Fall of Light (89 page)

Arrows. The coward’s way. Well, that should not surprise anyone.

Wicker shields. But where will we find what we need to make them?

‘Lieutenant Esk!’

The tent flap was tugged aside and a tall, willowy woman entered, armour clanking. ‘Captain?’

‘You commanded the south flank yesterday, yes? Did you draw within sight of Manaleth?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘What flag rode the high winds?’

‘Neither the lord nor the lady was present in the keep, sir.’

‘You are certain of that?’

‘Yes sir.’

Hallyd Bahann rose, grunting at a twinge in his lower back. He’d never much liked riding. ‘It’s the worst of winter – what’s driven the highborn out from their keep, I wonder?’

Lieutenant Esk had no suggestions.

‘Assemble twenty of our best, lieutenant, for some night work. We’re taking that keep, by stealth if at all possible.’

‘Sir?’

‘We need to resupply, lieutenant. Do you imagine the castellan would be generous to the enemy?’

‘No sir.’

Seeing her hesitate, he said, ‘Go on, out with it.’

‘Thus far, sir, we have not overtly drawn noble blood—’

‘Lord Andarist would beg to differ.’

‘But no such accusation has been formally levelled, has it, sir?’

‘You have something to suggest?’

She nodded. ‘Sir, the word’s out, from the surviving scouts who reached us. The Deniers are now organized, and since that is so, then it follows that someone is doing the organizing. It would be a stretch to imagine the forest-grubbers managing that on their own. I understand the Shake monasteries have proclaimed themselves neutral, but they do share the same faith, sir.’

‘Go on. I am intrigued.’

‘Yannis and Yedan monasteries, sir. If stealth can win us entry into Manalle’s keep, then why not the monasteries? In terms of resupply, we could do no better, and besides, we would be effectively removing the Shake from the field, and thereby not have to rely on their promises of neutrality. Besides, how much faith can we place in goodwill, sir, in the midst of civil war?’

‘An attack, justified by the charge that their agents have turned their forest-dwelling followers into an army?’

‘As I said, sir, someone is organizing the forest-grubbers. Who else would have reason to do so? And more to the point, who else could claim the authority?’

‘The priestly warriors of the Shake, lieutenant, are formidable. It won’t be like facing the Wardens.’

‘Stealth, sir, as you said. A night attack, an opened gate. If we catch them unawares.’

Hallyd considered. There was merit to this. What a coup it would be! Hunn Raal would have no choice, then, but to acknowledge Hallyd Bahann as second only to Raal himself. The annihilation of the Shake was tactically sound. Esk was right – it would be foolish to trust in that official pronouncement of neutrality.

We could loot the temples, strip their stores, their weapons. We could cut out the heart of their pathetic cult. But most of all, we will be ending the old line of regal blood, thereby eliminating any complications for the future. No possible rivals to the thrones, not with Sheccanto and Skelenal dead.

‘Inform your fellow officers, Esk, we ride southeast, to Yannis.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Oh, and how many scouts made it back?’

‘Eleven thus far, sir.’

‘Execute them on charges of cowardice and abandoning their comrades. Cowardice is rot and I’ll not see it fester in my ranks.’

‘Yes sir.’

For years, Hallyd had believed that the lone Jheleck had killed with his own hands all those wild dogs, only to overhear, one day, an offhand comment from his father. The savage had simply poisoned the animals with tainted meat. The lesson shifted in Hallyd’s mind, then, from notions of appalling prowess and physical might to the elegance of cold expedience.
And for that, the fool got paid in cider and a single cask. Even the cunning can be witless. In that man’s place, I would have demanded ten horses, or more.

‘How big a fool was that hunter, son?’
his father had asked when they’d discussed it.
‘Poison. I could have done the same to the cider.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘No point. Either way, it’s a fouled cask.’

Hallyd Bahann began dressing in his armour
. Fouled cask. Yes. When I return, Hunn Raal, I’ll see your forced smile, feel your brittle clasp of congratulations upon my shoulder, and see you struggle to keep your footing firm.

But fear not, when all is said and done, and we’ve ridden through the gates of the Citadel, trailing our collection of skulls, you and I will share a drink. But then, I could never match you cup for cup, so I’ll take instead some mulled wine, and leave to you the cask.

