‘This regret has ascendancy in my soul, Captain Sharenas, if you would know the list complete. But then, I see before me soldiers one and all, and so anticipate an enlivening of expressions with whatever dire news your sergeant is about to deliver.’
Yeld grunted as if Syntara’s words had delivered a blow to his chest. He coughed and said, ‘My pardon, High Priestess, but I anticipate no joy from the tale I must tell.’
They heard the thump of boots from the corridor and a moment later the door opened and Urusander strode into the room. Whatever fires Serap had seen reignited in Urusander had dimmed beneath the burden of the Legion’s rebirth. Or, perhaps more likely, it had waned beneath the fugue of confusion now afflicting the companies that had gathered in answer to his summons. He looked harried and in short temper as his flat eyes fixed on Sergeant Yeld. ‘I am waiting,’ he said.
‘Sir, I must tell you a tale of massacre.’
Urusander’s hard, angular face darkened. ‘I am sickened enough, sergeant, by the reports I have already had. This murder of Deniers must cease, even if I have to lead my entire Legion into the wood.’ He swung a glare on Serap that made her recoil. ‘These renegades will hang.’
Yeld shifted uncomfortably. ‘Sir, these victims were not Deniers. They were highborn.’
Urusander seemed to stagger. His back connected with the wall behind him. ‘Speak on,’ he whispered.
‘Sir, forgive me this dread news. The House Enes wedding procession was attacked. Lord Jaen and his daughter were slain. Hostage Cryl Durav as well. I was told that the first to find them was Enesdia’s brother, Kadaspala.’
A sound came from Urusander, but Serap could not pull her gaze from the sergeant, and she saw Yeld’s face suddenly twist. ‘Sir, in grief the artist gouged out his own eyes. It is said he is lost in madness. He curses all who seek to comfort him. He curses Mother Dark. He curses Lord Anomander for delaying too long in Kharkanas. Among the dead were bodies of Deniers, but Kadaspala accuses Legion soldiers — he — he points a finger at Captain Scara Bandaris’s company, which he met in the wood.’ Yeld abruptly stopped, and Serap saw how the poor man trembled.
No one spoke.
Then Sharenas Ankhadu whispered, ‘Scara would not do this. Commander, Kadaspala has indeed gone mad. He rages at the world.’
Kagamandra slumped into a chair and sank his face into his hands.
‘Still your thoughts,’ said Syntara in a cold, hard voice. ‘All of you, draw down hard upon the outrage and horror afflicting you. Yes, I but stumble on this new path, but I am struck. A question assails me. Lord Urusander, hear me.’
His bleak eyes fixed on her.
She took his silence as assent. ‘By what laws shall we be governed? Soldiers of your Legion demand recognition. They demand compensation for their sacrifices. They insist that the gifts of this world do not solely belong to the highborn. Well then’ — and her uncannily pale eyes now travelled across them — ‘show me this grief for the fallen peasant. For the Denier cowering under superstitious dread. A poor young girl’s father has just died in this keep. From the tower I saw a funeral procession up to the town’s cemetery only two days past. And yet. And yet. Look upon yourselves. See how you measure this latest tragedy, as a loss of greater worth. Why? Because the slain are highborn.’
‘This attack is unseemly,’ said Sharenas in a low growl. ‘You berate us for the breadth of our feeling? Who weeps more for strangers?’
‘I refute your defence, captain. If you will weep for one, then weep for all. Know that every stranger has kin, has loved ones. Every stranger was as trapped in their skin as we find ourselves. I have stood here. I have listened. I watched you all suddenly appear upon the top rung of grief’s ladder.’
‘You speak cruelly, High Priestess,’ said Sharenas, ‘and so pluck our open wounds. But I hear no offers of balm or healing in your words.’
‘By what laws shall we be governed? This question burns me, captain. Its flames rage high, engulfing my soul. Take upon yourself the burden of the righteous, but do so with humility. Weep for us all — I assure you none here will run out of tears.’
Sharenas’s hands had curled into bloodless fists at her sides. ‘To what end?’
‘Justice.’
Urusander’s head snapped up, his eyes suddenly hard and bright.
The High Priestess straightened, as if suddenly proud of the curse that bleached her skin. ‘I know of no law that proclaims the death of some to be greater cause for grief than the death of others.’