“Rebuilding what?” Evadine cut in. “A nest of venal liars intent on nothing but their own comfort and enrichment? You imagine I spilled blood and led good and honest people to battle and death to succour your long corrupted rule? No, your day is done and you are Luminant no longer, for that very name is an abomination to the Martyrs’ example. They had no need of grand titles, nor the vast wealth in which you cloak yourselves. Nor, from this day forth, shall the Covenant.”

  Daryhla’s courage proved a deep well, for she stood with stern resolution, regarding Evadine with hard-eyed defiance. “What is your intent?” she demanded. “Make yourself as great a heretic as the creature we just deposed? Like him, will you do bloody murder in this most sacred place?”

  “You deposed no one,” Evadine reminded her. “And it was the greed and indolence of this council that allowed one such as him to rise. As for bloody murder.” She paused, a kindly smile on her lips. “Why would I kill you? As of this moment, you are a person of no consequence whatsoever. Of course—” she opened her arms, tracking her gaze across the scared or resentful faces of the lesser clerics “—all true servants of the Covenant are invited to stay and glory in this new dawn. Their labour and knowledge are welcome. But none shall henceforth call themselves anything but a Supplicant and any who act in service to self rather than Covenant shall be named heretics.” Evadine settled her focus on Daryhla once more. “You are welcome too, Supplicant Daryhla, if you think yourself equal to the task of mere humility. If not—” she inclined her head at the door “—get you hence and sully this holy place no longer.”

  There was dissent, of course. The vaulted halls of the cathedral rang with shouts of rage and despair as a small army of clerics found itself evicted from a place it had called home for centuries. When it became apparent that this scouring of the holiest of shrines would not be accompanied by violence, beyond some hard shoving and an occasional punch, the shouts became yet louder.

  Captain Dervan, not troubling to conceal his disgust at the general disorder, blankly refused to lend his troops to quelling it. His company had suffered a half-dozen dead and the same number wounded in their assault of Thessils’s rear flank. Paltry losses in comparison to some of the fights I’d seen, however the commoner captain plainly felt them keenly.

  “Duchess Lorine sent us here to fight a battle,” he stated, pointedly failing to address me by noble rank. “It is won, in no small part due to our efforts. Therefore, I shall be marching my company back to Castle Ambris forthwith.”

  Having no avenue for argument, beyond offering a bribe which I knew would likely rouse this dutiful fellow to violence, I countered his discourtesy with gracious thanks for his company’s service. He didn’t bother bowing or commenting further before stomping off to marshal his soldiers for the road.

  Daryhla and the other defrocked Luminants proved an exception to the prevailing chaos, departing the cathedral with a dignity and rectitude I couldn’t help but admire. True to her word, Evadine ensured they enjoyed safe passage to the cart waiting at the foot of the cathedral steps. However, I felt that the scale of humiliation suffered under the eyes of the onlooking mass of crusaders was tantamount to violence. The oldest of the Luminants, a small, wizened ancient with misted eyes and scant grasp on events, began to weep uncontrollably as he slumped on to the cart.

  “Save your tears, brother,” Daryhla said, resting a hand on the spotted dome of the ancient’s head. “This is but a passing moment.” She directed a glare at Evadine standing at the summit of the steps, shouting loud enough for the crowd to hear. “When we return, it will be at the head of a royal host and all shall be as it was.”

  For once, eloquence seemed beyond Evadine. She had maintained a mostly serene demeanour throughout this task, but the former Luminant’s bold resistance seemed to weary her. “Oh,” she said, not bothering to raise her voice and waving a dismissive hand, “just go away, you stupid old cow.”

  Silence reigned as the cart trundled towards the King’s Road, trailed by a ragged column of loyal clerics. There were far more of these than I liked, dozens of the scribes, healers and scholars that formed the administrative glue not only for this city but the Covenant entire. I had tentatively raised the possibility of forcibly detaining the more learned and capable, but Evadine wouldn’t hear of it.

