The Price of Wisdom

by Shannah Jay

  He made a little noise of dissatisfaction in his throat. It had taken so long, far longer than he’d anticipated when he first gave himself to the Serpent.

  ***

  The night before he left Setherak, Sen-Sether spent a long time in the Inner Shrine, praying to his Dread Lord, making sacrifice with the most beautiful woman the Servants had been able to find and offering his own blood and pain along with hers.

  In the morning no one would have guessed that his back was raw beneath the black and gold livery he’d decreed for himself and his senior officers. In fact, no one would have guessed that he’d passed his forty-fifth year, for he looked young and strong, and as long as you didn’t look at his eyes, he seemed handsome in a lithe, dark way. He’d been dedicated to the service of his Dread Lord at birth by the great-grandfather who’d first raised up the Serpent as god.

  He left behind as Regent Nithial, a man as devoted to the Serpent as he was, an Initiate of the Inner Shrine. No fear of betrayal with Nithial guarding his back and of course, caring for the poor sick lord of their claim. By the time Sen-Sether returned, he hoped to have found Danver's cursed son and crushed him as one would tread on a creeping stingtail. The existence of that boy was the only thing that had kept Danver alive, for better the invalid whom you could easily manage than a strong young man running free to act as a focus for rebellion.

  Others had advised Sen-Sether to kill Danver anyway, but something inside him refused to do that, refused to incur the risk. Danver, living a drug-hazed existence in the castle tower, was no trouble to anyone.

  Only when he had absolute power would it be time for Sen-Sether to get sons to his name. He hadn’t done that yet, had prayed for his Dread Lord's intervention to prevent it, because it would be very inconvenient to have a family. Families were a weakness when you were building your power.

  And the Serpent had answered his prayer, for no children had been conceived to the many women he’d used. He was sure the Serpent would help him get sons later.

  The fighting forces made a fine display as they marched out of the city of Setherak, following a route chosen especially to avoid sighting the whores' temple under its invisible shield. Like Benner, Sen-Sether maintained a careful watch on his city’s temple, but unlike frugal Benner, he’d had a high wall built round it, so that none but the guards could go near, so that none but guards who were loyal to the Serpent could even see from close by the massive sign that the Sisterhood was not yet completely vanquished.

  'That hag shall tell me the secret of that invisible wall before she dies,' Sen-Sether muttered to himself as he jogged along on a pure black riding nerid with a solid gold Serpent emblem on its harness. When his back began to irritate him, he simply offered that pain to his god and mostly forgot about it.

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  The crowds had gathered to see them off, as bidden, and clouds of the new incense were blowing in a strong wind. Annoying, that, for the incense was not as effective in such conditions. But fear kept people cheering and waving almost as well.

  ***

  The army made agonisingly slow progress across the claim of Setheron, but that was inevitable with such a large force of men. Sen-Sether made use of that slowness. Every hamlet they passed was searched for able-bodied lads and men, who were instantly impressed into the ragged ranks of fighting men. Any women found were used in the temporary shrines set up each night, then left to manage the villages and farms as best they could.

  When the foragers came across a deserted farm or even a whole hamlet whose inhabitants had clearly fled rather than do their duty by their Dread Lord the Serpent, they burned the place to the ground.

  After a few days of living with incense constantly blowing around them, the new soldiers became docile enough. And as for those who didn't, you only needed a few examples made to bring the waverers into line and make them eager to practise their fighting skills as directed, or indeed, obey instantly any order from the Initiates and Servants who formed the command core of the army.

  The land usually supplied enough to feed them all, for Tenebron was a fertile claim. When it didn’t, they sent the foraging parties further out and that provided more than enough food and supplies. By travelling at an oblique angle to the projected line of march, the foraging parties could scour the neighbouring terrain and meet the army again further along its path.

  Many villages were left almost without metal implements, and the smiths travelling with Sen-Sether halted every now and then to turn the loot into swords and pikes at the local blacksmith's.

