'And what?' demanded Isak, scowling.
For the first time, the man actually looked a little uncomfortable. He lowered his voice to make sure only Isak and Vesna could hear. 'When we searched the enemy bodies, we found- well, people will draw their own conclusions. A lot of them had a scroll hung about their necks, written in Elvish, of course, but Ked is enough of a scholar to read some of the runes. It was apparently something he had to translate when he was studying the language as a boy. I don't know the full text, but we've all heard the rumours.'
'What is it, for the love of Larat? You look like a scared child.'
Tori held up his hands to mollify Isak's impatience and cleared his throat. 'My Krann, it's called the Prophecy of Shalstik, supposedly the most significant prophecy about this Age, but written thousands of years ago. This army we have just faced down was an army of the prophet's disciples. With an Estashanti in their ranks, and the sheer numbers, from different houses at that, the elves must have organised themselves as soon as you were Chosen – perhaps even before that.'
'Anyone with money will be able to find a translation somewhere,' interrupted Vesna, 'Every scholar of ancient languages will have one version or another, or at least know where to find one.'
'What does it predict?' Isak asked weakly.
The return of the Last King, who they believe will come to take his revenge upon the Gods – and he was the last mortal before you to wear that armour. My Lord, they seek to reclaim their holiest of relics and I fear they won't stop at this defeat. Ked could only remember the first line properly. He said that all Elvish is open to interpretation, but-' Now Tori looked pained, his face that of a man bringing bad tidings, 'but that line was: In silver light born/In silver light clothed. For the Last King to lead them in their revenge, they need that armour.'
Isak didn't reply. He didn't trust his voice. All he could do was turn and look back the way he'd come, back to his tent where the cold lines of Siulents seemed to shine through the cloth and into the pit Of his stomach.
Oh Gods, whatever horror they bring down upon us, it will all be my fault. And I don't just have to worry about people resenting that, what if a duke or suzerain thinks to ask someone from the wagon-train? Not even Card would see any harm in telling them I was born on Silvernight.
CHAPTER 16
'I'm too old for this. Why haven't I retired yet?' General Chate Dev looked around the empty spaces of the temple plain and once satisfied there was no one in sight, he trotted over the dry, packed ground to the looming structure in the centre. He'd lived in Thotel all his life, but the immense pillars of the Temple of the Sun, hewn from a single pyramid of stone, always made him marvel.
'Because you'd be bored to death, Chate!' a deep voice chuckled from the temple.
The ageing Chetse walked over to the nearest of the four gigantic pillars as Lord Chalat stepped out from behind it. The base was a stone block eight feet high, and the pillar itself slanted up towards the centre of the pyramidal temple, dwarfing even Lord Chalat. The white-eye almost looked humbled in its presence.
In the dark, General Dev could just see the hint of a smile in the light cast by the eternal flame. So no mourning there, then – not that it surprised the general; it was common knowledge that Lord Chalat had barely tolerated his Krann, so the news of Charr's mortal injury wouldn't have grieved him overmuch.
Chalat was dressed in a simple warrior's kilt that reached halfway down his calves. His torso was wrapped in thin white linen and his massive arms were bare, other than a number of copper bands set with lapis lazuli. The scars on both arms marked him out as having passed the five tests of the Agoste field – not that anyone could possibly have doubted that. Tsatach would never have Chosen a Lord found wanting as a child. Strapped to Chalat's back was the ancient sword Golaeth. A large ruby at his throat glowed in the weak light.
'My Lord,' muttered the general as he reached Chalat and dropped to one knee at his feet. As he did so, he was distinctly aware of the empty plain behind him. No Chetse much liked the dark, and with
the unyielding weight of the temple in front of him, he felt even more uncomfortable.
A shallow trench, no more than a foot deep, marked the boundary of the blessed ground of the temple. Everything within was illuminated by the eternal flame; the rest of this eerie, ancient place was black and hidden, as if a wall of stone stood there instead of a trench.
'Get up, Chate. Now, why by Tsatach have you summoned me out here in the middle of the night? It might be magnificent in the light of day, but right now it's a nightmare.'
The general murmured his agreement as he rose. The many temples of the plain were disturbing to behold at night: there was an awful sadness that lingered after dark. The temples dedicated to Nartis and Alterr were situated on top of the rocky cliffs at the north end so even those priests engaged in night-time rituals didn't have to walk the plain at night.
The general had chosen this place for that reason. 'It is indeed, my Lord. I thought it best not to have a crowd of onlookers ready to spread gossip. It may be that the eternal flame may help us in understanding the facts.'
'The eternal flame? Who do you suspect of lying?'
The witness, my Lord.' He looked around, and continued, 'My men are bringing him along now – I thought you should know the facts, or as much as we know – before he arrives.'
Chalat made an irritated noise, then led the way back around to the inside of the pillar. The pair sat down on the wide steps cut into the rock.
'So Charr wasn't hurt in battle, then?' Chalat began.
'In a fashion yes. But his guards' story is – well, unusual.'
'Unusual?'
'They were in the hunting grounds of the Black Palace – this was almost two moons ago – when one of the scouts saw people walking through the grounds towards them, half a dozen foreigners, from the north.'
'Well, of course they were foreigners – no Chetse's going to defy the hunting laws.' He sounded irritated again.
The general continued quickly, 'Exactly, my Lord, so Lord Charr decided to ambush the party.'
‘Hah! So the stupid bastard jumped right into a trap. He deserves to die for that.'
'Yes, my Lord. In any case, the guards attacked and killed a number of the foreigners, but Lord Charr was hit by an arrow – straight into the heart – and no one even saw the archer. They loosed the hounds immediately, in the direction the arrow came from, but no one found a thing.'
'If he was hit in the heart, how is he still alive?' A gust of wind rustled over the smooth temple floor, on which the general smelled age and sorrow. In the background, the white shaft of the eternal flame, burning down from the apex of the temple to the altar, hissed quietly, as it had done for more than a thousand years.
'We have no idea. Several surgeons inspected the wound: they all agreed that the arrow was lodged in the heart and he would die. They carried Charr to the palace chapel and left him there to die with his God. My Lord, Charr's guards are devoted to him, but they agreed that there was nothing that could be done.'
'So everyone was surprised when he was still alive in the morning?'
'Quite so, my Lord. They fetched a priest and he claimed the wound was magical, that the fight for Charr's life was a spiritual one, for his soul. The priest said that the arrow itself was made out of soot, enchanted to be as hard as iron.'
'A spiritual battle? Useless shit's buggered then.' The white-eye laughed callously.
'Quite so, Lord.' The general waited patiently until his Lord showed no further sign of interrupting. Chalat was like a mountain: he moved for no man. You worked around him, or broke your hands on his edge.