A siege then, I reasoned. I halted Blackfoot atop the highest hill, peering at the distant grey haze that marked the capital. The prospect of investing such a place was daunting to say the least. We had no engines or any with the skills to build them. While in Couravel, I had made discreet enquiries as to the location of Master Aurent Vassier, the artisan who constructed the mighty contrivances that pierced the walls of Highsahl. It transpired that Aurent, always a clever fellow, had disappeared from the city along with his family months before. I hoped he had found some quiet corner of the world to settle in, untroubled by demands for yet more deadly devices.

  Battering rams? I wondered, eyes straying to the stretch of woodland below the ridge. And a great many ladders. I judged that the sheer scale of the city might work to our advantage. It would take an army many times the likely size of Leannor’s forces to cover every yard of the battlement. Send the churls to attack in several different places, I decided, a scheme starting to form in my mind, much as it had before the walls of Highsahl. Force Leannor to divide her strength, then send our best troops at the weakest spot. A smile played upon my lips as I realised Duke Viruhlis would be almost certain to beg the honour of leading the main assault. With any luck, the corpse-faced bastard will get himself killed.

  However, within moments the Widow’s call served to banish my mounting good humour. “They’ve gone.”

  “What?” I asked, watching her trot Parsal, her swift-footed hunting horse, to the crest of the hill.

  “Gone. The lot of them.” She gestured to the city. “The gates are all open. I didn’t want to venture too close for fear of archers on the walls, but I spoke to some folk in that orchard down there. They said the king and his mother marched out two days ago, taking all their soldiers with them on the north-west road. Lot of talk that they’re headed for the Cordwain. Rumour is Luminant Daryhla has barricaded herself in the cathedral, though, along with a great many orthodox loons determined to die rather than surrender it to the Heretic Whore.” She smiled. “Their words, not mine.”

  “The Cordwain,” I repeated. A surprising move, but not lacking in sound judgement. With her plan to eliminate Evadine ruined, Leannor would have been quick to take account of her allies. Rhianvel was plainly against her. Alundia was a war-ravaged waste inhabited by people who would gladly see her dead. The Shavine Marches under Duchess Lorine could hardly be counted upon for loyalty, and neither could the avaricious Duke of Dulsian. That left the nobility of Alberis, Sir Ehlbert and what remained of the Crown Company, and the staunchly loyal but distant Duke Lohrent of the Cordwain. When her scouts brought word of the size of Evadine’s crusade, it would have taken a far stouter, and more foolish, heart than the princess regent’s to stay and gamble on the whim of battle. Luminant Daryhla and her band of fanatics created an unwanted complication. Good sense dictated that we pursue Leannor with all speed, but Evadine would want to seize the cathedral in the name of the Covenant Resurgent. The king and his clever mother had slipped the noose, at least for now.

  “Come,” I said, preparing to turn Blackfoot. “We’d best share our glad tidings.”

  The Widow, however, failed to stir in the saddle. Her face held an expression I’d rarely seen in her: guilt tinged with apology. I knew what she was about to say, yet the words struck me with unexpected force. “This is where we take our leave, Alwyn Scribe.”

  Despite her evident regret, I also saw a resolve in her eyes that made me abandon the impulse to argue. “Finally had enough, eh?” I said instead, forcing a note of good humour.

  “If I hadn’t already, I surely would tomorrow.” She glanced at Couravel. “We’ve seen a city fall before, and I’ve a sense this’ll be worse. The Risen Martyr no longer commands an army, she leads a horde. You know what’s going to happen when they get here. They came for blood, and they’ll have it, battle or no. I’ll take no part in it.”

  I nodded, unable to gainsay her reasoning. I could have pleaded with her, made a heartfelt declaration that we, the steadfast and true soldiers of the Covenant Host, would do what we could to protect the people of Couravel from the storm. But it was a big city, and the crusade was vast. She was right, I knew what was coming.

  “Where will you go?” I asked her.

  “The minstrel had plenty of stories about the eastern kingdoms. Or perhaps I’ll head south, take a ship across the sea. They say there are lands beyond the red deserts filled with all manner of strange and fabulous beasts. War is all ugliness. I think I’d like to see some wonders.” She smiled again, this time mixing both warmth and sadness. “You could come with me.”

