The ragged man

CHAPTER 20

Major Jachen squinted up at the sun and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It was mid-morning and they'd been travelling since dawn, making a final push to reach Llehden before the end of the day. The sun had been in their eyes all the way and Jachen's head was hurting because of it – that, and the questions running nonstop through his head.

Lord Isak's final orders for his Personal Guard had been to travel to Narkang and enter the service of King Emin. That in itself had been enough to provoke near-rebellion in the ranks. Count Vesna had limited the impact by returning the married men to their previous positions before giving the order, but still it rankled. Some of the men still refused to believe Jachen was as much in the dark as they, especially once they had found their new master at his castle outside Kamfer's Ford.

'You will go to Llehden,' the king had said, his face inscrutable. 'You will find the Witch of Llehden. She has a use for you.'

Jachen shook his head. He had been a mercenary for years, and had served many masters, but this was the first time he'd been passed around like a piece of currency.

'Can you not tell me any more, your Majesty?' he'd pleaded. 'What do I say to my men? They're the best of the Farlan Army, and they're ready to die for their lord without hesitation – but to be handed off like mercenaries or slaves… they're men of honour, your Majesty – '

'They are men of war,' King Emin had replied, with enough snap in his voice that the black-clad bodyguard at his side put a hand on his sword hilt.

Jachen had been given an audience by himself, while the rest of Lord Isak's Personal Guard were left in the courtyard below and told in no uncertain terms to stay put until Jachen returned.

The king's reaction had left Jachen even more confused; the Farlan and the people of Narkang were allies, were they not? Yet everyone at Camatayl Castle had treated them with suspicion and hostility, as if they were enemies in their midst rather than proven friends and comrades.

'What is more,' King Emin had continued after a tense moment, 'you will go to Llehden with only two of your men – am I right in thinking not all are Palace Guard?'

Jachen had been slow to work out what the king was talking about, and his silence prompted the bodyguard to take a warning step forwards. 'The Ascetites? Yes, your Majesty, three aren't Ghosts but agents of the Chief Steward.'

'They will stay here then, I have need of such men. Their names?'

'Ah, Tiniq, Leshi and Shinir – they are as thick as thieves and about as honest, but Tiniq at least can be trusted to follow order. He's General Lahk's twin brother.'

'Ah yes, now I remember. I have some knife work to be done. You may tell those three – and any of the rest with the necessary skills – to report to Dashain.'

'Your Majesty – ' Jachen had begun, only to have his protests cut off once more.

'Major! Is there any part of that instruction you do not understand? '

Jachen hung his head, well-aware of his place and how far any objections could be taken. 'No, your Majesty.'

'Then carry out your orders, and without further question, if you please. Narkang shares your grief for Lord Isak, but it does not excuse forgetting your place – indeed, it shows just how serious events have become.' King Emin's face had hardened as he leaned forward over his desk. 'You may not fully understand your orders; you may not have all of the information you think you need, but that should be nothing new. This is a war, and you must do your part. The more you do not understand the reasons for your mission, the more you should realise the deadly importance of the task. Do you understand me?'

Jachen, chastised, saluted, not trusting himself to speak. He had talked his way into trouble his entire career, but he knew enough about the Narkang king to realise talking back now wouldn't just result in demotion.

'You all right, sir?' came a voice from behind him.

Jachen flinched, and Private Marad chuckled in a half-hearted way. The other member of their party, a grizzled sergeant called Ralen, just squinted at him, but as he looked back, the major couldn't tell whether Ralen's expression was one of concern or just discomfort at the sun.

'I'm fine, Sergeant, just wondering what's waiting for us.'

'Bunch o' jabbering monsters, sir,' Ralen drawled, 'if it's anything like the last time we was 'ere.'

'Nah,' Marad said, 'gentry only comes out a night.' He pointed past Jachen to a long line of huge pine trees that dominated the view. 'See them big stones at the base o' them trees? They're called twilight stones; gentry stand on 'em and watch the sun set. That's the first you'll see of 'em all day, so we were told.'

Jachen followed the line of Marad's finger. He thought he could make out shapes in the shadows under the trees, but with the sun so high it was hard to make out much more. 'We'll soon find out enough,' he said, urging his horse into a trot again. 'Let's hope we get more answers here than we did from the king.'