  She waited until the cart had faded beyond the more distant ranks of the crusade before commencing her speech, calling the mass of eager adherents and more fearful townsfolk closer. The latter, understandably, kept to the fringes of the gathering. I had been efficient in having the bodies of those claimed by the madness of the previous night cleared away. However, I remained starkly aware that many of those now assembled to hear the Anointed Lady’s word had lost friends and loved ones in the battle to secure her rise.

  “There will be no more death here,” Evadine stated, her voice carrying to all ears with its usual effortless command. “All who bore arms against me in this place are hereby pardoned, for they were deceived. Know that through me the Seraphile have decreed an end to councils. Nor will there be differing ranks among the clergy, for these breed the pestilent twins of ambition and greed, both of which are barriers to the Seraphiles’ grace. Henceforth there will only be Supplicants, humble in their service to the Risen Martyr who is in turn most humble in her service to the Seraphile. Let this day be the birth of the Covenant Resurgent.”

  Evadine paused to allow the cheers and brandished weapons to rise and fall. It had been her intention to proclaim not just her ascendancy over the Covenant this day, but also her status as queen. Thankfully, on this occasion at least, she was content to defer to my counsel that such an unambiguous challenge to the Crown should wait. We had an army on hand, that was true, but the storming of Athiltor had not been without cost. With winter coming on, I had little hope of swelling our ranks and my scouts still reported no sign of the Covenant Host. The dismissal of Leannor’s messenger would surely have alarmed the Princess Regent, but hopefully not to the point of war, especially when the royal coffers remained denuded by the Alundian Crusade and the Pretender’s War. We stood at the dawn of a fresh struggle, of that I had not the slightest doubt, but stalemate suited us best at this juncture.

  “Know that I have only love for you in my heart,” Evadine went on as the cheers faded. “Know that the blood you shed and the friends you lost in this holiest of causes, painful though they be, are not in vain. You have done more than I could ever ask of even the most devout souls. And so, any who wish to return to their homes may do so now without fear of disfavour. Go, and bear my love and gratitude with you for all your days. But, for those who wish to stay at my side, I bid you welcome. For I will need you. The Covenant Resurgent will need you. The enemies we vanquished in this place are but one trial and rest assured we face many others. I have never promised you an easy path. I have never promised you anything but blood and sacrifice, for that is the reward of those who truly wish to serve this Covenant that we cherish. So, I ask you, my brothers and sisters, in this most divinely blessed place, will you hold to me?”

  The sound that greeted her was more a roar than a cheer, delivered with unreasoning force. Remarkably, I saw many of the townsfolk joining in. In the space of one short address Evadine had won the hearts of people who had suffered her wrath only hours before. Often I had witnessed her capacity for wielding power through mere oratory, but the ardency she aroused that day was of a different order, so much so that it became another facet of her legend. The Risen Martyr’s address to the faithful from the steps of Athiltor Cathedral is a frequent subject of both paintings and poems. Although, as is generally the case with the laggards and wine soaks that comprise the artistic clique, most fail to include me in their renderings. To be fair, I kept mostly to the shadows during her speech. Being seen too often at Evadine’s side might invite unwelcome scrutiny and rumour. We had been discreet, but I found the threat of exposure a constant worry. The Risen Martyr must be pure, her soul and body unstained by base carnality.

  “A few more speeches like that,” Wilhum told Evadine as we returned to the vaulted corridor leading to the chapel, the crowd’s adulation still raging outside, “and we’ll have an army ten times our current size.”

  “For now, I’d settle for just Swain and Ofihla’s companies,” I said.

  Wilhum and I fell in alongside Evadine as she strode back to the council chamber. The crowd’s acclaim continued to echo loud enough to smother our footsteps, but, far from displaying any exultation at the effects of her speech, her face was set in a preoccupied frown.

  “I’ve sent heralds to every shrine, village and town within reach,” I ventured when she failed to speak. “Proclaiming the birth of the Covenant Resurgent under the sole authority of the Risen Martyr. We’ll also need to send some form of address to Leannor, carefully worded, of course. Letters to the duchies too. Duchess Lorine is an ally, of sorts, but we’ll need others…”

  “No.” Evadine came to a halt, turning to face me. Her expression was stern but guarded, a combination I had rarely seen in her.