  Surprised by the sudden catch in my throat, I coughed before speaking again. “You know I can’t.”

  The smile slipped from her lips, but I saw no recrimination as she lowered her gaze. “I know she is going to destroy you. In soul if not in body. You’ve been a bad man in your time, Alwyn Scribe, as I’ve been a bad woman. But we’ve also done good where we could. From here on, all I see for you is more bad.”

  She turned Parsal about without further delay, trotting to the base of the slope whereupon she spurred to a gallop. I watched horse and rider fade into the woods, catching glimpses as she sped away. Strangely, I found the hope that I might see her again one day was of an equal pitch to the fervent desire that I would not. I felt a discomfiting certainty that, should the Widow and I ever meet again, she would look upon a man undeserving of her regard.

  The blame for the fire that destroyed the ancient cathedral of Couravel has been a source of endless debate. Those who adhere to the creed of the Risen Martyr will avow with absolute conviction that it was started on the express orders of Luminant Daryhla. Faced with the hour of the Ascendant Queen’s triumph, the last leader of the orthodox Covenant determined upon immolation of herself, her followers, and the cathedral along with all its sacred treasures. Algathinet sympathisers are equally fierce in their assertions that it was done either on the instruction of the Malecite Whore, or was just the most heinous act committed by the ravening mob of fanatics she unleashed. For myself, I have no light to shed upon this mystery. All I know is that the cathedral burned that night and I watched it happen.

  As the Widow predicted, there was no holding the crusaders when the news spread that Couravel stood undefended. Evadine had the Covenant companies form disciplined ranks in order to make a dignified entry into the city, but by midday the first fires were already burning. I have come to understand that there is a madness lurking in the hearts of most people, a beast waiting to be unleashed when presented with defenceless prey and the absence of consequences. The Rhianvelan contingent was the first to invade the outlying districts, wreaking random havoc and violence. I believe it was the thickening scent of smoke that drew the rest, triggering a primal urge to take part in a feeding frenzy before the chance faded. As the crusade poured in, the people poured out. Long columns of fleeing townsfolk appeared on the southern road as day slipped into evening and their city burned at their backs.

  I watched disaster unfold from the safety of the ridge where Juhlina had taken her leave. I’ll not pretend to have harboured even the slightest urge to lead the Scout Company into such chaos in the hope that they might defend the defenceless. Had I done so, I have no doubt there wouldn’t have been a company to command by morning. All that awaited us in those fiery streets was death and madness. The youngest among my scouts were plainly resentful of being forced to miss the climax of the Ascendant Queen’s march, but also wise enough to confine their complaints to a few hard glances in my direction. The veterans, by contrast, exhibited mostly relief.

  “Worse than Highsahl, I reckon,” Tiler commented in between gulps of brandy. He hadn’t quite drunk himself into a stupor yet, but the loll of his head and increasingly slurred speech told of an impending collapse into oblivion. Still, guttered as he was, he remained content to sit in place. Even the lure of copious loot hadn’t been enough to shift him. “Flames are…” He trailed off into momentary confusion, eyes dimming before abruptly snapping open. “Taller! Don’t y’think, m’lord?”

  “You’re almost out,” I observed, nodding to the dregs sloshing in his brandy bottle. Reaching into my pack, I extracted a flask of grog and tossed it to him. “Drink up, Sergeant.”

  “Martyrs bless ya’, m’lord.” He knuckled his forehead and did as he was bid, collapsing on to his back after a few gulps.

  “Lord Alwyn.” Quintrell’s grave tone raised my gaze to the city once more in time to see a great blossoming of flame rise from its centre. A dull boom reached us a heartbeat later, the bright orange flower roiling briefly above the smoke before fading. The sight was jarring in its similarity to the vision of long ago I had been gifted in the hollow mountain. The first Scourge. Evadine serves the Malecite…

  “What was that?” Adlar asked. He was the only one not seated, spending the passing hours pacing the hilltop as he stared at the spreading fires with fascinated horror. Unlike the other youngsters in the company, he exhibited no desire to partake of the unfolding calamity.