'From a witch?' Marad scoffed. 'Not bloody likely – 'bout as much chance as 'er lettin' the sarge shag 'er.'

Ralen gave a wistful sigh and started on after Jachen. 'Man's gotta have goals in life,' he said, prompting another laugh from Marad. 'Considerin' the closest thing she's got to a friend has blue fur and fangs, I ain't givin' up yet.'

The three soldiers found themselves riding through the belt of ancient pine that denoted the Llehden border in silence. There was an occasional marker stone, but it was clear few travelled this way. The woods were strangely hushed for a spring afternoon, the birdsong sounding distant, coming in clipped bursts, as though even the birds were wary to break the silence.

The pines extended a mile past the twilight stones, dwindling in number as the land rose, then dipped away. Only when the last of the huge trees were behind them did they start to see signs of civilisation, and when they reached the first hamlet it was the soldiers who were more surprised. At a fork in the path they came across eight cottages huddled along the bank of a stream, penned in by a wicker fence and cultivated hawthorn thickets. To the right the oak and birch trees thinned out and they could make out the long grass of pastureland.

Jachen assumed the thorny fencing was to keep the animals from wandering at night, but as they drew closer he began to pick out rabbit-bone charms and polished metal discs hanging amongst the branches. It was unusual to see so many charms on display like that – they didn't look religious, and it was the sort of thing priests objected to.

For a small settlement frightened enough to put so much effort into protective charms, they betrayed very little fear – or even interest – at the sight of strange horsemen. The few locals in sight – five women of varying ages and three scrawny children – watched them approach without abandoning their daily activities. A few long-legged dogs ran out and began to bark, but a word of command from one of the women was enough to bring them back to the open gate.

'We're looking for the witch,' Jachen called, but he received only blank looks for his troubles. 'No? Don't speak Farlan eh?'

He reined in his horse and tried to recall what little of the language he'd learned. King Emin's peace had limited the amount of work a mercenary could find within Narkang lands, but Jachen hadn't always been exacting about the jobs he took and a man who could read and write rarely starved. He said, 'The woman not like you?' – the best he could manage in the Narkang tongue – but it did at least get a reaction.

One of the younger women pointed southwest, saying something he couldn't understand and shaking her head as she spoke.

Before he could thank her, a man called out from the woods behind them, 'She's warning you, says you don't want to go past the village.'

Jachen turned, his hand instinctively going to his sword, but he froze, his mouth dropping open in surprise. It took him a moment to get the name, then he had it: Morghien, the man of many spirits. His weatherbeaten face was dirtier than the last time they'd met, in Tirah Palace, but he was certainly looking at the ageing wanderer who, with Mihn, had brought Lady Xeliath to the Farlan capital.

'You'll catch flies if you keep that up, Major,' Morghien added, bowing mockingly before starting towards them. 'I see you're still whole, Ralen; there really is no justice in this life.'

Ralen chuckled and gave the man a careless salute. 'Morghien, you ole cheat, still sneakin' up on folk then? I thought Marshal Carelfolden 'ad warned you about that.'

Morghien smiled, but his response was drowned out by an explosion of noise as the dogs caught sight of him and raced out again, barking with a far greater ferocity than they had at the riders. Morghien stopped dead while the woman Jachen had spoken to yelled at the animals. The three long-haired guard-dogs ignored the horses and stopped only when they were just past the Farlan, as though ready to protect them from the eccentric wanderer.

Jachen had met Morghien often enough for him to be wary at the wanderer's unexpected appearance. What he hadn't expected was Morghien's reaction to the dogs – only the woman's repeated shouts were holding them in check at all, and none were showing any sign of backing down, but Morghien had sunk to his knees, as if to make himself an easier target.

Without taking his eyes off the dogs Morghien untied a dead rabbit from his pack and tossed it to the dogs, closing his eyes and mouthing something, looking to Jachen for all the world as if he was praying.

To Jachen's complete astonishment, the dogs shut up. The largest of the three picked up the rabbit and fixed Morghien with a baleful look before carrying his prize back inside the hamlet fence.

