The Ragged Man Part 12

'That is good to hear,' the mage repeated, eyes closed, rocking backwards and forwards on his knees. 'We have need of you here more than ever. Lord Isak's death has been widely reported, and there have been a dozen new prophets in Tirah alone. The clerics are using it as an excuse to demand greater control over the running of the tribe.'

'Has there been bloodshed?' Vesna asked.

'Only a few small incidents. The clerics are trying to get the population on their side before pressing the matter. High Cardinal Certinse may buy us some time but the fanatics grow restless. It appears the worst did not all travel with the army.'

'What are your orders?' Vesna asked, remembering to add, 'Lord Fernal,' after a moment.

'Pull the army back to Farlan territory; have the Quartermaster-General set up camps for them, one on the border, a second near to Tirah. Return to the city yourself with a legion of Ghosts.'

'Yes, my Lord. Ah, Lord Fernal? The clerical troops were scattered after the battle, those that survived, anyway. I have about seven thousand men under my command; of those only about a division's worth are clerics.'

'You think the rest will return here?'

'Possibly. The Penitent troops took the worst of the casualties, but some escaped the killing ground. There is no way of predicting how they will act now.'

For a while the mage was silent and Vesna a.s.sumed Fernal and his companions were discussing matters amongst themselves. He turned to Torl for a wiser man's thoughts, but he had nothing to offer. The suzerain looked troubled and distracted, presumably at the thought of a non-Farlan as lord of the tribe.

White-eyes were difficult masters, but they were sanctioned by the G.o.ds, and they were predictable to a certain degree. Fernal did not fit into the rigid Farlan structure. He had been presented as the protector of the Witch of Llehden, and had been a.s.sumed to be just another Raylin mercenary by the Farlan n.o.bility. That he was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of their patron G.o.d had mattered little to them. The t.i.tle Demi-G.o.d meant Fernal was more mortal than divine, but for the Farlan it made him nothing more than a wandering fighter to be employed or killed.

'The Penitent armies are a problem for another day. Have your scouts keep a weather eye, but travel for speed, not safety. I need your presence in Tirah, both you and your troops. The clerics will hesitate in the presence of the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn, and Lady Tila has guaranteed your continuing loyalty.'

That stopped Vesna in his tracks. It had never occurred to him that he might be considered a threat to the nation now. He and Torl hadn't thought to discuss allegiance yet.

'Consider your new lord,' Karkarn reminded him, 'so new to his position that they are most likely still deciding whether it a legal claim.'

'He cannot afford to a.s.sume,' Vesna agreed, ' a.s.sume,' Vesna agreed, 'so Tila has offered herself as hostage to my actions. But what do I do when I return?'

'Be the good servant. Lord Fernal knows nothing of war; suggest he needs a general in supreme command. You are now the best choice, General Lahk and Suzerain Torl would both agree.'

'What are you planning?'

'You expect me to demand a coup? No, nothing so dramatic, but you are my Mortal-Aspect now and I dub you the Iron General. A general is nothing without an army behind him - to serve all of the G.o.ds, you must ensure the armies of the Farlan are mobilised and ready to fight.'

'How do I go about that?'

'You will find a way.'

'Count Vesna,' the mage interrupted in his dead tone. Vesna a.s.sumed it was meant in a questioning way.

'Yes, Lord Fernal,' he said, gathering his wits.

'Will you serve me?'

'I will, my Lord. Do you have any further orders?'

'Yes. Lord Isak's directions included orders to send his Personal Guard to King Emin's service. I do not know why, but I intend to respect his wishes.'

'As you command, sir.'

'Good. Can you tell me how Lord Isak died?'

'I . . .' The words caught in Vesna's throat and he felt his armoured hand tighten into a fist. 'He died in battle with Lord Styrax. While fending off a dragon, he advanced alone on the Menin Army.'

'Why would he do that?'

'To save us.' Vesna felt his hand start to shake and realised it was because he was clenching his hand so tightly. 'The army was in danger of being obliterated, so he sacrificed himself.'

'I understand,' came the maddeningly level response. 'It must - '

Before he could finish the sentence the mage's eyes flew open, an expression of pain crossing his face, and he fainted into the waiting arms of his attendant.

Vesna cursed under his breath; he would learn nothing more now for a week at least. As soon as the attendant had confirmed the mage was still breathing Vesna bowed to Torl and stalked out.

With the weight of the Land on his shoulders, he went to find Major Jachen, commander of Isak's Personal Guard.