  “The cathedral, I believe,” I said. “My guess is that Luminant Daryhla had the place stocked with oil, perhaps to fend off an assault. Doesn’t look like it worked.”

  The cathedral roof was visible through the haze now, resembling the blackened ribs of some beast consigned to a firepit as the flames licked away the flesh of tile and wood. Tiler was right, this was far worse than Highsahl. The building would be ash by morning and so would most of Couravel.

  “I don’t understand,” Lilat said. She had sat close to me throughout the night, face set in a constant frown of grim bemusement. She spoke in Caerith, something she hadn’t done for weeks as her command of Albermaine-ish increased. “That place was sacred to your people, was it not? Like the hollow mountain.”

  “It was,” I agreed, eyes lingering on the fast disappearing roof of a structure that had endured for centuries.

  “Then why burn it?”

  I shrugged, resisting an impulse to relieve the unconscious Tiler of the flask I had given him. “Why does a spiteful child throw stones at a cat?”

  This only served to deepen Lilat’s confusion. “Your children throw stones at cats?”

  A shout from the shadowed slope below had us all roused and reaching for weapons, save for the inebriated Tiler. We had heard the clamour of fighting an hour or so past, most likely the crusade colliding with orthodox diehards when they closed upon the cathedral. It wasn’t impossible that some had escaped the city.

  “Hold,” I called out when the archers among us trained their bows on a pair of riders appearing out of the gloom. The perennially sour expression worn by the twin Rhianvelan Supplicants was fully in evidence as they reined in, making me regret my command. Couldn’t see them in the dark, my queen. An unfortunate accident of a kind all too frequent in war.

  “Lord Scribe,” Harldin greeted me with a barely sketched bow. It occurred to me that I had never heard his sister speak once and wondered if she might be mute. Certainly, the way she glowered at me before turning an even more baleful eye upon Lilat spoke as loudly as any words. These two were fond of casting judgemental glances in my direction, but the sight of a Caerith transformed self-righteous pique into simmering rage.

  “What?” I replied without rising. Basic civility felt beyond my grasp at this juncture, and I didn’t bother swallowing a laugh when both of them bridled at the patent insult.

  “The queen commands your presence,” Harldin said, voice clipped with the effort of caging the words he actually wanted to speak. “She awaits you at the cathedral.”

  I considered pointing out that Couravel no longer possessed a cathedral, but saw little point in baiting them further. “Tell her I’ll be along presently.”

  “We are to escort you,” he said. “Alone.”

  The many years since have given me leisure to ponder the faint note of relish that coloured the Supplicant’s tone in that moment. Things may have unfolded very differently if I had paid it more heed. But I was tired, sickened, and my mood darkened by the thought of having to suffer the stench and sights of Couravel’s fate first hand. So, I got wearily to my feet, shaking my head when Lilat rose with me.

  “No. Stay here.”

  “You go, I go,” she insisted, slipping her bow on to her shoulder.

  “The queen said alone, my lord,” Harldin interjected with an impatient snap to his voice. “Your Caerith whore will remain here and not offend the queen’s sight.”

  An angry murmur rose from the Scout Company then, many getting to their feet, weapons in hand. Lilat’s status had never been formally stated, but she had ridden with us long enough to be seen as a comrade. Also, the tale of her actions at the Dire Keep was something of a minor legend among the Covenant Host.

  “Watch your mouth,” young Adlar growled, spinning a knife and drawing an affirming growl from the rest.

  “Leave it,” I told him, casting a hard, commanding glare around the others to ensure they lowered their weapons. Instead of moving to saddle Blackfoot, I headed for the wide trunk of a nearby yew, provoking a tetchy outburst from Harldin.

  “You would have the queen dally further, my lord?”

  “Allow a man a moment to piss, won’t you?” I replied, disappearing behind the yew. While I certainly didn’t pay sufficient notice to the man’s eagerness, it did stir enough caution in me to take a small precaution. I finished my uncomfortable business after a deliberately prolonged interval, then went to saddle Blackfoot. Mounting up, I gave Lilat a reassuring grin which did little to alleviate her agitation.