'What in the name o' Larat's twisty cock did yer do there?' Ralen asked, clearly mirroring Jachen's own surprise.

'Just said hello,' Morghien replied, getting to his feet with the groan of a man far older than he looked. Morghien, a man who counted King Emin among his friends, had looked exactly the same when he met the king almost twenty years previously, and twenty years before that too.

'The hamlet's got a guardian spirit, one they've linked to the dogs somehow – that'd be your witch, I'd expect.'

'And it took exception to you?'

Morghien laughed. 'Took fright, just as likely, but it acts like a dog and they don't need much excuse to bark.'

'Were you waiting for us here?' Jachen interrupted. 'Did the king tell you to meet us?'

'Pah, he's got a war to think about now, and he don't know any more than you do anyway.'

'What do you mean?'

Morghien cocked his head at Jachen. 'Curious, he didn't tell you any more than he had to. You ain't here at his order; you're here at the witch's.'

'Lord Isak's last orders said we were to follow King Emin's orders, not those of some village witch,' said Jachen, looking puzzled.

Morghien nodded. 'Maybe so, but the witch sent Emin a message a few weeks back. She asked for you by name.'

'Me?' Jachen said in surprise. 'I barely met the woman.'

'But you have kind eyes, and women like that,' Morghien laughed with a wink at Ralen. 'Might be something else, of course, but we won't know until we find her.'

He called his thanks to the woman by the cottages and disappeared into the trees, coming back almost immediately. 'Come on, Major, let's see if love awaits you,' he said as he started off down the path she had indicated.

Morghien was silent as they continued on their journey, passing though a second charm-enclosed hamlet before the trees opened out and they found a village straddling what was now a small river. Compared to the rest of Llehden it looked bustling, and was apparently large enough to have no more of a protective fence than a boundary ring of charm-inscribed stones. They could see smoke from more than a dozen homes rising into the air, and hear the clash of a blacksmith at work, and there were figures visible working on half a dozen smallholdings in between the cottages.

'No lord of the manor here,' Morghien commented as they crossed the boundary stones, 'and they eat all they grow; you Farlan wouldn't approve.'

'Ain't they lucky,' Marad drawled, 'the king's law rules all round their border, so's they gets the best o' both.'

'Don't fool yourself; it's not so simple – or safe – in these parts. Start thinking that way, you might not last the night.'

'Bloody peasants an' their bloody superstitions,' Marad replied, spitting on the ground, 'if it can hurt you, you can hurt it. I'll put my glaive against anythin' Llehden's got.'

'I'd be interested to see that,' Morghien said with grin, 'from a safe distance.' He broke off to speak to a man with greying whiskers and a hoe resting across his broad shoulders, who had come over from the nearest smallholding. They talked briefly, and Jachen noticed a look of relief crossing the man's face when Morghien shook his head in answer to a question. After a while he pointed to a house on the far side of the village.

'The witch is here in the village today; one of the women is in labour,' Morghien reported back to them, and led them across the small bridge and into the centre of the village, scattering the hissing black-winged geese grazing on a patch of common ground.

As they headed to the house, Jachen asked, 'What about the first bit?'

'First?'

'What the man said.' Jachen said, jabbing a thumb behind them.

'Ah, nothing. He asked if we were hunting the Ragged Man.'

'Who?'

Morghien shrugged. 'Some local spirit, by the sound of it; he said it'd eat our souls if we went after it.'

'Let's not, then,' Jachen said with a shiver. War he could handle, but the supernatural terrified him. The sight of the Reapers slaughtering Scree's population still haunted his dreams… he had none of Marad's optimism.

At the house Morghien spoke to a stern-looking woman with greying hair and returned to the Farlan soldiers looking grave. 'She sounds worried; it's her sister givin' birth. If you're brave enough, go fetch the witch out – me, I'll wait.'

Ralen and Marad shook their heads violently and followed Morghien over to what proved to be a tavern. Finding himself alone and the sole object of the woman's scrutiny, Jachen beat a hasty retreat. The three soldiers busied themselves attending to their horses before they stretched out beside Morghien on the grass with pots of the potent local brew.

