The Grave Thief: Book Three of The Twilight Reign (55 page)

‘Kass, you go too far,’ Certinse snapped at last. ‘Leave us.’

‘High Cardinal, this is a holy crusade; the troops must be under the command of the cults, and fighting to destroy the heretics! There is no place in a crusade for political concerns!’ the unmen protested.

All around Isak there was an explosion of furious voices. Lehm was not the only one to spur his horse forward but Isak beat them all to it. Quick as a snake he drew a dagger from his belt and threw it straight. It pierced the unmen’s eye and Kass’s head snapped back, his jaw falling open in an expression of surprise before momentum took him out of the saddle.

The voices stopped as the corpse slid to the ground, slowly enough for Colonel Yeren, who was next to him, to reach out and pluck the knife from the wound. He ignored the blood that sprayed over his horse’s flanks as he did so.

‘Anyone else,’ Isak began quietly, ‘who suggests command of my soldiers be taken away from me will also find themselves paying the price for sedition. Is that clear?’

The arrayed clerics were still staring aghast at the twitching body with blood still pouring from the pierced eye. The High Cardinal managed a strangled whimper and a shudder that could have been intended as a nod.

Yeren, by contrast, carefully wiped clean the dagger, a broad smile on his face, as though murdering priests was a commonplace occurrence in his world. ‘Perfectly clear, my Lord,’ he said cheerfully, nudging his horse forwards as he held the dagger hilt-out towards Isak. ‘And might I compliment you on a fine throw?’

Isak ignored the man as Jachen moved to take the dagger from the mercenary. He passed the knife to his lord.

Show them the storm, let them fear its return
, he thought, recalling Lord Bahl’s words to him. Following the advice was harder; it called for restraint to follow anger, and Isak’s temper did not cool so easily. But it was good advice. Fully aware that they were expecting a display of the normal white-eye temper, he kept his voice level.

‘Playing games with Lesarl is one thing,’ he continued. ‘Your ridiculous Morality Tribunals, and whatever else has gone on in Tirah recently - it has all been tolerated. But we are in a state of war now, and any challenge to my authority will receive the same treatment.

‘The Farlan are at war - a war you are part of - and you need to ensure your minions understand what this entails. If they interfere with military matters, if they do not show the proper respect, they will be flogged as a soldier would. If there is organised opposition to my command, I’ll slaughter the whole damn lot of you.’

In spite of himself Isak could hear the building anger in his voice and he took a deep breath, forcing his muscles to relax a little.

‘It—Yes, that is understood,’ Certinse managed, adding, ‘my Lord,’ hurriedly. ‘The recent laws are no excuse for breaches in protocol, and you remain the Chosen of my God. Unmen Kass did not speak for the cults.’

Isak inclined his head to the High Cardinal and slid his dagger back into its sheath. ‘Good. I am glad we understand each other.

‘Now back to the matter at hand. I summoned you here because I shall be joining the clerics’ army as quickly as possible, but tensions remain in Tirah and I wish you to return and work with the Chief Steward to ensure the smooth administration of the city.’

From the expressions on Certinse’s retinue, Isak realised the ploy had worked. Inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. They assumed they would be ruling the city in the absence of Isak - and his Palace Guard - but Certinse had been told exactly what powers he would have, and Lesarl was certain the High Cardinal would not overstep his bounds. It was a bit of a gamble, but Isak was sure Lesarl could handle it. And crucially, it meant the crusade would lose its most rabid of leaders, who would all be running back to the city.

‘This is a letter for you to pass on to Lesarl,’ he continued, motioning to Jachen, who handed Certinse a sealed envelope. ‘The contents are a matter of national security; please read and re-seal it without showing anyone.’

Certinse nodded, understanding Isak’s meaning well enough. The letter fully detailed their collusion, and Certinse would have to keep it from his colleagues or be forced from his position. It also concerned matters of succession in the event of Isak’s death, something he would need the High Cardinal’s support for, because there was no clear successor. As head of the Synod, Certinse would be able to confirm a ruler - or spark a civil war. Isak hoped Lesarl had gone into sufficient detail when he’d explained to Certinse exactly how he would be killed if he reneged on his promise.

