How could you bear the unclean touch of that Elene savage?’
‘Vanion? You wouldn’t understand. You couldn’t even begin
to comprehend it.’ She stood, her face defiant. ‘Do whatever it
is you have to do and leave. The very sight of you sickens me.’
‘Very well.’ His face was suddenly as cold as stone.
She was not really surprised when he drew a long bronze
dagger out from under his jerkin. In spite of everything, he was
still Styric enough to loathe the touch of steel. ‘You have no idea
of how much I regret this,’ he told her as he came closer.
She tried to struggle, clawing at his face and eyes. She even
felt a momentary sense of triumph when she seized his beard
and saw him wince with pain. She jerked at his beard, sawing
his face this way and that as she called out for help, but then
he jerked free, roughly shoving her back from him. She
stumbled back and half-fell over a chair, and that was what
ultimately defeated her. Even as she struggled to regain her feet,
he caught her by the hair, and she knew that she was lost.
Despairing, she drew Vanion’s face from her memory, filling
her eyes and heart with his features even as she attempted again
to claw at Zalasta’s eyes.
And then he drove the dagger directly into her breast and
wrenched it free again.
She cried out, falling back and clutching at the wound, feeling
the blood spurting out between her fingers.
He caught her in his arms. ‘I love you, Sephrenia,’ he said in
a broken voice as the light faded from her eyes.
PART TWO
Natayos
CHAPTER 11
‘I can’t find anybody willing to stay in one place long enough
for me to ask him any questions,’ Komier growled when he
returned late one cloudy afternoon with his scouts. He looked
sourly back across the empty, winter-fallow fields all neatly bordered
with low stone walls, carefully shifting his broken right
arm. ‘These Astellian serfs all take one look at us and bolt for
the woods like frightened deer.’
‘What’s ahead?’ Darellon asked him. Darellon’s helmet hung
from his saddlebow, one side so crushed in that it no longer fit
his bandaged head. His eyes were unfocused, and his bandage
was blood-soaked.
Komier took out his map and studied it. ‘We’re coming to
the River Astel,’ he replied. ‘We saw a city over on the other
side – Darsas, most likely. I couldn’t catch anybody to tell
me for sure, though. I’m not the prettiest fellow in the world,
but I’ve never had people flee from me in terror like this
before. ‘
‘Emban warned us about that,’ Bergsten said. ‘The countryside’s
crawling with agitators. They’re telling the serfs that we’ve
all got horns and tails and that we’re coming here to burn down
their churches and ram assorted heresies down their throats at
‘sword-point. This fellow called Sabre seems to be the one behind
it all.’
‘He’s the one I want,’ Komier muttered darkly. ‘I think I’ll
run him down and set him up as the centerpiece in a bonfire.’
‘Lets not stir up the locals any more than they already are,
Komier,’ Darellon cautioned. ‘We’re not in any condition for
confrontations at the moment.’ He glanced back at the battered
column and the long string of wagons bearing the gravely
wounded.
‘Did you see any signs of organized resistance?’ Heldin asked
Komier.
‘Not yet. I expect we’ll find out how things really stand when
we get to Darsas. If the bridge across the Astel’s been torn down
and the tops of the city walls are lined with archers, we’ll know
that Sabre’s message of peace and goodwill’s reached the people
in authority.’ The Genidian Preceptor’s face darkened, and he
squared his shoulders. ‘That’s all right. I’ve fought my way into
towns before, so it won’t be a new experience.’
‘You’ve already managed to get Abriel and about a third of
the Church Knights killed, Komier,’ Bergsten told him pointedly. ‘i
‘d say that your place in history’s secure. Let’s try a bit
of negotiation before we start battering down gates and burning
houses.’
‘You’ve had a clever mouth ever since we were novices, Bergsten.
I should have done something about it before you put on
that cassock.’
Bergsten hefted his war-axe a couple of times. ‘I can take my
cassock off any time it suits you, old friend,’ he offered.
‘You’re getting side-tracked, gentlemen,’ Darellon said, his
speech slightly slurred. ‘Our wounded need attention. This isn’t
the time to pick fights – either with the local population or with
each other. I think the four of us should ride on ahead under a
flag of truce and find out which way the wind’s blowing before
we start building siege-engines.’
