The Ragged Man Part 23

Mihn frowned. Isak's maudlin thoughts were often followed by listlessness and a deep gloom and he'd hoped today to be able to get the damaged white-eye up and working; exercising those still-powerful muscles and helping him continue his journey back to the man he'd once been.

'Come back to the cottage,' he urged, 'I'll make some tea - you must be cold out here.'

Isak was wearing only a thin robe, tied at the waist with a braided belt Xeliath had once worn. The scars on his throat and chest were plain to see, duller now that the day they had returned from Ghenna but no less terrible.

'It's strange,' Isak said, looking Mihn properly in the eye for the first time that day. 'I don't feel part of that pattern. We cut the threads that bound me. We had to - there was no other way.'

'I know,' Mihn said soothingly, seeing Isak's face tightening with anxiety. The witch of Llehden had cut many memories from his mind, leaving great holes there. Some things Isak remembered perfectly, but he sensed the frayed edges of his memory. 'We freed you. It was hard, but we freed you.'

'We cut too many,' Isak said with an abrupt, strangled cough of laughter. 'Ham-fisted wagon-brat, that's what she used to call me.'

'Tila? Aye, and Carel too.'

'Carel?'

Mihn shook his head hurriedly. 'Just someone you once knew,' he said, a dagger of guilt driving deep into his heart. Merciful G.o.ds, he cannot remember Carel? How do I ever forgive myself for taking that memory from him? Merciful G.o.ds, he cannot remember Carel? How do I ever forgive myself for taking that memory from him?

He had to cough and clear his throat before he could speak again. 'Tell me how you know we cut too many.'

'I'm not part of the tapestry, not any more. A few threads still hold me to life, but I died, didn't I?'

'You did.' For a moment Mihn felt the weight of the Land upon his shoulders, but he shook off the mood. He didn't know what price he would have to pay for the audacity of his actions, but whatever it was, it could not be worse than what Isak had endured. 'You died, and we brought you back. We had to.'

'To free me of the ties that bind,' Isak intoned, 'and that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Lesarl,' he added. 'Never liked him.'

Mihn forced a smile at the glimpse of the old Isak; he didn't see them often, but they were coming more frequently now. The witch had been right to give Hulf to Isak. They were inseparable now and the dog, growing stronger every day - and starting to show the fierce spirit yet to reawaken in Isak - was tirelessly playful. Hulf was forcing Isak to remember his own love of silliness, running along the lakesh.o.r.e with happy abandon, leaping over whatever was in his way, or stealing Isak's shoes in the hope of being chased. It had taken Isak a while to keep up, but just as the growing dog was developing a wilful, exuberant personality, Isak was unearthing his own, buried deep, but not entirely cut away by their drastic measures.

'Can you see the pattern?' Mihn asked cautiously. 'Do you understand it now?'

Isak's gaze returned to the lake. 'I see the wind. I see the sun - the threads that tie flowers to the sun and bees to the flowers. I see the spirits of the forest and the G.o.ds that rule them. I see the threads that bind it all, the weaves and colours of all things.'

'And me?'

Isak's face went suddenly grave. 'Especially you. You keep me in the pattern. I am the millstone around your neck.'

'Isak, that is not true,' Mihn insisted sternly. 'We both made this choice, and I would make the same choice again.'

'Would I?' Isak wondered. 'Do I have the strength?'

'Your strength is something I will never doubt.'

Without warning tears spilled from Isak's eyes. He stood there, unashamed, looking mournfully at Mihn. 'We must remake the pattern; tear out the threads and bind them anew - and you will have to live with the consequences.'

CHAPTER 17.

Legana felt the light of the fading sun break through the clouds and settle over her as she sat on a stone bench in the centre of Kamfer's Ford. She turned her head a little to protect her sensitive eyes and waited. Life in the market square continued around her. The locals were used to the sight of her now, and had quite got over their nervousness, if not their awe.

'Mistress?'

Legana looked up at the broad woman bathed in warm orange light. She recognised the voice of the innkeeper's wife, a woman as respectful towards her as if Legana were the greatest witch in the west.

'I thought you might like a cup of tannay,' she said timidly, offering a small bra.s.s goblet. Legana smiled, and sensed the woman's relief.

Quickly Legana wrote - Thank you Thank you on her slate and held it up before accepting the goblet. The local spirit was served warm to bring out the flavour. on her slate and held it up before accepting the goblet. The local spirit was served warm to bring out the flavour.

'You've brought us enough trade in recent weeks,' the landlady said. 'Your guests all come to the inn, and never a word of trouble no matter how much they drink - and whatever Unmen Poller says at High Reverence, the wisewomen say you've frightened off every bad spirit for miles. It seemed only right to fetch you a cup in thanks. My ma always said tannay should be drunk with a spring sunset.'