We’ll toast your cunning and mine, and then take measure of the wits between them.

He paused, thinking about the drunken fool, sweaty and clumsy as he struggled to pleasure Tathe Lorat. Indeed, by the time he returned, she would have unmanned him utterly.

We’ll make of him our fool, and when he is finished, why, we’ll turn upon Urusander himself. Old man, you had your glory, but those days are long past, now. Father Light is but a title, and one that, I wager, can be worn by any of us.

Ah, my friends, the days ahead will be adventurous.

  *   *   *

Wearing cloaks of unbleached fleece, Master-at-arms Gelas Storco and Sergeant Threadbare lay well concealed upon the ridge, amidst ash-grey ribs of snow, exposed granite and withered grass. The sergeant held a seeing tube to one eye. It was said to be Jaghut in origin, and had been in the possession of Greater House Manaleth for more than two centuries. Threadbare, leader of the company of scouts and trackers, had explained the inner workings of the brass and blackwood tube, but talk of mirrors and polished lenses made little sense to Gelas.

No matter. That it could see farther than the naked eye was all that mattered. The master-at-arms shifted slightly, as the cold of the ground seeped up through his garments. ‘Well?’

‘I wager three hundred,’ Threadbare replied, her breath a stream of white. ‘They’re definitely doubling back.’

‘So, not the forest after all, and more important, not us either.’

‘So it seems, sir. Inviting the question, where now? Have they tucked tail?’

Gelas Storco grunted. ‘Tell me again what that fool said.’

Three nights past, before the appearance of Hallyd Bahann’s company, a half-dead Legion scout had arrived at the keep gate. He had been fevered and wounded. Threadbare had found the stubs of two hunting arrows in the man’s back. Skilled at healing, she had worked on him through the night, cutting out the flint heads, but too much blood had been lost, and what remained was now poisoned by infection. The scout had died even as dawn broke the eastern horizon.

Threadbare lowered the eye-piece, rolled on to her side to face him. ‘Thousands in the forest, hunting Legion soldiers, chasing them down, shooting them with arrows.’

‘But Hunn Raal’s soldiers swept that forest, killing everyone. We saw the fires, breathed the damned smoke. Abyss below, we heard the screams.’

‘I’ve given that some thought, sir.’

He grimaced. ‘I’m sure you have. You’re always giving thought to things, Threadbare. It’s why I keep you close, so I don’t have to.’

‘Yes sir. Well, the Legion invaded the forest at the season’s turn. The Deniers have the strange habit of dividing up their activities. Women gather and harvest, staying close to the camps, keeping an eye on the children along with the elders.’

‘What do the men do, then? Sit around picking their arses?’

‘I said it was strange, sir. When they’re not picking their arses, the men go off on hunts. Off in search of the herds when the migrations are under way.’

‘What migrations? More to the point, what herds?’

‘It was a traditional thing. To my mind, sir, it’s as much an excuse to get away from domestic life as anything else.’

‘You mean, the men have fun sleeping on cold ground, cooking wretched meals all on their own, and otherwise making pigs of themselves?’

‘Well, sir, they
are
ignorant savages.’

‘You think the Legion missed the hunters, but now the hunters have returned, only to find their wives and children slaughtered.’

‘If so, sir, then that forest over there is a realm consumed by rage.’

‘So Bahann indeed tucked tail and is on his way back to Neret Sorr.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, sir. It’s more likely they thought that war done with, only to now realize that it’s barely begun. But who commands the forest savages?’

‘No one, that’s why they’re savages.’

‘And their faith?’

Gelas scowled. ‘Ah.’ He wagged a finger at her. ‘See, I’m cleverer than you think. Bahann’s going to attack the monasteries.’

‘I was thinking just the same, sir.’

His gaze narrowed on her. So innocent and pretty. ‘What am I good at, sergeant?’

‘Sir?’

‘Describe my talents, as you see them.’

‘Well, sir. You conduct a reign of terror over your Houseblades, but you’re fair about it, in that you don’t count favourites. So, even while we all hate you, it’s a disciplined hate, and when you issue orders, we obey. And why wouldn’t we? You’ll be at the forefront of any nasty work, because you’re nastier than all the rest of us, on account of you being angry all the time—’

‘You can shut your mouth now, Threadbare.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Since you know all that, sergeant, you needn’t bother with all that ghee you’re lathering my way. Yes, I figured it out. Good for me. But now we’re looking at a new problem, aren’t we?’