It was two hours before the witch appeared, arms bloody and a small bundle carried reverentially in her hands. She handed the dead infant to the sister, who bowed her head as she accepted her tiny charge. That done she crossed the green, not paying the new arrivals a moment's notice, but before Jachen could call out to her to attract her attention, Morghien stopped him.

'She'll not speak to you, not yet,' he said, gesturing for Jachen to rise and follow him.

The two men trailed the witch at a respectful distance and watched her wash her arms and apron in the river. Only when she rose from her knees and began to wring the sodden cloth out did Morghien allow Jachen to approach.

'You come on a bad day,' Ehla, the witch of Llehden, said in stilted Farlan.

'At your order,' Jachen pointed out brusquely.

She turned to face them and he found himself taking a step back at the look she gave him.

'Not my order. Isak's.'

Jachen stiffened. 'Lord Isak is dead.'

'He died,' Ehla agreed. 'Your loyalty died too?'

'Of course not!' Jachen growled. 'What in the name of the Dark Place are you suggesting?'

'That your service is not finished.' She didn't explain further but shook out her apron, draped it over her arm and headed back to the house. Jachen looked to Morghien for answers, but saw only amusement in his face.

'Don't give me that kicked puppy look,' Morghien said dismissively as they turned to follow the witch. 'I'm as much in the dark as you – just I'm more used to it.'

'And not even the king knows why we're here?'

'There's much Emin keeps from me, that's what kings do.'

Jachen bit back his reply, knowing he'd get nothing useful from the strange man. He followed in silence, determined not to speak any more than necessary until someone gave him a few answers.

The witch didn't stay long at the house; she checked first on her patient, then gave the sister a few stern instructions, rejoining the men a quarter of an hour later. She led them south at a brisk pace, ignoring the looks of alarm on the faces of those townsfolk they passed.

The path was little more than a rabbit run. After an hour the trees had become denser and the Farlan were forced to dismount and lead their horses. From time to time Morghien spoke to the witch in the local dialect, but her responses were curt. Morghien didn't appear to be put off, but the witch began to ignore him and the wanderer was forced to get Sergeant Ralen to bring him up to date instead.

With every mention of fanaticism within the cults, Morghien's voice betrayed a growing anger, one that Jachen had never heard before. Similarly, the news that Count Vesna had become the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn was met with a snort of disgust, but it was news that a huge dragon had been awakened under the Library of Seasons that finally made Morghien fall silent.

As the afternoon progressed, a breeze picked up and Jachen realised he could smell smoke on the wind. He saw Ralen had noticed it too, and was similarly confused. The witch wouldn't have left the fire burning at her home, so clearly she was leading them to someone – but who would she want them to meet in this backwater part of Narkang? But he was determined not to say another word until he got some answers.

At last the trees petered out and Jachen saw a lake stretching out in front of him, beside which was a cottage. To his complete astonishment there was a man sitting on a small jetty, fishing, with a grey-furred dog at his side. At the sound of visitors the dog turned and began to bark; the man twisted and hooked an arm around the dog's chest. They walked cautiously, waiting for the man to quieten the frantic dog before risking getting too near, but at last the man released the struggling bundle of fur and jumped up to greet them, a welcoming smile on his face and a firm grip on the scruff of the dog's neck.

'Mihn?' Jachen exclaimed.

The failed Harlequin gave a small bow before gripping the major firmly by the wrist. He wore a shapeless woollen shirt with the sleeves half-rolled up, exposing the curling trails of the leaf tattoos on each arm that ended at his wrist. For the hundredth time Jachen wondered what the tattoos and the runes on each leaf did. The dog danced around them, watching all three warily as it crept forward to sniff at their boots.

'Good to see you again, Major,' Mihn said, greeting Ralen and Marad before Morghien embraced him. 'May I introduce you to Hulf? Toss him a strip of smoked meat and he will be your friend for life.'

'When did you leave Tirah?'

'Not long after the army, I had instructions to carry out.'

Jachen faltered. 'Ah, have you…'

'Heard the news?' Mihn replied gravely. 'I knew when you did.'

'Fucking spawn of Ghenna!' Marad yelled, dropping the reins of his horse and yanking his glaive from its sheath, and Jachen whirled around in time to see a shape retreat into the shadows of the cottage.

