The ragged man

CHAPTER 5

'My Lord,' the servant called in a quavering voice, 'the Duchess of Byora and her retinue.' He stepped aside, making room for the duchess. This wasn't the sort of grand hall which would normally accommodate such a meeting, but the Fist was a fortress and lacked such amenities.

The duchess entered the dark room slowly, taking a moment to grow accustomed to the light before she curtseyed stiffly. She was not used to paying obeisance to others, and sitting for an hour at the gates of the Fist hadn't helped her disposition, but the white-eye seemed neither to notice nor to care.

'Lord Styrax,' she said while her retinue filed into the gloom behind her, 'I thank you for granting this audience. I can only imagine – '

'Correct,' Styrax growled, 'you can only imagine it. Do not waste my time with sentiments you do not understand.'

'My Lord,' the duchess exclaimed in genuine shock, 'my robes of mourning are no mere affectation! I myself lost my husband in the clerics' rebellion.'

Styrax made a dismissive gesture and she bit her tongue as her still-raw grief raged at his arrogance. She gave the room a cursory inspection and guessed it was an officers' mess, with doors on each wall and a fireplace in front of her big enough to heat the entire room. Lord Styrax sat with his back to it, wearing a black uniform emblazoned with his Fanged Skull emblem. He was unshaven and looked exhausted, and in the dim light the Menin lord looked old, as though his unnaturally long span was at last catching up with him.

'Major Amber,' the duchess said, inclining her head graciously to the soldier at Styrax's right hand. She noted how he winced as he acknowledged her greeting. He was not in full uniform. One leg was splinted and stretched out on a stool; one arm was cradled in a sling. His bruised and bloodied face and the broken line of his nose put her in mind of Sergeant Kayel.

There were two other Menin, a man and a woman, in the room and she felt her breath catch at the sight of them. They sat to one side and were clearly not going to be part of the discussion, but they were priests of the War God and their presence made Natai's hands tighten.

The bastard priests were at the very heart of Byora's problems, from the murder of her husband to the fear that permeated its very streets. The religious district in Byora remained closed since the failed coup, and Natai had not been in the same room as a priest since the Gods had struck down two who tried to murder her and Ruhen. Even the sight of their robes made her want to order Kayel to draw his sword – Though that pair looked like no priests she had ever met, with their weatherworn faces freshly scrubbed, their boots -

She stopped.

No priests wear boots like those.

The duchess looked at the Lord of the Menin. You bastard, dressing up your troops as priests to see how I would react… Did you think perhaps I would not notice?

'My Lord, let me make known to you my advisors,' Natai said softly as she gestured towards Lady Kinna and the Demi-God Koteer.

'One of them looks a little young,' Styrax said. In the weak light his white eyes were even more apparent. She felt their heat on her skin.

'My ward, Ruhen.' She looked around and realised there was no seat for her. This was a studied insult, a major breach of protocol.

'You will not be staying long enough,' Styrax said, seeing her reaction.

Ruhen took a sudden step forward, slipping from Kayel's unresisting hands to grasp the duchess' skirt. He tugged it and she looked down at him, smiling.

'I'm tired,' he complained. He shook his head and his carefully brushed hair fell over his eyes, deepening the shadows in them.

'There are no seats, sweetheart,' Natai said, ushering him back to Kayel.

'But he has one,' Ruhen protested in rare annoyance, pointing a little finger at Lord Styrax. There was a collective intake of breath even as Natai shushed the boy and pushed him back into Kayel's charge.

'I apologise, Lord Styrax,' she said, trying not to show her fear. 'He is only a child.'

'An allowance can be made,' Styrax said in an oddly hollow voice. 'Ruhen, come over here. You may sit on my knee.'

Before Natai could react Ruhen had again slipped Kayel's grasp and trotted across the room. He was the size of a six-year-old, and he looked tiny in comparison with the seven-foot-tall white-eye. Though his head was no higher than Styrax's knee, he did not appear in the least daunted. When he was close enough he reached up his arms to be picked up and with the gentleness of a father the mighty Styrax obeyed the unspoken order, sitting the little boy on his thigh, supporting his back with one huge hand.

Finally, Styrax looked at Natai. 'Now, duchess, present your petition,' he said.

