CHAPTER 28
Dawn intruded. His
head felt heavy, unwieldy and as he forced his eyes open and the
hot needles of sunlight drove in, he gasped and wrenched his head
away. As he shifted from his awkward sleeping position the pain
moved to his neck, a spiked collar that sent arrows of agony down
his spine. He tried to move his unresponsive fingers, making a weak
effort to massage away the pain, while a hot throb ran down his arm
from the point of his elbow, which felt as stiff and hurt as much
as his neck.
He blinked until the
blur of light and dark slowly came into some semblance of focus. A
broken table lay a few feet away amidst the pottery shards of
several wine bottles and piles of abandoned clothes. For a while he
stared at the mess, not understanding what had happened. A shaft of
sunlight cut a thin white line across the rug-strewn floor and ran
up his leg and chest like a sword-cut. It hit another bottle,
clasped between his legs, still intact but empty. It looked as if
the wine that had spilled into his lap was now mostly
dried.
He lifted an arm to
remove the bottle and froze. The arm wasn’t his; it was bigger, and
unnaturally black - like some creature of the Waste. He turned it
over and tried to make out the markings on it —
— and grief hit him
like a thunderbolt, slamming into his head and racing down into the
pit of his stomach. Count Vesna doubled over as the void in his gut
twisted violently, and he wrapped mismatched arms around his body
as he started retching, spewing a thin stream of sharp, sour bile
onto his battered boots. A coughing fit followed, deep, shuddering
exhalations that ended in a choked howl of sorrow.
The ruby teardrop on
his cheek flared warm as his armoured fist tightened around the arm
of his chair, snapping the polished wooden armrest like a twig.
Memory flooded back as black stars burst before his eyes: the
scratch on Tila’s face as she tried to speak, her last words to
him. It had been such a small thing, barely more than a graze. As
the image appeared in his mind he recalled that sickening sense of
hope he’d felt at, the cruel momentary waning of horror, the second
before he felt the ruined mess of her back.
Trembling, he wiped
the stinking spittle from his chin with a grimy sleeve. Away from
the shaft of light, the room looked dark and still, wrapped in cold
shadows. Nausea shivered through his body again, but Vesna did not
care enough to fetch a bowl or move away from the puddle of puke. A
black knot of pain was building behind his eyes, eating away at his
mind.
‘Why her?’ Vesna
whispered. The effort of speaking, even to an empty room, drained
him of energy and his head sagged onto his chest. For a while he
looked at the torn threads on his tunic where buttons had once
been, and the wine-stains on the fabric. He didn’t remember putting
that tunic on; his memory was a jangled mess. Only Tila’s face was
clear.
What happened then,
the glass arrow, was in the distant past, as was the duel he’d
fought with the Elf. There were clouds in his mind, after that,
voices talking over one another, faces overlaid with pain and
blood, someone shouting in his ear, tentative hands leading him
through the streets, faces filled with horror and terror . . . such
a long time ago . . .
There was a sound
behind him, a click and creaking. Once he had been able to
recognise the noise of a door opening. Now, he didn’t turn. The
sound belonged to a different time, one where Tila lived. Nothing
mattered now. As a voice began to speak he tuned it out, staring,
unfocused, at the wine-stains. The words flowed over him unheard as
the ache behind his eyes sharpened with every beat of his absent
heart. The sound filled his ears and rattled his ribs long after
the voice stopped and he realised he was alone with his pain
again.
‘She can’t be gone,’
he muttered, ‘she can’t be.’ But no matter how often he repeated
the words, the hollowness in his belly remained and he knew the
words were a lie. His God-given strength was useless against such
overwhelming power. Karkarn’s iron
general was surrounded and helpless; his forces were broken,
his stratagem in tatters. He had been defeated. Nothing was left
but pain —
The cloud of shadows
was suddenly thrown back and Vesna felt an explosion of pain in his
head as he was thrown sideways onto the floor. He crumpled, content
to lie there, even as the years of training tried to cut in and
force him to stand.
‘Get up, you useless
streak of piss!’ yelled a voice. ‘On your feet,
soldier!’
Vesna found himself
dragged upright as he stared blindly at blurs that lurched and
swayed. Before he could focus on anything he felt a hand slap him
across the face with enough force to snap his head
back.