'What was it?' Jachen snapped, drawing his own sword as Ralen fell in beside Marad.

'Some bastard daemon,' Marad growled, his face white with shock, and advanced on the cottage, his glaive raised and ready to strike.

'Lower your weapons!' Mihn yelled, racing in front of Marad. 'It is not what you think!'

Beside Mihn the dog crouched, muscles bunching as it snarled at the angry voices. The guardsman blinked at Mihn and stopped, but he kept his glaive high.

'Not what I think? What I saw ain't possible, and it's damn sunny for that to be a ghost!'

'Mihn,' Jachen called warily, 'what's going on?'

'Lower your weapons and back off,' Mihn said firmly. He was unarmed but a steel-capped staff rested against the door just a few yards away. 'Marad, I mean it – back away now, or I will put you down.'

'The fuck're you t'give me orders?'

Jachen looked at Mihn's expression and grabbed the soldier by his collar. Without a word he dragged Marad back and Ralen followed.

Only then did Mihn relax and push the reluctant dog away towards the cottage.

While Marad still spluttered with anger, Jachen dropped his own sword and yanked the glaives from his soldiers' hands.

'Astonishing,' Morghien murmured, as if oblivious to the confrontation, staring open-mouthed at the cottage.

'His mind remains fragile,' Mihn said in a quiet voice. 'You cannot begin to comprehend the horrors he has endured. You will all compose yourselves, and you will not speak until I permit it, do you understand me?'

The three Farlan exchanged looks. Jachen agreed at once, but Marad, still stunned, remained silent until Jachen glared at him. Eventually both soldiers nodded while the witch, standing beside of the water, watched them impassively.

'Better,' Mihn said after a while. He collected his staff and gave Marad a warning look before stepping inside the cottage. The Farlan could hear soft murmuring, as if Mihn were coaxing the occupant out as he would a deer.

At first all Jachen saw was a huge stooped figure wearing a cloak made of rags, arms wrapped protectively about its body and head held low. Hulf ran straight to him, dancing around him with obvious delight before taking up a protective position between him and the soldiers.

Jachen could scarcely believe he was looking at a man. He was massive; even stooped he towered over Mihn, and he was far wider. One shoulder was dropped low, which reminded Jachen of men he'd known with broken ribs. Even when the man pushed back the hood of his cloak, the scars and the anguish on his face made Jachen the last to recognise him.

'Gods of the dawn,' Ralen breathed, sinking to his knees as though all strength had fled his body.

And in the next moment Jachen felt his heart lurch as the cold hand of terror closed about it.

The man recoiled – his timid movements so different to how he once was, but unmistakable all the same.

'My Lord,' Jachen said hoarsely, almost choking on the words as he dropped to one knee.

Isak looked at him and frowned, incomprehension cutting through his distress. 'I don't know you,' he mumbled before wincing and putting his hand to his temple. 'I can't remember you.'

'There are holes in his mind,' Mihn explained, putting a hand on Isak's arm to reassure him and draw him forward. 'We had to tear out some of his memories.'

'Why?' Jachen found himself asking, fearing the answer he might receive.

'Because there are some things no man should remember,' Morghien said, as though in a trance, 'some things no man could remember and remain a man. Merciful Gods, are you brave or utterly mad?'

He shivered and in unison Isak cringed slightly, screwing his eyes up tight before the moment passed.

Jachen didn't even hear the question. He continued to gape, lost in the astonishing sight of a man he knew without question to be dead. Mihn brought Isak a little closer and now Jachen could see the scars on his face and neck, the broken nose and ragged, curled lip, the jagged line of his jaw and a fat band of twisted scarring across his throat.

His lord had once been handsome, for all the white-eye harshness, but no longer. If the signs of torture continued all over his body, Jachen couldn't see how any man could have survived -

He felt his breath catch. No man could have survived it; Isak had not survived it. He had died on the field outside Byora, without these scars, or the broken look in his white eyes.

'How?' he breathed at last.

'The hard way,' Mihn said grimly, 'and not one taken lightly. The rest can wait for later. Go see to your horses.'

