The ragged man

CHAPTER 17

Legana felt the light of the fading sun break through the clouds and settle over her as she sat on a stone bench in the centre of Kamfer's Ford. She turned her head a little to protect her sensitive eyes and waited. Life in the market square continued around her. The locals were used to the sight of her now, and had quite got over their nervousness, if not their awe.

'Mistress?'

Legana looked up at the broad woman bathed in warm orange light. She recognised the voice of the innkeeper's wife, a woman as respectful towards her as if Legana were the greatest witch in the west.

'I thought you might like a cup of tannay,' she said timidly, offering a small brass goblet. Legana smiled, and sensed the woman's relief.

Quickly Legana wrote – Thank you on her slate and held it up before accepting the goblet. The local spirit was served warm to bring out the flavour.

'You've brought us enough trade in recent weeks,' the landlady said. 'Your guests all come to the inn, and never a word of trouble no matter how much they drink – and whatever Unmen Poller says at High Reverence, the wisewomen say you've frightened off every bad spirit for miles. It seemed only right to fetch you a cup in thanks. My ma always said tannay should be drunk with a spring sunset.'

Legana sipped the drink and felt its warmth spread down her throat. She'd tried other people's tannay since she'd arrived at Kamfer's Ford, enough to tell this was the finest yet. A smile spread over her face and she gestured to the other side of the bench, inviting the woman to join her.

'Oh I wouldn't want to disturb you…'

Legana gave a dismissive wave of the hand and the woman tailed off. The divine spark was strong enough inside Legana that when she gestured again the woman sat immediately.

– I am Legana.

'Nanter Kassai,' came the hurried response. 'Mistress Legana, may I… may I ask you a question?'

Legana inclined her head and shifted in her seat to look Nanter in the face, who faltered at the sight of her gleaming emerald eyes.

Nanter had short auburn hair and a button nose that seemed out of proportion with the rest of her face. She cleared her throat and looked down. 'I was just wondering, why d'you sit here every evening? I don't mean to pry, Mistress Legana, but the women who travel here, they come at all times, but we never see you save at sunset.'

Legana considered the question a while, chalk in her hand. Eventually she began to write.

– Do you remember the girl you once were?

Nanter smiled encouragingly.

– This is how I do it.

Nanter looked a little puzzled by the statement, but it was as simple as Legana could make it. At twilight the Gods withdrew from the Land and the part of her that was divine became a shade muted. The sounds of everyday life around her reminded Legana of what it was to be alive, while the sinking sun was a memorial to the Goddess she had lost.

Whether pious or merely conditioned to the routines and rituals, every devotee of the Lady had lost something of herself when the family that raised her had been broken. Some would not want another to take its place, but Legana was sure many would be glad of anything she had to offer. Most people craved belonging of one sort or another. While Legana had spoken her prayers through rote rather than joy, she had still been glad to work – even to bleed – in the service of her family.

'Mistress, do you know how many there are of you left?' Nanter asked quietly, terrified of prying, despite Legana's invitation for her to sit.

Legana shook her head. She had been unable to reach the minds of any devotee beyond those she had brought to Kamfer's Ford – two dozen now. She could feel them out there, glowing in her mind like candles in the fog. Those that had come at her call said they felt something in the night and been curious enough to investigate, which told Legana her efforts might at least serve as a beacon to those touched by the Lady.

Less happily, the newcomers had also brought tales of fanatical clerics turning on Fate's priestesses. Some had already been burned, amidst rumours that Fate had been cut down by Death and her followers were now heretics.

'How did it happen?' Nanter whispered. 'Did you feel it?'

Legana's hand trembled as her body remembered the beating it had received the night Aracnan killed the Lady.

– I felt it, she wrote hesitantly. I saw her murder.

'Who would do such a thing?' Nanter's face was white.

– A daemon with the face of a child.

Nanter shivered. 'Will it be hunting you?'

Legana shook her head. – I am no threat, and it has other enemies.

'As do you.'

– I know.

'What will you do if the fanatics come looking for you?'

Legana gave her a small, inscrutable smile, and the emerald gleam in her eyes intensified momentarily. Nanter drew back in alarm, but managed to catch herself. With a great effort of will she kept her seat on the bench.

