by Tom Lloyd
Sir Dace laughed and took a pace back, standing to attention, presenting spear and shield formally. His sleeves and trousers were fitting to the occasion but the rest, as was traditional, were what he would wear into battle. ‘You’re telling that to the wrong man, my friend,’ he said with a smile. ‘You might have always been my better with a sword, but there’s no damned way I’m crossing Lady Tila!’
The two men were the same age; they’d known each other for decades. Dace sported the single gold earring of a knight under his wild black curls, and the same blue tattoos on his neck as Vesna. Born to a cobbler, he had won a place in the Palace Guard the year after Vesna and the two had soon become friends. The day Vesna won his martial honours on the battlefield, Dace had been close behind his friend; he was one of three men knighted that day. Family life had taken Dace away from the army, but for ten years he had stood at Vesna’s side, both on the battlefield and on the duelling ground, just as he was about to as the famous rogue at last followed his friend’s example and married.
‘My circumstances have changed,’ Vesna explained in a lower voice, ‘and Tila needs to know before we marry.’
Sir Dace’s smile widened. He handed his friend the spear and reached into a pocket to out pull a letter. ‘Something you need to learn about married life,’ he explained. ‘They’ll outflank you more often than not, especially when they’re as smart as your intended. Best thing is to accept it without a fight.’ His grin widened. ‘Let that be my first act as sentinel for your marriage!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Vesna swapped the spear for the letter and saw it bore his name in Tila’s handwriting.
‘Read the letter,’ Dace advised. ‘A God I might not be, but Karkarn himself could give you no better advice.’
Sir Dace had travelled south from Anvee after news of the crusade had reached there and all able nobles had been called up. Despite having four children waiting at home, Dace had stayed at Tila’s request. A Farlan wedding called for a man to assume the position of sentinel to the marriage, to watch over the happiness of both parties - and, occasionally, to defend the honour of one or the other, which explained why Vesna, hardly the guardian of marital fidelity, was sentinel to several marriages.
Vesna tore the letter open and scanned the half-dozen lines. As he read it his frown slowly softened.
My dearest,
By now I am sure Lesarl has given you the deed of trust and intimated that you are no longer bound by your military obligations. Let me remind you that Isak was my friend also, and I grieve for him as much as you. You must do what you can to further the cause he died for, but that has no bearing on our marriage. Today we will be married, no matter what tomorrow may bring - and this I do with full understanding, so let Lord Karkarn himself defend you if you try to make my choice otherwise.
With all my love on our wedding day,
Tila
‘See what I mean?’ Dace said cheerfully, ‘anticipated and outflanked. You never stood a chance, my friend.’
He thumped Vesna on his plate-armour shoulder, wincing slightly as he caught his palm on the black-iron.
‘I can still ask Karkarn to be my sentinel,’ Vesna growled, trying to be stern, but feeling his irritation melt away as he reread the letter.
‘And he too will have better sense than to cross a young lady on her wedding day,’ Dace declared. He thoroughly enjoyed being a family man, and he intended to savour every moment as his renowned friend followed in his wake. ‘And anyway, I didn’t see Lord Karkarn taking a paddling in the barracks last night - if I have to share the pain from your wedding rites I’m damned-well going to get some of the pleasure too!’
Vesna grinned at last. ‘Aye, and cruel on you that I don’t feel pain like a normal man these days.’ He took a last look at the letter and pictured Tila writing it. ‘Who am I to argue then?’ he said, unable to restrain his smile.
‘That’s better; at last the face of a man getting married!’ He grabbed Vesna by the sword-arm and started to drag him towards the barracks. ‘Now come and have a last meal with us; there are still a few filthy stories about you that need to be aired before you mend your ways.’
Vesna complied willingly and they repaired to the officers’ quarters, where, surrounded by men he’d fought alongside for years, he found himself the butt of altogether too many jokes. Vesna’s grin was even wider by the time they filed out and mounted up to proceed north to the New District, where Tila’s family lived.
While Vesna had the right to be married in the grandest temples in Tirah, too many were under the direct control of clerics hostile to the nobility. The cults had withdrawn their military threat as soon as it was clear the nobles would unite behind Lord Fernal, but tensions remained.