Natai blinked for a moment at Ruhen, who gave her a little wave, then she hurriedly gathered her thoughts. 'My Lord, the Circle City is plagued by the dragon you released. It is killing my own citizens, and the destruction in Ismess is extensive.'

'Are you asking me to clear up after myself?'

'I… I would not have put it so, my Lord – '

'Then I am mistaken?'

A pause. 'No, my Lord, you are not, but I would not wish you to feel that I had spoken to you as I would to Ruhen.'

Styrax glanced at Amber, but the soldier said nothing.

Nai, the strange mage who had been appointed Natai's Menin liaison, had claimed Amber had killed the Chosen of Tsatach during the battle with the Farlan. That Styrax had looked to the man during this meeting showed he was probably telling the truth, and Major Amber's star was indeed in the ascendancy.

'You want me to do something about this dragon,' Styrax said at last. 'Isn't it traditional to invite adventurers and wandering knights to kill it? You could offer them half of Lord Celao's kingdom instead of your own, since Ismess is the most affected.'

'I fear more than a few soldiers have already died at its claws,' Natai said, not rising to his sarcasm. 'More do so every day, trying to protect the innocents of the quarter. Who, because of the rules you yourself have imposed, are unable to travel from the city, and thus cannot flee the creature's predations.'

'Ah, my fault yet again.' He gestured towards Amber. 'Unfortunately, my champion managed to hurt himself while out giant-killing. It'll be a while before he's back at work.'

'So you will not act?' the duchess asked with a hint of anger.

'Dangerous words, duchess,' Styrax snapped. 'Hinting at cowardice is a poor way to win me round; you would not live long enough to see whether pricking my pride has the desired effect!'

'I apologise if I gave such an impression, my Lord.' The duchess curtseyed again, lower this time than when she had she entered the room.

'Do not take me for a fool, madam! You want me to react angrily, to claim I've never backed down from a fight – to remind you that since I became an adult I've never lost a battle?' Styrax leaned forward. 'But I don't need to tell you that, do I? And you bring your pet Jester with you too, to flatter my martial prowess by such a champion begging for my help.'

The duchess looked discomforted by that, and was for a moment unable to remember why she had invited the Demi-God to accompany her.

'Well, Koteer? Are you going to stand there like a fool, or will you get on your fucking knees and beg?' Styrax demanded loudly.

Whatever the son of Death intended was forestalled when Ruhen tapped the Menin Lord on his thigh. 'You shouldn't use that word,' he said, shaking his head.

Styrax looked down. 'You think not? Is that what your nurse has taught you?'

Ruhen pointed towards Kayel, who made a good show of colouring and studying his own boots. 'He does sometimes.'

'I bet he does, the scamp,' Styrax said, making a visible effort to get a grip on his rage. 'You must tell your nurse that some people can say what they like.'

'Do you let your little boy say it?' Ruhen asked with disarming directness. The boy looked up through his tousled hair at the huge face above him.

Natai didn't know whether to grab the child and run, to try to save them both from the lash of the white-eye's unbridled fury, or if she should wait, and see if the child's innocence would calm the savage beast.

Styrax looked into the swirls of shadow in the child's eyes and felt his boiling rage subside. 'I – My son knew who he had to respect,' he replied in a choked voice.

Ruhen patted the thigh he was sitting on with the exaggerated solemnity of a child. 'Don't be sad. He isn't hurting now.'

Natai watched Styrax's face with bated breath. The effect of Ruhen's words was clearly visible and she felt a surge of jealousy that the child was bonding with him, not her. If it had been any other child, Styrax would dismissed them all, maybe even violently, but she knew herself how difficult it was to tear oneself from the warm embrace of Ruhen's eyes.

'I can't be sure of that,' Styrax said.

Ruhen gave him a guileless smile. 'He isn't hurting any more,' the little boy said again, firmly.

It looked as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders, the lines softening on the huge lord's face. Then he remembered himself and carefully lifted Ruhen off his knee again, nudging him towards Natai.

'Duchess, I have heard your plea,' he said in a calmer voice. 'You are correct that the Circle City is under my control and my subjects deserve my protection. I will find a way to kill or drive off this dragon, you have my word. For now, however, I will be left to my mourning.'

