‘I agree with you. Have worried over these issues — and many others besides — for countless nights. But let me tell you that every single time I come back to the same point: Calidus is one of the Ben-Elim, a servant of Elyon. We both saw him change. I will never forget it. There are other arguments, convincing arguments — the alliance is fragile, and at present I do not hold the power to forge an empire. I hope that will change, but until it does, the future is the alliance and politics, and politics is compromise. I do not like Jael, I do not approve of some of the things that have been done to further my cause, but they have all been done for the greater good.’
The greater good — how many times have I told myself that?
Nathair paused and smiled. ‘I can see from your face that you have had the same thoughts. And they would be troubling indeed, if we did not have Calidus. Remember what we saw in Telassar; remember what we witnessed. He is a servant of Elyon. It is that memory that strengthens my will, that keeps me on my course. Let it do the same for you.’
He did remember, could still feel the shock, the awe of seeing Calidus transform before his eyes from an old man into a winged warrior. ‘It does,’ Veradis said. ‘I just. .’
‘I know. War places a burden on us all, Veradis. The lives we have taken or ordered taken in the furtherance of our cause. The choices made.’
Veradis had no words for that, his thoughts spiralling.
‘Thank you, my friend,’ Nathair said, leaning forward and gripping Veradis’ wrist.
‘For what?’
‘For being honest. There is no one in all the earth that I can talk to as freely as you. Talking helps, eh? Crystallizes the problems and solutions.’
‘Aye.’ And it had helped, talking to Nathair. Discovering that his friend shared the same doubts and worries eased the sense of foreboding that had haunted him for so long.
‘So let us continue our war, in the knowledge that our cause is just and our goal vital.’
‘Aye, onwards.’
Veradis stood on a shingle ridge that overlooked the bay at Dun Carreg. The Vin Thalun transport ships were almost loaded, over three thousand warriors filling their decks. There was not room enough to take all in one crossing, so the ships would have to return for the rest of them. It would not take long — a day’s journey to the shores of Cambren, a day to unload, and a day back. It would still be much quicker than walking.
The call came for him to board. Most of his men were already on the ships, only a handful standing with him. They walked down the ridge onto the beach, along a wooden pier towards a wide boarding-plank, his new boots thudding heavily. They would take some getting used to, and his men were already grumbling, but they would save lives. Beside him walked Bos, and next to him one of Evnis’ warriors, a young lad, Rafe, from Dun Carreg. Calidus had asked Evnis for someone who would recognize this Corban if ever they met him. Cywen walked next to him, her hands bound, and it was obvious there was little love lost between the pair of them. But at least she hadn’t tried to kill him yet. Or anyone else.
Veradis put that down to the fact that he’d offered her the now-healed horse she seemed to care so much about, in return for her good behaviour, and he had even committed to bringing it with them to Cambren. It was no great inconvenience, as she would need a mount to ride. She had actually smiled at him when he had offered it to her, and he had asked only in return that she stop trying to escape, which she had attempted four times in the first day and night after Owain’s defeat. It was tiring, always keeping an eye on her, or making sure that someone with wits enough not to be fooled by her was watching her. Her fine mood had lasted until this morning, when she had discovered that Morcant was staying in Ardan as Evnis’ battlechief. Now she was sullen and brooding, no doubt devising imaginative ways to carve more holes into Morcant’s hide.
‘It’s not going to happen,’ Veradis said to her as they walked up the boarding-plank. ‘You should let it go.’
She knew instantly what he was talking about. ‘He killed the man I was to be handbound to,’ she said. ‘I’ll never let it go.’
Veradis believed her. I’m glad I have not wronged her, he thought. I would not sleep well at night.
They stood at the railing and looked back as the fleet slowly moved out of the bay, banks of oars sweeping into the water. Veradis could make out Rhin on the ridge he had recently been standing on. Conall stood close to her, Evnis and Morcant a little further along.
Farewell, Ardan, he thought, and deliberately turned to look ahead, through the ranks of sailors, masts and ropes to the open sea beyond the bay.
And now to Cambren; to more bloodshed in the name of righteousness, to claim my destiny as the most trusted servant of Elyon’s Bright Star.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
FIDELE
Fidele followed Ektor down the staircase, torchlight shining off the balding patch on the crown of his head. He was leading her into the tower at Ripa, down to the library in the depths of the tower’s foundations. It was quiet, almost stifling, the deeper they went, with only the crackle of torches and the slap of their feet on stone breaking the silence. Orcus’ footfalls were heavy behind her.
Eventually Ektor stopped before a door, fumbled with some keys and ushered Fidele inside.
It was dark. As Ektor bustled around with a candle, opening lanterns and lighting more candles, Fidele made out the outline of a bed, a table, some scattered chairs.
As the candlelight filled the room, Fidele almost gasped. The first half of the room looked like a ruin, bed sheets strewn on the floor, mouldy fruit and rotting trenchers of half-eaten food. Beyond the detritus was a marvel. The library, as Ektor called it, was one great curved stone wall with a thousand alcoves carved into it, ladders leaning against it at intervals. Box-like alcoves were dug into the wall, becoming clearer as Ektor lit more lanterns. There were regimented rows of them curling around the chamber, retreating into the shadows, all with the ends of scrolls protruding from the square holes.
It was impressive indeed. She had been looking forward to this moment, ever since Lamar and Ektor had spoken of this library during their council, but a pile of endless tasks had filled her days since then, most of them concerned with the rooting-out of the Vin Thalun fighting pits. And she had stayed in Ripa far longer than she had originally intended. The truth was that she liked it here. The sea air held a freshness that Jerolin lacked, and going home meant a return to the weight of memory. She could put it off only a little longer, though.
‘Come, sit here,’ Ektor said, pulling out a chair and sweeping the debris on his table into a pile.
‘Do you live in here?’ Fidele asked, trying to keep any hint of revulsion from her voice.
‘Of course,’ Ektor said. He looked at her as if the question had not been a sensible one. ‘Otherwise I’d spend half my life walking to and from this room.’
‘Of course. So you think there are some clues here, about the God-War, and specifically about Meical?’
‘I do,’ Ektor said, abruptly animated. He hurried to one of the ladders and climbed, one hand holding a lantern high. ‘You must remember, of course, that everything written here was done so by the Kurgan, so there will surely be a degree of bias, and therefore of inaccuracy, in all that they wrote, but nevertheless also a large portion of truth.’
‘The Kurgan were the giant clan that ruled here?’
‘Yes. One of the five clans that survived the Scourging,’ Ektor said distractedly. ‘When our ancestors, the Exiles, were washed up on these shores there were five giant clans still in power. The Kurgan here, ruling in the south, the Jotun in the north, the Benothi in the west, the Shekam in the east, and the Hunen in the central regions — where Helveth, Carnutan and Forn are situated now.’