  “They smell wrong,” she told me, still speaking in Caerith and turning a suspicious eye upon the twin Supplicants. “Eager, like wolves closing upon a wounded stag.”

  “If they try anything, I’ll kill them,” I said simply. “Wait for me here. Whatever happens, don’t go into the city. It’s a bad place for you.”

  I kicked Blackfoot into motion and started down the slope, the Supplicants falling in behind. “One day soon,” I informed Harldin, “you and I are going to have a very meaningful discussion about manners.”

  He replied with a glare that was neither as angry nor as fearful as I would have liked. Another warning I failed to notice on this night filled with folly.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Evadine awaited me in the main square amid a blizzard of swirling embers. The roar of the flames consuming the cathedral rose and waned in concert with a stiff wind sweeping across this benighted city, worsening the fires with every gust. My journey here had been oddly peaceful, albeit veiled in smoke billowing in thick roiling drifts lit by an orange glow, echoing with the crack and tumble of collapsing houses. Fortunately, my twin companions were no more interested in conversing with me than I them, and the largely empty streets instilled a curious sense of serenity. The fires had become so fierce even the crusaders had fled. I heard distant screams here and there, caught glimpses of loot-laden figures, but it was apparent that Couravel had been abandoned to its fate.

  Upon entering the square, I discovered that the royal palace remained intact, untouched by the flames due to some miraculous chance. The contrast with the cathedral it faced had been stark before. Now it was appallingly comical. The towering walls of one of the Covenant’s holiest shrines still stood, but as the blackened flanks of a raging inferno. The charred ribs of the roof had vanished, the building’s innards eaten away entirely. I thought of all the gold-encased relics that had adorned the altar at King Arthin’s coronation, now surely reduced to a pile of melted slag and ashen bone. Still, the sight of it was easier to look upon than the face of the woman I loved.

  I had seen her angry before, but not like this. For Evadine, rage was a rare and brief storm, but the hard intensity of her expression as she watched me rein Blackfoot to a halt was starkly unfamiliar. Had I not known her so intimately, I might have thought she hated me.

  Swain was there too, shoulders slumped, and head lowered, though I saw the shame that made a misery of his face. A cordon of Covenant soldiery lined the square, but too distant for any to hear what might be spoken above the roar of the flames. The twin Supplicants dismounted before I did, closer than I would have preferred. Even before Evadine spoke, I knew what this was about. Swain’s shame said it all. How could she know? After all this time.

  “Will you not kneel before your queen?” she asked me, curt and formal as I continued to sit in the saddle, the hard, rapid thump of my heart paining my chest.

  “Your pardon, Your Majesty.” I felt a very small pulse of pride for the steadiness of my voice, and the absence of a tremble when I climbed from Blackfoot’s back and began to sink to one knee.

  “Actually, don’t,” Evadine instructed. “Stand, my lord. I have questions for you, and should like a clear view of your face as I ask them.”

  I did as she said, remaining still, features as blandly impassive as I could make them. She came closer, halting just out of reach, and I saw that she held a sheaf of parchment in her hand, one I couldn’t help but stare at. She clutched it tight, the pages crumpled in her fist.

  “This?” she asked, raising the sheaf when she noticed my scrutiny. “Always so curious about words on paper, aren’t you, Alwyn? Always so keen on your endless quest for more knowledge. Well—” she unfurled the sheets “—allow me to share this latest treasure, one you went to such lengths to procure.” She shifted her gaze to the parchment. “‘A Partial Translation of The Isidorian Codex, prepared by Supplicant Hilbert Forswith at the request of Lord Alwyn Scribe’.”

  “An important but neglected part of Covenant lore,” I said. “A fine addition to the Covenant Library—”

  “BE!” Evadine’s face quivered as she smothered my voice with her own, the light of the cathedral blaze bright in her unblinking eyes. “SILENT!”

  She stared at me for what felt like an age and, much to my surprise, my fear slipped away under the weight of her gaze. I saw something her rage couldn’t mask: she still loved me. It is the young man’s folly to imagine such a thing offers protection when, in fact, it only ever increases danger.