by Tom Lloyd
'Come no further,' shouted one of the soldiers, walking a dozen yards from the barricade towards them. 'If you attempt to interfere with the work of the Gods you will answer to Keness of the Spear!'
Vesna, his lion's head faceplate raised, shared a grin with his comrades. 'I'd like to see how that works out for you!' he yelled back. He quietly told Sir Cerse to hold their position, then nudged his mount into motion and slowly began to make his way towards the barricade. A single knight was hard to interpret as great provocation by the archers, and whatever their masters said, the rank and file would be painfully aware of the law: killing a nobleman in cold blood was something the nobility frowned upon, and the punishment made the eventual hanging something of a mercy.
The priest of Karkarn advanced also, reaching the man who'd called out before bowing his head in prayer. Vesna felt the air swirl around above their heads as the priest, clearly a mage as well, called his Aspect-Guide forth. The bitter coppery taste of magic filled the air and Vesna felt a responding pulse of energy from the Crystal Skull moulded around the blade of his sword. The wind seemed to echo with the distant clash of steel and his horse slowed. Vesna urged it onwards.
The street, a wide avenue lined with shops, had been deserted when they arrived, and only a handful of nervous faces looked down from high windows out of the way of whatever was going to happen. The tensions of recent months had taught the locals to fear any potential confrontation; even the side-streets were empty.
Without warning a tall figure winked into existence beside the priest, as tall as Vesna atop his hunter, and carrying a cross-blade spear more than ten feet long. Keness of the Spear wore a shirt of chainmail, shining brass greaves and vambraces inscribed with prayers for safety in battle. The Aspect of Karkarn wore nothing on its head bar a knotted cord of red cloth like a circlet. It blinked and looked around, first at Vesna and then at the priest beside it.
'This is a city,' the Aspect rumbled, its words echoing around the street. It looked down at the priest beside it. 'My place is the battlefield. Why do you call me here?'
The priest gaped at the minor God beside him, astonished by its reaction. Unfortunately the sworn sword beside him was not so tongue-tied.
'They are heretics,' he shouted, jabbing his finger in Vesna's direction, 'here to arrest priests and commit crimes against the Gods.'
The Aspect gave Vesna another look and nodded slightly in acknowledgement. It gave a flick of the wrist and levelled its spear so the tip was an inch from the soldier's throat.
'You are aligned to Lady Amavoq. It is deference to her that stays my blade,' the Aspect said after a pause, slowly turning its head to look the soldier in the eye. 'Speak again and I will risk your mistress' wrath.'
The soldier backed away, his mouth open in terror, and the Aspect lowered its weapon. Vesna continued riding slowly towards the barricade. When he was fifteen yards away Keness bowed to him and lowered the tip of its spear to the ground in salute before stepping out of his way.
Vesna continued until he was level with the Aspect and the priest was within sword-reach. There he stopped and gave the soldier a cold look. The man was visibly trembling, despite being very obviously a veteran. It was one thing to see a few battles and take holy orders; quite another to see more than one embodiment of War standing before you.
'Keness of the Spear,' Vesna said to the Aspect, 'I apologise that you were disturbed.'
The Aspect inclined its head and calmly allowed Vesna to cut the flow of magic between priest and God. He vanished, and that done, Vesna turned his attention to the priest. From the markings on the man's robes he was a senior unmen, no doubt recently elevated because of his abilities as a mage.
'Unmen,' Vesna commanded, causing the priest to flinch, 'dismiss your men and go home to think about what you almost did.'
Without waiting for a response he waved forward the regiment of Palace Guard waiting behind. There was no word of argument from any of the penitents; they raced to clear the barricade and by the time the Ghosts trotted up there was a gap large enough for the troops to pass through two-abreast.
Swordmaster Cosep picked two troopers to disarm the penitents while Vesna led the Ghosts down the street and around the corner to where the rest of the action was happening. A dozen soldiers rounded it at the same time, and skidded to a halt when they saw Vesna and the column. The soldiers immediately turned and fled back the way they'd come, but as Vesna continued he realised that wasn't the good news he'd been hoping for.