High Chaplain Mochyd was willing to conduct the service, so Tila had instead chosen an old shrine in the New District and scaled down the ceremony so Lord Fernal, along with half the guard, would not have to attend. As Vesna led a column of fifty Ghosts in dress uniform through the streets he felt a rare jangle of nerves in his stomach.
‘Okay?’ Dace asked, leaning in his saddle towards Vesna.
The Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn nodded, his face pale. ‘Just wondering what comes tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? You wake up with a sore head and a better girl than you deserve!’ He laughed. ‘What comes after that is in the hands of the Gods, so you just need to get the first bit right before you start worrying about the rest. And for pity’s sake get that damn look off your face or she’ll want me for her wedding night instead!’
Vesna laughed at the suggestion, but it shook him from his gloom. They continued in cheerful spirits the rest of the way, the Ghosts singing lewd marching songs until they were within sight of the shrine. A few yards out they dismounted and left their horses in the charge of a young lieutenant and formed up in two columns, flanking Vesna and Sir Dace.
The shrine was on a fork in the road, with a door at the top of a dozen stone steps on either street. It was an ancient building, even by the standards of Tirah, and comprised three concentric circles of pillars below a curved roof that rose to a sharp peak in the centre. Directly below that was the carved heart of the shrine: a strung bow resting in crooked stone branches, surrounded by images of Nartis’ face and stylised lightning bolts.
Behind the shrine was a raised garden, enclosed by a stone balustrade, that stretched twenty yards to the stone side wall of the building behind it. Over the slanted roof of the shrine itself he could see a pair of trees that shaded the garden.
There was quite a gathering there, despite this being a restrained affair. A group of nobles clad in all their formal finery were gathered around the steps, while Tila’s immediate family, the High Chaplain and a handful of her closest friends stood around the heart of the shrine.
As he approached, Tila stepped into view from behind the High Chaplain. His beaming bride was wearing a formal dress of blue and white, its simplicity serving to highlight her beauty. Her head was partially covered by a matching blue shawl embroidered with white and gold, and she wore charms to various Gods and Goddesses woven into her hair - a wedding was the only time all Gods were welcome at any temple, so Tila wore her favourite charms safely.
Vesna felt a pang of guilt. The only God accompanying him to his wedding was Karkarn, the God of War. All Gods might be welcome to bless a wedding, but some more so than others, he suspected.
‘Now, my Iron General,’ said a cold voice in his mind, ‘do you ask my blessing on this happy day?’
‘I do, Lord Karkarn,’ Vesna replied silently. ‘Above all other Gods I ask your blessing.’
‘And it is so granted,’ Karkarn replied. ‘Just remember the saying; “War is a jealous mistress” - never has it been so true.’ Without waiting for a response Karkarn receded into the depths of Vesna’s mind, returning to the distant echo that was a constant presence. Vesna understood his God’s meaning.
He fell in behind his sentinel and Sir Dace led him up the ste
ps, calling his greetings to those assembled. Tila’s father stepped forward and Vesna bowed low to the man. Introl was a slim man with weak eyes; he looked fragile compared with his son-in-law-to-be. Vesna knelt and unbuckled his sword and Introl took it. Next Vesna pulled off his tunic, fumbling a moment with the toggles that had been added to his left side so it could be pulled over his black-iron-encased arm. His stomach tensed instinctively as the cool air rushed in and enveloped him, but then the sensation faded.
Vesna chanced a look up at Tila; she was watching him with a half-smile on her lips. The other women in the party didn’t look so impressed - Vesna’s broad chest was as heavily muscled as any man there, but the scars on his torso from past injuries were now deep red, and starkly obvious. He might be in good condition for a man approaching forty summers, but there was no doubt his body was a monument to the abuse it had received during years of military service. The sight was clearly shocking to Lady Introl and her sisters, but Tila blew him a kiss.
He grinned, then quickly lowered his eyes as Master Introl threw a white sheet over Vesna’s shoulders, unsnagging it as it caught on his jutting pauldron, symbolically clothing him. He rose and continued up the steps to Tila’s side.