‘You pathetic,
fucking drunk! You shame her memory, boy!’ the voice roared, choked
with rage.
Tila. Energies caught life inside him, sparking
like a lit fuse, and Vesna caught the next blow with one hand and
struck out with the other, trying to shove his attacker away. From
somewhere his sword slapped into his palm and then the blur
disappeared from his eyes.
In front of him stood
Marshal Carelfolden, his face red with rage, and Sir Dace, his
cheek yellow with old bruising.
‘Get out,’ Vesna
growled.
Sir Dace opened his
mouth to reply, but Carel beat him to it. ‘Fuck off, you whining
little brat! You want to be alone? You get out.’
Vesna took a step
forward, power flooding though his body as the lit match became a
mighty flame. ‘Get out or I’ll kill you,’ he growled.
Carel raised his head
slightly, like a duellist en guarde. He held a long log in his
hand, the one he’d smashed around Vesna’s skull. ‘Go on then, you
damned coward. You can kill me, but don’t think you frighten
me.’
‘I will kill you.’
Vesna raised his sword.
Carel spat on the
floor at Vesna’s feet and tossed the log aside. ‘What are you
waiting for then? I spent years around Isak and his temper; your
grief’s nothing new. Want me to count the number of times he
threatened me? From his thirteenth summer, that boy was strong
enough to kill any man in the wagon train, and I’ve got the scars
to prove his temper - and so does’ - he faltered momentarily, but
caught himself - ‘and so did he.’ The rage in his eyes lessened, to
be replaced by something Vesna recognised.
When Carel continued
it was in a much quieter voice, though he was no less defiant. ‘You
ain’t the only one who’s lost here, Vesna. You ain’t the only one
who grieves for Tila.’
‘What do you want
from me?’ Vesna asked.
Carel shook his head
and his shoulder sagged. Now more than ever he looked the old man
he was. ‘There’s no one here can tell you what to do. You’ve got to
figure that out yourself - but if you just sit there I’ll keep
swinging this log ’til your brains spill out or you gut
me.’
‘Is this some sort of
joke?’ Vesna said in bewilderment. ‘Just get out and leave me
alone.’
‘Sorry, my friend,’
Sir Dace said with an apologetic shake of the head. Vesna’s oldest
friend took a pace forward and pushed aside the Mortal-Aspect’s
raised sword. ‘It’s no joke. You’ve been sitting here for more’n a
week, and we won’t take it any more. Whether the words were spoken
or not, you were married to Tila, and I swore to stand sentinel to
that marriage.’
‘There’s no honour to
defend now,’ Vesna whispered, dropping his sword. Dace stepped
forward and slipped a shoulder under his friend’s arm.
‘Yes, there is,’ Dace
said, his face tightening, ‘yours and hers. You think she’d want
this? You think this is the memorial she deserves? A hero crippled
with grief? A man both blessed and useless in one?’
Vesna shook his head.
‘What Tila would want?’ he whispered. ‘She’s dead, Dace, she
doesn’t want anything now, and I — I can’t go on, not this
way.’
‘No,’ Carel declared.
‘No, you can’t go on this way. I don’t agree with what you’ve done
to yourself, but it’s done, and if your wife could accept it, so
can and must I. And she did accept it, wholeheartedly and without
reservation. She knew she’d be sharing you with Lord Karkarn, and
there was never one word of complaint, not even after you left with
the crusade. It was the duty you felt, the duty you chose, and she
would never have stood in the way o’ that.’
‘You made her proud,’
Dace said, his voice soft, ‘so damned proud I could hardly believe
it. You’re my best friend, and the finest soldier I ever met, and
I’m proud to have served with you and fought alongside you - you
know that. But for Lady Tila, it wasn’t just that. You were far
more to her than your skill with a blade, much more, and I’d rather
die than see you disappoint her that way. I won’t allow you to be
less than the man she believed you to be.’
Tears were streaming
down Vesna’s face, every time Tila’s name mentioned hitting him
like a punch in the belly. In his mind he could see her, looking at
him from the doorway, seeing the state of him now: hair matted and
greasy, earrings of rank discarded, his body rank, his clothes
filthy and stinking. ‘I don’t have the strength,’ he mumbled, ‘I
don’t know what to do.’