The Brewer's Gate was a solid fortification in the northeastern part of the city. With produce normally flowing through it every hour of the day, it was no surprise that a small market had been established in the lee of the gate itself. Vesna saw the stalls had been abandoned, and the only people in the space now were armed – and well in excess of the numbers Vesna had brought with him.
The bulk of troops, on the right, were hurriedly turning to form line – they had not been expecting anyone to approach from the south, rather than direct from the palace – but Vesna ignored them, more interested in the squads at the gate itself. Men were huddling under raised shields, as though the occupants of the guardhouse were firing arrows down at them, while a second squad was keeping the gate itself firmly shut and barred.
There was no sign of blood having been spilled, and the only indication of confrontation was at the guardhouse, a square building on the left of the gate, where the attack alarm on the roof was sounding again.
'Who's outside the gate?' Swordmaster Pettir wondered aloud, but he didn't get a chance to speculate as a group of soldiers and noblemen marched up to address Vesna.
'Leave this place!' roared a middle-aged man wearing a single gold earring of rank. He wore chainmail and a heron crest on his brown and white livery. Vesna didn't recognise the man, but he had half a dozen hurscals at his side, and they had their hands on their hilts. 'You have no authority over the cults!'
'And what, pray, has that got to do with you?' Vesna replied in a calm voice, ignoring, for the moment at least, the lower-ranked nobleman's deliberate flouting of the traditions of respect. 'You are a titled man. You can have no affiliation with the cults.'
The man shouted, 'My allegiance to Nartis is my own business, not yours.'
'If you have taken holy orders, then it is my business,' Swordmaster Pettir interrupted. 'As Knight-Defender of Tirah, I am charged with enforcing the rule of law in the city. What say you?'
'I say I am a man of piety, you damned jumped-up peasant, and the Gods shall strike you down as a heretic if you claim otherwise – just as the charges upon which Count Feers was arrested are tyrannical, and against the will of the Gods.'
'But they are still the law,' Vesna answered, 'so you'll step aside and allow the Palace Guard to do their duty.'
'Under whose authority?'
'That of Lord Fernal.'
The man spat. 'The creature Fernal bears no authority. It has no right to claim rule over the noblest tribe of man.'
'That is a matter for your betters to decide,' Vesna said, nudging his horse forward while signalling for his troops to remain. 'The law on holy orders remains, however, and Count Feers has broken it; he must answer for his crimes at the Temple of Law.'
'Count Feers is guilty of nothing but proclaiming the majesty of the Gods and their authority over all,' the soldier roared.
'Then the Gods will see to it he is acquitted,' Vesna said. 'Until then he is under arrest.'
'You may not have him, nor may your lackeys!' the nobleman screamed, pointing towards the gate. 'We serve the Gods. We will die to protect their majesty.'
Vesna stopped. Clearly there was something he did not yet know about the situation. 'Who is outside the gate?' he asked.
'The heretics you sent to murder priests, the criminals who wish to plunder the temples and steal rule of the tribe from those the Gods intended,' he snarled.
Vesna scratched his cheek, where the ruby in his skin was suddenly itching fiercely.
Vesna instinctively shook his head at the sudden intrusion, as though he could dislodge the God from it, and his hand twitched towards his sword before he could catch himself.
The nobleman saw the movement and took a step back to plant his feet more firmly. He gripped his sword.
Enough of your help, Vesna thought as he drove the War God from his thoughts. This must end without bloodshed, otherwise it will lead to civil war.
Carefully, deliberately he withdrew his hand, and when the nobleman had relaxed a touch Vesna dismounted. A man on horseback had a clear advantage in battle – whether they would admit it or not, Vesna knew the veterans would see it as a pacifying action. He removed his helm so they would be able to see the ruby on his cheek more clearly and walked towards them, not deviating when they turned aside and opened up the path towards the guardhouse.
The penitents standing ready at the door retreated when he reached them. Vesna could feel the eyes of everyone in the market on him, watching every small movement, waiting for the action that would spark the violence.