'A Goddess' blessing,' she whispered, as enthralled as she was frightened, 'a blessing on us all.'

– Tell the unmen that.

'We've tried,' Nanter said sadly, 'but he won't listen. We are Godsfearing folk in these parts, but he drives away the most pious among us with his fervour.'

– Worship without him.

The innkeeper's wife froze. 'You want us to…? Are you saying…?'

Legana realised what Nanter was failing to say and almost choked as she tried not to laugh. Her ruined voice and damaged throat meant that laughter was dreadfully painful, and barely recognisable.

– I am no God, nor priestess, she wrote when the coughing had subsided.

The relief on Nanter's face showed she had been right, the woman had been asking whether Legana intended to take Unmen Poller's place as the heart of the town's worship.

– But I can get him away from the temple each evening.

Nanter bobbed her head in thanks. 'Thank you, Mistress.' She was about to say more when she caught sight of something past Legana's shoulder. 'Mistress, I think more guests have arrived.'

Legana turned and squinted in the direction Nanter indicated. There were four figures standing on the edge of the square, facing her. With the sky bright behind them she could make out little detail, but none wore hoods, and even her weak eyesight could make out the copper tint to their hair.

'It's time I left you alone,' Nanter announced, accepting the empty goblet from Legana as she stood. 'I thank you for your offer. Many folk hereabouts will be most glad of your help.'

Legana retrieved her silver-headed cane from the ground and used it to push herself upright, giving Nanter a smile of thanks. The woman half-curtseyed and fled, leaving Legana to walk, a little unsteadily, towards the newcomers.

'You are the one they call the Hand of Fate?' croaked the one at the head of the group, clearly an old woman.

'Not to my face,' Legana said directly into the woman's mind. 'What they refer to was not made by Fate.'

She lifted the white silk scarf tied around her neck so the former priestess could see the shadowy handprint made by Aracnan.

'I have never known a sister to be a mage before,' said another of the women, sounding as old as the first.

As Legana moved a few steps closer, to see their faces more clearly, one of the remaining two stepped around the priestess, her hand on the hilt of her shortsword. She was the tallest of the four, as tall as Legana, and built for fighting, though she was young enough still to be a novice.

'I was not, until the Lady made me her Mortal-Aspect,' Legana replied. 'She called me nothing more than Legana. I would keep that sword in its sheath,' she added, nodding towards the youngest, 'the Lady chose me because I was the best of her devotees – however damaged my body looks, I am faster than any mortal.'

'Step aside, Dainiss,' the first woman said, placing a hand on her protector's arm.

As Legana's eyes adjusted to the light she saw the old woman's face was a mass of wrinkles, her skin a leathery-brown that spoke of a lifetime in the sun, but she could make out little more, and she couldn't place the woman's origin.

'I can sense our Goddess' flame within her; she is not the fraud we expected,' the woman said, musingly.

Legana watched the old woman, wondering how she was going to react to that statement, but the priestess did nothing but stare. After a while it became apparent that both sides were waiting for the other to explain themselves. Legana felt the impatience well up inside her. No doubt the old priestess had been a temple-mistress in her time, and had outwaited many a stubborn novice, though Legana was sure she would win that game, even against one so practiced.

'Have you come to join us?' she asked.

'What is it you are doing here?'

'Looking for new purpose. The Lady is dead but her followers are not, and all we've ever had is each other. Some may wish to forget about their family and start afresh, but not I.'

'You would appoint yourself our queen? Our Goddess?'

'I appoint myself nothing, but like it or not, I carry the spark that binds us. There are only a few of our sisters here yet, but several have been permanently affected by the death of Fate. Those who were praying at the time of her murder were harmed in the mind and they need the protection of their sisters. I intend to gather as many as I can and take stock. Only then will we be able to find our way forward. Only then will we have a chance to find a new purpose.'

The old priestess pursed her lips as she thought. No doubt she was wary of everything since the death of their Goddess.

'You don't need to decide now,' Legana continued, 'come with me to the castle and meet the others. They would be glad of a priestess here.'

She gestured for them to follow and turned towards Camatayl Castle. After a moment she heard footsteps. Though she set a slow pace, Legana walked alone, feeling their eyes bore into her back with every step.

