carefully on his bloodied and mud-clogged breeches. He held it up to the light, as if to be sure of some aspect in its carving.
It s a good knife, that, he said.
Wouldn t want to lose it.
Noyal Rakan came hurrying down the bank toward them. His face was suffused with joy, but it faded a little when he saw Gil s face.
My lord Ringil. He stopped short. Are you hale?
Gil nodded and stowed the knife. Hale enough.
Well, then. The Throne Eternal captain looked at Archeth. We must get him up to the palace at once. The, uh, the Emperor requests your immediate presence.
Really?
Really, said Archeth drily.
More of the temple fell in behind them. Ringil gazed at it for a long moment, then looked back to his companions.
Right, then. I d better get cleaned up. Either of you got any idea what His Imperial Radiance wants so urgently?
Archeth and Rakan exchanged glances. Archeth shrugged. Gestured with an open palm.
I think he s going to give you a medal, she said.
Ringil laughed all the way to the horses. it wasn t an entirely pleasant sound.
He was still making the same harsh, mirthless noise to himself, quietly, on and off, as the three of them rode westward along the river with the rising sun at their backs and their faces cast in shadow. His companions stole uneasy glances at him, but could think of nothing to say. They clucked to the horses instead, and their mounts picked up a little speed. Their shadows leaned on ahead of them, as if anxious to leave something behind.
Later, they would say only that he rode wordless and corpse-stiff in the saddle, that tear tracks from the laughter cut down his blood-caked face like the mark of claws, and that he never wiped them away.
The Cold Commands is for V. who has given me something to hold