‘You do your duty,’
Carel said gravely, ‘for better or worse, you do your duty.
Karkarn’s your lord now, and Isak showed you the path. You make
your fear and your pain a part of you; you use them as weapons, if
what’s needed.’
Vesna sagged, leaning
heavily on Dace. ‘How?’ he asked. ‘I don’t even know where to
start.’
Carel and Sir Dace
exchanged looks. ‘You start with a bath,’ they said
together.
‘Ah, Vesna,’ the
Chief Steward said, seeing the door to his office open, ‘do come
in.’ He gestured to one of the chairs. ‘Please, have a
seat.’
‘What do you want,
Lesarl?’
The Chief Steward
gave him an appraising look. The count still looked ragged around
the edges, but it was a vast improvement on the wreck of a man
Lesarl had tried to speak to a few days before.
‘What have you done
with my clothes?’ Vesna continued, doing a poor job of hiding his
mounting anger, but if Lesarl noticed it he gave no
sign.
‘I removed them,’
Lesarl said eventually, sitting down behind his desk. There were
leather-wrapped files scattered everywhere, but Lesarl didn’t take
his eyes off Vesna as he reached out and touched one of the files
with two fingers. ‘They are the accoutrements of a count of the
Farlan, and legally you cannot possibly be that.’
‘You stole my
clothes?’ Vesna gestured at the dark grey brigandine he wore, far
plainer than anything he would normally wear in the palace. The
only detail was a small bronze pin on the collar bearing Karkarn’s
device.
‘And your earrings,’
Lesarl replied brightly.
Vesna’s
black-iron-clad fingers flexed. ‘You think now’s the time for this
conversation?’
‘I am bound to
enforce the law,’ Lesarl said by way of reply. ‘Naturally the cults
are demanding all your worldly possessions and deeds now belong to
them, but given the unusual circumstances, it will be easy to delay
any ruling for as long as you need.’
‘Need?’
Lesarl again pointed
to the chair. ‘Please, Vesna - sit.’ When at last the Mortal-Aspect
of Karkarn did, Lesarl continued, ‘Your title and noble possessions
will be held by the Lord of the Farlan until such a time as you
express a wish as to what should be done with them.’
Vesna leaned forward.
‘You can piss them away for all I care. They hardly matter
now.’
‘They matter quite a
bit,’ Lesarl corrected, ‘symbolically, as much as anything. You
have been a faithful servant of the tribe and you are a hero of the
Farlan Army - I tend not to piss away, as you so delightfully put
it, such powerful symbols.’
‘As you wish. I’ve no
use for them,’ Vesna growled. ‘Is that all you wanted from
me?’
Lesarl pushed forward
a second file, a slim one this time. ‘Not quite. First you should
read this.’
‘Why?’ There was no
reply and after a moment Vesna gave in and grabbed the file,
knocking some on the floor as he did so. He flipped it open and
read the top page. ‘It’s a murder report.’
‘Indeed it is. Look
underneath.’
Vesna did so and
frowned. ‘Another murder report. Both priests; what’s wrong,
Lesarl, one of your agents go beyond their remit
again?’
‘Can you see the link
between them?’ Lesarl asked. ‘It’s rather easy to
spot.’
‘They’re both priests
of Karkarn - is that why you think I’ll care?’ Vesna stood. ‘In
case you hadn’t noticed, Karkarn and I aren’t exactly speaking
right now.’ The iron fist tightened again. ‘If he hadn’t interfered
at the shrine there’s a good chance . . .’ He stopped, then
whispered, ‘There’s a good chance Tila would still be
alive.’
‘And you would likely
be dead,’ Lesarl pointed out. ‘Karkarn saved your life, and like it
or not, it was the right thing to do.’
‘Right?’ Vesna
yelled, slamming his fist onto Lesarl’s ornate monstrosity of a
desk, hard enough to make it shudder under the impact. ‘You had
better carefully consider the next words to come out your
mouth.’
