First he checked that the Lord Chalat had kept moving and was not there to witness, then he responded with a small hand gesture. At his signal every soldier watching — a full regiment of hurscals and sworn soldiers — drew his weapon.
'As a member of the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings for my entire adult life,' he said softly, 'I would love to come and be lectured by a man half my age on piety, but unfortunately I am bound by Special Order Seven and to contravene that would be treason.'
'The Special Order does not overrule the word of the Gods!'
'Certainly not,' Torl said, adding contemptuously, 'but you are no God, you are a stupid little man drunk on power. Tell every other idiot sitting on your so-called "Morality Tribunals" that I have been instructed to carry out the details of Special Order Seven to the letter, and that means no military officer may be tried by any
court but a military one, and no court-ranked man or commanding officer may travel unarmed or without the company of his hurscals. If you wish to educate me, you must first present your petition to the relevant Farlan military authority.' He pointed in the direction of the other army, then at the head of his hurscals. 'That would be Lord Isak, or, at a pinch, myself. Sir Dahten here is in charge of preliminary requests.'
He turned away, signalling the end to the conversation. Behind him the priest spluttered with fury before Sir Dahten clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. The knight had a special knack; nine times out of ten he could get a finger in the soft hollow on top of a shoulder, hitting the sweet spot without trying. As he heard the soft thud of a man sinking to his knees, Torl knew Dahten had got it right again.
'Preliminary requests,' Dahten began, a menacing tone to his voice. 'They're not really of a discourse form, not at this stage of the proceedings. Now, hold your arms out wide — I'm sure your God will give you strength in this hour of need.'
How long can we continue like this? Torl wondered, closing his eyes and listening to the squawk as a sword was placed in each of the priest's outstretched hands. Five days until we reach the Circle City. Will we have torn each other apart by then?
The following morning saw a storm break over the Circle City. The warning horn had sounded at the break of dawn, and its call had still been rolling over the city when the deluge came. In Burn, the scar surrounding the fissure they called Cambrey's Tongue was hidden by a thick cloud of stinking grey smoke.
Ruhen stood in his high room in the Ruby Tower and looked out over a city washed clean by floodwater. He was staring into the murky distance, a faint trace of worry in his ever-serious expression. In his hands was the slim book that had been his mother's only possession, one she no longer remembered; the journal of Vorizh Vukotic she had pulled from the ashes of Scree. It amused him to have something so valuable, the contents of which would determine the course of the next year of war, as a child's plaything.
'Come away from the window, my dear,' called the duchess, reaching a hand out towards him. 'Come, Ruhen, sit with me.' She massaged her temple, as she did almost constantly now, trying to rub away the dull ache from her head. The bags under her eyes indicated how badly she had been sleeping of late — Ruhen disliked sleeping in her room, preferring access to the tower's dark corridors whenever he wished, and without him the duchess found no rest. Each morning she looked a little more ragged, a little more nervous; and wary of shadows.
'They are coming, lord,' came a voice on the wind that no one but Ruhen heard, though Haipar flinched. The skeletal woman hunched a little lower and chewed harder at her lip, sensing Aracnan's presence in the room even if she couldn't hear him. Ilumene, nursing a hangover, was oblivious. He stared disconsolately down at the floor, occasionally swigging at a lukewarm jug of coffee.
'How long?'
'Perhaps four days if they leave the slowest behind; the whole army is made up of cavalry aside from a ragged swarm of peasants trailing after them. Five days if they wish to be in any shape to fight.' Aracnan's voice was little more than a distant echo in Ruhen's head. The mercenary was somewhere in Wheel, hunting for the Farlan woman who had eluded him. His frustration at being unable to sniff her out was palpable. The mercenary's position in events had now changed. His allegiance was no longer secret, and so his usefulness was diminished.
'Ruhen, please, come and hold my hand, whisper my headache away,' the duchess pleaded.
The little boy turned and offered her a smile, which was enough to smooth the cares from her face, at least until he returned to the window.
'The boy seeks to kill me. A strange choice to make — he knows the risk.'
'One half is led by a Chetse white-eye.'
'Lord Chalat? Excellent. Send dreams of daemons to him, fuel his fanaticism. He will bring this crusade racing on and give Lord Isak no time to treat with the Menin, nor to attack Byora. He cannot abandon the crusade.'
'You will bargain with Lord Styrax?'
'He must not know me, not yet. Ilumene will offer him the duchess's army.'
'You intend to wipe out the Farlan?'
'No, only to have both sides bloodied. Tell the jesters to ensure Lord Isak can escape — this war must see no decisive action, but after the battle you must find a way to kill Kohrad Styrax.'
'It will be done.'
The contact broken, Ruhen stepped back from the window and turned to his adopted mother. She reached out again and he toddled over to her, allowing her to wrap her arms around him. A few kisses, a brush of her fingers through his soft brown hair, and Natai Escral, the Duchess of Byora, was soothed again.
'Ah, you're playing with your book again,' she cooed at him. 'Almost as much of a puzzle as my beautiful little boy! And what did you see out the window, little Ruhen?'
'Soldiers, Mother,' Ruhen replied in a voice full of innocence.
His words caused a beaming smile to spread over her face, then she glanced over at Haipar — but the tribeswoman from the Waste appeared not to have noticed that her position had been usurped.
Haipar would not have cared, even if she had realised; she was barely aware of anyone, for she was lost in her own sickness and misery, forever twitching and peering into corners. When she did notice Ruhen's presence, she always looked like a mouse startled by a cat.
'Yes, my sweet, the city is full of soldiers, but they are all under control. We would never let any of them hurt you.'
'Not here, out there.' He pointed towards the horizon and at last he felt the duchess tense. 'Horsemen,' he added, just to make sure.
She carried him to the window, but could see nothing beyond the city. Ruhen pointed northwest, but all she could see was mist and smoke. 'They frighten me,' he added for sport.
She put a protective arm around his shoulders. 'No one could possibly hurt you,' she said before turning to Ilumene. 'Sergeant, have a servant run to the Vier Tower — Tell Mage Peness I wish him to scry to the northwest.'
Ilumene grimaced and managed to heave himself to his feet.
The duchess smiled down at Ruhen. 'Perhaps our prince is even more special than we had already thought?'
Ruhen returned to the window, his back to the duchess so she could not see the shadows dance in his eyes. Down below, a crowd was gathering — beggars and other vagrants mainly. They had been encamped outside the gates for a few hours now, fleeing briefly when Kiyer of the Deluge swept the streets clean, creeping back when the water cleared. As he watched, more joined the throng, loitering in the shadow of the Ruby Tower.
Word was spreading, helped by Luerce and his little troupe of disciples. Empty temples and fighting on the streets meant many were searching for something — anything — to believe in. Only the most desperate were waiting outside the compound gate, hoping for a glimpse of Ruhen, but it was a start. Ruhen's patience was vast, and once word spread beyond the Circle City, it would meet those lost folk who had heard some new stories from the Harlequins.