reason for us to be quick about it then,' she said with a mock-stern tone. 'There'll be no wriggling out of it this time, my love.'

Vesna smiled and allowed her to take his arm and lead him to the door.

'I remember once,' Tila added with a sly smile as she closed to door to the shrine, 'being told to treat my husband like a God on my wedding night.' She patted his black-iron vambrace. 'It is good I won't have to pretend now.'

Mihn woke with the sense that something was out of place. This was an exhausting existence, not just caring for the two of them and hunting enough to feed a white-eye's appetite, but being constantly on guard, alert for dangers both natural and unnatural. Most mornings he drifted into wakefulness slowly, but today he found his eyes wide open and staring at the crossbeam above his bed. He had hung a blanket over it to give one end of the bed an element of privacy, though still able to keep an eye on Isak during his nightmares. He found it oddly comforting.

Now he peered at Isak's bed, and immediately reached for his boots as he realised it was empty. It was early, still chill, and the pale dawn light was just seeping into the cottage. He set the boots aside and instead pulled on a thick woollen shirt and trousers. As he slipped silently outside the charms tattooed on the soles of his feet glowed warm on his skin. The rising sun was hidden behind a low bank of mist, while the eastern horizon, over the lake, was as dark as a thundercloud.

Isak was standing by a crooked willow fifty yards away. Though old, the tree jutting out over the water was no higher than the white-eye. The puppy Hulf nosed through the hanging fronds at Isak's feet, a broken stub of wood jammed in his mouth like a cigar. When he saw Mihn, Hulf gave a snort and scampered over, his tail wagging furiously. The bark had been stripped off his little branch by his increasingly powerful jaws. He dropped it at Mihn's feet.

'Isak, could you not sleep?'

Isak watched the insects skittering over the near-still lake surface for a while, making no sign that he had heard Mihn.

At last, 'I once loved sleep,' he said wearily, 'and now it stalks me.'

From the trees came the warbling song of dozens of birds, all saluting the dawn. Mihn looked around to see a robin sitting on the topmost branch of the willow, watching Isak, its head cocked as though trying to puzzle out what he was and where he came from. Like all the robins he'd seen in Llehden, this one had a green cap, as bright as its red breast – something he'd never seen elsewhere on his wanderings.

'Do you want me to leave?'

Isak shook his head. 'You're as much a part of it as they are,' he said, looking back at the insects briefly.

'A part of what? The Land?'

'The patterns I see all around me. The threads that bind you to the tapestry.'

Mihn frowned. Isak's maudlin thoughts were often followed by listlessness and a deep gloom and he'd hoped today to be able to get the damaged white-eye up and working; exercising those still-powerful muscles and helping him continue his journey back to the man he'd once been.

'Come back to the cottage,' he urged, 'I'll make some tea – you must be cold out here.'

Isak was wearing only a thin robe, tied at the waist with a braided belt Xeliath had once worn. The scars on his throat and chest were plain to see, duller now that the day they had returned from Ghenna but no less terrible.

'It's strange,' Isak said, looking Mihn properly in the eye for the first time that day. 'I don't feel part of that pattern. We cut the threads that bound me. We had to – there was no other way.'

'I know,' Mihn said soothingly, seeing Isak's face tightening with anxiety. The witch of Llehden had cut many memories from his mind, leaving great holes there. Some things Isak remembered perfectly, but he sensed the frayed edges of his memory. 'We freed you. It was hard, but we freed you.'

'We cut too many,' Isak said with an abrupt, strangled cough of laughter. 'Ham-fisted wagon-brat, that's what she used to call me.'

'Tila? Aye, and Carel too.'

'Carel?'

Mihn shook his head hurriedly. 'Just someone you once knew,' he said, a dagger of guilt driving deep into his heart. Merciful Gods, he cannot remember Carel? How do I ever forgive myself for taking that memory from him?

He had to cough and clear his throat before he could speak again. 'Tell me how you know we cut too many.'

'I'm not part of the tapestry, not any more. A few threads still hold me to life, but I died, didn't I?'

'You did.' For a moment Mihn felt the weight of the Land upon his shoulders, but he shook off the mood. He didn't know what price he would have to pay for the audacity of his actions, but whatever it was, it could not be worse than what Isak had endured. 'You died, and we brought you back. We had to.'

'To free me of the ties that bind,' Isak intoned, 'and that bastard Lesarl,' he added. 'Never liked him.'

Mihn forced a smile at the glimpse of the old Isak; he didn't see them often, but they were coming more frequently now. The witch had been right to give Hulf to Isak. They were inseparable now and the dog, growing stronger every day – and starting to show the fierce spirit yet to reawaken in Isak – was tirelessly playful. Hulf was forcing Isak to remember his own love of silliness, running along the lakeshore with happy abandon, leaping over whatever was in his way, or stealing Isak's shoes in the hope of being chased. It had taken Isak a while to keep up, but just as the growing dog was developing a wilful, exuberant personality, Isak was unearthing his own, buried deep, but not entirely cut away by their drastic measures.

'Can you see the pattern?' Mihn asked cautiously. 'Do you understand it now?'

Isak's gaze returned to the lake. 'I see the wind. I see the sun – the threads that tie flowers to the sun and bees to the flowers. I see the spirits of the forest and the Gods that rule them. I see the threads that bind it all, the weaves and colours of all things.'

'And me?'

Isak's face went suddenly grave. 'Especially you. You keep me in the pattern. I am the millstone around your neck.'

'Isak, that is not true,' Mihn insisted sternly. 'We both made this choice, and I would make the same choice again.'

'Would I?' Isak wondered. 'Do I have the strength?'

'Your strength is something I will never doubt.'

Without warning tears spilled from Isak's eyes. He stood there, unashamed, looking mournfully at Mihn. 'We must remake the pattern; tear out the threads and bind them anew – and you will have to live with the consequences.'