son-in-law’s house?’ He spoke loudly, with weight, and that voice carried through the camp, pushed harsh against the silent soldiers. ‘But wait. Let us add a new rung in this righteous climb to our cause. A maid, one arm severed and then cut down. A maid, venal benefactor of the inequity we so despise. And the Houseblades, barely armed, who laid for our cause a carpet of split flesh and matted grasses.’ He raised his arms, like an orator set aflame with outrage. ‘But here anew we see more signs of Hunn Raal’s certain path to justice! The burnt corpses of Deniers in the forest! Why, those old wax witches grew fat at our expense, did they not? And the children showed improper pomp in the cut of their rags. Do speak to us, Hallyd Bahann, of our pure purpose. Tell me how a choice of faiths divides the realm we have sworn to defend, and do name your reasons for the side you set us on. Write your list in the columns of smoke behind me and stretch it across the heavens-’
‘Cease your tirade!’ snarled Tathe Lorat. ‘There will only be justice for Urusander’s Legion when we stand unopposed. We needed to strike first, Scara, and in a manner to divide our enemies that remain.’
He turned on her a sneer. ‘Divide? Did anyone truly believe that scattering a few corpses of Deniers among the slain would win a false trail? Lord Jaen was a master with the blade, but even he could not match Cryl Durav. That man slain by Deniers? He fell to multiple thrusts, killed by trained soldiers who knew how to fight a blademaster. Do you all take Lord Anomander for a fool?’
‘He is but one man,’ said Hallyd Bahann, who had made use of the momentary inattention to regain his bluster. ‘The plan was ill-conceived, but we all know how propriety is surrendered in the midst of bloodlust, Scara. It was regrettable, but there will be other crimes committed before this is done, by both sides, and you are a fool if you think otherwise.’
‘Oh, I am a fool to be sure,’ Scara replied. He returned to his horse and swung into the saddle. ‘I am done with this,’ he said. Twisting in his seat, he looked upon those soldiers who had accompanied him from Kharkanas. ‘Stay here and fight with your comrades, if you will. I yield command and reject my commission in Urusander’s Legion.’
Tathe Lorat laughed. ‘Flee back to Sedis Hold, then, and take whatever cowards would ride with you. Did I not warn you, Scara, against your friendship with Anomander’s brother? Be sure that white-skinned freak is upon your trail now, with vengeance in his heart.’ She shook her head. ‘Stand aside, will you? That choice no longer exists, Scara. Not for anyone, and especially not for you.’
Narad saw a few of his companions gathering their gear, clearly intent on joining their now outlawed captain. He hesitated, and then began collecting his own kit.
Tathe Lorat then went on, raising her voice. ‘And should Silchas Ruin not find you, then one day Urusander’s Legion will. That I promise, and you all know what Commander Urusander does to deserters.’
More than half of the soldiers readying their gear stopped then, and Narad saw many setting their packs back down.
Scara Bandaris led his troop away from the camp, riding west to return to the river road. A thin line of additional soldiers fell in behind it. Narad was among them, and he saw, just ahead, Corporal Bursa. Sergeant Radas had remained behind, but he still had her face in his memory. It was dead, and never again would those lips twist, or make the shape of words. Never again would she say ‘ Still hanging limp, Waft? ’ and never again would she rant on in the smoke and fire about all the wrongs done to her and her comrades in the Legion.
It was a dead face he saw, there in his mind, and when he drew back, to hover over her as would a gleeful ghost, he saw how she was sprawled on the stones, her legs spread wide, and blood pooling down there.
The vision should have made him recoil, but instead he felt nothing.
Not by my hand, sergeant.
Scara Bandaris’s words in the camp reverberated through him still. Their scorn comforted him. Their indignation carried the echoes of rightful condemnation, and if Narad himself stung to the lash, well, did he not deserve it?
A short time later, the captain drew up and he and his fellow riders waited for the newcomers. The road was at their backs, the river just beyond.
Scara said, ‘We will rest here for a time. But not as long as I’d like. It may be best if you simply scattered, finding for yourself remote places in which to hide. I will wait in Sedis Hold, and if Silchas Ruin finds me, I will not fight him. I will, in truth, bow to one knee and await his sword upon my neck. By these words I have given you, I trust that you understand that it will not be safe for any of you, should you remain in my company.’
At that, a number of riders swung round to retrace their route.
The scene felt sordid, pathetic.
Then the captain’s eyes fell upon Narad and the man frowned. ‘You I do not know.’
‘This then,’ said Narad, ‘is my only reason for hope.’
Corporal Bursa cleared his throat. ‘We collected him up in the forest, sir.’
‘You vouch for him, corporal?’
Narad felt his spirits plummet. He felt once more that woman lying under him, and heard the laughter making a ring around his clumsy motions, and how it rained down like stinging sleet.
Bursa said, ‘He obeyed orders, sir, and was accepted as one of us.’
‘Very well,’ said Scara Bandaris, his gaze shifting away. ‘The ascent to Sedis Gate is a long climb, and any who approach will be seen from half a day away, thus giving all of you time to flee into the north, on the Jheleck Trail. I am content to meet my fate alone.’
A soldier spoke. ‘We would ride with you, sir.’
‘Until Sedis Hold?’
‘Yes sir.’
Scara Bandaris offered them all a wry, bitter smile. ‘Fools delight in company, my friends.’
‘ High Priestess, make of your worship an unflinching recognition of the unknown, and indeed, the unknowable. By devotion and acceptance of mystery, the chaos that haunts us all is made calm, until the sea itself becomes a mirror content with a placid reflection.’
As the words of her goddess they marked scant scripture, and Emral Lanear felt lost as she sat in her private chamber. She had sent the priestesses away, and was alone with her blurred reflection, sitting so motionless in the mirror. As befitted any adherent, she had pledged her devotion in the frail hope of gifts in return, and while this notion, so crassly expressed, laid bare the one-sided bargaining that was faith, she was no longer in any mood for dissembling. All that was indistinct and imprecise could well remain in the mirror, where every smudge was a blessing, and she would leave it at that.
Still, this face she saw before her was no placid reflection.
There was no end to the irony, if what Anomander had said about Syntara was true. Youthful beauty could bear the revelation of light, while its ageing loss welcomed the darkness; and so these two High Priestesses were indeed well positioned, and if Emral knew bitterness at finding which side she inhabited, there was nothing to be done for it. At least the darkness was eternal in its disguising gifts. In the centuries to come, Syntara might well come to curse what her light revealed.
But now they stood opposite one another, poised to attend a clash neither side could truly win. In the death of one, the meaning of the other is lost. Shall I add this truth to our modest scripture? Perhaps as a note upon the margin, less elegantly inscribed, a thing made in haste, or perhaps regret.
If holy words could not offer up an answer to despair, then what good were they? If the truths so revealed did not invite restitution, then their utterance was no more than a curse. And if the restitution is found not in the mortal realm, then we are invited to inaction, and indifference. Will you promise to a soul a reward buried in supposition? Are we to reach throughout our lives but never touch? Are we to dream and to hope, but never know?
‘ High Priestess, make of your worship an unflinching recognition of the unknown, and indeed, the unknowable.’
Such devotion promised no reward. It made every stance abject and solitary. Revelation proclaimed a vacuum, where faith was doomed to flounder. Then again, perhaps she intends by her prescription just such a revelation: that while we are light inside, there is nothing but darkness upon the outside.
Syntara, we face one another as enemies. But I wonder if even that is a profane conceit.
Frowning, she drew out her writing materials. It was time, she decided, for overtures.
The sound of rushing feet and then a rapid knocking upon the door startled her. She rose and adjusted her
