The shock of the statement made him stammer. "But…"
"I am aware that each hall chooses its own marshal from among their own people, although there are exceptions to this custom, which I invoke now. I am aware that Scar will have to uproot for a second time from his accustomed territory, but he is stable enough, and tough enough, to withstand the challenges and make the accommodation to a new territory. Whether you are remains to be seen, but I have spoken to the council in Olossi, and I have spoken to the reeves here, and it is obvious to me that, for the present time, you are the only available and acceptable choice."
"Argent Hall has lost so many of its eagles, and reeves. We believe that Marshal Yordenas was killed, but his body hasn't been located. Many who aren't dead or missing have fled. Less than a quarter of the normal complement remain, although I admit they thanked us for our intervention."
"It's said the great eagles cannot be corrupted. That they will, in the end, rid themselves of any reeve who turns wholly against the code of the halls."
"It's true that Yordenas had no eagle anyone ever saw. So we were told by those of Argent Hall's reeves who surrendered into our custody after the battle. He claimed it had gone to the nesting grounds, but maybe it had already abandoned him."
She nodded. "Come. Let me show you what flew beside me, at the sun's rising, when I arrived here at dawn."
For her to sit, knowing she would rise again so soon, made the gesture more pointed. He stepped back deliberately, because he did not want to make the mistake of offering an arm, any aid at all. The struggle was swift, but defeated as surely as it always was. She got her balance, and she hobbled to the porch and, with dexterity born of long practice, got into her boots, which were in any case specially made to ease her condition.
He followed meekly. His head still hurt, but at least the glare of a hostile sun wasn't spiking him between the eyes. The gravel path was darkened by the wet, but the rains had ceased with the rising of the sun. Their progress through the marshal's garden went slowly. A flight of eagles spiraled high above, reveling in the morning's cooling breeze. She said nothing, so he said nothing.
Until they came to the courtyard, long since cleared of the debris of the battle fought five nights back.
All ten perches were taken, bearing unharnessed eagles. When he looked closely at those circling above, he realized that most of them-thirty more, at least-carried no reeve.
"What are all these?" he asked. "Where have they all come from?"
"Argent's eagles have come home, seeking new reeves," she said. "There is much to do, Marshal Joss. And your first task will be to rebuild."
54
After the seventh bell had rung its closing, the temple of the Merciless One lay quiet. The night's rain had not yet come, and the wind had settled. Only the streaming waters of the river could be heard, all manner of voices melding together in that watery chorus, some deep, some high, some constant and some heard at intervals like complaints. The ginnies slept. A few nocturnal night-reed birds patrolled for flies and midges, and their throaty ooloo calmed those who woke with disturbed dreams. There were many such dreamers in these days, who had before slept soundly.
All at once, erupting out of the drowsy night, a dog began its clamor, joined by a second and a third until the whole rude pack of them were howling and yammering the alert. Lanterns and candles flared to life. Folk stumbled sleepily from their beds, rubbing their eyes, cursing under their breath, whispering questions to the other hierodules and kalos as they emerged in ones and twos onto the verandas.
The dogs hushed as abruptly as if they'd all been throttled. The folk standing in their bare feet in the cool air hushed as well, if not quite as quickly. It seemed that half of them saw him immediately, and the other half felt an inchoate fear, enough to slow their chatter until they spotted him for themselves.
A man stood beside the courtyard's fountain. A spray of raindrops and grit swirled around him and settled, as though a wind had eddied through the vegetation, caught up this chaff, and now died.
"How did you get in?" called Walla, boldest of those already awake and present. "You can't have come through the gate. It's locked for the night. And my good, dear, aged uncle, I just don't see how you could have climbed over the wall!"
Nervous laughter followed this sally, because everyone knew there were bells tied along the wall to discourage amorous young folk from climbing over to seek satisfaction at an inappropriate time of night. The Merciless One offered her favors freely, but on her own terms.
Their visitor remained silent. After Walla's outburst, none of the temple folk spoke. They waited, glancing at intervals toward the sky as if expecting the wind to wash him away. The moon rode high, but it was the many lamps and lanterns brought into the courtyard that illuminated him most clearly. He was a man beyond his prime but not yet elderly. He held a stout staff in his right hand, but he did not need it to lean on because he was so obviously a vigorous, healthy individual. Dressed in the manner of an envoy of Ilu, he wore exceptionally gaudy colors: a voluminous cloak of peacock blue, wine-red pantaloons, and a tunic dyed the intense yellow gotten only from cloth dyed with saffron.
At length, the Hieros appeared on the veranda. She was pinning back her white hair and looking truly irritated, although it could be said that she usually looked that way. When her hair was fixed back with two polished sticks, she strode into the courtyard and halted a prudent distance from the intruder.
"It is late, uncle. Here on the eve of the Ghost Festival that separates the years, we do not accept worshipers, as I'm sure you know."
He smiled amiably. His voice was clear and courteous and so pleasant that everyone there smiled to hear his apology.
"I am sorry to disturb you. I am not here to worship the Merciless One."
The old woman, as always, was immune to any person's charm. "Then what do you want?" she snapped.
He had a friendly grin, yet there was a quality in his face that made a few of the hierodules shudder and others gasp and feel suddenly like succumbing to tears. Even the ginnies, hiding in the shadows, made their lizard bows as to authority. Even the Hieros, most merciless of all except for the goddess Herself, took a step back, although he made no threatening move and spoke in the mildest voice imaginable.
"You have something I've been looking for, for a very long time. I've come to get it."
The wind sighed through the garden foliage.
She turned to her deputies. "Go and get her," she said in a low voice.
They hurried away with scarcely any noise, for they were trained to move about soundlessly.
"The treasure is mine," she said to the man. "I paid for it, a fair exchange."
"You cannot buy what this is," he said kindly, "and I am sorry if it came into your hands in any manner which led you to believe you could own it."
"Who are you?" she asked.
He raised both hands in the opening gesture of the talking line. "My nose is itching," he said. "Many whispers have tickled my ears these last few nights. Listen!"
Acknowledging his right to speak, they listened.
"This is my tale. It is one you all know."
"Go on," said the Hieros, but now she seemed afraid, and all those who lived under her care and her rule found that her fear rang like a bell whose resonance made their own fears tremble and wake.
He told the story, punctuated by the most basic of gestures, enough to suggest the tale's outlines.
"Long ago, in the time of chaos, a bitter series of wars, feuds, and reprisals denuded the countryside and impoverished the lords and guildsmen and farmers and artisans of the Hundred. In the worst of days, an orphaned girl knelt at the shore of the lake sacred to the gods and prayed that peace might return to her land.