Mihn jammed his spade into the freshly turned earth and wiped the sweat from his face. The day was unusually bright for the time of year, but the brisk breeze that skipped off the glinting lake kept it cool. No birdsong cut the air, only the wind through the leaves and the rushes over at the water's edge. The smell of wet earth surrounded him.

'The day smells of hollow victories,' he said to the Land in general, finding solace in the words of others, 'a grave freshly dug, the rain on my cheek and a prayer in the air.'

'But who is it you pray to?' asked the witch of Llehden. He turned to see her standing behind him, her face shadowed from the late morning sun by a white mourning shawl. 'Myself, I find I do have not the strength for it.'

She carried an oak sapling in both hands, one recently pulled from the ground, to be planted over Xeliath's body in the Yeetatchen fashion.

'Yet you wear the devices of Gods on your mourning shawl,' Mihn pointed out, though he didn't recognise the images.

Her hand automatically went to the old brass brooches pinned to the shawl.

'They are Kanasis and Ashar, the local Gods of Llehden.'

'Aspects of Amavoq?'

She shook her head. 'Kanasis is a stag Aspect of Vrest and Ashar's the Lady of Hidden Paths, an Aspect of Anviss. The God of Woods is more welcome here than his queen and mistress. We prefer not to fear the creatures of the forest.'

Mihn snorted and looked around at the dark trees of Llehden. 'That's something of a surprise; these woods are as unfriendly after nightfall as the Farlan eastern forests.'

'Llehden is a place of power, it attracts all kinds of creature, but that doesn't mean we should live in fear. Enter a gentry den and you'll be torn limb from limb; see one in the wood and your luck will hold all day, I'm told.'

'You're told? Surely you see them more than most?'

She shrugged. 'A witch makes her own luck. Even a drunk on a winning streak wouldn't be so foolish as to gamble against a witch.'

Mihn turned back to the grave he'd dug. 'Even a drunk knows luck will eventually run out,' he said with a heavy heart. 'Only I failed to see it coming.'

'Don't be a fool. You knew it was coming; you just assumed the price would be one you could bear to pay.'

'So what do I do now then?' he snapped. 'Just accept it?'

'Unless you are about to place yourself above the Gods, yes.'

The witch's calm voice angered Mihn, but as he scowled at her the trees nearby shuddered under a breeze he couldn't feel on his face.

'Death's a part of life, had you forgotten that? Don't start getting above yourself, Grave Thief.'

His head dropped as the dull ache in his gut intensified and eclipsed the anger of grief. 'How can you be so accepting?'

'Because there is no other choice. Xeliath was one of the Chosen; and she died in the boat with us, not on Ghain. She isn't bound for Ghenna – and what more can we ask of Lord Death? To choose the time and manner of one's death? She died to save Isak when he could not protect himself – a charge given to her by the Gods themselves when she was Chosen – and she died fighting, strong and fierce. Do you think Xeliath would have had it any other way?'

Mihn reluctantly shook his head. 'I know you're right, but – Is there nothing I can do?'

'You can remember her fondly, and thank her for her sacrifice. I suggest you keep away from the afterlife for as long as possible – you pledged your soul to a daemon, remember.'

He nodded, not wanting to get into that argument again. Offering his soul had not been part of the plan.

'It's time. Go and fetch Isak, if you can shift him.'

'And if I can't?'

'Bring Xeliath by yourself.'

He set off along the lake shore towards the small house. Daima was keeping watch inside, a grim expression on her face and a thin pipe clamped between her teeth. The only table in the main room was taken up by Xeliath's body, wrapped in a length of green canvas.

'It's time,' Daima said, grimacing as she pulled on her pipe, as if the tobacco had soured. It took her a while to get up; she had been sitting with the body for hours while he dug the grave.

Mihn looked at Isak, who was lying on a makeshift bed, his back against the far wall, staring at the floor. His arms and legs were drawn into his body and his lips moved slightly, as though he was whispering to himself, though Mihn could hear no sound. Every once in a while Isak's eyes would widen, then he would take a heaving breath, almost as if he was surprised at the need to breathe once more. He was oblivious to anyone else's presence.

'Did you expect anything different?' Daima asked. 'It most probably felt like years to him.'