‘With our lady gone, it’s down to you, sir, to decide whether we warn the monasteries or not.’

Gelas nodded. He shifted again. ‘This snow’s not melting under me at all, dammit.’

‘That’s not snow, sir, it’s bedrock.’

‘Ah, that explains it then. Where was I? Right. Decisions.’

‘Urusander’s Legion is the enemy, sir. And Bahann’s out from under Raal’s wing, with but three hundred soldiers. If we warn Yannis and Yedan, how many warriors can they muster? Five hundred? Six? Are they good fighters?’

‘They’re utter pigs, Threadbare, and no, I’d not want to mess with them.’

‘Just so. The question then is, sir, is there any tactical value to seeing Bahann and his three hundred cut to pieces, while at the same time forcing the monasteries to relinquish their neutrality and side with us? Big losses for Raal, big gains for the highborn and Mother Dark.’

He studied her. ‘You’re saying it’s obvious, aren’t you?’

‘Sir?’

He pointed at the eye-piece in her hands. ‘Tell me again how that works.’

‘There is a mirror and three lenses perfectly fitted—’

‘Shut your mouth, Threadbare.’

‘Yes sir.’

He slithered back from the ridge, rose and brushed snow from his thighs. ‘Back to the keep. We need to send out a rider.’

‘To warn the monasteries, sir?’ She remained lying on her bed of yellow grasses, not even cold though her cheeks glowed, with clear eyes that reminded him how many decades it had been since he’d last caught the regard of anything as young and as beautiful as this woman.

‘I trust you all understand,’ he said to her, ‘that the hate is entirely mutual.’

‘Of course, sir.’

‘But having said that, I’d step into a blade’s path for every damned one of you.’

‘That too, sir, is mutual.’

He grunted. It would have to do.

  *   *   *

After a night of freezing rain, the battlements of Vanut Keep glistened, the ice capturing the morning sunlight in sparks that flared and dripped. But already water had begun flowing down the sheathed stone flanks of the solid walls and squat towers, until it seemed as if the walls were melting.

Word had come of three riders on the road below, bound, presumably, for Kharkanas. Lady Degalla, already mounted and in position at the head of the train, alongside Lady Manalle, now beckoned closer the sergeant of the tower’s watch. ‘Do they bear a standard, Mivik?’

The young Houseblade shook his head.

Manalle said, ‘Then they’re not mine, Degalla. Besides, if Gelas had need of delivering an urgent message, he’d send one, not three, and that one would be Threadbare.’

Degalla’s husband, who along with Manalle’s spouse would be riding behind his wife, barked a laugh. ‘That is an odd name, milady.’

‘She arrived with it,’ Manalle replied. ‘A child of Wardens, I believe, but before they ever acquired that title. The first discoverers of the Vitr did not immediately formalize their obsession, Jureg. In any case, it’s Threadbare who carries the important news.’

Manalle was ever pleased to display the breadth of her learning, which was only occasionally onerous. Her other habit, alas, was to run away with her monologue, quickly leading the conversation astray. Most of the time, Degalla was content to suffer Manalle’s entirely subconscious need to be the centre of everyone’s attention –
as if her looks weren’t enough for that –
and she was relieved that her husband had simply smiled and nodded and bitten back his serpent’s tongue that could, if he so chose, drip with acerbic venom.

Degalla cleared her throat. Toleration of guests was deemed a virtue. ‘Now that it has been determined that the riders below are not delivering a message from Manaleth, perhaps we should determine who is upon the road below. Jureg, do accompany me. Lady Manalle, please remain in the care of my Houseblades for the moment, as the safety of my guests must ever remain uppermost in my mind.’

With that, she nudged her horse forward, Jureg falling in beside her, and they rode clear of the gate and on to the winding cobbled track leading down to the road below.

Winter traffic was rare in the best of times, and apart from an unexpected visit from Captain Sharenas over a month past, the tower watch had seen no one riding either from or to Kharkanas since the first snows. Footprints had been noted on occasion, as refugees crossed the road in the dead of night, seeking whatever sanctuary they could find in the forest to the north, but the coming and going of Deniers was of little interest to Degalla.