  “No allies?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No letters. Words on parchment won’t suffice. You must go yourself, as my ambassador. Measure the devotion of the dukes and their attachment to the Algathinets. When you return, I’ll decide what alliances we forge, if any.”

  “We’ll need support, Evie,” Wilhum said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “The Algathinets will have some notion by now of what you’re planning. Without allies…”

  “The Seraphile are the only ally I need.”

  Wilhum stiffened at the edge colouring her words, and I saw a small twitch of regret pass across Evadine’s brow before she added in a softened tone, “Still, with more soldiers the price we’ll pay in blood should be lessened, that’s true. Hence, my loyal ambassador’s mission.” She turned to me with a brisk smile. “One I would prefer you undertake without delay.”

  “If I’m to be your chamberlain, I’ll need to organise things here,” I said. “The Covenant accounts alone will take weeks to scrutinise…”

  “I’ll see to that myself. Besides, since you allowed those plains savages to make off with the bulk of our gold, the accounts would appear to have lost most of their importance.”

  The Vergundians and sundry hired blades had disappeared before dawn, piling all the riches they had scraped from the cathedral on to a caravan of stolen carts and making haste along the eastern road. Their looting had been swift but efficient, draining all the easily opened coin stores and thieving various treasures from the Luminants’ quarters. However, they had been good to their word and left the Covenant relics untouched. A full count of the Covenant’s remaining coin was yet to be made but, even though it would complicate matters, I wasn’t overly perturbed by the loss. The Covenant’s true wealth, as Sihlda had always been at pains to point out, lay not in coin but land. Even with the loss of lands ceded to Lorine, a season’s worth of rents would restore a good portion of what had been lost. Beyond that, a decent harvest come the following summer would afford the Covenant Resurgent riches far beyond anything even Deckin had dreamed of in his maddest moments.

  “Payment was promised in your name.” A growing heat coloured my own words now, stoked by the clear disparagement in her manner. And when had she ever called anyone a savage before? “Would you have had me break your word? Perhaps do murder to preserve the gold, slaughter those who opened the door to this city?”

  “Of course not!”

  I clenched my jaw and straightened as she rounded on me, her words fading into the undaunted cheers from outside. Her fierce, reproachful glare was brief but sent a jolt of pain through my heart. Never before had she directed such a pitch of anger in my direction. Looking away, she drew in a slow breath. “My word is given, lord Scribe,” she said. “Depart for the northern duchies tomorrow and leave the governance of this Covenant to me.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I took Ayin and the Widow with me, along with a dozen of my most trusted scouts. Tiler I left in Athiltor in charge of the Scout Company with orders to keep scouring the country for any sign of Swain or Ofihla. Also joining my mission of diplomacy were Quintrell and Adlar Spinner. A minstrel and a juggler would, at the very least, provide some measure of amusement to nobles I suspected might not offer the warmest of welcomes. Lilat came too, of course, an unbidden but inevitable presence wherever I went. She had a tendency to disappear during the day’s march, apparently finding the wooded hills through which we passed an irresistible playground.

  “Slow and fat,” she said the third night out from the holy city, dumping a brace of rabbits beside the campfire. “How do your people manage to go hungry in a land like this?”

  I offered only a vague grunt in response, distracted by reading the volume I had procured from the Covenant Library: From Banditry to Lordship – A History of the Pendroke Family, Wardens of Althiene. Calling at the library that morning I had been disappointed to find Aspirant Viera gone, the senior librarian presumably having chosen to trail in the deposed Luminants’ wake rather than submit to the Anointed Lady’s heretical rule. Most of the other librarians had followed her lead, leaving behind a trio of youthful but keen custodians.

  “The Isidorian Codex?” a doe-eyed young woman in a noviciate’s robe repeated when I stated the object of my visit. She blinked her large eyes, mouth set in a small circle of surprise.

