‘Yes, my Lord, and we are bound to follow you to war — this we know, but some of us have been beyond the Farlan borders for months now. If there is no enemy to fight, well — it is testing the limits of obedience.’
‘Chief Steward Lesarl has more than a few things to say about Farlan obedience,’ Fernal said with a gesture of one taloned hand to the letters on another table, ‘but call it what you will, I realise they are chafing under my authority.’
‘My Lord, you’ve gathered the rulers of fourteen Farlan domains, along with their troops, here in this pitiful little border town, with no enemy to fight and many concerned they will have to refuse you outright if you press to take the fight to the child, Ruhen.’
Fernal rose and went to face Duke Lomin; the massive, midnight-blue Demi-God loomed over him. ‘Do they send you as their emissary?’
‘I am the highest-ranked among them, it is my place to speak to you. They seek assurances that you will not drag the Farlan into another nation’s war.’
‘You mean a war that concerns us just as much as it does our ally fighting it?’ Fernal shook his head sadly. ‘I will never understand your people, Duke Lomin. However, I understand there are formalities to adhere to. Lead on to the banquet.’
As they went out into the torch-lit street and headed for the banquet hall Fernal’s liveried guards fell in around them. A pair of Lomin’s own hurscals kept to the fringes. Before they reached the hall, however, Duke Lomin stopped and pointed ahead.
‘Suzerains Amah and Danva were the most anxious to speak to you themselves, rather than be represented by me.’
‘Both recently come into their titles, no? Their fathers lying among the dead on the Chir Plains?’
‘Danva’s father was suzerain-in-regent for his infant nephew, now dead of scarlet fever, but Amah was uncle to the previous suzerain.’
Fernal nodded and moved forward to greet the two recently arrived noblemen. Both knelt and offered him their swords as tradition demanded.
‘My Lords,’ Fernal said in his deep, rumbling voice, ‘I am glad to see you both here.’
‘Thank you, your Grace,’ Amah replied quickly, a burly man with greying hair and cheeks scarred by some childhood illness. ‘Might we now know why we are here?’
‘Because I command it,’ Fernal said.
‘The situation here requires so many soldiers?’ he countered, barely keeping the anger from his voice. ‘Is the concern rebellion or invasion?’
‘Rebellion is always a concern of mine,’ Fernal said pointedly. ‘I am newer to my title than even you both. However, the greater threat remains in the Circle City.’
‘The child, Ruhen? My Lord, have I missed some piece of intelligence? All I hear is that he preaches a message of peace and denounces the corruption of the priesthoods.’ Amah frowned. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but did not the Farlan nobility mobilise specifically to face down the cults and prevent civil war?’
‘For which you have my gratitude. But it does not override other matters.’
Amah shared a look with Danva. ‘My Lord, the child’s threat is surely to the cults? Since we have broken their power and now formally limit it, why are we not allied with Ruhen? Our goals coincide; the enemy is a common one, yet I’m told we have slaughtered two parties of missionaries and turned back others. Why do you seek war, my Lord?’
‘They have had their warnings; they refuse to heed them. As for the missionaries slaughtered, they came with several regiments of Devoted as escort and preferred to fight rather than return to their own lands. You would prefer foreign powers be allowed to march troops into Farlan territory?’
‘Of course not — but I still do not understand your antipathy, the preference of provoking war over building links with our new neighbours.’
‘You would have me welcome messengers of peace who come accompanied by hundreds of fighting men?’ Fernal asked, taking a step towards the suzerain.
Unlike Duke Lomin, the suzerain could not help but edge back from the Demi-God’s size and brutal appearance. He didn’t even notice Fernal’s guards putting their hands on their weapons.
‘There is a specific agreement between myself and the suzerains of the Farlan. You have received a copy of it?’
Suzerain Amah nodded.
‘Good, so you know the terms already then. Nowhere does it say I must explain myself to you, only that I will not lead you into a war on foreign soil without recognised justification. I choose not to dwell on reasons or explanations; otherwise I might require a few of my own, and point out our finest are already fighting in such a war.’
‘My Lord,’ Lomin interceded, stepping forward, ‘we are all aware of the terms, and we shall abide by them. The question remains: what threat exists on our border? The expense of maintaining such a large force here is significant, and we all have matters to attend to at home, in addition to the new lands we are now administering here in Helrect and Scree.’
‘You are telling me I must release the nobility to be about their own affairs?’
Lomin bowed. ‘It would seem time for that, my Lord. All intelligence suggests the Devoted troops are heading for the Narkang border — they pose us no threat. The purpose of this show of strength is achieved, to my mind.’
And there you have it, Fernal thought as he looked around at the faces watching him, emotion showing even on the faces of Lomin’s hurscals, hovering behind their lord. They offer me a way out, a way to save face and move on. The question is — do I take it? Where does my duty lie? I gave my oath to serve the Farlan, to ensure they do not fall into civil war, but what of the Land itself, the friendships I bear and the war they are engaged in?
He lingered a moment on the elder of the two hurscals, a man whose much-broken nose and weathered face told its own story.
He was balding and had cropped short what little of his hair remained, making it easy for Fernal to see the tattoos of knighthood on his neck. The blue markings showed he had been ennobled on the battlefield, and Fernal could see in his grey-brown eyes what he thought of not marching to support the Ghosts, the tribe’s proudest legions.
‘My duty is clear,’ Fernal said, staring straight into the hurscal’s eyes, ‘and this show of strength is indeed done. The nobility are released to return home. Duke Lomin, please convey my words to those attending the banquet.’
‘I will do so,’ the duke replied, sweeping up the suzerains as he moved past — his powerful arms taking them by the shoulders before they could object and dragging them both with him. The hurscal however didn’t move.
‘My duty is clear,’ Fernal repeated.
‘Is it just me,’ Suzerain Torl asked quietly, ‘or do they prefer to preach at dusk, when the shadows are longest?’ He indicated the white-robed Children of Ruhen holding court in the town square. They were less than twenty miles from Byora now, deep in the heartland of Ruhen’s powerbase.
Count Macove nodded, careful not to stare at the group of preachers. There were only four of them, but a score of wide-eyed followers lingered at a reverent distance and at least one squad of Devoted soldiers kept a close eye on events. From what Torl could see, that was unnecessary; there were no dissenting voices, no expressions of disapproval. Most of the people here were converts already, accepting Ruhen’s promised peace with the fervour of those scared of living in uncertain times.
‘They can’t all be touched by the shadow,’ Macove muttered in response, ‘there’s too many of them now — unless the shadow’s power has grown vastly. Theatricality perhaps?’
Cedei, the Brotherhood veteran, hawked and spat on the cobbled ground. ‘Sounds about right. Bastard’s always loved a show.’
Cedei was typical of the Brotherhood in Torl’s eyes: an unremarkable man with a weathered face, speckled grey hair and cold, intense eyes. A born street-fighter, that one, Torl thought. Macove’s the nobleman, the knight with height and muscle on his side, but I’d never bet against Emin’s bloody hands of history if it came to a fight.
‘Tell the others to hang back,’ he said out loud. ‘We’re not looking for a fight here, just getting the lie of the Land.’
