sleep.’
‘Sure. There’s lots of rooms.’
Bakune eased himself down one wall. His left arm ached ferociously and he couldn’t move it. He suspected it was broken. At last Manask managed to pull the spear from his thick armour; he eyed its bright razor tip, impressed. ‘This one almost tickled me.’
Bakune had been studying the man’s face — one quite thin and long for someone supposedly fat. ‘You’re Boneyman, aren’t you?’
The man grabbed at his great mane of bushy hair, patting it. ‘What’s that? Boneyman? Ridiculous!’ He cleared his throat and peered around. Lowering his voice, he asked, ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a hammer and chisel, would you?’
‘No. Why?’
‘No reason! None at all.’ He examined the long spear, its wide thick blade, and rubbed his chin. ‘Hmm. Well, while no one is looking, I shall sneak away unnoticed! Here I go, stealthily, like a very shadow.’ And the man clumped off down the hall.
Farewell, Manask. Best of luck with whatever mad plan it is you’ve concocted.
Bakune gathered a handful of sleeve and wiped at the blood drying on his face. ‘What are they doing out there?’ he asked Puller.
The man frowned, thinking about that. ‘Sitting. Praying.’
Bakune slowly nodded at the news. ‘Right.’ No more challenging questions for that one…
Ipshank returned. Bakune raised a questioning brow.
‘She’s sleeping.’
‘What now?’
The priest looked off towards the front, his wide mouth turned down. ‘Wait till dawn then get you out of here.’
Bakune paused in wiping the flakes of blood from inside his ears. ‘I’m sorry? I can’t hear so well right now. Did you say… me?’
‘Yes. You.’
‘Whatever for?’
The priest found a carved stone fount in which he splashed his face. ‘What for? Hasn’t it occurred to you, Assessor, that you are now the senior authority here in Banith? Who else must negotiate with the Moranth?’
Bakune stared. ‘Me? Negotiate?’
‘Yes, and soon.’
‘Soon?… Why?’
Ipshank pressed his fingers to his brow, sighed. ‘Before someone else does.’
‘Someone else? But whoever would do that?’
The priest peered down at him as if to see whether he was serious. ‘Boneyman, for example. He just might decide to take himself down to the wharf.’
Bakune lurched to his feet. ‘No! All the gods — not him! We must go.’
Ipshank was nodding steadily.
From the doors Hyuke spoke up: ‘If you’re in charge now can I be captain? I mean… you have to have more’n a sergeant guarding you. Gotta impress these backwoods Moranth, an’ all.’
Smiling evilly at Bakune’s discomfort, the priest gestured up the hall.
CHAPTER VIII
The Holies of the Lady’s worship are a triumvirate: the Three Gems. The first is the Lady Herself, She Who Protects. The second is the Chest, That Which Abides Within. The third is the Priesthood, Those Who Serve.
Thus are we protected, sustained, and guided. It is a perfect system and the envy of all.
At first Ussuwas merely irritated by the late night summons from the Envoy, Enesh-jer. Hands at his back, he tramped up the shallow hillside of the Ancy river valley. A servant preceded him, lantern raised, while two Moranth Black guards followed.
The bodyguard was a recent precaution Borun had forced upon him since the assassination attempt a week ago. Only his sudden recourse to the Warrens, a reflex action, had saved his life that night. The unleashing of power that came with that summons had surprised even him. The assassin had been pulverized instantly, organs burst, fluid gushing from all orifices. The man’s slim keen blade had only brushed the surface of his neck — no more than a shaving cut. Later, he and Borun kicked through the wreckage of his tent. Neither spoke; Ussu imagined both their thoughts ran to suspecting a Claw. How many, he wondered, had Greymane arrived with… the openly self-declared plus the covert, salted away to remain hidden, watchful.
And the Lady had not intervened. She’d allowed him this — teasing? — access to his Warren. Perhaps even abetted his effort. Never had such raw puissance come at his call. It was, to be frank… seductive.
Pausing, he turned to peer back over the valley. Numerous fires glittered here on this west side of the Ancy while on the eastern shore hardly a one lit the pure dark of the night. False and true gods: they’ve even run out of firewood. The stories they’d been hearing of the privations endured on that far shore almost moved him to pity. Almost. Starvation, boiling leather to gnaw upon. Sickness. Countless soldiers cut down by bow-fire as they desperately attempted to fish the river. A number had even been caught here on this side having swum across. And were they spying? No — they carried panniers crammed with stolen food.
Ussu drew his thick winter cloak tighter about himself and continued on. A childish display, this summons. An attempt by the Envoy to remind everyone he was still in command, while succeeding only in demonstrating his pettiness.
Guardians posted at the iron-bound door allowed Ussu entrance to the keep proper. Within, he hung up his thick wool cloak. His Moranth guards bowed, halting, knowing they were not allowed in the private quarters. At the inner chamber doors two more Guardians of the Faith stood watch. These pulled open the heavy oaken leaves. Within, Ussu was surprised to see quite a crowd. Most of Enesh-jer’s coterie of minor Roolian aristocrats and army officers stood jammed almost shoulder to shoulder in the smallish meeting hall. More Guardians of the Faith lined the walls, fists on their iron-heeled staffs.
The entourage parted for him — and not with their usual sullen arrogance either; many carried knowing grins, some even let go soft laughs as he passed. Hands at his back, Ussu pursed his lips; so, some new form of torture thought up by Enesh-jer. What would it be now? Had he finally become reckless enough to follow through on his threat to arrest him for witchery?
He found Borun standing at the front and Ussu’s frown turned to a scowl. Lady look away! He’s not going to demand that Borun attack again, is he? He’ll only force the commander to refuse in front of everyone. The man’s instability was verging on dangerous, but Ussu said nothing. He took a deep breath and clamped his lips tight. This night the Envoy wore his full official uniform of rich fur cloak, gold rings at fingers, and thin silver circlet. He held a roll of vellum that he tapped in the palm of a hand. Ussu eyed the scroll. Word from the Overlord? If so, the night’s atmosphere just took on a far more dangerous tenor.
Enesh-jer briefly inclined his hound’s head to Ussu. He raised his hands for silence. ‘Commander Borun, Ussu. Thank you for attending. As many of you know, a messenger arrived a little while ago having ridden through the night from his posting to the west. He has brought word from our Overlord in Paliss.’ Enesh-jer motioned for silence again though hardly anyone had spoken. ‘My lords, the messenger’s credentials are confirmed, the missive’s seals are authentic and unquestionable. This is no fraud, no effort to sow confusion.’
The Envoy took hold of the scroll in both hands, regarded Ussu. A smile bared his sharp teeth. ‘Commander Borun, Ussu. It seems that my many justified complaints and communiques regarding your behaviour and performance have finally been answered. Your insubordination, your intransigence in the face of my orders, all is
