A world of pleasure and despair entwined, down among the dead roots. This was where her imagination took her, cold and rushing like a mountain stream, painting details she knew nothing about.
Witch Hale came out to stand beside her. ‘He is gone,’ she said.
Renarr nodded, if only to appease the old woman. But she had seen her father die some time before, when she had met his eyes and saw in them no feeling, and he had but studied her, detached, as if gathering details. And she had understood something then. This was how death came to the dying: from the inside out; and this was how the living took it: from the outside in.
She gathered about herself the new, rich clothing a guilt-ridden man had bestowed upon her, and then said, ‘I am going down to the village.’
Coming from the barracks, where she had been lounging with a half-dozen veteran sergeants before hearing the bell clang, Lieutenant Serap made her way across the compound towards the keep’s front entrance. She saw that Sergeant Yeld had returned. A crowd surrounded him, but he was holding up his hands, as if to defy their questions. Haradegar had rushed inside a few moments earlier, to sound the bell that would summon Urusander back up to the keep, and thence to the Campaign Room.
Two more riders appeared from the gate and Serap glanced over to see Sharenas Ankhadu and Kagamandra Tulas. They cantered across the courtyard, forcing a path through the milling soldiers, stablers and servants, and reined in close to Yeld, who pushed free, straightening against his weariness, and saluted Sharenas.
Serap reached them, but said nothing as she followed Yeld, Sharenas and Kagamandra into the keep. Their boots rang hollow as they marched down a corridor, the walls of which bore only the bleached impressions of the tapestries that had once lined it. The sergeant looked worn, as befitted someone who had ridden through the night.
Serap had been given to understand that Captain Sharenas had sent Yeld to Kharkanas. She had assumed that the sergeant carried orders to Hunn Raal, demanding his return. But my cousin is not in Kharkanas. What then the cause of this tension?
Castellan Haradegar, along with the High Priestess Syntara, was awaiting them in the Campaign Room. As she had done the few other times she had seen the High Priestess, Serap found herself staring at Syntara, half in fascination and half in revulsion. She forced herself to look away and concentrated instead on Sharenas. ‘Captain, did you by chance see Commander Urusander on the road up to the keep?’
‘He comes,’ she replied. ‘Sergeant Yeld, I trust your insistence that we make this a command meeting is justified by the news you bring.’
‘It is, sir.’
‘Were you able to speak with Hunn Raal?’
‘No,’ Yeld replied. ‘Sir, it is believed he has journeyed to the Hust Legion, bearing wagons burdened with gifts to the soldiers. Presumably, sir, he seeks entreaty with Commander Toras Redone, to ensure that no hostilities arise between our legions.’
‘Does he now?’ Sharenas said, eyes narrowed. She then swung to Syntara. ‘High Priestess, I wonder about the role you imagine for yourself at this meeting?’
‘Permit me, captain, to stand as a symbol of your unease.’
Sharenas scowled. ‘I doubt any of us needs one so animate, High Priestess.’
‘I regret that you seem disposed to be suspicious of me, captain.’
‘High Priestess, I doubt that ranks high among your list of regrets,’ Sharenas retorted. ‘But since you will speak of them, I would hear more.’
‘Very well. Among my foremost regrets, captain, is that I do not yet know my place in this meeting, or any other. The uniform you wear announces your role no matter what the setting. To look upon you is to understand your talents in command, in warfare, and the logistics that are necessary to maintain a company of soldiers. Now, do not shy away as does Lieutenant Serap, and look upon me. What do you see? I stand here announcing a changed world, captain. If its taste is bitter, then spit me out and proclaim the end of change for all to hear. Who can say if the world will heed you?’
Sharenas stared at the High Priestess for a long moment, and then snorted. ‘Forgive me, High Priestess. It was my understanding that you women of the temple talked only with your cunts.’
‘You have bent an ear too often to Ilgast Rend, captain. He comes from a time when swords ruled and spoke for all. We sought to oppose and indeed usurp that domination, and offered the pleasures of lovemaking instead. Is it not curious that he finds us such a threat?’
‘Perhaps I have indeed listened to Ilgast Rend too often,’ Sharenas admitted with a faint smile. Then the smile faded. ‘Alas, the age of swords has returned.’