'Have you checked his bandages?'

'Aye, and he's healing even quicker than you'd expect of his kind. Still hasn't spoken, though.'

'Not at all?'

'Hasn't even noticed I'm here. Give him time; some things don't heal as fast as others.'

Mihn walked over to Isak, and his body tensed a little more as Mihn's shadow fell over him. His scars seemed to darken, even more than they should in the shadow, and Mihn heard the faintest of whimpers break the silence.

'Isak,' Mihn whispered, crouching down beside him, 'Isak, can you hear me?'

There was no response, but when Mihn tried to take Isak's hand he felt the massive muscles tense and it was drawn in protectively. Mihn applied a touch more pressure, but he got nowhere. However gaunt he now looked, the white-eye was more than double Mihn's body-weight; it would be impossible to move him if he decided to resist.

Mihn gave up for now and went to gather Xeliath in his arms.

'Isak, we have to bury Xeliath,' he said, trying one last time, but there was no response. With a sigh Mihn headed for the door, leaving Isak to shiver and whisper alone.

'A wounded animal takes time to coax round,' Daima said as they rounded the house and headed for the grave. 'Let it happen at its own pace.'

At the tree-line Mihn could see the pale faces of the gentry watching them. The forest spirits wouldn't help or hinder, but they often watched funerals from afar – the one act of reverence they appeared to approve of. Mihn was startled when the caw of a solitary raven overhead prompted low mutters and growls from the watching gentry.

'That is what worries me,' Mihn replied after a while. 'The animal inside Isak is a dangerous one. What if that is all that is left?'

It was night by the time General Gaur returned to the Akell quarter of the Circle City. With his right arm bandaged he rode awkwardly, accompanied by a disordered group of his huntsmen. It was only the quality of his armour that distinguished him from the ragged champion Lord Styrax had extended a hand to in the fighting pits of Kravern, the great city at the entrance to the Ring of Fire. The decades since had not touched the beastman other than the faintest of silvering around his dark muzzle.

He passed Lord Styrax's guards without being challenged; a grey-haired huntsman at his side. They entered the dark officers' mess without knocking and sank to their knees.

'My Lord,' the men said in unison, their heads bowed.

'The Duchess of Byora came to see me,' Styrax said, his voice sounding tired. 'She came to remind me of my duties as her liege lord.'

When Gaur saw the fatigue in his lord's eyes he felt a flicker of alarm. Never before had he seen the white-eye appear so weak, so exhausted. The room smelled of old smoke and sweat, and whatever was burning in the fireplace hadn't been stored properly; though it took the edge off the chill in the room, it smelled sour, and smoked badly.

'In that case she's got more balls than the rest of the Circle City,' Gaur said.

'We knew that before the invasion.' Styrax rubbed his hands over his face, trying to massage away the ache behind his eyes. 'Nonetheless, it's a timely reminder. Our schedule does not allow for grief.'

'The dragon? I've heard it's battered Ismess into submission as effectively as Lord Larim was going to.'

Styrax nodded. 'I hadn't expected that, a dragon staying so close to human habitation. The spell that kept it sleeping must not have been as accomplished as its creator intended – unless she's more of a vicious bitch than we had heard. Its mind must be permanently damaged.'

'Wouldn't be the only one,' Gaur added with a twitch of his black mane. 'Word from Byora says the mercenary, Aracnan, has lost his mind; the poison's driven him mad. Chade suspects it's seadiamond venom.'

The huntsman bowed to Styrax when his name was mentioned. He was a small man, and his pinched, battered face made his age difficult to gauge. A hard life had left its mark: his teeth were yellowed, misaligned, and several were missing, and his cheeks were pitted with smallpox scars. On such a face the eager expression he was displaying looked far from natural.

'Don' know it well misself o'course, but I remember hearin' about it years back. Damn stuff's easy t'cure, so they say; supposedly alcohol kills it, so prob'ly all you'd need is to get yersel' blind drunk – but magic, that excites the stuff, makes it work faster – '

'So it's perfect for killing mages,' Styrax finished. 'How very like King Emin. His inventiveness is not to be underestimated; something to bear in mind when we march west.'

'West? You mean after we've dealt with the Devoted?' Gaur asked.