As he looked at the faces assembled around the shrine he caught sight of Carel at the rear and felt a knot in his stomach. The marshal was dressed formally, but there was little joy on the old soldier’s face. He stood just outside the consecrated area of the shrine, under the garden’s trees, where the ashes of the dead were scattered. Vesna offered him a half-bow, trying not to dislodge the sheet, and received a cool nod in return. In that moment he knew their friendship was dead. Carel was attending the wedding out of love for Tila and as a memorial to Isak, nothing more.
In the next moment he saw Carel’s eyes narrow, and the veteran was already starting down the steps, thumb on the catch on his sword-stick, by the time Vesna turned. A mutter ran around the crowd of witnesses and faces turned to the door Vesna had entered by.
The street was a hundred yards long, and it sloped up away from the shrine, leaving the Tower of Semar visible behind the buildings. There seemed to be some sort of commotion at the head of the street as two Ghosts advanced towards a third, who drew a massive sword.
Vesna’s breath caught as he tasted magic on the air and he saw two lightning-quick blows take out both Ghosts. As they fell Vesna saw Sir Dace and Swordmaster Pettir were already heading towards him, their weapons drawn - but before they’d gone more than a few steps Vesna saw the Ghost level a black longbow.
Without thinking Vesna called on the magic inside him, reaching out with his empty armoured hand at the archer. The Land fell away from his senses as blistering magic flowed over his body. As the archer fired, Vesna created a smoke-grey shield which appeared in the air to block the arrow before it reached the shrine - then, without warning, he felt the God of War invade his mind.
Before Vesna even had a chance to cry out Karkarn had wrestled control of the magic from his Mortal-Aspect and roughly ripped away the threads binding the shield together. It exploded in white-green light, the energies screaming as they were cast asunder.
Vesna froze in incomprehension as his divine-sharpened eyes watched the arrow race towards him. Then ingrained instinct kicked in and he turned himself left-side-on, bringing his armoured arm across his face to protect himself.
The arrow hit his forearm, driving the black-iron into his face as a searing flash of light exploded all around him. A thunderclap of shattering glass and the copper taste of magic filled the air as a spell blossomed into life upon impact. Vesna felt tiny teeth tearing at his back and shoulders as the force of the blow sent him reeling. He was forced back, barely keeping his feet, as he was buffeted by streams of magic flowing past him. Noise crashed against his ears, and dark stars burst in his eyes as a sudden weight of raw power enveloped him.
He staggered again as he heard the crash of glass on the shrine. The pain fled as a cold, black dread struck him in the gut. He tried to see, but he could make no sense of the blur before him. Shards of glass, droplets of blood and tiny pieces of linen and silk were whirling in the air like snowflakes, covering the shrine. His breath caught as a fragment of blue cloth caught by the storm whipped past his eyes and then, as suddenly as it had struck, the magic winked out of existence.
Vesna lurched forward, pieces of glass crunching under his boot. He alone was standing; the shrine had been scoured of everyone behind him. As he skidded on the blood he grabbed a pillar to steady himself. He felt empty as he saw the bodies at his feet. They were covered in blood from head to foot, their finery shredded by the lethal shards, and at first he could not recognise any of them. He made a grab for the nearest - a man . . . He shoved the corpse aside and scrambled for the next.
From the back of his mind Karkarn’s spirit cut through the panicked cloud of his thoughts and he focused on one body: Anad Introl, Tila’s father.
He ran forward and pulled the man up. Introl was wrapped around a figure trapped underneath him, as if he had thrown himself on top as protection. His arms were slippery, and far too thin - distantly Vesna realised with horror they’d had been flensed to bone, and the wetness was his blood. A terrible pain was blossoming in his chest. The person he had been trying to protect was his beloved daughter.
Vesna felt a great scream building up inside him. Tila’s face had been barely touched by the glass - Vesna could see only one small scratch on her forehead - but it was contorted in pain. He made to lift her body, but stopped, his heart pounding . . . did she just move? He knelt, ignoring the lethal debris, and slipped one hand gently underneath her. Tila began to tremble, then took a shallow, shuddering gasp. Vesna’s most ardent prayer and worst fears were realised: Tila was alive, but he could see she was grievously injured, her back sliced in ribbons . . .
