“It’s hard to describe,” the Eithlisch said. He paused, brows creasing in consternation that bordered on fear. “Something is happening north of here. An accumulation of vaerith.”

  “Evadine has power, you know that. The Malecite’s power, and she awaits our coming. Within days this army will meet the Ascendant Host.” I let out a long, weary sigh. “And a bloody day it will be.”

  “I feel your dread woman, Alwyn Scribe, and it is a wonder to me that you failed to perceive the depths of her malice. But now I sense something more. An alignment of paths, a junction where fate meets fate and all futures are decided. And I know not how it will end.”

  Fear ruled his features now, his eyes wide and staring. It was so utterly unlike all I knew of him that I found myself backing away.

  “There has never been a war with a certain outcome,” I told him. “But we are strong, in number and in resolve. I wondered if this army would stand when battle dawned and today I had my answer. We will march to Castle Ambris, defeat our enemy, and there I will claim my son.” I inclined my head and turned to go. “As for now, I have a somewhat pressing need to get drunk…”

  “I note you make no mention of killing her,” the Eithlisch observed. I refused to pause, striding off into the dark, hoping the journey to my tent and the brandy within would be made without spectral interruption.

  Towards the evening of the next day’s march the long, green swathe of the Shavine Forest crested the northern horizon. Tiler and the two scouts duly appeared on the road shortly after with a fulsome account of the Ascendant Queen’s dispositions at Castle Ambris.

  “Somewhere between fifteen to twenty thousand in all,” he said. “Encamped about the castle. Mostly infantry, so far as we could tell. A real jumbled bag too. There’s a big mob of barely trained churls with pitchforks, axes and such, as well as Covenant Host veterans.”

  “The state of the siege?” I asked.

  “No engines, but they’re busy digging trenches. Judging by the bodies around the walls, it looks like they tried to storm the place early on and suffered for it.” Tiler’s narrow features tightened into a grim frown. “Then there’s the gallows.”

  “Gallows?”

  “A dozen of them lined up on a platform out of arrow reach of the main gate, a body dangling from each one. Seems the False Queen captured a bunch of churls loyal to Duchess Lorine. She’s been hanging twelve a day since the siege began.”

  Our mission is greater than us, she had said once. Did she still believe that or had her mind now slipped fully into vindictive insanity? “All right,” I told Tiler. “Get some rest…”

  “There’s, uh,” Tiler cast a meaningful glance over his shoulder at the forest, “something else, Captain. We found an emissary waiting where the road joins the forest. That Rhianvelan Supplicant bitch. All alone, if you can believe it. She’s carrying a parley flag, otherwise I’d’ve killed her on the spot.”

  “Her message?” I asked.

  “Says she’ll speak only to the Scribe.”

  “Very well.” I started towards Uthren. “May as well see what she has to say.”

  “It won’t be good, whatever it is,” Juhlina advised. “Best if you just let me go and kill her.”

  “Such is not the act of a lord commanding an army engaged in a crusade of righteous justice.” Mounting Uthren, I trotted to her side as she climbed on to the back of her paelah. “But,” I added, leaning closer, “should I scratch my chin at any point, feel at liberty to split her skull open.”

  Supplicant Ildette’s demeanour of rigid, glaring defiance would have been more impressive but for the way her horse, unnerved by the paelah, fidgeted in constant agitation. I felt no inclination towards civility nor the usual ritualised exchanges common to such occasions. Nor did she. Hatred for the man who had killed her brother was writ large upon the woman’s features. Although, given the depth of her fanatical attachment to Evadine, I doubted her expression would have been any less fierce if I’d let the bastard live.

  “State your business,” I said, resting my hands on the pommel of Uthren’s saddle.

  “My queen sends a gift,” she replied, mouth twisting with enjoyment of the moment as she reached for something in her lap. Her hands moved with too much rapidity for Juhlina’s liking. Her paelah lurched forward, Juhlina raising her warhammer for a killing stroke. Ildette’s mount, already fearful, reared before the blow could land, tipping its rider from its back before wheeling about and galloping off into the forest.

  “Hold!” I barked at Juhlina as she drew her arm back for a swipe at the dismounted Ildette. I saw that her hands held no weapon. Instead, she clutched a small canvas bundle. “Bring that to me.”

  Ildette and Juhlina exchanged glares of mutual loathing as the Widow used the spike of her warhammer to snag the bundle and lift it from the Supplicant’s grasp. Even before I unravelled it, I felt a sickening certainty at what I would find. An accumulation of vaerith, the Eithlisch had said, and, as ever, he hadn’t been wrong. The canvas fell away to reveal a sack of rough, homespun cloth into which two holes had been cut to create a crude mask.

  “If the Scribe does not present himself alone at Castle Ambris within ten days,” Ildette said, getting to her feet, “the witch dies. If his army enters the Shavine Forest, she dies.”