‘Am I hearing the voice of reason here?’ Heldin rumbled
mildly. They tied a gleaming white Cyrinic cape to Sir Heldin’s lance
and rode ahead through the cheerless afternoon to the west
bank of the River Astel.
The city beyond the river was clearly Elene, an ancient town
with soaring towers and spires. It stood proudly and solidly on
the far shore of the river under its snapping pennons of red and
blue and gold proclaiming, or so it seemed, that it had always
been there and always would be. It had high, thick walls and
massive, closed gates. The bridge across the Astel was blocked
by towering, bronze-faced warriors wearing minimal armor and
carrying very unpleasant-looking weapons. ‘Atans,’ Sir Heldin
identified them. ‘We definitely don’t want to fight those people.’
The ranks of bleak-faced infantry parted, and an ancient,
bald Tamul in a gold-colored mantle flanked by a vastlybearded
Astellian clergyman all in black came forward to meet
them. ‘Well-met, Sir Knights,’ the hairless old Tamul greeted
the armored men in a dry, dusty voice. ‘King Alberen’s a tribe
curious as to your intentions. We don’t see Church Knights in
this part of the world very often.’
‘You would be Ambassador Fontan,’ Bergsten said. ‘Emban
described you very well.’
‘I thought he had better manners,’ Fontan murmured.
Bergsten flashed him a brief smile. ‘You might want to send
word back to the city, your Excellency. Assure His Majesty that
our intentions are entirely peaceful.’
‘i’m sure he’ll be happy to hear that.’
‘Emban and Sir Tynian came back to Chyrellos a couple
months ago,’ Bergsten continued. ‘Sparhawk sent word that
things were getting out of hand here. Dolmant dispatched us to
help restore order.’ The huge Patriarch made a sour face. ‘We
didn’t get off to a very good start, I’m afraid. We had an unfortunate
encounter near Basne and we have many wounded in need
of medical attention.’
‘I’ll send word to the nearby monasteries, Sir Knight,’ the
bearded clergyman standing at Fontan’s elbow offered.
‘Bergsten’s not a knight any more, your Reverence,’ Komier
corected him. ‘He used to be, but God had other plans for him.
He’s a Patriarch of the Church now. He prays well enough, I
suppose, but we haven’t been able to get his axe away from him
yet.’
“dy manners must be slipping,’ Fontan apologized. ‘My
friend here is Archimandrite Morsel, the duly anointed head of
the Church of Astel.’
“your Grace.’ Bergsten inclined his head politely.
“your Grace,’ Morsel replied, looking curiously at the warlike
churchman. ‘Your friend Emban’ and I had some very stimulating
discusssions about our doctrinal differences. You and I might
want to continue those, but let’s see to your wounded first. How
many injured men do you have?’
Twenty thousand or so, your Grace,’ Komier answered
blakly. ‘it’s a little hard to keep an exact count. A few score die
on us every hour or so.’
‘What in God’s name did you encounter up in those nountains?’
Morsel gasped.
‘The King of Hell, as closely as we can determine, your Grace,’
Darellon replied. ‘We left thirty thousand dead on the field mostly
Cyrinics. Lord Abriel, their Preceptor, led the charge,
and his knights followed closely behind him. They were fully
engaged before they realized what they were up against.’ He
sighed. ‘Abriel was nearing seventy, and he seemed to think he
was leading his last charge.’
‘He was right about that,’ Komier grunted sourly. ‘There
wasn’t enough of him left to bury.’
‘He died well, though,’ Heldin added.
‘His name’s Valash,’ Stragen told Sparhawk and Talen as the
three of them, still wearing their tar-smeared sailor’s smocks,
stepped out of the noisy, torch-lit street into a dark, foulsmelling
alley. ‘He and his two friends are Dacites from Verel.
‘Have you been able to find out who they’re working for?
Sparhawk asked him as they stopped to let their eyes adjust to
the darkness and their noses to the smell. The alleys of Beresa
were particularly unpleasant.
‘I heard one of them mention Ogerajin,’ Stragen replied. ‘it
makes sense, I guess. Ogerajin and Zalasta seem to be old
friends.’
‘I thought Ogerajin’s brains were rotting out,’ Talen objected.