He thumped on the guardhouse door and called out, 'Sergeant? Is all well in there?'
He could hear the scuffle of feet inside, then the sound of boots on a ladder before the reply eventually came. 'Aye, sir, we're not harmed.'
'Then open the door please, and bring your prisoner out.'
'Ah, beggin' yer pardon, sir, but who's givin' the order?'
'Count Vesna, acting under the authority of Lord Fernal.'
Using Fernal's disputed title seemed to do the trick. He heard the screech of heavy iron bolts being drawn back, and something heavy being dragged from the reinforced oak door. It opened cautiously, just enough to catch sight of the man outside, but Vesna's armour alone was unmistakable to any man of the Ghosts. Quickly the door opened all the way to reveal the grim faces of a dozen Palace Guards, dressed in full battle armour. Behind them was the whiskered face of Count Feers, purple with outrage as he barged towards Vesna.
'You of all men come to accuse me? Murderer, adulterer, hypocrite – '
Vesna raised a cautioning hand. 'Think very carefully about your next words, Count Feers. Tensions are running high and there are already serious charges against you. If you incite others to violence against the Ghosts… well, I doubt you need much convincing as to the Chief Steward's vindictive nature. He would extend any punishment laid down upon you to every member of your family.'
The threat had the desired effect; Lesarl's reputation among the nobility was well deserved. However deep his fanaticism, Feers had a large family and it was a fair bet at least one of them meant something to him. It took a few heartbeats, but then the count's shoulders sagged and he capitulated, allowing the Ghosts to lead him out without further resistance.
'Ah, my lord?' one of the soldiers still in the guardroom piped up.
Vesna turned to see four anxious faces. 'What is it?'
'Outside the gate, my lord, there's a couple of regiments out there, under the command of Suzerain Yetah.'
'Tsatach's fiery balls,' Vesna groaned, 'that's the last thing I need right now.'
Now he realised why the Palace Guardsmen were looking so concerned. Kollen Yetah being here right now meant trouble in some form or another, though this was a curious twist, considering the nobleman's words of a minute ago. Yetah's family had been as entrenched in the Knights of the Temples as much as any man's, for a century or more – although they had always complied with Lord Bahl's edicts about the Devoted. Suzerain Yetah was an unlikely person to be bent on defiling temples.
'He's demanding the gate be opened immediately.'
'I'm sure he is.' To himself Vesna muttered, 'Damn, what part is he intending to play?' He didn't wait for the men to respond; there was only one way he'd get an answer and that was by speaking to the man himself.
'Open the gate,' he ordered.
The sergeant saluted and directed his men to start the process of removing the great bolts locking the gate closed. 'Lot of angry soldiers out there, sir,' he commented in a neutral voice, not wanting to sound like he was questioning orders.
'I know, but neither of us has the authority to deny a suzerain, and General Lahk is not here at present.'
Vesna confirmed the Ghosts with Count Feers were not being prevented from joining their comrades. The various troops under command of the cults hadn't moved. They didn't look happy about the situation, but as long as no one was raising weapons, Vesna was happy.
As soon as the gate opened a tall man with a mop of curly hair stormed through, four knighted hurscals at his heel. He looked good for a man ten summers older than Vesna, though he walked was a noticeable limp, favouring the right leg that had been recently broken when Lord Isak had called for soldiers to join his crusade.
Yetah wasn't the only suzerain to have moved troops into Tebran, just the boldest. He was an experienced soldier, having spent almost ten years in Lomin commanding a cavalry division, but he appeared to have lost none of his youthful belligerence in that time.
He walked straight up to the count, making a dismissive gesture when Vesna made to kneel and offer his sword, and cried, 'Good to see you again, Vesna- I hear congratulations are in order. Some filly broken you at last, or are you just getting old?'
A cuirass was plainly visible under the suzerain's livery, and he carried a red broadsword with a lightning flash down the blade that reflected his family's long-standing allegiance to the Devoted.
