womb. She felt full of blood, heavy in the breasts and swollen between her hips. Yet no weariness took her. She found little need for sleep and her mind felt sated, immune to the countless risks surrounding her. Urusander was yet to formally offer sanctuary.
‘ I am not a high priest,’ he had said. ‘ And this is not a temple. More to the point, High Priestess, I am not Mother Dark’s enemy.’
She thought back to her flight from Kharkanas. Accompanied by a dozen of her most loyal companions, bearing with them only what they could carry, she had rushed through the night, the countryside around them suddenly strange and threatening. The comforts and pleasures of the Citadel stung with bitter recollection, and she had known fury and spite in her soul, a soul still bleeding from the wounds the Azathanai’s cruel words had delivered.
But against the hardships of their journey in the days that followed, thoughts of vengeance had proved a potent fuel, and she had felt herself growing in strength with each step she took, as the Citadel and its world diminished behind them.
Hunn Raal’s promise of an escort never materialized, and it was her sense that the drunken fool had lost control of the situation. At night, they could see the glow of fires from the wood upon their left, and by day grey smoke hung over the forest. The Deniers had been set upon.
It was no shock to her when they came within sight of Neret Sorr and the stronghold of Vatha Urusander, and looked upon the gathering of an army surrounding the settlement, the row upon row of canvas tents, the vast corrals crowded with horses, the supply wagons and hundreds of soldiers moving about. The Legion had returned, and the alacrity with which retired soldiers arrived to resume their old lives dismissed all her cherished notions of Hunn Raal’s incompetence. Her confidence stumbled then, as she watched a picket troop approach on the road.
Her followers huddled behind her, and glancing back, she saw how dishevelled and unkempt they had become. Their fine silks were stained with the dust of travel; the makeup that had once enlivened their faces was gone and what she saw now was an array of expressions drawn and frightened. During the trek she had given them little, too consumed with fear and worry over the fate awaiting her. Her companions had been, one and all, caught up in illusions of power, and now she could see how they longed for its blissful return.
But the soldiers drawing up before them bore hard visages, and the corporal commanding them gestured with one hand back up the road, and then said, ‘There’s too many whores to feed as it is. Go back to where you came from. You’ll not find a single room in Neret Sorr, and the commander has rules forbidding your trade in our camp.’
Somehow, Syntara found the strength to simply smile. ‘Refreshingly direct, corporal. It is true: we have known the pleasures of many men. I am High Priestess Syntara, and these priestesses accompanying me are under my charge. I would speak with Commander Urusander, for I have news from the Citadel.’
The young man’s eyes studied her for a long moment, and then he nodded. ‘There was a rumour, I now recall. I see the paleness of your face beneath that hood, High Priestess. Very well, we shall escort you to the keep.’
‘Thank you, corporal. As you can see, our journey was made in haste and without the necessary amenities proper to the daughters of Mother Dark.’
‘We can summon a wagon if you do not mind waiting, High Priestess.’
‘Or, corporal, you and your troop can yield some room on your saddles, if the embrace of priestesses will not discomfort you too much.’
His brows lifted slightly, but he did not smile. A moment later, he edged his mount closer, kicked one foot from the stirrup, and then offered her a hand.
Syntara remained silent on the ride to the keep. She had given considerable thought to what she would say to Urusander, but in taking the measure of these common soldiers she could see that this was a troubled army, and that in turn was a reflection of those in command, and Urusander in particular. The soldiers had answered the summons, but now awaited orders, and none knew what those orders might be. Civil war exposed the flaws in a people, and though each faction would view its cause as just, the illness revealed was endemic, and so weakened everyone.
Urusander might well have recalled his soldiers in some misguided attempt to protect them. But then, protect them from what? Hunn Raal had unleashed renegade troops into the countryside. From themselves, then. If I am right in this, then I understand the tensions I see here. This civil war could see Legion soldier hunting Legion soldier.
But even that was not the end of the troubles. There could be Deniers among them. Or at the very least, sympathizers.
And what of me? What place will I take in what is to come? Is my fate for Urusander to decide? Shall I crawl into his presence? ‘Corporal.’
The gate was directly ahead. ‘High Priestess?’
‘I would hope I have opportunity to redress my travelled state before seeing the commander.’
‘I would expect so,’ he replied, ‘as he is very busy. Do not be offended, High Priestess, if your audience with him is delayed by a day or two. In the meantime, of course you will be given attendants to see to your needs.’
‘Very good,’ she replied. A day or two? She felt her face growing hot. ‘I feel I need to emphasize again the urgency of the news I bring from the Citadel.’
‘I will be sure to convey that, High Priestess.’
As it turned out, she was given no time at all in which to cleanse herself, as the keep’s castellan, a perfunctory man named Haradegar, assumed responsibility for her at the keep’s entrance and, after attaching a score of servants to her priestesses, led her into the keep for immediate audience with Lord Urusander. She assumed no tactical subterfuge in this haste; rather, it spoke to her of the commander’s respect for her title, and if he was witness to the evidence of her plight, then perhaps she could make use of that.
Haradegar guided her to a chamber with shelves lining the walls, on which rested countless books and scrolls. One long table commanded the room, consuming most of the floor space. There were two well-made comfortable chairs, and one was in ruins.
After the castellan departed, she stood contemplating sitting down in the surviving chair. A moment later, Urusander arrived. ‘High Priestess, I have heard of what has befallen you. But still, I must ask: what are you doing here?’
Syntara would not beg. In Urusander, she saw a man under siege. She well understood the ambitions of those behind him. Men like Hunn Raal dreamed of their commander standing beside Mother Dark, as husband to the goddess. Once she and he were past the first moments of awkwardness between them on that day of her arrival, she said as much to Urusander, when they stood in this very room. ‘Lord, alone you have nothing to withstand her, and yet you must — but not as her enemy. Rather, present yourself as her one hope for peace. With my help, Lord, you can save Kurald Galain.’
He had moved past her then, only to turn and face her once more. ‘You must know her mind, High Priestess, as much as anyone can. What fate awaits Lord Draconus?’
‘Lord, she took a consort because she knows no man is her equal. Indeed, in her solitude, she seeks to protect everyone else. As it stands, any union with her will be unbalanced. This is what needs to change.’
He looked away. ‘I have the Legion.’
Syntara drew back her hood and shook her head. ‘Will you pour a husband’s love into a darkness without end, into a realm defying your touch, refusing the blessing of your eyes? Will you give your love to an unknown?’
He cursed her questions, but not for the reasons that she might have expected. ‘All this talk of marriage! Have I been consulted? Has Mother Dark? And now you speak of love?’
‘Lord, forgive me. I was led to believe… otherwise. As you say, worship is not the same as love.’
‘You have the truth of that,’ he snapped.
She had studied him then, seeing a man who had unconsciously backed to one corner of the chamber, his hands restless and reaching out as if to take up a scroll on the nearest shelf, or a book, only to draw away again. She wondered where was the hero he had once been? What reasons remained for this fanatical loyalty surrounding him? Vatha Urusander was forgetting who he was, and all that had elevated him in the eyes of others was behind him now — and he well knew it. She decided that she would have to adjust her strategy, and indeed make herself