  “How…” My voice failed me before I summoned the will to force the words from my lips. “How did you capture her?”

  “Ask nothing of me, traitor,” Ildette said. “You have my queen’s summons. Answer it or no. For my part, I should greatly enjoy watching the witch burn.” She afforded me a final, mocking bow then strode back along the King’s Road into the gloomy refuge of the woods. I remain proud of the fact that I didn’t tell Juhlina to go and retrieve her head.

  “I would forbid this,” Leannor mused, “if I thought you would heed me.”

  I had intended to slip away in the small hours of the morning, but, following Ildette’s departure, Juhlina had gone straight to the princess regent with a fulsome account of our parley. Ehlbert and Roulgarth duly appeared at my tent shortly after with a summons to the royal presence.

  “Forbid it anyway,” Ayin said, her distress causing her to forget formality. She stepped from her place at Leannor’s side, regarding me with a face so stricken by concern I found it hard to look upon.

  “I have to go,” I told her, voice pitched in gentle solicitation that utterly failed to allay her fears.

  “She’ll kill you!” Ayin’s frantic gaze swung from one face to another, seeking support. “You all know this.”

  “I find it hard to argue the point, Scribe,” Roulgarth said. “And this army puts much stock in its commander.”

  “They’ll put just as much stock in you, I’m sure, my lord.”

  Roulgarth’s demeanour was a good deal more grim at the prospect of my demise than I would have expected. “I doubt it. After your unwise antics at the bluffs, it’s hard to contest with a legend. Nor do I think much of our prospects of holding them in check while you ride off to certain execution.”

  “The Caerith won’t linger here either,” the Eithlisch rumbled. His bulk occupied a good portion of the royal tent, and even then he was obliged to stoop so as not to disturb the overhead canvas. This was the first council he had attended and it was strange, even comical to see him so ill at ease. “Once they learn the Doenlisch is in the dread woman’s clutches, they will march to her aid.”

  “Then don’t tell them,” I said.

  He spared me a withering glance. “I am not the only soul with vaerith here. Others have already sensed what I sense. It won’t be long before they understand the cause. Besides, I do not lie to my people. That I leave to your kind.”

  “If you can’t halt them, at least delay them,” I said, turning back to Leannor. “The Crown Host too, for as long as you can. That is all I ask, Majesty. As for the certitude of my death, I do not believe that to be the False Queen’s object.”

  “If she’s not going to kill you,” Juhlina said, fixing me with a hard accusing stare, “what is she going to do?”

  “Attempt to win me to her cause. When she fails—” I shrugged “—then, in truth, I know not what she’ll do. I do know she will kill the Doenlisch if I am not there to stop it, and that I will not allow.”

  “This Doenlisch, you speak of,” Leannor said. “Our people know her as the Sack Witch, do they not?”

  “They do, Majesty. We thought her a pedlar of charms and remedies, but to the Caerith she is far more than that.” I glanced at the Eithlisch. “Their reaction should any harm befall her will be… extreme in nature.”

  “And you will trade your life for hers? You owe her so much?”

  “It is not a question of debt or obligation.” I hesitated. The bond that existed between myself and the Sack Witch was hard to explain, even to myself. “It is my belief that she does good in this world. Such a soul must be preserved.”

  Leannor sighed and settled back on her throne-like chair. It was a plain, solidly made thing fashioned by one of the more skilled carpenters to march with the Crown Host, lacking the grandeur and finery of the throne where Leannor’s brother had once sat. Still, I fancied she conveyed a far more regal presence in this small tent perched on that chair than King Tomas ever had in his most impressive chamber and gilded finery. It was not an inherent quality either, rather an accumulation of authority and experience earned through calamity and twisting fortunes. Up until this point, my service to this woman had been a convenience, something forged through common purpose. Now, I felt for the first time that she might actually be equal to the task of bringing peaceful governance to this ever troubled land. Her truculent son was another matter, but one best set aside for later.

  “Very well,” the princess regent said. “Lord Alwyn Scribe, I hereby commission you to carry a royal missive to the False Queen Evadine Courlain. She is commanded to disband her army and surrender her person for judgement under Crown law on charges of high treason and mass murder. News of your mission will be announced to the Crown Host one day after your departure. After that, I make you no promises as to how long it will take them to march upon Castle Ambris, with or without my leave.”

  I nodded and turned to the Eithlisch. “Can you hold back the Caerith for a day?”

  “What surety do I have that you will preserve the Doenlisch if I do?”

  “None, save the promise that I will do all I can to save her.”

  The muscles of his broad features tensed and a vein pulsed in his temple, evidence of a fierce internal struggle. “One day,” he said, fixing me with a glower. “But know, when that day is done, they will follow you with all the speed they can muster. The toalisch are swift but the Paelith are swifter, even through a forest. And I will ride with them.”