  But the foragers didn’t even try to penetrate the wildwoods. For some reason, the wildwoods made men restless and disobedient. For some reason, the smoke of the incense made men nauseous in that green terrain.

  On the sixth night a man galloped into the camp on a nearly foundering nerid with an arrow wound on its flank. 'We were attacked!' he gasped as he slid from his mount, clutching it to steady himself until another soldier stepped forward to support him. 'Take me to Lord Sen-Sether.'

  The man supporting him suddenly remembered urgent business elsewhere and rushed off to do it. An officer had to order another man forward to help the messenger, who was swaying with exhaustion and had a rough blood-stained bandage round his arm. The officer, too, unfortunately had other urgent business and couldn’t go with him. Not even the most loyal adherent of the Serpent liked to carry bad news to Sen-Sether and this news would surely rouse the demon in his soul again.

  When the messenger was brought to him, Sen-Sether paused in the act of lifting a leg of roast chuckle-fluff to his lips and frowned.

  The messenger's knees began to tremble and he had trouble forcing himself to move forward.

  'Lord of my Claim,' he began, for everyone addressed Sen-Sether as if he really were lord and some had even forgotten that Danver still lived. He gulped and tried to find words to soften his news. 'Lord, our forage party was attacked.' Another gulp. 'And - and I think I'm the only survivor.

  The - the tenman said I was to get back to you with the news at all costs.'

  'You are the sole survivor of a group of ten?' Sen-Sether asked, his tone icy, his fingers tapping on the table.

  The man shivered. 'I - I fear so, Lord. I would have stayed to fight, but the tenman said - '

  'Yes, you said that already. Who exactly attacked you?'

  'I - I - we know not, L-Lord. They just rushed out of the forest - near the village of Shazarak.'

  'Was it the villagers?'

  'I don't think so, lord. The villagers were most co-operative in every way. Some of them even offered pain to the Serpent to assist our cause. We had a full load of provender voluntarily given and were making our way back to camp when it happened.'

  'What were your attackers like, then, if they weren’t villagers?'

  The man frowned, trying hard to remember clearly.

  'Give him some dessil-juice,' Sen-Sether snapped, impatient with the slowness of the responses.

  'Lord, he is in no state to survive dessil-fever,' the officer nearest ventured.

  Sen-Sether glared at him. 'That is the least of our concerns. We need to know who is attacking us.'

  When the man saw the green liquid in the beaker, he recognised it at once and tried to resist drinking it, but two hefty men held him down and the bodytender - who was the nearest Those of the Serpent tolerated to a healer - tipped the sticky fluid into his mouth.

  Within a minute the man had stiffened and started sweating. His eyes were wide and staring, his breath laboured and harsh in his throat.

  Sen-Sether came across and touched him with his foot. 'Is the fool ready?'

  'Yes, Lord.'

  'Who attacked you, then, fellow?'

  'A small force of well-trained men, Lord. And women. About thirty of them.'

  'Did they identify themselves?'

  'They screamed "Down with the Serpent!" Lord.'

  Sen-Sether's breath hissed inwards. By careful questioning he managed to make the
man recall every detail he’d seen, then, when the answers became repetitious,' he kicked him away. 'Use him in the shrine. He'll not recover and the Serpent needs all the power it can get.'

  Three times more as they were passing through the northernmost parts of Setherak, the unknown assailants struck. Men picked up at random from nearby villages swore under dessil-juice that they knew nothing of any rebels lurking in the hills, nothing at all. By the time the army met with the force from Tenebron, Sen-Sether was in a foul mood.

  Benner, who had been camped at the rendez-vous point for three miserable days in an unseasonal late spring downpour, didn’t even come out of his tent to greet his ally.

  'Fetch him!' Sen-Sether ordered.

  A protesting Benner was escorted, politely but forcibly, to the patch of grass where Sen-Sether was pacing up and down while his servants erected the huge black tents with their gold trimmings.

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  Serpent banners were already flying on poles nearby.

  'Greetings, O noble brother in arms - ' Benner began.

  'How many men have you brought?'

