The day she'd left the temple, Legana had realised the firm hand of the devotees had tempered her impetuous nature, and made her a better woman. She owed them – and her Goddess – a lot, and she would serve the Lady however she could.
And Legana was smart enough to know that this offer would never be surpassed. It was more than she'd ever dared to dream for.
'Are you so sure?' Fate said after a moment!. 'This is not something to be undertaken lightly, and I have no wish to bind myself to an unwilling soul.'
'I'm certain,' Legana said, looking her Goddess directly in the eye, her fear gone. 'I have never felt I belonged, other than inside your temple – any lack of piety on my part was because I felt insignificant, not worthy of you. I'll not betray my people, or my lord, but I wish to be more than an agent of a man I barely know.
'I'll take your gift and pay the price it demands.'
Fate studied the young woman, then broke into a sudden, brilliant smile. 'I have indeed chosen well. Now, listen before you put the necklace on, for I suspect the sudden sense of mortality will come as an awful shock to me, and I may have to retreat to the Palace of the Gods to recover.'
Legana nodded quickly, her eyes glimmering with eagerness.
'Consorting with necromancers and vampires will no longer do. Deal with your current companions, then go to my temple in Hale. You may live there; Zhia Vukotic will not come after you there.'
Legana nodded again, her eyes flickering to her fallen weapons. Neither Mikiss, the vampire asleep in the next room, nor Nai, the necromancer she'd last seen the previous night, would be easy to kill, but with the strength of a Goddess what could she not achieve?
The Lady had seen Legana's eyes move to her swords. 'Good; kill them both, and then look to the voices in this city. The crossroads of the West is divided into quarters, but to get through whatever is coming, it will need to stand united – and believe me, the crossroads of the West must survive.'
The Lady spoke quickly now, and handed over the necklace to Legana.
She ran her fingers over the emeralds without taking her eyes off the Lady's face.
'I suggest you start your work by killing the High Priest of Alterr
here in Byora. He's a waddling little misery of a man who goes by the name of Ayarl Lier.'
Legana's eyes widened. The Qods are turning on each other now? 'We have never been the most harmonious of entities,' the Lady said with a smile, guessing correctly what Legana had been thinking. 'Alterr is one of those whose rage flows unabated. She will lead us to rashness if her strength is not curtailed, and Lier has great influence, both within the court of Natai Escral, and with the common folk of Hale. It is best that influence be removed. And anyway,' she added with a mischievous smile, as though she had suggested nothing more than a mild prank, 'Alterr is of the Upper Circle of the Pantheon, while I am not. Ambition is not limited to mortals.'
Venn slowly opened his eyes, trying not to wince at the light as he focused on the figures sitting nearby. They were all young, all with the unmistakable poise of Harlequins, dressed in furs and leather, the rough clothes of the clans rather than the distinctive diamond patchwork of a Harlequin. Not their final visit to the cavern then, but not long until this fresh crop would be presented with their blades and sent out into the Land.
And they have waited for me, Venn thought with satisfaction. It appears my newfound weakness is yet another sign of my divine mission.
There had never been a Harlequin who had renounced the ways after years out in the Land – those who saw it as a betrayal had no idea what to do about him, and increasingly, folk of the clans were seeing him as a man who had moved beyond the usual pattern of life. The Land had reforged the finest of the Harlequins and returned him to them to usher them into the future. The otherworldly air about him, courtesy of Jackdaw, ensured those with complaints or accusations spoke them only quietly. He had asked nothing of them and had spoken no heresy; until he did so their very uncertainty protected him.
His arm felt leaden as he reached out for the water-bowl he kept close at hand. The cavern was a vast place of open temples and shrines, but the natural grain of rock meant there were dozens of ledges and alcoves. Venn had adopted once such ledge and spent most of his days sitting there with his back resting against the wall. He ventured outside only rarely; what little exercise he took nowadays consisted solely of walking from one shrine to the next.
There were more visitors despite the winter months, and they were there to see him, the Harlequin who had returned from the Land a changed man, so he forced himself to be awake when they came, to debate with them, or preach to them.
He drank thirstily, then replaced the cup, ignoring the growl in his stomach. Jackdaw remained in his shadow, silent for sometimes days on end, yet still requiring everything a normal man needed to live. The only difference was that he now drained it from Venn.
Is this how a mother feels? he wondered, his cracked lips curving into a slight smile. A child feeds greedily from my body while 1 must sit here and extol the virtues of another? Master, once more I applaud your sense of humour.
'Age is a curse we must all bear,' he began, aware that the group of young men and women were all waiting eagerly for his latest teachings. Religion: what a masterful tool. They expect wisdom, so that is what they hear.
'The wisdom of years clouds understanding. In life there is always fear, and that leads us from truth. Given the power of speech, a newborn would provide counsel surpassing that of any king because a newborn has not known pain, not the pain of loss, nor of love, nor of hunger, nor of fear.'
Beside him he felt Jackdaw stir as the former monk recognised his cue; his skills were required again. Venn raised his palms in a manner that would remind some of the icons of Shaolay, Goddess of Wisdom, that often adorned thrones. He saw the wonder in the eyes of his new disciples as a sliver of Jackdaw's magic raced through his body, subtly enhancing the God-touched image he was presenting.
'A perfect child can remind us of how we ourselves once were, before we were stained by our years in the Land; its voice can strip away the fear that clouds our judgment and take us back to that unsullied state. Such a child would calm the enraged. Such a child would give heart to a coward, and cause him to fight like a God in the defence of innocence. To seek out such innocence in others, to serve a child who knows nothing of hatred; what higher calling could there be?'
CHAPTER 9
Major Amber ducked out of his tent and looked around at the Menin camp. The wind raced over the line of tents and into his face; he flinched as a piece of grit caught him in the eye. He blinked the irritant away and dabbed at his eye with the fox-fur trim of his heavy black cloak. It wouldn't do to attend his lord in tears; this was not a day for the Menin to show any shred of weakness.
The sun lurked sullenly somewhere at the horizon; hiding under a thick grey blanket, as Amber himself should be doing. He pulled his cloak closer as the wind continued to nip at every exposed part of him, including his ears, left exposed by the steel half-helm he wore.
The Menin were camped in the lee of a tree-topped hill, on the western bank of a swollen river Amber didn't know the name of. He'd reached the army only two days previously, meeting it here outside the city of Tor Salan. The Menin were marching northwards; he had fled south from Scree.
'Major!' called a voice over the clatter of the camp. Amber stopped and watched as Captain Hain hurried through the mud towards him. The breastplate and pauldrons Hain wore under his cloak, like Amber himself, made the squat captain look even-bulkier than usual. Hain was carrying his helm under one arm, but as he reached Amber the major gestured pointedly at it and Hain reddened. He dropped the hood of his cloak and put the helm on, trying not to shiver as the wind whipped around him. The order had been clear: they were to look at all times like the fearless warriors everyone knew the Menin to be – and that, unfortunately, meant going armoured and appearing oblivious to hardship, no matter how cold it got, especially while they were in their lord's presence.