It seems I have much to learn about being a G.o.d. I can't even enjoy the thought of ruining Jachen's day.

Lord Fernal looked up at the three humans anxiously watching him. 'One of you should speak.'

Tila looked at the other two and cleared her throat. 'If the Penitent troops took such a beating, the cults will have to recruit before they can challenge your authority.'

'Not necessarily,' Lesarl said gloomily. 'The cults have done themselves no favours, but - with your pardon, my Lord - the clerics are at least human, and Farlan. Son of Nartis or no, there'll be plenty of folk who will see you just as a monster.'

Fernal nodded, absentmindedly scratching the fur on his cheek with a long hooked talon. He wore as little as ever, despite the cold vestiges of winter lingering in the Spiderweb Mountains. Only his cloak had changed; upon Lesarl's advice he had replaced it with a fine white cape edged in gold and emblazoned with the snake emblem of Nartis.

Quitin Amanas, Keymaster of the Heraldic Library, was due later that morning to draw up a crest and colours for Fernal. The new Duke of Tirah might not have pale skin or wear clothes like the rest, but his position in society was set and Lesarl was keen to have every possible custom adhered to.

'My Lord,' High Cardinal Certinse began hesitantly, nervously pinching the scarlet hem of his robes, 'may we return to the matter of a confessor for you? I know it is unpalatable - '

'Unless you find one young and plump, yes, they probably would be,' Fernal interrupted. The three Farlan stared at him in shock until the huge Demi-G.o.d shook his head and gave a soft growl. 'Just a joke! That is something I am still allowed to do - despite Cardinal Veck's best efforts.'

From their expressions, the humour was lost on them, so Fernal quickly moved on, 'If you can find an advisor not acting under orders of fanatics I would agree. However, the nature of your tribe is that every man has a master, so I doubt you will.'

Lesarl was quick to agree. 'Cardinal Disten is about the only one who I would trust right now to withstand pressure from his superiors, and suggesting him would negate the point of agreeing to a confessor in the first place!'

'Then keep looking,' Certinse insisted. 'The factions within the cults are becoming increasingly restless - if I can't give them something of substance soon my position will become an irrelevance.'

'How many factions?' Fernal asked.

Certinse grimaced. 'It changes from week to week, but they're beginning to coalesce. Broadly speaking; the Council for Piety is populated by the priests of Vellern, some of Vasle's, and the priests and chaplains of Nartis. The G.o.d of the Birds may have only a minor temple here, but Vellern was more hurt by the abomination in Scree than any other and these days, it's zealotry that counts, not seniority.

'The Adherents are driven by my own cardinal branch and some of Death's priests; the Warriors of the Pantheon are comprised of priests of Karkarn and Vasle, with Lady Amavoq's b.i.t.c.h-priestesses weighing in because they're determined not to be out-done in matters of spite.' Certinse wearily shook his head. 'Amavoq was not even one of those affronted in Scree.'

Fernal's brow crumpled even more as he counted the G.o.ds that had been mentioned. There had been six affected by the minstrel's spell in Scree, six G.o.ds whose cults had been taken over by fanatics. 'There is one more G.o.d to account for?'

'Aye, Belarannar's followers have allied with the remainder of Death's. What they call themselves now I couldn't tell you; it changes on a weekly basis.' Certinse held up his hand before Fernal could speak again. 'That is only a most simplistic view; there are schisms, rogue elements and the G.o.ds only know what else going on right now, but I think most of the rest will only cause trouble for each other. I know of at least a dozen deaths of ordained men and women at the hands of their own.'

'Aside from those you yourself ordered killed?' Lesarl asked acidly, waving away the High Cardinal's indignation. 'Enough. I will find some concession we can give you. Your clerk is a handy man with a knife and Senior Penitent Yeren should be able to handle anyone they send now the Temple of the Lady is not accepting commissions.'

Certinse rose and bowed to Lord Fernal. 'Tell that to Unmen Telles,' he muttered in a resigned voice. 'She had her head ripped off by an Aspect of Vellern, so I heard.' Not waiting for a response he headed for the door.

He paused to straighten his robes and to stand a little more upright. Waiting in the corridor was his staff, six priests of different cults, all with sharp eyes and even sharper tongues.

A good thing I renounced my bond with Nartis years ago, Certinse thought as he glared at the first man to blurt out a question. I have so many masters now; I don't think I could serve a G.o.d as well. I have so many masters now; I don't think I could serve a G.o.d as well.