'After several things,' Styrax agreed. 'Chade, there's wine over there, pour us all a cup.' When the man was out of immediate earshot, Styrax asked, 'Apotheosis?' He gave Gaur a meaningful look.

'Yes, my Lord,' the general replied. 'He knows a little – not all – and I believe he's the man to run it.'

'Good. I don't have the energy to speak in code.'

The huntsman returned balancing three goblets. General Gaur took one and Chade handed the second to Lord Styrax. He waited for the Menin lord's nod before raising the goblet to his lips.

'It's time for the next phase of our conquest,' Styrax said after a moment. 'Duke Vrill is scouting the northeast, sounding out the remaining Knights of the Temples. Embere is the weaker of their two cities there, so Vrill is focused on Raland and General Telith Vener. The Knight-Cardinal is confined to quarters, and I doubt the general will be over-eager to liberate the only man to outrank him in the Order.'

'Not if Vrill offers him the right deal,' Gaur agreed. Vener would most likely accept a title; he'd rule over both cities as the Menin vassal happily enough. Duke Chaist, the ruler of Embere, wouldn't be so happy, but his army had been mauled pretty comprehensively by Vener's men the previous summer. The Menin's recently recruited Chetse legions would help solve any future argument there.

'In the meantime, a little confusion among the Devoted here would be a good idea. Start Apotheosis in Akell, then send word back to your men in the Chetse cities. The north is going to be more of a challenge, but it's important they head there too – it's the body-count that matters, and there are a lot of targets in the Farlan cities.'

Chade, aware of the significance of drinking with his lord, ventured to ask, 'We holdin' off in Tor Salan for the time bein'?' He didn't know much about Apotheosis, but he was aware that this secret undertaking was the principal driving force behind the Menin lord's invasion of the West, and the rewards for those involved would be commensurately great.

'There's been enough bloodshed there, for the present at least,' Styrax said. 'The city's unstable right now, and this is a long-term operation. There will be time enough for Tor Salan next year, if it's needed – our final phase will not take place before next summer, at the earliest. Send your agents to Sautin and Mustet to continue Apotheosis there, then have them work their way further west.' Styrax paused. 'I hope I don't need to remind you that you must be careful about whom you select for this operation.'

Chade nodded hard. 'All in hand, my Lord. At the general's orders I've bin pickin' soldiers out've the stockade all this last year. They's an evil bunch; half of 'em would cut a man's throat for lookin' funny at him, so they'll bloody jump at the bounty you're offerin'. Piety'll be the least o' my problems.'

'Good. Keep them in close teams and have them led by men with sense, preferably your huntsmen. We want this done properly, and that means covering your tracks and ensuring any suspicion is directed elsewhere. If you need to kill rival priests, the bounty will be paid on them too.'

Styrax raised a warning finger to Chade. 'I want it made damned clear: they follow orders and be careful, and they'll be rewarded the rest of their days. If they're sloppy or lazy there'll be a bounty on their heads big enough that even the mothers who bore them will be eager to claim it.'

'What about the Mortal-Aspect?' Gaur said. 'He can't be ignored.'

'Agreed. We need a Raylin to deal with the problem, and a powerful one at that. Aracnan would have been my first choice, but it appears he's no longer an option.'

'Aye, he's dead, that'un,' said Chade eagerly, 'or leastways as far as our use goes, and if he survives, he won't be the man he once were. Smart money is on a slow an' painful march to the Herald's hall for that'un.'

'Then the Poisonblade is our best alternative, don't you agree?'

General Gaur's tusks rasped through the bristles on his cheeks. He hated all Elves, instinctively, down at the very basest level, for no reason he could explain. Styrax had told him his own private theory: that Gaur's ancestry included some of the warrior races created to fight in the Great War. 'What will be his price?' the general said at last.

'I think we can safely assume it will be high. Offer him Lord Chalat's sword. It's one of his race's ancient relics, after all. I'm sure Major Amber will understand; I will provide compensation for the loss of his spoils.'

'I will instruct Larim to begin negotiations.' Gaur finished his wine before adding, 'So: our goal is to have severely diminished numbers in the Circle City, the Chetse lands, the southwestern states and the Farlan lands by the coming winter.'