  “You have it?” I asked.

  “We did, my lord.” Another blink. “Aspirant Viera kept it locked up along with certain other volumes. I’m afraid she took them all with her when she…” The novice trailed off, grimacing in nervous regret.

  “I see,” I said, forcing a smile. “What can you tell me about the codex?”

  Much of her trepidation slipped away then, her posture putting me in mind of her absconded superior in its stiff, scholarly surety. “Martyr Isidor was said to be the only prophetess of the early Covenant,” she told me. “Slain in the most foul manner by unenlightened kings in far distant lands. They took exception to her predictions regarding the disaster that would befall their realms should they continue to shun the Seraphiles’ love. So dangerous were these prophecies that her followers took to recording them in a cypher, the key to which was lost. Some scholars have attempted to decode them with only partial success. Consequently, her scroll is short compared to many of the first Martyrs and her name not widely known even among the faithful.”

  A book of cyphered predictions, I mused. But not so cyphered as to prevent Arnabus reading them. “Do you know if the Great Heretic ever came here asking for the codex?”

  Her fortitude wavered a little at this but, after a hard swallow, she managed to provide a mostly quaverless reply. “No, my lord. Such things are far above my station.”

  Viera would be on the road to Couravel, I knew, presumably riding a cart bearing a chest of forbidden books. Intercepting her was well within my means, but also a clear signal of my interest, one she would surely share with the deposed Luminants and, most likely, Leannor’s agents. Keeping the secret would be a simple matter, if I was prepared to murder Viera and any travelling with her, which I was not.

  “Do you have any notion where I might find another copy?” I asked the novice.

  “Sadly, copies of the codex are exceedingly rare, my lord, reserved only for the most respected archives. There is most likely one to be found in the cathedral in Couravel. It’s also possible Ascendant Hilbert has one in his personal archive in Callintor. He and Aspirant Viera kept up a lively correspondence regarding the more obscure texts in Covenant lore.”

  Hilbert. A name I recalled well, but not with any fondness. “Thank you, Supplicant,” I said. “You have been very helpful.”

  “Just a novice, my lord.” She bowed her head, adding in a reverent whisper, “But greatly honoured to serve the Anointed Lady.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. Your name?”

  More blinking of overlarge eyes, this time accompanied by a startled frown. “C-Corlina, my lord, noviciate custodian.”

  “Well, you were yesterday. Today you’re Supplicant Corlina, senior librarian of the Covenant Library.” I ignored her stuttered thanks and nodded to the stacks. “Your first task is to provide me with concise but detailed histories of the ducal houses of Albermaine. Your second is to compile a full list of every volume Aspirant Viera stole and places where replacements might be found. I’ll collect it when I return in a few weeks.”

  The history of the Pendroke family she had provided was long on lurid detail regarding their origins as one of many bandit clans inhabiting the famously inhospitable hill country of northern Althiene. For generations the Pendrokes had enriched themselves through a combination of base thievery and hiring themselves out as mercenaries to those they termed “southron weaklings”. All that changed with the rise of King Mathis, First of the Algathinets, who promised more than mere coin in return for loyal service. The Pendrokes’ alliance with the Algathinets had, after several decades of strife, brought them overlordship of all Althiene and all the wealth that entailed. Over the long years of Algathinet dominance, this alliance had proven to be a mutually beneficial arrangement, until Duke Guhlton’s much loved daughter chose to take her own life when Highsahl fell. Now the Pendrokes were a broken dynasty, their sole claim to power resting in the small personage of Lady Ducinda, Duchess Celynne’s daughter. With Ducinda betrothed to the boy King Arthin and most of her immediate relatives slain at the Vale, actual governance of Althiene now lay in the hands of Duke Guhlton’s second cousin, Lord Archel Shelvane. It said much for the authority of the Pendroke family throughout Althiene that Leannor had been obliged to place a blood relative in charge of the duchy. It also told me something of Shelvane’s character. What manner of man serves the woman who broke the compact of parley to slay the head of his own family?