The Ragged Man

by Lloyd, Tom

  ‘And what kind fellows they are too,’ added King Emin, joining them. He looked at her, concerned, but she waved it away and he didn’t comment further.

  ‘You will have heard of Verliq’s Children, I assume? As I have reminded my uncle here, my patronage and assistance over the years has been invaluable to them, and I fully expect them to be delighted to assist our midsummer operation.’

  ‘Delighted?’ spluttered Halis.

  King Emin raised a hand to stop him saying any more. ‘I choose to believe they are delighted. They are, of course, not men of action, but I want this to be kept separate from my principal spy network, which has quite enough to keep it busy at present. To bolster numbers Legana has agreed to recruit for me among her sisters, both for the operation itself and the logistics of putting it into practice.’

  — How many?

  ‘To kill? Our aim is a hundred; we know we will not get them all, but that should still disrupt this current phase of the shadow’s plan.’ Emin pursed his lips in thought and stared down at the map. ‘I have had news from Byora; we were not successful in our goal. At the same time it was not a complete disaster, and our casualties were acceptable.’ He hesitated. ‘You can tell your sisters that the killer of their Goddess is dead.’

  Legana felt her knees tremble and another wave of dizziness washed over her, but she fought it, and managed to keep herself upright. Aracnan was dead. She had been expecting this news at some point, ever since Doranei’s comrade, Sebe, had managed to wound the mercenary, but still the news caught her off-guard.

  Anger and satisfaction clashed inside her. There was some frustration that it had been done by another, despite King Emin’s assurances that his end would have been painful. What more did she want? What more could she ask for?

  Nothing. There is nothing more, she realised. All I can do now is ensure his deeds do not define me any more than they must.

  — Thank you. How many sisters? she forced herself to write, ignoring the unsteadiness of the script.

  To Emin’s credit he continued with only a questioning look at her expression. ‘As many as possible, more than we can manage,’ he said. ‘Some will have to leave today — we are limited by the distances involved — but some of Uncle Anversis’ colleagues have faster methods of communication so we may be able to hire mercenaries, if nothing else. There is an additional matter, however. Doranei has reported preachers being sent out by the child, Ruhen. They are now secondary targets.’

  — Does it suspect?

  ‘There is no indication of that,’ Emin said, his worry-lines deepening at the suggestion. ‘The reports we’re getting suggest Harlequins are laying the foundations for these preachers, adding legitimacy to what will follow. The agents I have here and those easily contacted will be sent furthest afield.’ Emin picked up a sheet from the pile of paper his uncle had been making notes on. ‘This designates the place and the local contact. The particular agents will be assigned here, and the page will be encoded and copied before it leaves this room.’

  — When do you need my sisters?

  ‘We will send them in groups; I need the first ready in two days.’ The king took another piece of paper proffered by his uncle and scanned it before showing it to Legana. ‘This is the first; do you have enough to fill these?’

  Legana squinted at the page. The scribbled characters were hard to read, but she was able at least to make out the number of lines involved. She nodded.

  ‘Send them to Dashain tomorrow morning. She will assign positions and give the contact names. Hopefully you will not have to remind them how skilled the targets are; they are not to be given any sort of chance, or drawn into a fair fight.’

  King Emin paused and gave her a long, hard look. ‘I’m taking a great risk in trusting so much to your sisters. Are you certain of their loyalty? I don’t have a contingency plan here; my forces are stretched too thin.’

  — It will be done.

  The look in her eyes was chilling. It reminded Emin of Larat wearing his sister’s face. There was no place for uncertainty in a God’s mind, and Doranei had described Legana as uncompromising when she was just mortal. The current combination was not a comforting one. As he ordered murder to be done, Emin found himself hoping he wouldn’t be the one to find out how far Legana was prepared to go.

  CHAPTER 18

  ‘Count Vesna,’ Lesarl called from the massive stone stair that led to the Great Hall, ‘where exactly do you think you are going?’

  Vesna wheeled his horse around and stared with some incomprehension at the Chief Steward. All around him the soldiers hesitated, sensing something cutting through the tension in the air. Vesna was surrounded by a hundred men of the Palace Guard, now in the process of forming up around a small party of officers.

  ‘What are you talking about? You heard the message too!’ he shouted back.

  Half the palace had heard the man shouting as he raced into the Great Hall to deliver his message to Sir Cerse, and they had all exploded into action at the news.

  ‘Yes, Vesna, I heard it only too well — which is exactly why you should not be going anywhere.’

  Vesna gaped. ‘What in the Dark Place are you talking about? We’ve got soldiers under siege at the Brewer’s Gate, man — men of the Ghosts!’

  Lesarl sighed theatrically and folded his arms, looking down at Vesna as though he was just a foolish child. ‘I know you men of action get excited easily, but think it through a moment. Go back to the source of the problem.’

  Vesna turned to his companions on horseback, Sir Cerse, Swordmasters Pettir and Cosep, and a bearded captain of the Ghosts called Kurrest. From the bemused expressions on their faces, he guessed none of them had a clue what the Chief Steward was talking about. Vesna’s horse, a black hunter with padded barding covering its flanks and a steel chest-guard, tossed its head impatiently, refusing to stay still even when Vesna jerked on the reins to quieten it.