The High Cardinal - with his attending party of priests and penitents - travelled by carriage back to the Domon Enclave in the east district of Tirah. The compound of beautiful, grand old buildings constructed around three large quadrangles served as the administrative hub of the cult of Nartis. At its heart was a temple to Nartis as fine as any in the Land, but restricted for use by clerics and the n.o.bility. The stone temple spire and its surrounding framework of wrought iron dwarfed the entire eastern half of the city. It had been designed to attract the arrows of their patron G.o.d during Tirah's regular storms.

Not even the sight of the enclave in all its glory was able to lift Certinse's gloom. Normally the sight of the manicured lawns, soaring architecture and myriad Aspect shrines never failed to inspire him; he had walked these stone cloisters as a young man, marvelling at the wealth and power on display, dreaming of the day his family would secure the very post that he had, perversely, been given in the end by his enemies.

'Stop the carriage,' he ordered suddenly as they pa.s.sed through into the enclave.

Ignoring the questions from his shepherding priests he stepped down and shut the door firmly behind him. The driveway between the main gate and the warden's office where all guests were received was no more than forty yards. Certinse waved the carriage on and stood alone for a while in the cold, watching the sun momentarily break through the clouds and cast its light over the rooftops.

'What am I doing?' he muttered to himself, waiting until the sun had disappeared once again before setting off down the driveway. There were few people about in the outer grounds today, and none willing to pay too close attention to the High Cardinal.

'For the first time in years, perhaps in my entire life, I feel like praying,' he murmured to himself with a wry smile. 'Has that ever happened before? Before I was old enough to understand it I knew my family were different, that Nartis was not our lord. Did I ever make that choice, or did I just do what I was told?'

He shook his head, knowing he was well past questions such as that. 'And now I have an urge to pray. And what holds me back?' He paused, considering. 'I suppose it is the fear of what might happen. However weak my link to Nartis might be these days, he might respond to the office I hold, even if the man himself is nothing to him.'

Reaching the central quadrangle he looked up to the windows of his private rooms and saw his aide, Brother Kerek, looking down from the chapel window.

What's he doing in there? Certinse wondered, and stepped up his pace a little. Certinse wondered, and stepped up his pace a little.

Nodding absentmindedly to priests on the way, he made his way to his rooms, ignoring the salutes of his guards as they opened the doors for him. As he walked through the austere audience hall used for greeting chaplains and low priests he realised a monk holding a letter was waiting on him . . . and the letter in his hand reminded Certinse that he had written to several abbots recently and had no response . . . but that was something that could wait.

'Brother, I have an urgent matter to attend to. Please wait here and I will have my aide summon you presently,' he said, barely pausing.

The monk bowed his a.s.sent as a second pair of guards admitted Certinse to his formal reception room, used for more notable guests but presently containing only Senior Penitent Yeren, who was sleeping off his latest hangover.

Certinse scowled, ignoring the guards chuckling at their commander's state, but he didn't bother to start another argument. Most likely Kerek had news for him; one of the few places they could talk without other priests listening in was in the High Cardinal's private chapel, which was forbidden to those of other cults.

As he walked through his private study to the chapel he called softly, 'Kerek?' The vicious little clerk turned, an enquiring look on his face. 'Yes, your Eminence?'

'Well? What is it?' Certinse asked gruffly. 'I a.s.sume you're in here for a reason and I don't believe it's a love of Nartis.'

His aide frowned. 'Your Eminence, you ordered me to wait for you here.'

Certinse opened his mouth to deny doing any such thing when he heard the door open behind him and the Senior Penitent strode in. Before Certinse could protest, the mercenary had his left arm out wide and was hugging Certinse to his chest.

A white-hot pain flared in Certinse's back and wrapped its way around his body. He felt as though his ribs were on fire. Yeren kept on moving, his powerful arm keeping the High Cardinal upright as he bore him backwards.

Kerek started to move, but he faltered at the sight of Yeren storming towards him, so shocked that he didn't even raise his arms to defend himself as Yeren hacked his broadsword into his scrawny neck.

The aide dropped like a stone, blood spraying out over the highly polished wooden floor. His legs kicked once and fell still, but Certinse, himself paralysed with pain, saw none of it. He stared up at Yeren as the mercenary surveyed the room, then checked back the way he'd come. Certinse's body spasmed and he wheezed in pain, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't find the strength to scream. His body rigid in agony, he watched Yeren's expression change from grimly professional to calculating wariness, until, finally, he allowed himself a small smile of relief.