'By which point,' Styrax went on, 'we should be getting established in Narkang territory, with the aim of implementing Apotheosis there some time the following summer. '

'But we do nothing about the Farlan Army?' Gaur asked. 'We gave them a mauling, but they're a long way from beaten, and not pressing the advantage for a whole year gives them time to regroup, recover and rebuild numbers – more than we can deal with if Narkang isn't beaten by winter.'

'We can stir trouble up there with minimal effort. They're currently leaderless; that's means they're likely to be arguing amongst themselves all the time we're hunting in the west. We'll buy some suzerains and that'll help to further undermine Farlan unity. But you do have a point; perhaps we should send a peace envoy now, to give them one more thing to disagree about, and stall them further? I've a long way to go before I complete my collection; there's no rush here.' His hand went to a pouch hanging from his sword belt. It held something the size of a man's fist.

'Is that why we're going west?' Gaur asked, surprised. 'All because of dodgy intelligence provided by some low-grade necromancer that King Emin has the Skull of Ruling?'

Styrax shook his head. 'The conquest comes first, although it won't hurt to see if we can prise it from him. When we do move, ensure a messenger has gone to speak to the king in advance – perhaps he'll barter it away since he's no mage himself.'

Gaur felt sceptical, but it would cost them nothing to try. 'There's one more for the taking, much closer,' he pointed out.

'Aracnan, yes,' Styrax said, 'but let's not move yet. Zhia and Koezh will doubtless be watching him carefully. They know I have several Skulls already, and if I look too keen to kill Aracnan they will feel threatened for their own.' He gave a humourless snort. 'Besides, right now I have a dragon to kill. Aracnan can be next week's problem.'

Knight-Cardinal Horel Certinse, head of the Knights of the Temples, glowered and paced restlessly as he demanded, 'What news of the other quarters, Captain?' He'd been unable to concentrate or sit still all day.

Captain Perforren reported, 'Nothing of great interest, sir. Akell has seen more of note than anywhere else today.' The tall soldier glanced nervously at the door whenever he heard a sound elsewhere in the townhouse. It was a modest building for the Knight-Cardinal and his staff to be confined to, and the attendant priests installed as his 'spiritual advisors' to monitor Certinse's activities made it even more cramped.

The Knight-Cardinal stopped dead and frowned. 'What do you mean?' His house-arrest was making him feel powerless and frustrated, emotions he was quite unused to.

'The duchess came to petition Lord Styrax, so I've heard. He made her wait several hours, but he did eventually admit her to his august presence.'

'Yet I am ignored by even Styrax's subordinates?' Certinse scowled. 'This cannot just be grief, or Styrax showing me my place. That I am so cut off must be of more significance. Does he not care at all about going to war with Raland and Embere? Could he have secured an alliance with that worm Vener without me knowing?' He looked at Perforren and shook his head. 'No, the Serian still reports to me, however gutted the Devout Congress has left it.'

He walked to the window and looked out for a moment. The captain could see his commander muttering silently; he glanced suspiciously at Perforren for a moment before resuming his pacing.

Perforren wasn't worried by the look; the Knights of the Temples were in chaos and his lord was right to be fearful of everyone. He'd just reminded himself that Perforren could be trusted absolutely – one of the few of his men who could. They were both Farlan originally, and Perforren was the son of a loyal family retainer who had been with the Knight-Cardinal since before Lord Bahl had banned the Order from Farlan lands.

Every officer of the Knights of the Temples had to be ordained as a priest – to the God of their choice – before being allowed to command troops, a time-honoured tradition that had served them well over the centuries. It didn't necessarily mean a lifetime of study and prayer, but it did ensure no one joined the Order lightly, and there was responsibility on both sacred and secular levels. The majority of the officers lived relatively secular lives, but the Gods' influence was there nonetheless. Unfortunately for Certinse, the specific God to whom they made their commitment was not made public, and the records were nowhere to hand.

Each of those turned into rabid fanatics by the rage of the Gods were aligned to one of the six principal Gods of Scree, that much he had deduced. How to tell who among his officers was secretly aligned to the various factions of fanatics was something he had yet not worked out, but he knew Perforren was, like him, a devotee of Anviss, and thus unaffected.