Legana sipped the drink and felt its warmth spread down her throat. She'd tried other people's tannay since she'd arrived at Kamfer's Ford, enough to tell this was the finest yet. A smile spread over her face and she gestured to the other side of the bench, inviting the woman to join her.

'Oh I wouldn't want to disturb you . . .'

Legana gave a dismissive wave of the hand and the woman tailed off. The divine spark was strong enough inside Legana that when she gestured again the woman sat immediately.

- I am Legana. I am Legana.

'Nanter Ka.s.sai,' came the hurried response. 'Mistress Legana, may I . . . may I ask you a question?'

Legana inclined her head and shifted in her seat to look Nanter in the face, who faltered at the sight of her gleaming emerald eyes.

Nanter had short auburn hair and a b.u.t.ton nose that seemed out of proportion with the rest of her face. She cleared her throat and looked down. 'I was just wondering, why d'you sit here every evening? I don't mean to pry, Mistress Legana, but the women who travel here, they come at all times, but we never see you save at sunset.'

Legana considered the question a while, chalk in her hand. Eventually she began to write.

- Do you remember the girl you once were? Do you remember the girl you once were?

Nanter smiled encouragingly.

- This is how I do it. This is how I do it.

Nanter looked a little puzzled by the statement, but it was as simple as Legana could make it. At twilight the G.o.ds withdrew from the Land and the part of her that was divine became a shade muted. The sounds of everyday life around her reminded Legana of what it was to be alive, while the sinking sun was a memorial to the G.o.ddess she had lost.

Whether pious or merely conditioned to the routines and rituals, every devotee of the Lady had lost something of herself when the family that raised her had been broken. Some would not want another to take its place, but Legana was sure many would be glad of anything she had to offer. Most people craved belonging of one sort or another. While Legana had spoken her prayers through rote rather than joy, she had still been glad to work - even to bleed - in the service of her family.

'Mistress, do you know how many there are of you left?' Nanter asked quietly, terrified of prying, despite Legana's invitation for her to sit.

Legana shook her head. She had been unable to reach the minds of any devotee beyond those she had brought to Kamfer's Ford - two dozen now. She could feel them out there, glowing in her mind like candles in the fog. Those that had come at her call said they felt something in the night and been curious enough to investigate, which told Legana her efforts might at least serve as a beacon to those touched by the Lady.

Less happily, the newcomers had also brought tales of fanatical clerics turning on Fate's priestesses. Some had already been burned, amidst rumours that Fate had been cut down by Death and her followers were now heretics.

'How did it happen?' Nanter whispered. 'Did you feel it?'

Legana's hand trembled as her body remembered the beating it had received the night Aracnan killed the Lady.

- I felt it I felt it, she wrote hesitantly. I saw her murder. I saw her murder.

'Who would do such a thing?' Nanter's face was white.

- A daemon with the face of a child. A daemon with the face of a child.

Nanter shivered. 'Will it be hunting you?'

Legana shook her head. - I am no threat, and it has other enemies. I am no threat, and it has other enemies.

'As do you.'

- I know. I know.

'What will you do if the fanatics come looking for you?'

Legana gave her a small, inscrutable smile, and the emerald gleam in her eyes intensified momentarily. Nanter drew back in alarm, but managed to catch herself. With a great effort of will she kept her seat on the bench.

'A G.o.ddess' blessing,' she whispered, as enthralled as she was frightened, 'a blessing on us all.'

- Tell the unmen that. Tell the unmen that.

'We've tried,' Nanter said sadly, 'but he won't listen. We are G.o.dsfearing folk in these parts, but he drives away the most pious among us with his fervour.'

- Worship without him. Worship without him.

The innkeeper's wife froze. 'You want us to...? Are you saying ...?'

Legana realised what Nanter was failing to say and almost choked as she tried not to laugh. Her ruined voice and damaged throat meant that laughter was dreadfully painful, and barely recognisable.

- I am no G.o.d I am no G.o.d, nor priestess nor priestess, she wrote when the coughing had subsided.

The relief on Nanter's face showed she had been right, the woman had been asking whether Legana intended to take Unmen Poller's place as the heart of the town's worship.

- But I can get him away from the temple each evening. But I can get him away from the temple each evening.

Nanter bobbed her head in thanks. 'Thank you, Mistress.' She was about to say more when she caught sight of something past Legana's shoulder. 'Mistress, I think more guests have arrived.'

Legana turned and squinted in the direction Nanter indicated. There were four figures standing on the edge of the square, facing her. With the sky bright behind them she could make out little detail, but none wore hoods, and even her weak eyesight could make out the copper tint to their hair.

'It's time I left you alone,' Nanter announced, accepting the empty goblet from Legana as she stood. 'I thank you for your offer. Many folk hereabouts will be most glad of your help.'

Legana retrieved her silver-headed cane from the ground and used it to push herself upright, giving Nanter a smile of thanks. The woman half-curtseyed and fled, leaving Legana to walk, a little unsteadily, towards the newcomers.