Too much gambling for my liking
, Isak thought as Certinse tucked the letter away from the keen eyes of his entourage,
and not least because of my choice of heir
. With the barest amount of formality, he made his goodbyes and ordered the army to continue.

The priests started off just as quickly, all pointedly ignoring the unman’s body lying in the dirt. Two penitents were left to dig a grave. As he rode away, Isak realised they weren’t even bothering to find a river to bury the priest of Vasle beside. In their anxiety to leave Scree behind, they contrived to forget all semblance of custom.

Scree
:
our memorial to forgetting who we are
, he thought bitterly.

The wind roared past Styrax as he led his army towards the Circle City. Ahead, Ismess, the southern quarter, stood out against the Land’s winter livery of browns and greys. All that remained of the ancient city of the Litse was a dirty white half-circle of ancient buildings surrounded by squalid shantytowns, all huddled against Blackfang Mountain. In the centre he could just make out the only impressive part left: the enormous stepped walkway leading up to the Library of Seasons.

Lord Styrax was joined by his son and his general. They gazed upon the city as the Menin warhorses, bred huge to bear the weight of white-eye soldiers, cropped the sparse winter grass. After weeks of marching, only a few miles of windswept pastureland and the arc of a river that ran off the mountain now separated them from Ismess.

‘A perfect day for a battle,’ Kohrad commented. ‘Wind behind us, ground dry and firm.’

Lord Styrax nodded. ‘A fine day,’ he agreed. ‘Shame about the view, though Ismess’s glory was fading even in Deverk Grast’s day.’

‘Can manage a lot more fading over a thousand years,’ General Gaur added from his usual position on Lord Styrax’s right.

The Menin lord agreed. Ismess was a dump; the whole Land would benefit if he just rode in there and burned most of it to the ground, killing their incompetent rulers on the way. The last bastion of the Litse was crippled by religion and the rule of idiots, a miserable prison for Ilit’s few remaining followers.

‘Do you remember the intelligence report?’ Styrax asked his bestial general.

Gaur gave a twitch of his shaggy head. ‘About conquering Ismess? Hah! Teach me for not believing someone when they’re the expert.’

Styrax smiled, causing tiny lines to appear around his eyes. Unlike most Menin white-eyes, he was a cultured man. Rather than the usual mess of wild curls prevalent in the Reavers, the white-eye regiment, his thick black hair was cut short. His face was clean-shaven and unblemished - when he had served in the regiment he had avoided the traditional facial scarring many of the Reavers sported, and his beard had always been neatly braided. His differences had sparked dozens of fights and it had taken eight deaths for them to accept his dominance.

‘“
Only distaste for slaughter and vague piety prevents any of the other quarters from conquering Ismess
,”’ he quoted. ‘“
While preserving the balance of power is the reason given, it is an empty argument as the benefits to all quarters would be realised within a few seasons
.” ’

‘“
Ultimately, all that prevents this
,”’ Gaur finished, ‘“
is the sense that such an act would be pathetic to behold; that the rulers feel it is beneath them
.” ’

‘ “Beneath them?” ’ Kohrad echoed. ‘It’s a good idea, but they would be
embarrassed
?’

‘Exactly so,’ said Styrax. ‘Deverk Grast was not the first to identify the Litse’s endemic problems; he was just the first to try to solve them by genocide. Sometimes a helping hand isn’t so welcome.’

‘My Lord,’ called Major Amber from behind the three men. He spurred his horse closer so that he wouldn’t have to shout. ‘Lord Styrax, the messenger from Duke Vrill is here. The army is ready.’

‘Thank you. Signal the Arohat regiments and Lord Larim.’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Amber replied, standing tall in his stirrups and gesturing to the three columns of soldiers behind him. Riding in the middle was a brightly coloured figure that could only be the Chosen of Larat. The soldiers broke into a trot to overtake their generals. The officers were at the front, also on foot, but unencumbered by packs or spears.