‘Vesna,’ Lesarl said
in a quieter voice, ‘I do not pretend to know your pain, I would
not presume that.’ He took a long, slow breath, and saw Vesna do
the same after a moment. He had had years of practice with Lord
Bahl’s grief and temper over the murder of his lover, replayed in
Bahl’s dreams, thanks to the Menin. He could recognise the tipping
points well enough. ‘Vesna, you must believe me: it gives me no
pleasure to remind you, but someone has to.’
‘Remind me of
what?’
‘As much as it will
make you laugh until you’re sick - remind you of your
duty.’
Vesna gaped.
‘Duty? You think I care about duty
now?’
‘Of course not.’
Lesarl held up a hand to stop the angry retort he could see forming
on Vesna’s lips. ‘Lord Bahl taught me about duty: it’s a heartless
mistress, but it binds as powerfully as love, or
grief.’
He stood up and
walked halfway around the desk. ‘Vesna, we’ve known each other for
many years, and in all that time your duty has guided your actions
and shaped the man you have become - a man who realised he was
being offered a difficult, unforgiving path, and who had the
courage to take it all the same.’
‘Whatever you’re
getting at,’ Vesna said, rising and heading towards the door, ‘I’m
not interested.’
‘Really?’ Lesarl said
in a sour tone. ‘Then perhaps I was wrong all those years ago when
I first asked you to work for me. I had thought you more than just
a thug for hire. I didn’t think you’d ever be one to run away from
your duty, not ever.’
Before he could blink
Vesna had moved back to the desk and grabbed Lesarl by the throat,
driving him backwards into a bookcase of files.
‘Enough of your shit!
You’ve used me like a toy for years - in the service of your own
sick sense of humour more than the tribe. Is this anything more
than the petulance of a twisted child whose plaything has been
stolen away? You sicken me, you and all those who play games with
the lives of others! I’ve had enough of it; I’ve lost more in your
games than anyone could be asked to give, and I’m not playing any
more!’
‘You’ve lost?’ Lesarl
gasped, ‘you accuse me of petulance?
You claim you’ve lost more than anyone should?’ Vesna shook him
like a dog, but Lesarl continued with sudden, rare anger, ‘Damn
you, Vesna, you’re not the one who’s lost here; you’ve come out
ahead of the rest of us and now you think you can just walk off
with your winnings? Tila lost,
Lord Isak lost, Lord Bahl lost - the Gods alone know how many
soldiers who looked to you for inspiration lost as they died in
battle. It wasn’t their fight, it wasn’t their war - but they
marched for the tribe, and they died for the
tribe!’
Lesarl struggled out
of Vesna’s grip and wrenched at his tunic to right it.
‘They are the ones who’ve lost in this
war,’ he said contemptuously, ‘and you honour their memories by
running away. You’re wrong, Iron General - this is a game you’ll
see to the end, and that’s a choice you’ve made already. The only
question is whether you realise your duty must come before your
grief in time to ensure their sacrifices were not made in vain. You
need to act - you need to find the courage your friends have shown
and do your duty, no matter the
cost.’
‘You want me to chase
after Lord Styrax and die at his hands too? Maybe run away like
Mihn on some witch’s errand — ?’
Lesarl’s face
purpled. ‘You think Mihn’s run away? Nartis preserve us, you really
are just a stone-headed soldier, aren’t you? Didn’t you see the tattoos he put on
himself?’
Vesna frowned,
confused. He realised he had never seen Lesarl so incandescent with
rage. ‘Of course I did - but I’ve no mage’s
schooling.’
‘And you never even
bothered to investigate.’ Lesarl shook his head in disgust. ‘I
don’t know whether it was something he cooked up with Lord Isak or
if he just guessed his lord’s mind, but Mihn has made as much of a
sacrifice as you - probably even more; I imagine it will last a
great deal longer. He’s not let anything get in the way of his
duty.’
‘What in Ghenna’s
name are you talking about?’
‘Hah, exactly! Charms
of protection, charms of silence - even a rune that echoed the one
on Lord Isak’s chest! He linked his soul to a white-eye, one who
had been dreaming of his own death for months, who believed it
would be at the hands of Lord Styrax — and who then marched south
towards that death.’
Vesna found himself
sinking back down into his chair. ‘At the battle — He said — He was
talking about being a gambler, and the quality of his friends ... I
thought he was just talking about the battle, about saving the
army.’