'You are the one they call the Hand of Fate?' croaked the one at the head of the group, clearly an old woman.

'Not to my face,' Legana said directly into the woman's mind. 'What they refer to was not made by Fate.'

She lifted the white silk scarf tied around her neck so the former priestess could see the shadowy handprint made by Aracnan.

'I have never known a sister to be a mage before,' said another of the women, sounding as old as the first.

As Legana moved a few steps closer, to see their faces more clearly, one of the remaining two stepped around the priestess, her hand on the hilt of her shortsword. She was the tallest of the four, as tall as Legana, and built for fighting, though she was young enough still to be a novice.

'I was not, until the Lady made me her Mortal-Aspect,' Legana replied. 'She called me nothing more than Legana. I would keep that sword in its sheath,' she added, nodding towards the youngest, 'the Lady chose me because I was the best of her devotees - - however damaged my body looks, I am faster than any mortal. however damaged my body looks, I am faster than any mortal.'

'Step aside, Dainiss,' the first woman said, placing a hand on her protector's arm.

As Legana's eyes adjusted to the light she saw the old woman's face was a ma.s.s of wrinkles, her skin a leathery-brown that spoke of a lifetime in the sun, but she could make out little more, and she couldn't place the woman's origin.

'I can sense our G.o.ddess' flame within her; she is not the fraud we expected,' the woman said, musingly.

Legana watched the old woman, wondering how she was going to react to that statement, but the priestess did nothing but stare. After a while it became apparent that both sides were waiting for the other to explain themselves. Legana felt the impatience well up inside her. No doubt the old priestess had been a temple-mistress in her time, and had outwaited many a stubborn novice, though Legana was sure she would win that game, even against one so practiced.

'Have you come to join us?' she asked.

'What is it you are doing here?'

'Looking for new purpose. The Lady is dead but her followers are not, and all we've ever had is each other. Some may wish to forget about their family and start afresh, but not I.'

'You would appoint yourself our queen? Our G.o.ddess?'

'I appoint myself nothing, but like it or not, I carry the spark that binds us. There are only a few of our sisters here yet, but several have been permanently affected by the death of Fate. Those who were praying at the time of her murder were harmed in the mind and they need the protection of their sisters. I intend to gather as many as I can and take stock. Only then will we be able to find our way forward. Only then will we have a chance to find a new purpose.'

The old priestess pursed her lips as she thought. No doubt she was wary of everything since the death of their G.o.ddess.

'You don't need to decide now,' Legana continued, 'come with me to the castle and meet the others. They would be glad of a priestess here.'

She gestured for them to follow and turned towards Camatayl Castle. After a moment she heard footsteps. Though she set a slow pace, Legana walked alone, feeling their eyes bore into her back with every step.

When she reached the castle Shanas, one of the devotees she had first arrived with, ran up and informed her that King Emin had been looking for her.

'I thought as much,' Legana said, gesturing at the activity within the normally sleepy courtyard. 'He will soon have need of us.'

There were hundreds of men in the castle now, soldiers and workmen alike, the latter labouring to erect new buildings within the embrace of the castle walls: temporary barracks for the troops that would soon be pa.s.sing through the area. A few regiments were already camped up against the outer walls, along with a large number of messengers. Flying from the main tower were half a dozen flags now - another two had been added during the day.

'My sisters,' she said, rounding on the devotees following her, 'I'm needed elsewhere. Shanas here will take you to the others. King Emin had granted us rooms in the gate-tower - - it's not much, but as you can see, s.p.a.ce is limited. His hospitality isn't charity, and if you wish to stay it will be on my terms.' it's not much, but as you can see, s.p.a.ce is limited. His hospitality isn't charity, and if you wish to stay it will be on my terms.'

'And what are those?' demanded the priestess.

'Use of what skills we possess,' Legana said, 'and a guarantee from me that his secrets will be kept. I advise you not to test that; the devotees here have already made their choice.'

Before any of the four had the chance to argue Legana turned her back on them and headed for the main tower. There were now green-and-gold liveried members of the Kingsguard posted throughout the castle, but she was admitted without challenge and made her way up to the room where she'd first discussed a bargain with the king. This time he barely even looked up as she entered.

King Emin had chosen Camatayl Castle as his base of operations for the coming year, leaving his queen and newborn son in the relative safety of Narkang. He wore a ceremonial version of the Kingsguard uniform and a hat to match it that looked gaudy even to Legana's weak, greying vision.

'What about there?' he asked the man beside him, a decrepit old relic in a faded uniform.

The man's cheeks were scarred by drink and his uniform hung loose on his body. The dull gold braiding from shoulder to cuff on one sleeve indicated he was a general in the Narkang Army, the creasing suggested he had been retired for a while now. There were two other men looking over the map, both much younger, who sported the same braiding, and Legana guessed them to be newly promoted.