Torl bowed in what he hoped would look a conciliatory manner. 'I'm afraid they cannot. Lord Isak has already ordered all mages to his army. After the deaths two nights past, he recalled all those with college contracts.'
'They are under my command,' Chalat said, for the first time actually focusing properly on Torl. A spark of the white-eye he had once been flickered in his eyes. 'They are tools of the Gods, to do with as I see fit. Tell the boy to send them back.'
'As you wish,' Torl said, amazed at Chalat's behaviour. The white-eye could not conceive that his order would be refused. Presumably he expected Lord Isak would meekly comply.
The Morality Tribunals were becoming increasingly violent; men were being flogged, sometimes to death, before the sitting priests to obtain confessions, but it was those who survived that Torl felt sorry for. Forced to admit their guilt, denounce their friends and punish their comrades, then ordered to receive 'correction' – Torl wasn't sure those sentenced to death weren't luckier. He had found himself ordering Tiniq to kill to save men from this madness, which was being repeated day after day.
'We are close to the enemy; I can smell their heresy on the wind,' Chalat said, interrupting Torl's grim thoughts.
'We will ride in battle-order this morning,' Torl agreed. 'In four days' hard ride we should have sight of Blackfang. My latest reports have Lord Styrax's forces to be encamped outside Akell'
'I must lead the army.' Chalat looked over towards the other army, seeing the movement there as General Lahk was no doubt urging them to break camp first. 'We will leave before Lord Isak; you may join me, Suzerain Torl.' With that, he turned and left.
Torl watched the priests part to allow him through before neatly peeling around to follow him. Only one remained, a tall man of about thirty summers with a flattened nose, wearing the robes of Nartis. He appeared oblivious to the fact his comrades had already crossed the hurscal line, so intently was he observing Suzerain Torl. The older man didn't recognise him at all, but he guessed he was one of those with magical ability. From what Torl could fathom of the shifting alliances and allegiances within the cults, the prospect of battle had propelled the mages to the fore.
'The envoy of the Gods commands you. You will not need your hurscals. Leave them here.' The priest gave Torl a crooked smile and pointed the way, intending Torl to follow Chalat. 'It is felt you are in need of additional religious instruction.'
'Fuck you and the rest of your zealot cronies!'
Torl blinked. For a moment he thought the words had come from his own mouth until he realised Tiniq had stepped forward, a look of undisguised loathing on his face.
The priest did not appear in the least intimidated. 'Godless scum,' he snarled. 'For that insult to the cults you will face a tribunal, of that I assure you.'
'Go ahead,' Tiniq replied. 'My name is Tiniq; I am brother to General Lahk and a sworn sword of Isak Stormcaller. If you think you can drag me before a tribunal, you are welcome to try.'
The priest's head flicked around back to Torl. 'You keep the company of heretics,' he hissed. 'Your education is in greater need than we had realised. Leave your weapons and follow me.'
First he checked that the Lord Chalat had kept moving and was not there to witness, then he responded with a small hand gesture. At his signal every soldier watching – a full regiment of hurscals and sworn soldiers – drew his weapon.
'As a member of the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings for my entire adult life,' he said softly, 'I would love to come and be lectured by a man half my age on piety, but unfortunately I am bound by Special Order Seven and to contravene that would be treason.'
'The Special Order does not overrule the word of the Gods!'
'Certainly not,' Torl said, adding contemptuously, 'but you are no God, you are a stupid little man drunk on power. Tell every other idiot sitting on your so-called 'Morality Tribunals' that I have been instructed to carry out the details of Special Order Seven to the letter, and that means no military officer may be tried by any
court but a military one, and no court-ranked man or commanding officer may travel unarmed or without the company of his hurscals. If you wish to educate me, you must first present your petition to the relevant Farlan military authority.' He pointed in the direction of the other army, then at the head of his hurscals. 'That would be Lord Isak, or, at a pinch, myself. Sir Dahten here is in charge of preliminary requests.'
He turned away, signalling the end to the conversation. Behind him the priest spluttered with fury before Sir Dahten clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. The knight had a special knack; nine times out of ten he could get a finger in the soft hollow on top of a shoulder, hitting the sweet spot without trying. As he heard the soft thud of a man sinking to his knees, Torl knew Dahten had got it right again.
'Preliminary requests,' Dahten began, a menacing tone to his voice. 'They're not really of a discourse form, not at this stage of the proceedings. Now, hold your arms out wide – I'm sure your God will give you strength in this hour of need.'
How long can we continue like this? Torl wondered, closing his eyes and listening to the squawk as a sword was placed in each of the priest's outstretched hands. Five days until we reach the Circle City. Will we have torn each other apart by then?
The following morning saw a storm break over the Circle City. The warning horn had sounded at the break of dawn, and its call had still been rolling over the city when the deluge came. In Burn, the scar surrounding the fissure they called Cambrey's Tongue was hidden by a thick cloud of stinking grey smoke.
Ruhen stood in his high room in the Ruby Tower and looked out over a city washed clean by floodwater. He was staring into the murky distance, a faint trace of worry in his ever-serious expression. In his hands was the slim book that had been his mother's only possession, one she no longer remembered; the journal of Vorizh Vukotic she had pulled from the ashes of Scree. It amused him to have something so valuable, the contents of which would determine the course of the next year of war, as a child's plaything.
'Come away from the window, my dear,' called the duchess, reaching a hand out towards him. 'Come, Ruhen, sit with me.' She massaged her temple, as she did almost constantly now, trying to rub away the dull ache from her head. The bags under her eyes indicated how badly she had been sleeping of late – Ruhen disliked sleeping in her room, preferring access to the tower's dark corridors whenever he wished, and without him the duchess found no rest. Each morning she looked a little more ragged, a little more nervous; and wary of shadows.
'They are coming, lord,' came a voice on the wind that no one but Ruhen heard, though Haipar flinched. The skeletal woman hunched a little lower and chewed harder at her lip, sensing Aracnan's presence in the room even if she couldn't hear him. Ilumene, nursing a hangover, was oblivious. He stared disconsolately down at the floor, occasionally swigging at a lukewarm jug of coffee.
'How long?'
'Perhaps four days if they leave the slowest behind; the whole army is made up of cavalry aside from a ragged swarm of peasants trailing after them. Five days if they wish to be in any shape to fight.' Aracnan's voice was little more than a distant echo in Ruhen's head. The mercenary was somewhere in Wheel, hunting for the Farlan woman who had eluded him. His frustration at being unable to sniff her out was palpable. The mercenary's position in events had now changed. His allegiance was no longer secret, and so his usefulness was diminished.
'Ruhen, please, come and hold my hand, whisper my headache away,' the duchess pleaded.
The little boy turned and offered her a smile, which was enough to smooth the cares from her face, at least until he returned to the window.
'The boy seeks to kill me. A strange choice to make – he knows the risk.'
'One half is led by a Chetse white-eye.'
'Lord Chalat? Excellent. Send dreams of daemons to him, fuel his fanaticism. He will bring this crusade racing on and give Lord Isak no time to treat with the Menin, nor to attack Byora. He cannot abandon the crusade.'
'You will bargain with Lord Styrax?'
'He must not know me, not yet. Ilumene will offer him the duchess's army.'
'You intend to wipe out the Farlan?'
'No, only to have both sides bloodied. Tell the jesters to ensure Lord Isak can escape – this war must see no decisive action, but after the battle you must find a way to kill Kohrad Styrax.'
'It will be done.'
The contact broken, Ruhen stepped back from the window and turned to his adopted mother. She reached out