  'Well - we haven't exactly counted them. I mean, there are so many. But I think - that is, Roath thinks - there are about three thousand.'

  'Three thousand! From the whole claim of Tenebron!' Sen-Sether seized the front of Benner's embroidered and gem-encrusted tunic and shook him like a dusty rug. 'Is that how you serve our Dread Lord? Three - thousand - men.'

  'But - there's the harvest to tend. We can't afford to denude the claim of every single able-bodied man.' They had to plan for after this stupid war, Benner thought aggrievedly, for he’d half decided to return to Tenebrak himself. This was no sort of life for a man his age.

  'Send back for more. Send back for all able-bodied men.'

  Benner just goggled at him.

  'Or I'll do it for you,' Sen-Sether added, shoving Benner away so abruptly he fell over into the mud.

  Roath came forward to assist his master and Sen-Sether turned to stare at him. 'See it done, you,'

  he said softly. 'You seem to be the man of action in Tenebron lately. See it done without fail. We need double the number that are here, at least.'

  Roath bowed and remained with his head lowered until he was sure Sen-Sether was safe inside his newly-erected tent. He then made a soft shushing sound as Benner would have poured out complaints about this treatment. Grimly silent, he helped his shaking master back to the comfort of a well-appointed tent.

  'Say nothing when others can hear - ' he was beginning, when he suddenly had to catch Benner who was near to fainting. 'What's wrong, Lord of my Claim?' He helped his master to sit on the nearest chair and went to fetch a glass of good Nethrani Black, a rich fortified wine that was much favoured as a drink for invalids, rich invalids, anyway, for it was prohibitively expensive.

  Benner shook his head. 'I don't know what came over me.' His voice came out fretful and trembling. 'A sudden weakness.' He slurped down the rest of the glass and gestured for more.

  'This journey is very trying,' Roath murmured, filling the glass.

  'Very.' Benner stared into the rich ruby liquid. 'Some men are made for war. I'm not. And I don't like wars, either. They're a waste of money. An absolute waste.'

  'Shh!'

  Benner looked hastily over his shoulder.

  Roath crouched down in front of him, taking in the pallor of his master's cheeks and the trembling hands. He found he cared about Benner more than he had realised. About his own future, too, of course. 'Let me help you to your couch, Lord.'

  A servant coughed in the doorway.

  'What is it?' Roath snapped, moving forward to shield Benner from the curious gaze of the lad.

  'It's these, sir. Incense sticks.'

  'We have plenty of incense. Why have you brought more?'

  'It's Sen-Sether's orders, sir. Everyone to burn the new incense. In honour of the Serpent. He - he sent these specially for our Lord.'

  Roath came across to sniff the incense, which had an even more cloying scent than usual. Neither he nor Benner really liked the incense and in the privacy of his rooms, Benner didn’t have it burnt, though the thick candles of incense always stood ready to be lit if someone came in. 'I'll take it,' he said.

  'We - my orders are to light it straight away, sir.'

  Roath leaned forward until he was nose to nose with the lad. 'Well, I'm just as capable of lighting a stick as you are, don't you think?' Then he relented at the panic in the boy's face. 'Just tell anyone who asks that you did as ordered.'

  'Yes, sir.' The lad hurried away. You didn’t upset Roath, if you could help it - but Lord Sen-Sether and his Initiates were even more frightening. Being a smart lad, he found himself a mundane job in a cooktent far away from the nobles' quarters, hoping desperately that no one would ever send him near Sen-Sether again. In fact, a lot of the more lowly folk were finding similar niches for themselves that night and even the officers were trying to keep out of their leader’s way.

  The next day there were many volunteers among Benner's men for the job of going back and rounding up some more conscripts.

  ***

  Two days later the army began to move slowly towards Netheron. They would go to the city of Netherak first, where they would meet with the forces from that claim, then they’d cross the open plains till they reached the great river that marked the boundary with Garshlian. On the plains they’d find milk and meat nerids enough to feed this army, and some of the meat could be smoked and carried on with them. They’d also find the painted wooden houses of the plainsfolk, built in circles in their cosy little villages. Very easy to burn if the plainsfolk didn’t do their duty.

