By day she walked the streets of Itko Kan, sans mask, of course. She had used to esteem her native nation as the most civilized people on the continent of Quon Tali, but now, seeing the poor being kicked aside in the streets, the contempt of the privileged for the oppressed, and the constant naked pursuit of the god of greasy gold, she wondered. Her compatriots were beginning to strike her as a rather hard-hearted and cruel lot.
As for the ‘exotics’ who populated Wen’s establishment, she’d treated them with her own contempt at first. But now she was beginning to pity them. Some were foolish, shallow creatures, to be sure. And indeed some were as truly venal and selfish as venal selfish people everywhere. To her mind, however, most were simply victims. Victims of a callous human marketplace. A marketplace that had set her value, as well.
It was, as they say, a job.
Her solace was climbing the narrow staircase at dawn, at the end of her duties, to spend her free hours gazing at the tiled rooftops of the palace compound and wondering what a young lad was up to, how he was doing … and who, if anyone, truly had his best interests at heart.
* * *
When Heboric set out for the Valley of Hermits east of Heng, famed as a place of quiet retreat and meditation, he’d assumed it would be relatively uninhabited and, well, serene. Instead, he came upon the noise and crowds of some sort of religious festival.
Campfires and makeshift lean-tos and yurts crowded the valley floor. Celebrants of Burn chanted in a large circle round one bonfire, while crowds sat at others listening to multiple speakers exhort and preach. Banners and flags hung in the weak wind. It reminded him of the fete of Gedderone’s Return, but without the public orgies.
‘Brother!’ a celebrant welcomed him. ‘You are come in propitious times! A miracle! A Kynie has come to us! Witnessed by many.’
Heboric frowned. A Kynie was a legendary messenger of the gods, usually one of fury and fire. And usually not a welcome omen. His informant, in filthy robes, with wild dirty hair and rather wild-eyed, took him by the arm and pulled him along. ‘Brothers and sisters!’ he called to the crowd. ‘Look! Fener is with us!’
Heads turned and a great cheer went up. The crowd closed round him, men and women reaching out to touch the tattoos – this, at least, was familiar to Heboric. During the holy days of Fener it was quite common for strangers to reach out to the Gift of the Boar.
He was drawn along towards the front of the main press, cries of ‘Fener!’ rising all about. At the head of the crowd, in front of one particular cave opening crowded with candles, garlands and offerings, sat four aged men, all alike in dirty loincloths and tangled ropy hair. One of these straightened, waving him forward. ‘Come!’ he invited. ‘Grace us with the Boar’s wisdom.’
Quite bemused, Heboric found himself urged along to sit with the four. He nodded a greeting. ‘I understand you have been blessed with a visitation …’
The four ascetics nodded vigorously, calls and shouts to the gods echoing from the crowd. ‘A Kynie has come to us,’ one of them pronounced. ‘Never in my lifetime did I expect to be so blessed.’
‘Fire and rage accompanied her,’ another put in.
‘The ground shook with her wrath,’ said a third.
‘It is a warning,’ said the fourth.
‘A warning of what?’ Heboric asked.
‘False gods!’ a woman shouted from the crowd.
The first of the four raised a hand to silence her. ‘We cannot be certain—’
‘It is no coincidence that the Kynie should appear here – not two days’ journey from Heng!’ the woman continued regardless.
‘And what is in Heng?’ Heboric asked.
The woman rose, pointing west. ‘A false goddess is suborning the people! This Protectress would pose as goddess of Heng! Not to mention the many new cults seducing worshippers.’
The first of the four now raised both hands for calm. ‘Some have lost their way and turned to her, this is true. But she herself has made no claims.’ He turned to Heboric. ‘What says Fener on this?’
Heboric pulled a hand down his face – a religious debate was the last thing he’d been expecting to have thrust upon him here in the valley. Fortunately, however, he was no stranger to such discussions. ‘Curiously, I too have been troubled of late,’ he began, and the four nodded sagely. ‘Disquiet among the pantheon worries me. Troubling rumours of unrest among the devoted of D’rek, on Kartool. A certain tension in the still airs of the Temple of Poliel. All this suggests to me that we are entering a time of trial, a time of instability.’
The four bowed their heads. ‘It is an exhortation, then,’ said the second.
‘To greater faith.’
‘To greater devotion.’
‘To an end to backsliding!’ added the woman from the crowd.
The first raised his arms, calling, ‘Thank you all! That is enough for today. I ask that we turn to quiet prayer, devotion and contemplation now. Bless all of you.’
Heads bowed. The ascetic drew Heboric aside. ‘Your presence here is an unlooked-for blessing as well, brother. I am Sessin. Thank you for answering the call.’
‘Actually, I was on my way here regardless. I knew nothing of this.’
Sessin raised his eyes to the sky. ‘The gods work in mysterious ways. You will be of great help.’
Heboric rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Well, in truth, I, too, am a seeker.’
Sessin gave another knowing nod. ‘Of course, brother. We are all seekers in our own way.’
Heboric resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ‘Yes, well, imagine that. No, I came because of the unease I spoke of. Do you not sense it as well?’
Sessin nodded vigorously. ‘Yes indeed, brother. Sister Hav is not so far from the truth in this.’
‘Sister Hav? The one in the crowd?’
‘Yes. Once a high priestess of Burn. Anathematized for her, ah, enthusiastic practices.’
‘Enthusiastic?’
‘Yes. She instituted tests of purity of faith to weed out the inconstant. The holding of red-hot rods, for example. The branding of the unfaithful.’
Heboric shuddered. ‘I see. And she was in Heng?’
‘Yes. Heng has become a breeding ground of nascent cults, this cult of the Protectress among them. Even among the devoted of Hood some are turning to his champion, the Mortal Sword. And then there is this worship of the so-called “Shadow Throne”.’
‘The Shadow Throne? What in all the Realms is that?’
Sessin peered about as if wary. He whispered, ‘No one knows. I’ve only just heard of it myself.’
In truth Heboric was not overly concerned. New cults came and went every day. No doubt this one too would go the way of its countless ilk. He crossed his arms. ‘I had hoped to take counsel with you holy men and women here on this matter.’
Sessin nodded his understanding – Heboric was beginning to suspect that the man simply nodded to everything in order to appear knowledgeable. ‘And yet you find us in turmoil. I am sorry. But, perhaps I may suggest the very exhortation the Kynie sent to us. Perhaps one must face the unrest. Perhaps one must journey to Heng itself. The city many here name the Whore on the Idryn.’
* * *
Gregar knew he was no officer-trained military genius, but the disposition of the Bloorian League’s lines left him rather puzzled. It seemed to him that the weakest troops occupied the most vulnerable positions, while the strongest troops – the armoured heavy cavalry – held the least vulnerable points.
The Yellows contingent for example, all four companies, held a length of line near the end of the left flank just where Gregar would expect to see a cavalry troop – positioned to strike to any opening near the centre. Meanwhile, the various nobles’ personal cavalry units dominated the centre of the League’s lines – poorly positioned, it seemed to him, for manoeuvrability.