  Letting his new-found divine senses filter out the movement all around so he could concentrate, Vesna replayed in his mind the report that had prompted immediate action. Surely it wasn’t just a ruse? A soldier had run all the way to the palace, bringing news of a unit of Ghosts who’d arrested a nobleman under holy orders, one Count Feers, only to find themselves attacked by a party of penitents and priests of Karkarn. The Ghosts had driven off their attackers and retreated to the nearest safe place, the nearby Brewer’s Gate barbican, where a permanent guard was stationed.

  Now they were under siege, by increasing numbers of troops, and they had rung the attack-alarm to summon help. While it was possible this was a set-up, to lure a few companies of Ghosts out of the Palace, Vesna didn’t believe it, not when individual squads out on routine patrol could have been ambushed on a daily basis if they wanted to.

  Go back to the source of the problem. The arrest? Vesna tried to remember what he could of Count Lerail Feers — they hadn’t ever exactly been friends. Feers was a deeply religious man, one of those who’d regularly denounced Vesna’s lifestyle when he’d been a member of the Ghosts. He had been arrested for siding with the clerics against Lord Fernal — not a crime in itself, but for a nobleman to take holy orders without relinquishing his title was.

  It had been prohibited for a millennium or more: all noblemen automatically had military rank, so taking holy orders was strictly prohibited lest it place wealth and weapons in the hands of priests. Only the Lord of the Farlan had a place in the three spheres of Farlan power, spiritual, temporal and military. Normally Feers wouldn’t have been arrested, but as a count he had a number of marshals and knights under his authority, and by ordering them to also take holy orders he had committed treason.

  ‘Piss and daemons,’ Vesna said suddenly, ‘you’re worried about hypocrisy? You think they’ll accuse me of the same crime . . .’ Vesna didn’t have any position within the cult of Karkarn, but he was the War God’s Mortal-Aspect, and rank didn’t really apply when the divine spirit surged through his body and he wielded the wrath
of the heavens.

  ‘Dawn and dusk,’ Lesarl replied with a shrug. It was a mark of the strain he was under that Vesna’s late realisation wasn’t enough to amuse the Chief Steward — in quieter times much of Lesarl’s entertainment had been at the expense of the soldiers around him.

  ‘Don’t matter which way it’s going,’ Swordmaster Pettir said, absently completing the saying, ‘it’s all fucking grey to me.’

  Pettir was Kerin’s replacement, a former major of the Ghosts who’d joined the legion in the same trials as Vesna. While there had been Swordmasters more senior, General Lahk had chosen to promote the low-born Pettir to the position of Knight-Defender of Tirah and commander of the Swordmasters because of the respect the troops had for him. Vesna had been glad of it; he and Pettir had been friendly rivals from the outset and the last thing the count needed now was any sort of pious deference.

  ‘The wisdom of soldiers,’ Lesarl agreed. ‘It might be foolish for the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn to arrive bedecked in the livery of a famous nobleman and hero of the army. Sir Cerse can deal with the situation himself.’

  ‘You think they’re going to listen to a soldier?’ Vesna retorted angrily. ‘All that politics has addled your brains, Lesarl. Fate’s eyes, they aren’t going to negotiate with the colonel of the Ghosts!’

  ‘Right now it’s debatable whether they will negotiate with anyone,’ Lesarl said, making his way down the steps so they could continue the discussion without shouting. ‘Your presence is as likely to be inflammatory as it is useful. Either they speak to Sir Cerse and follow the law, or they draw weapons on a regiment of the Palace Guard. That is a line they haven’t crossed before; it isn’t like the skirmishes individual squads have been getting into.’

  ‘You want this to happen? You want a pitched battle on Tirah’s streets?’

  ‘Don’t be facetious,’ Lesarl snapped, ‘you know me better than that. You change any situation, just as Lord Isak would have. You are a being of power who affects events by your very presence. With just Sir Cerse and his Ghosts there, they will either submit to the rule of law and be arrested, or they will make a move that will have to be condemned as treasonous by every other party involved. With you there, anything could happen, and likely as not it will involve more blood spilled.’

  ‘Their blood, not that of the Ghosts,’ Vesna promised with a scowl. ‘Without me they may not have the decisive force to end any skirmish before it heats up. Fighting on the streets doesn’t just happen; it takes time to fester, like a dog working itself up to violence.’

  ‘Now who’s the one to go looking for bloodshed?’ Lesarl demanded. ‘If — ’

  Vesna cut the man off mid-sentence by wrenching his horse away, towards the barbican. ‘Unless the order is Lord Fernal’s, I go with the Ghosts. You do not know his mind as well as Lord Bahl; you do not yet give orders in his name.’

  Lesarl hesitated. ‘That is easily rectified,’ he called, turning back towards the Great Hall.

  ‘Then do so. You’ll find me at the Brewer’s Gate!’

  At Sir Cerse’s order, the columns of Palace Guard clattered to a halt. The officers on horseback looked over the heads and Swordmaster Pettir swore quietly, voicing the thoughts that were running through Vesna’s head too. There was a makeshift blockade across the street ahead, manned by a handful of penitents with bows. Their robes were grey with red hoods - Penitents of Karkarn - and they were led by a priest of the War God. More worrying still, they were accompanied by two liveried soldiers, sworn swords of Count Feers, most likely, both wearing scarlet sashes. It was not much of a guess to assume those sashes bore the Runesword of the Knights of the Temples, whether or not the Order was banned in Farlan territory.

  ‘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.