‘I don’t think he
wanted anyone to know,’ Lesarl said, more gently now. ‘I doubt he
wanted anyone counting on something as crazy as that. After all,
who knows how it might work out? All I have are my suspicions, and
the certainty that Mihn wouldn’t ever let fear interfere with his
duty. If duty took him to the Dark Place then there he would go,
without hesitation.’
Vesna realised the
wetness on his cheeks was tears, and a hundred clamouring thoughts
were filling his mind. ‘Then maybe he’s a stronger man than I,’ he
muttered, ‘because I don’t have the strength to carry on.’ For the
first time he felt embarrassed at his weakness, but he was done. He
truly had nothing left to give . . .
‘Yes, my friend, you
do. You have the strength of a God running through your veins, and
you have a task ahead of you. This war isn’t over, and you must
play your part to the end.’ Lesarl’s voice was
breaking.
‘Where . . . Where do
I even begin?’ Vesna could not hide the sob.
Lesarl gestured to
the reports on his desk. ‘You are now Lord Karkarn’s man; as Chief
Steward of the Farlan I can no longer give you orders.’ He managed
a sly smile. ‘However, there are pieces of a puzzle here that you
may draw your own conclusions from.’
‘The dead priests,’
Vesna said slowly, ‘someone is murdering priests of Karkarn. An
assassination attempt was made on me - by a true Elf assassin with
a magical arrow . . . and that’s something we’ve heard before. The
Krann of the Chetse was possessed by a daemon after being shot with
a magical arrow, at the orders of Lord Styrax.’
‘The Chosen of
Karkarn,’ Lesarl repeated, ‘apparently weakening the God he is, or
was once, aligned to. What else?’
‘My noble status? How
does that fit in?’
‘Do you remember our
conversation the morning of your wedding?’
Vesna felt a black
weight descend on his mind and it took him a moment to collect his
wits again. ‘About my religious status, and continuing the war
alone.’
‘Indeed - although
you will not be alone. General Lahk has expressed a wish to take
holy orders, to devote himself to the service of your God. Recent
history aside, the structure of our military does not allow for
religious status. I have consulted the law and the matter is
unclear, but I believe any soldier or officer who takes holy orders
must be relieved of their military positions.’
‘You would allow the
Farlan’s most experienced general to leave?’
Lesarl shrugged. ‘If
he were a priest, I would have no option - my only choice would be
whether or not to prosecute him. That aside, he - and any other
soldier in that position - would be free to chart their own course,
or that of their God, naturally.’
‘I see,’ Vesna said.
‘And if those soldiers took some mementos of their former lives,
such as horses, weapons and armour, that might be
overlooked.’
‘If their commanding
officer were a sentimental type? Doubtless.’ Lesarl gestured to the
open door to his office. ‘None of this could possibly be condoned
by the Lord of the Farlan, of course, having signed a treaty with
the Menin, but he can hardly be blamed for the actions of a few
religious fanatics.’ He paused. ‘Not twice, anyway. At any rate,
Vesna, I have much work to be getting on with and you look like a
man with some hard thinking to do. Perhaps you should consult your
God, as my father used to say.’
‘My God? I’m not sure
I can stomach that yet.’
‘Duty, my friend,
does worse than sicken us,’ Lesarl said gravely as he ushered Vesna
out, ‘but either we endure it, or we fall. There will be no second
chances in this game.’
The Chief Steward
returned to his desk and brandished another leather file. ‘We live
in times where men kill even Harlequins - Harlequins, for pity’s sake! Whether or not that
has to do with Mihn’s self-appointed mission, it’s astonishing;
it’s madness. These are the times we live in now, Vesna, when
nothing is sacred. Our efforts now may be all that determine what
of the Land survives these events that have been set in motion —
whether they be they men, tribes or Gods.’
Vesna’s face was
ashen as he left. Lesarl shut the door behind him and stood with
one hand pressed against the wood for a while. It was cold to the
touch, polished smooth, and stained by age.
He faced the seat
where Tila had worked alongside him the past few months, and
murmured, ‘Thank the Gods I was not born a hero. I would not wish
that on any man.’