'Six more men were executed by High Priest Garash,' the captain said grimly after minute's silence. 'Three for whoring, two for gambling, one for some non-specified reason.'

'Damn the man,' Certinse said. 'He's not even bothering to follow the Codex of Ordinance any more. I'd hoped I could use its rules to curtail his excesses.' He threw up his hands in disgust. 'Karkarn's tears, what am I reduced to? I must ask you to hide in here when I retire so that bastard priest doesn't have to insist on being present; I'm surprised they're not whispering we are…' His voice tailed off as he sank down onto the side of his bed.

'By the Dark Place, we cannot continue this way. The Order will tear itself apart if we do.'

'I've been speaking to those sergeants I trust, sir' – he broke off and raised a hand at Certinse's alarmed expression – 'only those I know well, I assure you, and asking in only the most general of terms. The enlisted men are unhappy with what's going on, but they're Godsfearing, and it's going to take more than Garash's harsh punishments before they even think of rising up against the priests. There's talk of informers being recruited into every squad, men who will only take orders from priests – '

'Gods, has it come to this, when we must murder our own?' Certinse shook his head in despair.

'I… I may have a solution, sir,' Perforren said hesitantly.

Certinse looked at him, but the captain looked down at his hands, saying nothing. After a few moments, Certinse said softly, 'Well, Captain? What is it?'

The anxiety was plain on his long face. His bloodshot eyes moved towards the door and back again.

Certinse got up and moved closed to his aide. 'Captain?'

'Sir – ' He swallowed, and started again, 'You probably haven't heard, but there are beggars and the like gathering outside the gates of the Ruby Tower. They believe the child, Ruhen, has been sent to intercede for them with the Gods. Since the clerics' revolt, and then the duchess locking down Hale district, the numbers outside the tower have increased every day.'

'Ruhen? The child taken in by the duchess?' Certinse's hand fell to his sword hilt and a look of suspicion crossed his face. 'Are we to replace one mortal power over us for another?'

'No, sir, but perhaps the men might be more willing to act if they have a figure to inspire them?' Perforren suggested. 'They say the child gives men heart with a mere look. Right now our men are feeling frightened, and abandoned by the Gods. They are men in search of salvation.'

From the look on Certinse's face Perforren saw his words had had the right effect. The Order's self-appointed mission was to provide the prophesied Saviour with an army. For more than a century, this is what it had been working towards. Normally soldiers were resistant to change, but if the dogma was already built into the Order's rituals, it would be accepted more easily.

'It would explain why the duchess and her bodyguard fussed so over the child,' he said after a while. 'To Ghenna with them all! I will not let a rabble of clerics take the Order from me, not while I still draw breath.'

Perforren inclined his head in agreement but before he could speak there was a soft knock at the door. The two men exchanged looks, and Perforren shook his head, indicating that he knew nothing of the arrival.

At his commander's gesture he went to open the door to a Litse man with a thin, washed-out face and long white robes too rough and badly cut to belong to a priest.

'Good evening, Knight-Cardinal,' the man said with a small smile and a bow.

'Who in Ghenna's name are you?' Certinse exclaimed. He looked at Perforren, but his captain still looked blank. His expression turned fearful as he took in the long white robes.

'My name is Luerce, Knight-Cardinal,' said the visitor. 'I am blessed to number among Ruhen's Children.'

Certinse grabbed Perforren roughly by the shoulder. 'What did you do, you fool?' he demanded.

Perforren gaped in helpless astonishment.

It was Luerce who answered for him. 'He did nothing – at least as far as I am aware, anyway,' said the Litse. 'I heard the Knights of the Temples were making enquiries and I decided it was time to pay you a visit.'

'This is all coincidence? I do not believe in coincidence!' Certinse snapped.

'Ah, but a fortuitous one, by the looks on your faces.'

'We were just discussing the child,' Certinse said, determined to give no more away.

Luerce's face blossomed into happiness. 'He does so love new friends. However, I doubt that had I come yesterday instead, our conversation would have been any different – '

'Wait a moment,' Perforren interrupted, finding his voice at last. 'How did you even get inside the building? We're under house arrest, and we are watched by both Menin troops and clerical spies.'

Luerce stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He looked sly and he answered, 'How? Let us just say that shadows are kind to me.'