Jachen didn't move. He was still lost in the pattern of pain etched onto a face he once knew. Isak returned the look with difficulty.

'I see you in the hole in my mind,' he whispered, his scarred forehead crumpled with the effort. 'I'm falling, but the war goes on.'

'The war goes on?' Jachen echoed.

Isak seemed to straighten at that, and Jachen thought he caught a glimpse of his former strength showing beneath the lost look on his face.

'The war goes on,' Isak said, 'shadows and lords, the war goes on.'

'Isak, perhaps you should rest?' Mihn urged. He reached out and took Isak by the arm, but the broken white-eye ignored him.

With crooked fingers and awkward movements he pushed Mihn's hand away. 'No rest, not yet,' he said, his face contorted as though every thought caused him pain. 'Lost names and lost faces.'

'You want me to remind you of people?' Mihn asked, looking hopeful.

Isak shook his head and prodded Mihn. 'I want you to tell me what it means,' he said. 'Tell me what it means to lose your memories, to lose who you are.'

'Why?'

Isak prodded Mihn again, pushing him a few steps backwards, and this time Mihn glanced behind him to check how close he was to the water.

'The war must go on. Someone told me once to use what I have inside me,' Isak said.

'I don't understand, Isak.'

Isak's face became a ghastly smile. 'What I have inside are holes – and they'll be my weapons now.'

King Emin walked stiffly up the stairs, a jug of wine in one hand and a pair of goblets in the other, a slender cigar jammed in the corner of his mouth.

'Another long day,' he commented to Legana who was ascending silently behind him, her progress slow and careful. She steadied herself with a hand on the tower wall and her silver-headed cane in the other.

'It appears even a king must feel his age one of these days.'

Legana inclined her head and walked past as Emin respectfully held open the door to his breakfast room. It was a small room, and as sparsely furnished as the rest of Camatayl Castle, but it served the king's needs. This was not a place for luxuries: almost every room now contained food stores or cramped bunks for soldiers.

There was a fire alight and chairs set for them on either side of it. Emin poured drinks once Legana was settled. Over the past few weeks the pair, both strong-willed and impatient with others, had found an accommodation that suited them both. Their common understanding of their extraordinary positions had turned into a cautious friendship.

'Have the priestesses accepted your authority?' Emin asked, tossing his hat aside and easing down in his chair. He idly brushed dirt from his boot while Legana wrote on her slate.

– They ask many questions.

'Questions you cannot yet answer?' Emin nodded sadly. 'As do my generals. They believe absolutely in the might of Narkang's armies; defeat in battle has been a rare thing in my life, so they cannot understand my tactics now.'

– The priestesses ask what the rest do not dare.

'What the substance of your promises might be? It's the nature of people. Offer them a brighter future and they will cheer and shout your name, but sooner or later they want to know the details. How did you think I ended up in this mess?' Emin said wryly.

– I promised only that a better future was possible.

'But you don't have a form in mind? I hadn't taken you for a woman of faith.'

– Of instinct, she corrected, even before I was joined to the Lady. I sense a future will come. I hope it will come before a God tries to subsume me.

Emin looked startled. 'Is that even a possibility, Gods fighting each other for supremacy? I know it used to happen in the Age of Myths, but now? Piss and daemons; could a God like Larat decide there is enough of the divine within you to take you as an Aspect?'

– I don't wish to find out.

Emin gave a snort. 'I can imagine. So we both may be running out of time.'

– You don't believe in your armies too?

'Hah! I know my strength well enough, and I also know my enemy. I've studied his campaign thus far; Lord Styrax is inventive and bold, but he's lacking the arrogance one might hope for. His armies are battle-hardened and replenished by the states he's conquered; mine are untested in ten years. He has made no significant mistakes, and only committed himself to vulnerability when he is certain of victory. This is not what one hopes for in an enemy. '

He grimaced and took a swig of wine, staring into the distance a moment before continuing, 'No – that's not correct; he has made one mistake. His allegiance is no longer to Lord Karkarn, it appears, or any of the Gods, it's to himself. However much they fear to walk the Land and risk death, the Gods do not favour the greatest of their creations.'

– Can you exploit it?