'A bit of both, my Lord Suzerain,' Vesna replied coolly. 'I am glad to see you are recovering.'
Yetah pointed to his leg. 'This? Pah, teach me to jump fallen trees on an old horse. Have you arrested Count Feers?'
Vesna blinked. Yetah's information was better than he'd have expected; the arrest warrant had only just been issued and had barely been announced to the city. 'He is in custody, my lord; the stand-off is over.'
'But the bastards are still here?' Yetah exclaimed, looking past Vesna. 'They're still armed? What's stopping you? They should all be in irons and on the way to the gibbet by now!'
'Gibbet? Sir, why are you here, and leading troops into the city no less?'
'Doing what must be done,' Yetah snapped. 'If you will do nothing about this gradual coup by the cults, then it falls to the armies of the Farlan to protect our nation.'
'Coup?' Vesna said in a daze. 'Yetah, you're a member of the Knights of the Temples – '
'You will address me as "my Lord Suzerain" – need I remind you that we are not peers?' Yetah replied sharply. 'As for my allegiances, they are none of your concern. I am a nobleman of the Farlan and a loyal soldier of the tribe. Whether or not a usurper currently holds the ducal throne, my duty to the tribe remains. I will not stand idly by while bloody mutinous priests exploit the majesty of their Gods to take power.'
Vesna looked back and saw the penitents drawing back, but rather than fleeing they were taking a defensive position at the mouth of a side-street. 'My Lord Suzerain, what you propose would result in a pitched battle in the streets of Tirah – we would have civil war – '
'If there are traitors within the tribe, let them declare themselves so,' Yetah shouted towards the penitents. 'This creeping theft of authority must stop. The politicking and deal-making to sell the nation is over. They will learn our resolve and discover the consequences of their actions.'
Vesna raised his hands, a pacifying gesture that kept them away from the hilt of his weapon as much as anything. Yetah's hurscals looked as fiercely resolute as their master, and itching for a fight.
Vesna had been hearing reports of suzerains reacting against the cults since returning to Tirah, but thus far it had been small-scale actions in distant parts. Suzerain Saroc had routed a party of a hundred soldiers at a monastery on his land, where they had been conducting Morality Tribunals and Tests of Faith that amounted to torture, but that had been the biggest engagement so far. E
very morning brought news of deaths from one part of the nation or another, but they were all skirmishes involving a few dozen combatants at most. This was on another level entirely.
No one could ignore a battle involving hundreds on the streets of Tirah, nor fail to react to it. From where he was standing Vesna's view was restricted, but he could see at least two regimental banners behind Yetah.
'Suzerain Yetah,' he said carefully, 'contrary to what you have heard, the rule of law still governs the streets of Tirah. If you bring troops onto the streets of Tirah, you would be breaking the law, and force us to respond.'
'Don't bother to threaten me, Vesna, your position in all this is as much in question as that of the monster you serve now,' Yetah growled.
'Lord Fernal was named legitimate heir and Lord of the Farlan by Lord Isak, and I act in his name.' Vesna paused, trying to slow things down as much as he could. 'Suzerain Yetah, you must see that Lord Isak realised we need a strong ruler this coming year; we cannot wait for Lord Nartis to appoint a new Chosen! Without a figure to unite the tribe we will be invaded and conquered by the Menin.'
'Whatever the consequences of Lord Isak's warmongering, we will not accept a non-Farlan to rule the tribe – otherwise we might as well submit to Kastan Styrax and see his flag fly from the Tower of Semar!'
Vesna took a step back and lowered his hand to his hilt. There was obviously going to be no reasoning with the man. The ruby on his cheek glowed bloody red. 'Sir, with the greatest respect, I cannot allow you to lead troops into Tirah; I will not let you pass.'
'You do not have the authority to stop me, damn you!' Yetah roared, drawing his sword. 'You should have already given up the rights and rank of title – whoever your master, you have no right to command the Ghosts now, so get out of my way. I am acting to protect the tribe, and to stop me you will have to cut me down!'
