“Is it right,” she asked Trey as they stopped for a passing cart, “that the Cross is taking payment from the people like this?”
Gildmane felt for a moment that he was talking with himself ten years younger. “We didn’t always. When I squired for Captain Acker, our protection was given freely whenever the church deemed it worthy. But that wasn’t often. ‘Worldly’ events like the Fair were left unmanaged, and so the public had to rely on their household guard or on mercenaries.”
“What changed?”
“I did,” Trey answered. The cart passed, and they brought their horses to a trot. “Captain Acker showed me how the world ought to be, but shortly after being knighted, I met a certain bishop who taught me how the world truly was. He made me realize that as long as the Cross was dependent on church tithes, we were servants of the clergy, not the people and not God.”
Jael pressed a palm over her heart, looked up at Trey, and asked, “Who was the bishop?”
“Ba’al of the Faithful’s Cathedral. It’s just up ahead, in the heart of the Sky District. We’ll be meeting the Roywynns there.” He glanced at Leonhardt and feigned a smile. “I pray that you tolerate the skylords better than I do.”
“Skylords?”
“That’s right, I forgot you grew up a farmer. Lucius, that idiot. He had no right to exile your father; though I suppose you’d not be here had he naught. But that’s a dead horse. Skylords are what we call the landless nobles packed into these apartments. They’re nothing more than merchants and money-lenders now, but they carry their old names and coats of arms as if they’ve something to be proud of. You’ll see what I mean. There they are now, Lord and Lady Roywynn.”
They reined in front of the Faithful’s Cathedral where the whole noble family and their train of coaches awaited them in a glimmering row: three sleek, double-seated carriages with silver-cloth sun covers and a vivid indigo coat—and those were only the coaches. Each driver had been adorned in rich purple vests and cloth-of-silver half-capes, their hoarfrost horses in black leather straps and silver bit and bridle. The lord himself, a portly, balding man with short legs and a thick mustache, stood with a jeweled cane in one hand, his other gripping the dagger at the front of his belt. It was a ballock rondel chased in silver to match the thread of his plush plum doublet. His three sons beside him were dressed all alike, and his gangly lady wife’s gown looked cut from the same cloth. Only his daughter stuck out in her multilayer gown of silver and lace, her chestnut hair bound with a comb encrusted with amethysts. Unlike her skeleton mother, young Lady Roywynn’s cheeks were full and rouge, and her eyes big with innocence. A rabbit, Gildmane thought.
“Can it be? Has the captain himself come to protect us?” bellowed Lord Roywynn.
Trey was happy to disappoint him. “Apologies, my lord. I’m only here to see off my squire. Today you’ll be in the capable hands of Jael Leonhardt.” He leaned in his saddle and beckoned her closer.
Lady Roywynn squinted so that her narrow eyes looked like half-moons glaring either side of her spindly nose. “We paid for the best,” she said, looking neither to the captain nor to her husband. “Am I to understand that this Leonhardt is the best?”
“I swear it,” said Gildmane, “on my honour as a knight. Jael is more than capable of warding off any ne’er-do-wells. And besides, your children seem excited to have her.”
That sparked something in Lord Roywynn. He rustled his mustache, looked to his three eager sons and to his enchanted daughter. “What do you say, Charlotte? Would you feel safe with this woman?”
The maiden looked from Jael to her father with shimmering blue eyes bright as the crisp autumn sky. “Oh,” she whimpered, “I’d be absolutely delighted to have a lady’s company for the eve. Could she…could she please come along with us papa? I’d like her much more than some strange, scary man,” she finished, glancing at the captain. Trey stifled his laughter.
God save you, were Gildmane’s parting words as he rode off on his own for the north-eastern gate of Ward Aureus. And in his mind, they echoed. He wanted to believe that she was all she seemed to be, that the people would love her—flock to her novelty, that Saint Paul had given him a weapon to fight the clergy—a sword. Two swords, he thought, what better way to get the Twin Fangs out of retirement? And who else might follow?Rillion? Commander Rickert? Cleric White? Trey relished in the conniving. He only wished Ba’al was there to praise his cunning. Where are you? he wondered, longing for his mentor. What if it all happens before you get back?
The clatter of hooves on stone gave way to dirt road, and Gildmane woke from his speculating to open country outside Pareo’s gates. To the north, hills and mountains stood like curtains in the distance, and to the east was a green horizon—beyond that, the ocean and pagan lands where demons dwell in the red sands of the Tsaazaar and in the frost fangs to its north and the queer forests to its south. But there, in the heartland of God’s chosen, in sight of the Messaii stronghold, rose the most irreverent structure outside of godless Mephisto. The Hibernis Fairgrounds, eight acres of foot-trodden earth half shadowed beneath a tent of red and green motely canvas. Inside and around were stages, cages, stands, and tables with all manner of exotic fare, animals, and entertainers: play actors, singers, jugglers, and sword swallowers, fire dancers and dancing bears, grotesques and bear wrestlers.
Trey dashed passed them all on his high destrier. His eyes were for the squires and for the citizens they served. Serve. There was a time when such a thought brought
