his mace to it. The major felt it as well; he and the lower-ranking Devoted officers were all affected. The healers were all occupied with the badly injured, and my mages were insensate after their efforts to get us out of the city. It hurt as badly as any wound I've ever had – but it was only when one of the Devoted chaplains had something burst in his brain that we realised-'
'What was is?' Oterness breathed in horror.
'Apoplexy,' Emin said, clutching his head again, 'a rage beyond anything I'd ever felt before, a hatred filling me up and consuming me.' He looked up, a pleading in his eyes that his wife had never before seen in two decades of marriage. 'It built up throughout the day, and- Oh Gods!' He stopped for a moment, and then continued, the words bitter in his mouth, 'My men didn't stop me. They couldn't stop me.'
'Stop you doing what?'
'The refugees,' he whispered, 'there were thousands who'd not been affected by the madness, camped on the other side of the city. They had only a handful of city militiamen to protect them. Devoted officers are all ordained priests, it's a requirement of their Order, and – fool that I am -I am too. We felt the rage of the Gods running through our veins and we couldn't control it. We didn't even hesitate.'
'Oh Emin, what did you do?' Oterness couldn't hide the horror in her voice even as she drew her husband closer and he sank, sobbing, into her arms.
'We killed them! We killed them all. We felt the Gods walk beside us, the Reapers and more besides, all burning with anger I cannot begin to describe. The refugees were innocents; the militiamen just frightened fools, decent men who would not abandon the defenceless to Fate's cruelties. We left none alive. I can still hear the screams – every night I hear them, and I smell their blood upon me.
'We left the dead for the scavengers and just walked away. I… I don't remember much of the following days. The land around Scree was as dead as the city. We watched the smoke rising from the last of the fires as we walked to the Temple of Death where Lord Isak had made his stand, but the stink drove us away. The whole Temple Plaza was full of corpses, most as unarmed and pathetic as those we'd killed the day before. And, Gods help me, I prayed with the Devoted officers amidst the carnage, and I felt holy – vindicated, even. I didn't see the horror of what had been done; only satisfaction that the first step had been taken.'
'First step?' she asked, trying to hide her fear.
'The first step towards a purer Land.' There was pain in his voice now, and he hugged his royal bride tighter, like a frightened child. 'All these years I've fought the fanatics, and now I find myself the worst among them.'
'That's not true,' Oterness insisted, 'you are not the same as them; you're no coward who interprets holy words according to his own prejudice; who twists the scriptures to use them as tools they were never intended to be. The king of this nation is not such a man. The father of my child is not such a man.'
'My child,' Emin gasped, a flicker of life returning to his eyes as he struggled to straighten himself up. 'How is our child? Are you both well?'
Oterness hugged him. 'We're both well, Emin, we're strong and healthy.'
He stroked a reverential hand over her belly, his eyes widening in wonder as he realised how large she'd grown. 'Oh my child, what is this new Land you will be born into?' he asked, his voice shaking.
'A Land yet to be determined,' Oterness answered gently, 'a Land that you have fought twenty years to forge, Emin, and one you cannot give up on now. I know you, better than those who work in your shadow, even Morghien. You've worked for years to contain these fanatics, and these new reports of priests demanding greater measures are just an escalation of that age-old problem. Your agents are still at work; your networks remain in place. Only yesterday Count Antern brought a letter from one of your spies, sealed with green wax.'
'Green wax?' He sat up a bit straighter. Usual matters of state were sealed with red wax, matters of national security used white, and he encouraged his queen to read both, even in his absence -there might have been other women with lineage equal to that of the former Lady Oterness Bekashay, but her intellect was far beyond that of any of the other potential wives, and her help in governing his kingdom remained invaluable. But the green wax was different; it denoted messages concerned with his war with Azaer, the shadow, and that matter he was determined to spare her.
'It's up on your desk,' said Oterness with a nod toward the spiral stair behind him. The pulpit-like mezzanine was shrouded in shadow, for Jorinn knew not to set foot on the stair, let alone go up, even to light the lamp on the king's desk.
Emin helped his wife into her chair before going to retrieve the letter, which was folded up so small that it could be concealed in the palm of a hand. He opened it, and read the message inside, his eyes darting towards Oterness as he finished. Without speaking he went to the bell-pull by the fire and gave it a sharp tug to summon Coran, his white-eye bodyguard.
'Can't it wait? You need to eat and rest, give yourself an hour at least,' Oterness said, concerned, though she knew he would ignore both his own needs and the hurt he was feeling and attend instead to the demands of his position.
But will you never let it out? Your rage at Ilumene's betrayal was buried deep, but it's still there – and now? You're asking too much of yourself, my Emin, far more than any man should.
'I will rest soon,' the king replied at last, gripping the back of her chair and resting his hands on her shoulders. Coran stormed in without knocking as usual, his expression blank.
'Give this letter to Anversis Chals; tell him to draft a plan for Midsummer's Day.'
'Anversis? Your uncle?' Oterness interjected with a puzzled look. '1 thought he was no part of your war – doesn't he spend his days researching migration patterns?'
Emin smiled. 'True enough.'
'Surely you've not found a use for his obsessions? The man is so indiscreet – you can't possibly trust him with your secrets!'
'Also true,' the king sighed, 'but he has applied his theories to the movements of Harlequins and this letter is the first sign of something we've feared since Thistledell.'
'We?'
'Morghien and I. You remember when I first met him?'
Oterness nodded warily. 'Something about a ghost in the library your father had sponsored, and Morghien saving you from it.'
Emin scowled. 'It was no ghost, it was Azaer. The shadow was unable to resist the lure of a library open to the whole population, all that knowledge, available to everyone, and it started to rewrite some of the books, changing our history. At the end of that week I had declared war against an intangible immortal, and I had a sister to bury. There is one group of people better equipped than any other to edit history, and Rojak showed us at Thistledell the power a minstrel can wield.' He raised the letter before handing it to Coran. 'This is a report from Helrect: a Harlequin passing through there in late summer made a mistake when telling a story!'
'A mistake?' Oterness said, surprised. 'But Harlequins have perfect memories, don't they? That's the whole point.' She ignored Coran as he offered the pair a perfunctory bow and hurried out.
'Exactly. And now we need to pay great attention, to see whether any other instances crop up.'
The queen froze. 'You said 'draft a plan for midsummer'. What sort of plan, exactly?'
Emin crouched down at her side and put a protective hand on her swollen belly. 'If they have become the servants of Azaer, even unwittingly, the damage they could cause could be incalculable. In Scree, Azaer's disciples turned the citizens against the Gods – what if that happens across the whole Land? We have had so few opportunities to derail the shadow's cause, and I must not flinch now.'
'You would kill them all?'
'It seems,' said Emin slowly, 'that there is nothing I will not do.' He bowed his head, a man defeated by his own deeds.
'Fate's pity, did Scree have such an effect on everyone? Did no good come of it at all?'
The king laughed coldly. 'No good?' he echoed, then the hardness faded from his face and was replaced with a look of profound sadness. 'Doranei, that poor boy Doranei: he fell in love.'
CHAPTER 3