'Would that I could,' he said. 'It's a mistake I've also made. Even it were possible, I don't know how…' He tailed off, then asked, 'Is that what Larat meant?' There was a pause and the king straightened in his chair a moment, then relaxed back down. 'No, it doesn't fit.'

– What?

Emin looked at her, unable to discern anything from the expression on her face. Curiously, it was one of the reasons why he liked the fierce Mortal-Aspect; she was beyond his abilities, both as a man and a king. Not even the intellectuals he welcomed to the Brotherhood-protected private club in Narkang could hide their thoughts from his scrutiny. He enjoyed feeling in the presence of an equal.

'Did you not sense it, a week or so after you first arrived?'

She hesitated, then scribbled quickly on the slate. – Once I dreamed of laughter, and a face that shifted, yours to a young woman's.

Emin nodded. 'Larat came to speak to me that morning, he warned me to heed the lessons of the Great War.'

– One favours you then.

'True, but direct action is not his way – and having lost Death's favour, none of the rest will intervene. What do you know of the Crystal Skulls?'

Legana gestured to the blackened handprint on her throat and the cane she now walked with. – I know one did this.

'But the nature of them? I've read a number of Verliq's works – the great man mentions the Skulls several times, but he never studied them directly. Larat mentioned something, and I wonder about the significance.'

He fell silent again, and Legana waited patiently. Allies they had become, but neither expected undying loyalty of the other, and asking too much would invite questions in return.

At last he went on, 'He told me that the twelve Skulls corresponded to the Gods of the Upper Circle, and the bearer of a Skull had the right to ask a question of that God.'

Legana didn't move for a long while, her porcelain features crinkled in thought until her emerald eyes flashed and she opened her mouth to speak before remembering herself and writing on the slate.

– Why ask?

'Why ask?' Emin echoed, realising she was prompting him just as he had done so often with his pet intellectuals in Narkang, nudging their thoughts down new paths, harnessing their knowledge to a particular need.

'Why ask? You ask to secure an answer – expecting an answer. Larat said that some knowledge should not be shared, that there were some questions that might upset the balance of the Land.'

– He is a God.

'And a tricky one at that,' Emin added, feeling a spark of insight; he was getting close. 'What he told me was no doubt correct, but not the entire story. One asks a question to get an answer, to be so foolish as to do that with a God of the Upper Circle – well, you would have to be certain that an answer would be forthcoming. To have a God smite you for impertinence is the outcome one would expect for idle pestering, or seeking knowledge the Gods would not wish to share.

'So perhaps it isn't just a right, but a compulsion; something binding the God to answer truthfully – perhaps even something stopping them from simply reaching out and crushing the head of whoever has presumed to question them.'

He took a long draw on his cigar and cocked his head at Legana. 'Covenant theory: the idea that a contract of sorts must exist in magical actions – no spell so powerful it does not have a flaw; no great incantation that cannot be undone by something innocuous – and no dealing with Gods or daemons that does not have rules to frame it.'

Legana nodded encouragingly, and Emin, looking calmer, continued his exploration. 'This right to ask a question of a God, it confers a right to get an answer too. Perhaps that means there is a contract of sorts, and they're creatures of magic so they must be bound by the rules – and if they're bound in whatever way, that implies there's some power of compulsion over the God.'

Emin took a slow breath, ordering his thoughts as he extended the principle further. 'If Larat is willing to admit that much, no doubt the truth is something deeper, something more fundamental to their relationship with the Skulls – perhaps even the existence of the Gods themselves. The Skulls are stores of power; the Gods are power incarnate. Could they be the flip-side of the same coin?'

– How does this help?

Emin topped up her goblet with a smile. 'Lord Styrax is not collecting them to secure his rule or aid his conquest, those are just by-products. He wants that power over each of the Gods of the Upper Circle, not to ask questions but make demands.' He shook his head. 'As great and long-lived as he is, the man is only mortal. One day he will die, unless…'

King Emin puffed on his cigar and looked at the icons hanging on the wall. The empty cowl of Death occupied the centre; on His left was Kitar, Goddess of Fertility, on His right, Karkarn, God of War.

He said slowly, 'He will die unless he becomes a God. Unless this peerless warrior asks something of the Gods they cannot refuse.'