'That went well, don't you think?' Yeren said quietly to Certinse. 'Weren't sure how quick Kerek was going to be there. Still, he were just a priest in the end, however much he liked his knife.'

All Certinse could manage was a small 'gah' of wordless pain, which served only to increase Yeren's smile.

'Aye, hurts like a b.a.s.t.a.r.d, don't it? My advice is to try not to scream, not when you got a knife in yer lung. You'll just make it worse, and you already p.i.s.sed yerself, which ain't fitting for a man o' the cloth.'

Yeren peered over Certinse at Kerek's corpse. 'Good thing you lot ain't priests of Death,' he said brightly, 'I hear some o' them dabble in a bit of necromancy on the side. Wouldn't want anyone callin' up yer spirit and askin' who did this.'

Certinse felt a chill start to seep into his legs. He tried to push Yeren away, but the slightest movement sent a spike of pain down his back and he could do nothing to fight the man.

'Yeah, I know,' Yeren continued in an almost sympathetic voice, 'but I can't be dealin' with any o' that "last dying breath" c.r.a.p. We'll stand here 'til you pa.s.s out, which shouldn't be long now, and I'm sure yer beyond savin' - better that than I stick you a dozen times to make sure.'

Certinse listened dumbly to the sequence of his death, unable to respond or even move. Suddenly words from his childhood appeared in his memory, prayers of repentance he hadn't spoken in earnest for decades. Yeren watched his lips move fractionally and nodded, as though his concerns had been confirmed.

'Close yer eyes now, Old Bones hisself won't be long.'

CHAPTER 9.

Ilumene couldn't stop himself grinning. Despite the early hour and the dew seeping into his breeches, he found himself waiting with a handful of others to ambush a deranged dragon - it was so daft, it was hilarious. They lurked under a damaged roof in the ruined building nearest to the Byoran tunnel in the Library of Seasons. Next to him stood the immortal mercenary, Aracnan, who was by contrast, still and entirely emotionless. He looked asleep but Ilumene knew that sleep eluded him, no matter how tired or how hard he tried.

Aracnan was meditating as a way to deal with the pain the King's Man had inflicted upon him, using his millennia of experience to block out the fire in his veins. His hairless skin looked different now, greying and stale where once it had been ivory and full of unnatural vitality. He had lost none of his bulk, but the toll of his shoulder injury was evident to all. Ilumene had fought with the King's Men long enough to know the poison they had used - and the festering hole that would have opened up when Aracnan tried to heal himself with magic.

The stink of Aracnan's flesh was revolting, but Ilumene had spent the summer months in Rojak's company, while the minstrel decayed from the inside out as Scree slowly collapsed. After that he could endure any stink.

'This is crazy,' whispered one of the soldiers for the fourth time that morning. 'Styrax has gone mad with grief.'

His taciturn companion, a white-eye with a ma.s.s of scars on his face and throat, grunted in agreement. It was the most noise the man made, and Ilumene was starting to wonder if that was all he could say.

Ilumene's grin widened even more. 'You think?'

He looked over at the valley wall, twenty yards to the left of the Akell tunnel entrance. Tethered to the rock was a thick-shouldered fighting dog. It had been unmuzzled ten minutes ago, but instead of barking to draw the dragon's attention it had settled down and contentedly gone to sleep.

'Foot-traps?' the soldier hissed. 'Ballistae to pin its wings? Soldiers on foot? That's no way to hunt a f.u.c.king dragon!'

Ilumene shrugged and patted the crowbill axe he'd brought from the Ruby Tower's armoury. There was a second strapped to his back and a normal axe on the ground behind him; the crowbills were the best thing a man on foot had to pierce a dragon's scales, but if he did, the weapon would most likely lodge there and he'd best have a back-up ready.

'Something of a speciality of yours, is it?' Ilumene asked lightly.

Major Fenter Jarrage, of the Knights of the Temples, was in full battle armour, which told Ilumene that the man hadn't thought too hard about what they were about to do. The white-eye was too, but he looked far stronger and quicker. Despite being the poorest fighter of the four Jarrage nodded emphatically, as though he were a veteran leading a squad of recruits. Just around the cover were four more n.o.blemen from Akell and Fortinn - they were all past forty summers and they were dressed in gaudy hunting leathers, so Ilumene hadn't bothered with their names.