When she reached the castle Shanas, one of the devotees she had first arrived with, ran up and informed her that King Emin had been looking for her.

'I thought as much,' Legana said, gesturing at the activity within the normally sleepy courtyard. 'He will soon have need of us.'

There were hundreds of men in the castle now, soldiers and workmen alike, the latter labouring to erect new buildings within the embrace of the castle walls: temporary barracks for the troops that would soon be passing through the area. A few regiments were already camped up against the outer walls, along with a large number of messengers. Flying from the main tower were half a dozen flags now – another two had been added during the day.

'My sisters,' she said, rounding on the devotees following her, 'I'm needed elsewhere. Shanas here will take you to the others. King Emin had granted us rooms in the gate-tower – it's not much, but as you can see, space is limited. His hospitality isn't charity, and if you wish to stay it will be on my terms.'

'And what are those?' demanded the priestess.

'Use of what skills we possess,' Legana said, 'and a guarantee from me that his secrets will be kept. I advise you not to test that; the devotees here have already made their choice.'

Before any of the four had the chance to argue Legana turned her back on them and headed for the main tower. There were now green-and-gold liveried members of the Kingsguard posted throughout the castle, but she was admitted without challenge and made her way up to the room where she'd first discussed a bargain with the king. This time he barely even looked up as she entered.

King Emin had chosen Camatayl Castle as his base of operations for the coming year, leaving his queen and newborn son in the relative safety of Narkang. He wore a ceremonial version of the Kingsguard uniform and a hat to match it that looked gaudy even to Legana's weak, greying vision.

'What about there?' he asked the man beside him, a decrepit old relic in a faded uniform.

The man's cheeks were scarred by drink and his uniform hung loose on his body. The dull gold braiding from shoulder to cuff on one sleeve indicated he was a general in the Narkang Army, the creasing suggested he had been retired for a while now. There were two other men looking over the map, both much younger, who sported the same braiding, and Legana guessed them to be newly promoted.

'Good ground, yes,' said the old general, with a cautious glance at the newcomer, 'but the river all along that stretch is impassable. There are only two bridges of use to us for more than a hundred miles. You'd need a local in command or they could get trapped.'

'It's worth the risk, within striking distance of the city. Three divisions, under your personal command. If the city falls you pull back past the river and the south bank is your boundary. Remember, hit-and-run is our mantra: constant movement, and no engagement where it is expected.'

King Emin at last tore himself away from the map and directed Legana towards an elderly, rather shambolic-looking nobleman escorted by a bored-looking Kingsguard. The pale, rather portly man sat at a small desk peering at another map that had been stretched out and held at the corners with brass weights. Alongside was a jumble of papers on which he was writing notes. The king had been expecting his arrival for a few days now; this was his uncle, Anversis Halis, an academic who had been recording and modelling the movements of the Harlequins for years.

Only recently had the king become interested in the work, though he was aware of most of the research being conducted within his borders, interesting or otherwise. It wasn't the first time the king had been able to harness knowledge of this kind for military use. Legana didn't know if they all got guards, but the king had been less than complimentary about his uncle's discretion, so she guessed it was as much to keep him out of trouble as anything else.

Legana made her way over and stood in silence at the table until Halis noticed her.

He gave a gasp of shock. 'Blessed song of seasons!' he exclaimed, half-falling off his chair. But he soon recovered himself and it wasn't long before Halis was peering up at her face with utter fascination. 'You, ah, you are…' he stuttered.

Legana inclined her head and the words died unsaid in his throat, but the acknowledgement didn't appear to diminish his curiosity. He even went so far as to edge around the table to get a little closer, but that just prompted Legana to back away.

– Stop staring or I'll blind you, she wrote on her slate eventually.

The man gave a squawk and retreated to his seat. 'Ah, my apologies, Mistress Legana. There are so many questions running through my head that I hardly know where to begin.'

Legana scowled, her fingers flexing around the silver head of her cane. It took a while, but the man eventually got the message that she was not going to answer questions and turned his attention back to the map.

'Ah, here is the working plan. The, um, subjects follow a reasonably simple path through the Land, as one might expect. They are only human, after all, and they are subject to the same habits as the rest of us.'