The Third Army had travelled at an unhurried pace from Tor Salan. Styrax had taken half the men with him as he went from town to town accepting surrenders and installing garrisons where necessary. The Second Army and the bulk of their Chetse allies had remained in Tor Salan, where they were enjoying the impounded wealth of the city’s slaughtered mages. Those few Chetse who had travelled north had joined the heavy infantry in the Third Army. Once the Circle City had surrendered he would summon what was left of the Ten Thousand and unleash them on Embere: conquering other cities under his standard would tie them to it. Once they had seen friends die in Styrax’s name they wouldn’t rebel without good cause, and he had no intention of giving them that.

The Menin advance party covered the remaining distance to the city quickly, barely slowing when they encountered an emissary sent to greet them from Lord Celao. She was a young woman with pale skin and hair so fair it was almost white, riding a dappled grey horse and looking suitably terrified by the Menin force. On her tunic was the device of the Lords of the Air, the snow-white wings that were the notable difference between Litse white-eyes and those of other tribes.

Kohrad moved out of the way so she could ride alongside Styrax, but it was a few minutes before she managed a coherent sentence, despite being herself proficient in the Menin dialect. Once she had presented Lord Celao’s formal greetings Lord Styrax cut her speech short.

‘I thank your lord for his greetings. Please offer him my compliments and inform him I am going to visit the Library of Seasons. I believe it is traditional to obstruct no one’s passage to the library - I expect this gesture of respect to be extended to me irrespective of past crimes committed by members of our tribes.’

Amber could see by the woman’s face that she had grasped the full import of Lord Styrax’s words: both distancing himself from the spectre of Deverk Grast that would loom over any conversation between Litse and Menin, and the none-too-veiled threat.

‘Yes, your Grace,’ she managed to gurgle in reply. ‘Lord Celao has invited you to be his guest tonight, however. It would be reassuring for the city to have you enjoy our hospitality, to prove to the people that your army poses them no risk.’

‘I’m quite sure that would be nice for them,’ Styrax said firmly, ‘but it’s not going to happen. I would not enjoy Lord Celao’s hospitality; the contrast between his half-starved subjects and that bloated warthog would interfere with my appetite.’

If such a thing were possible, the woman’s face became whiter.

‘Furthermore,’ Styrax continued, his voice hardening, ‘I couldn’t give a damn whether your citizens are reassured or not. The three regiments under the command of Lord Larim will encamp in the Garden of Lilies, at the foot of Ilit’s Stair. My companions, bar two, will accompany me up into the mountain while the remaining two will deliver messages to Cardinal Sourl and Natai Escral, the Duchess of Byora.

‘I have a message for Lord Celao as well, of course. He will attend me in the library tomorrow at noon to negotiate the surrender of the Circle City.’

‘Surrender?’ the woman coughed, nearly falling off her horse in surprise.

‘Your scryers and scouts must have told you that the rest of my army is close behind. If he fails to attend, I will take Ismess by force. I prefer not to have to do that, but if Lord Celao honestly believes he has a chance against my army he is free to test the theory.’

The massive white-eye turned to look straight at her. ‘I have eight élite legions close enough to deal with any pre-emptive attack on my person. They are all bored, and they are all hoping that they will at last get a fight.’

The young woman shrank back in her saddle, only too glad to jab her spurs into her horse’s flanks and gallop ahead of the Menin.

‘I think she’ll remember the message well enough,’ Styrax laughed. ‘Major Amber? Messenger Karapin?’

‘Yes, sir,’ they replied in almost unison. Amber glanced at Karapin out of the corner of his eye and felt a pang of sympathy for him. He was a humourless man of forty-odd summers who’d been wearing the brass vambraces of the messenger corps for almost thirty. It was unclear whether Karapin realised why he, rather than a soldier of Major Amber’s stature, had been chosen to delivery the message to Cardinal Sourl. Unfortunately for Karapin, the Devoted had a history of executing emissaries conveying a threat. Since Sourl was using his religious rather than military title these days, a considered reaction might be too much to hope for.

‘The same message to Akell and Byora. I will see you tomorrow.’

The pair saluted and broke off from the small party. As they headed northwest, the clank of armour receded behind them. They rode together in silence.

Amber found he was having to make an effort to keep his eyes on the road. The closer they got, the more the mountain dominated the entire horizon, and the harder it became not to stop and stare at the monstrous blot on the landscape.