‘No,’ Vesna whispered, cradling his bride as gently as he could, ‘lie still, stay with me.’
Tila’s lips parted, as though she was about to speak, but even that slight movement sent a spasm of agony across her face.
‘Hush now,’ Vesna whispered, half-sobbing with terror, ‘dearest love, Tila, stay with me . . .’
He saw her eyes focus on him suddenly as his voice momentarily cut through her pain. She looked into his eyes so intensely that he felt her touch his soul ... then, with a tiny gasp, she was gone. Her bloodied body went limp in his arms, and Vesna screwed his eyes closed and set loose the scream that had been building, howling like the very damned. His entire body shook, and his cry filled his ears, but nothing could blank out the pain that was all-encompassing . . .
When his breath finally gave way and he stopped, he gasped, ‘Karkarn, do something!’
‘I am no healer,’ came the growling reply, ‘and Death’s die is cast.’ A wisp of light stroked her cheek, a last goodbye. ‘But she will be honoured in death. The Bringers of the Slain shall escort her on Ghain’s slopes and see her untroubled to the land of no time.’
Vesna looked around in desperation, but there was no one: the icons had been destroyed, the people brutalised beyond recognition. ‘You can do nothing?’
‘No more for her.’
Something in Karkarn’s voice made Vesna look up. He saw his sword lying discarded on the ground, the scabbard reduced to slivers of leather.
‘What was that?’
‘A weapon designed to bypass whatever first defence you offered. Had the shield remained, you would be dead.’
Vesna turned back to his bride. The pain was gone from Tila’s pale face; she looked peaceful, as if she were sleeping beside him. He bent and kissed her on her lips.
Then he reached for the sword.
‘Get me there,’ Vesna rasped, pointing to the other end of the street as he rose, ‘and keep out of my way.’
Karkarn did not reply, but Vesna felt a force close about his shoulders and wrench him from the ground. His vision blurred as he was moved through the magic-heavy air. Dark shapes flashed past, then he was tumblin
g forward. He landed heavily, driven to his knees by the impact, but he didn’t wait for his senses to return; his sword was up and ready to ward off a blow —
— that never came.
Vesna blinked, but the archer hadn’t moved. The man wore the uniform of a Ghost cavalryman, but there was something blank about his face that made Vesna realise it was unnatural. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus, and his divine-touched senses cut through the illusion - but as he felt a terrible pressure built around his eyes, he barely registered the long, narrow features of a true Elf, let alone felt surprise. His legs threatened to give way for a moment before Karkarn’s divine touch dissipated the clouding grief.
It was pierced by the fierce white light of hate, as palpable and strong as a daemon rising from the Dark Place.
The Elf laughed and unhooked something from its throat. The illusion fell away, leaving a slender figure in dark, functional clothes, over which was draped one of the Ghosts’ black-and-white tabards. It had an unearthly beauty, as much female as male, but its body shape was clearly male, even if it lacked Vesna’s muscular bulk.
As Vesna watched it nonchalantly tore off the tabard, revealing dragons on its tunic and belt-buckle. The Elf’s cold regard reminded Vesna of Genedel’s unblinking stare after the dragon had won the battle of Chir Plains for the Farlan.
‘So this is what the Gods turn to?’ the Elf commented in its own tongue, sneering. ‘A magic-twisted ape?’
Vesna realised he was half-naked, and bleeding from a dozen small cuts, and his body was slick with sweat and blood - Tila’s blood. He advanced on the Elf without speaking. There was nothing he wished to say. It retreated casually, dropping its longbow and tugging a large sword from a loop at its hip. Something at the back of Vesna’s mind screamed danger at the sight of that copper blade, and he realised he’d seen the sword before - in the hands of the white-eye Chalat, former Lord of the Chetse.
The weapon was like Eolis, far more powerful than his own minor blade. Vesna had seen Isak use Eolis to shear right through other magic-hardened weapons. How well his armoured arm would fare against such a powerful artefact, Vesna had no way of knowing. Unbidden, Tila’s face swam before his eyes and Vesna felt his gut tighten. She had been murdered by someone - some thing - that neither knew her name nor cared . . . But he would whisper her name as he killed the creature; he would scream her name in his face as it choked on its own blood.