– How many?

'In total?' Halis frowned at her. 'It is impossible to tell for sure. King Emin assures me they have home clans and will return there periodically, but for how long is impossible to calculate, as is the incidence of their passing being reported to me.'

– How is that done?

He glanced away uneasily at the king, but at that moment Legana's balance failed her again and she swayed forward, grabbing the table with both hands to steady herself. Halis went even whiter and raised his hands protectively, as though she was going to strike him.

'A network of academics throughout the Land,' Halis blurted out, misreading her actions entirely. 'They study the writings of Verliq and aid the research of their fellows wherever possible.'

'And what kind fellows they are too,' added King Emin, joining them. He looked at her, concerned, but she waved it away and he didn't comment further.

'You will have heard of Verliq's Children, I assume? As I have reminded my uncle here, my patronage and assistance over the years has been invaluable to them, and I fully expect them to be delighted to assist our midsummer operation.'

'Delighted?' spluttered Halis.

King Emin raised a hand to stop him saying any more. 'I choose to believe they are delighted. They are, of course, not men of action, but I want this to be kept separate from my principal spy network, which has quite enough to keep it busy at present. To bolster numbers Legana has agreed to recruit for me among her sisters, both for the operation itself and the logistics of putting it into practice.'

– How many?

'To kill? Our aim is a hundred; we know we will not get them all, but that should still disrupt this current phase of the shadow's plan.' Emin pursed his lips in thought and stared down at the map. 'I have had news from Byora; we were not successful in our goal. At the same time it was not a complete disaster, and our casualties were acceptable.' He hesitated. 'You can tell your sisters that the killer of their Goddess is dead.'

Legana felt her knees tremble and another wave of dizziness washed over her, but she fought it, and managed to keep herself upright. Aracnan was dead. She had been expecting this news at some point, ever since Doranei's comrade, Sebe, had managed to wound the mercenary, but still the news caught her off-guard.

Anger and satisfaction clashed inside her. There was some frustration that it had been done by another, despite King Emin's assurances that his end would have been painful. What more did she want? What more could she ask for?

Nothing. There is nothing more, she realised. All I can do now is ensure his deeds do not define me any more than they must.

– Thank you. How many sisters? she forced herself to write, ignoring the unsteadiness of the script.

To Emin's credit he continued with only a questioning look at her expression. 'As many as possible, more than we can manage,' he said. 'Some will have to leave today – we are limited by the distances involved – but some of Uncle Anversis' colleagues have faster methods of communication so we may be able to hire mercenaries, if nothing else. There is an additional matter, however. Doranei has reported preachers being sent out by the child, Ruhen. They are now secondary targets.'

– Does it suspect?

'There is no indication of that,' Emin said, his worry-lines deepening at the suggestion. 'The reports we're getting suggest Harlequins are laying the foundations for these preachers, adding legitimacy to what will follow. The agents I have here and those easily contacted will be sent furthest afield.' Emin picked up a sheet from the pile of paper his uncle had been making notes on. 'This designates the place and the local contact. The particular agents will be assigned here, and the page will be encoded and copied before it leaves this room.'

– When do you need my sisters?

'We will send them in groups; I need the first ready in two days.' The king took another piece of paper proffered by his uncle and scanned it before showing it to Legana. 'This is the first; do you have enough to fill these?'

Legana squinted at the page. The scribbled characters were hard to read, but she was able at least to make out the number of lines involved. She nodded.

'Send them to Dashain tomorrow morning. She will assign positions and give the contact names. Hopefully you will not have to remind them how skilled the targets are; they are not to be given any sort of chance, or drawn into a fair fight.'

King Emin paused and gave her a long, hard look. 'I'm taking a great risk in trusting so much to your sisters. Are you certain of their loyalty? I don't have a contingency plan here; my forces are stretched too thin.'

– It will be done.

The look in her eyes was chilling. It reminded Emin of Larat wearing his sister's face. There was no place for uncertainty in a God's mind, and Doranei had described Legana as uncompromising when she was just mortal. The current combination was not a comforting one. As he ordered murder to be done, Emin found himself hoping he wouldn't be the one to find out how far Legana was prepared to go.