  In Netherak, Sen-Sether found yet another temple under stasis, and one not easily hidden from the common view, either. The Lord Claimant was too old to go on the campaign. The Claimant-Elect, his oldest son, had gone over to the hags and fled at the approach of the army. Rumour said he was on his way to the High Alder, so retribution would have to wait until after the battle, the battle Sen-Sether was utterly sure of winning.

  The lord's youngest son was found on a country estate, however, whither his father had sent him for safety, and proved to be a likely lad. Sen-Sether marked him out by a flattering amount of attention and introduced him gently to Serpent ways. The fool would make a good puppet when this claim was taken over. He was utterly vulnerable to the new incense and as malleable as butter in the right hands.

  But after Netherak, the plainsfolk weren’t as helpful as had been hoped. Most of the cosy wooden houses were empty, some of the house frames stripped even of the boarding that kept out the weather. And most of the herds had vanished, too, driven away in all directions, judging by the tracks and wheelruts that marked the land.

  Sen-Sether's anger was fearsome to behold.

  Benner developed a fever and kept to his bed.

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  The Initiates scoured the land for women to use in their shrines, but found none.

  And the wind, a most annoying wind, soughed through the occasional scrub, ruffled the grass and set the serpent banners cracking and flapping on their long black poles. It never stopped blowing, even for a moment, that wind, as if it had a life of its own.

  CHAPTER 22 WISDOM'S FLOWERS

  All through the summer, which seemed cooler than usual that year, refugees kept arriving in the High Alder and messengers kept bringing news of how the forces of the Serpent were progressing.

  The refugees were quickly dealt with, for there had been refugees arriving in the High Alder for the past twelve years, and good procedures had been established. Those who were able and willing to fight stayed in Northwoods, those unable or unwilling were sent to distant settlements which had been prepared over the past decade. The Sisterhood had always planned well ahead, covering all possibilities, and becoming a Kindred had made no difference to that.

  But not all their plans materialised. They tried several times to send out
large groups to found new settlements as far beyond the wildwoods as they could possibly go. The deleff didn’t come to take them, so they tried with smaller wagons, using draft nerids, but each time, the people they sent wandered round in circles and didn’t come to their senses until they found themselves back near Northwoods. They seemed not even to understand what had been happening to them.

  'Which means,' Herra said grimly after the Gathering one night, 'that this is indeed the final confrontation. Either we win or we perish.'

  Quinna, very grizzled now, but as muscular as ever, shrugged. 'Suits me. And I don't intend to perish.'

  Herra smiled. 'Ah, Quinna, you are a joy to me. Swift and direct as an arrow.'

  Quinna blushed. She could cope with anything but public praise. Kensin, thin and upright but showing his age since he’d suffered from a lung fever the past winter, grinned and clasped her shoulder. 'Come on, girl. You surely don't object to a compliment from Herra.'

  'Compliments are a waste of time.' Quinna could see her twin sons tittering away in the children's circle and knew they’d tease her for this afterwards. Her expression softened. They were a good pair of lads, her two, and would play their part in the coming battle, as would all the older children, acting as messengers, water carriers, porters, whatever was needed, whatever they could do. Thus it had been done in the Sandrims and thus it would be done here. And done well. She and Benjan had trained folk in every way they could think of.

  Just as Herra was about to speak, for it was time that the others knew what to expect, time they shared her knowledge that she would not survive this battle, there was a commotion outside the meeting house. Such a loud noise that she shrugged and abandoned the attempt to prepare her Kindred for what was to come. When she broke the Circle, everyone followed her outside.

  There was a gasp behind her and Quinna pushed to the front of the crowd, grinning and clapping her hands slowly together. 'It's Quedras!' she yelled. 'Hey, Queddie, what are you doing here? Did you get lost?'

  There was a roar of delight from the newcomers, and both Quedras and Querilla rushed across to exchange hugs with Quinna. After that they kept thumping one another on the back, friendly thumps that would have flattened most people.