  I departed that night, keen to make use of all the time allowed me. Juhlina, Ayin and the scouts insisted on providing an escort into the forest. Uthren set a steady but not excessive pace until the sky grew fully dark whereupon we made camp. The mood around the fire was understandably sombre, made worse by the frequency with which Ayin succumbed to tears. I found it both unnerving and aggravating.

  “Can’t you sing, instead?” I asked as she crouched in miserable contemplation of the campfire.

  “No!” she snapped back, her recently acquired ladylike poise replaced by juvenile peevishness. Wiping angrily at her eyes, she got up and stalked off into the gloom-shrouded trees.

  “She doesn’t understand why you’re doing this,” Juhlina said. “But then, neither do I.”

  “I’m doing it for the same reason you once kicked a line of men from a battlement to have their necks snapped.” I regretted both my tone and my words the instant they escaped my lips, wincing at the hurt I saw on her face. “Sorry,” I sighed, moving closer. “In truth, I think I knew it was going to come to this. This is a road I have no choice but to travel.”

  “Like what the Caerith call Cairh.” I heard a reluctant, bitter concession in her voice, a knowledge that there was no turning me from this path. “You go to meet your fate.”

  “If you like.” I reached into my jerkin, extracting the leather-bound bundle secreted there. “I must ask you to do something for me, something that will be very hard.”

  I thought she might recoil from it, but the sight of the stone feather as I undid the bundle’s ties stirred only puzzlement in her brow. “I thought you needed to take it to her,” she said. “Perhaps kill her with it.”

  “I’d never get close enough. Her guards are sure to search me. I think it would be best if it didn’t fall into her hands. Besides—” I touched a tentative finger to the spiked vanes, wondering why so powerful a thing should feel so very ordinary “—I think it served its purpose at the bluffs.”

  Juhlina nodded and reached for the feather, pausing when I spoke on.

  “Carrying this is no easy thing. It may not afflict you the way it does me. I don’t know. But if it does…”

  “Then it does,” she muttered, taking the feather and its coverings. She regarded it with a brief, wary scrutiny before binding it up and consigning it to her pack.

  “If… I don’t return to reclaim it,” I said, meeting her eyes to ensure she saw the seriousness of my intent, “have Toria sail you to the deepest portion of ocean she knows, and throw it in.”

  I leaned closer, planting a kiss on her lips. She accepted it but didn’t return it. Nor did she say anything when I rose and went to mount Uthren.

  “Still hours till dawn, Captain,” Tiler said.

  “Time I need to make full use of,” I replied. It was strange to watch this man, one I despised not so long ago, fidget and fumble for words of parting to someone he fully expected never to see again, at least not alive.

  “The Paelith will be along soon enough,” I told him, tone brisk to spare him the trial of concocting a farewell. Unbuckling my sword, I tossed it to him. “Ride with them, and bring this to me at Castle Ambris.”

  “We will, Captain.” He and the other scouts all went to one knee, each bowing low.

  “Whatever happens from here on,” I said, “consider yourselves washed clean of the crimes we shared, or as clean as you’re ever going to get.”

  I spared them a brief smile and Uthren started towards the road. As he did so, Ayin came rushing from the dark, pressing herself against my leg. “I wrote you a song,” she said, staring up at me with bright, moist eyes. “So you have to come back. Otherwise, you’ll never hear it.”

  I reached down to cup her face, thumbing the tears from her cheek. “Sing it even if I don’t,” I said. “It’s likely to be the only testament I’ll get.”

  Uthren spurred to a gallop then, pulling me from her and thundering off along the darkened track of the King’s Road.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  I had known Uthren to be a creature of immense power but the speed with which he bore me towards Castle Ambris was something far beyond my experience. Miles of darkened forest passed in a black blur that shifted to grey as dawn light caressed the trees. I could only speculate as to how much this beast knew or understood of our mission. However, as he galloped for hours with no sign of tiring, I felt a growing sensation of being pulled rather than carried. Something was drawing Uthren towards our goal. I recalled what the Eithlisch had said about the paelahs’ connection to the Caerith, how the origin of the bond remained a mystery. Now, I suspected the Doenlisch might have had a hand in it. Her true age was incalculable, and might even reach all the way back to the aftermath of the Scourge. If so, her vaerith apparently carried enough power to seep into the blood of successive generations of these great horses.

  Thanks to Uthren’s preternatural swiftness, a journey that should have taken three full days of hard riding took little more than one. When the moon had risen to a bright disc, I saw the flicker of the Covenant Host’s campfires through the trees. While my mount appeared tireless, I was not. Several times I had snapped awake after succumbing to exhaustion. On each occasion, however, Uthren had managed to keep me in the saddle. Now, with our destination so close, I began to haul on his reins and, this time at least, he consented to halt.

  Once I climbed down from his back, Uthren reared, letting out a disgruntled snort. Reaching out to pat a calming hand to his flank I felt his muscles twitch, looking up to see a confused glint in his eye. I stood back as he started forward then retreated several steps, tossing his head in annoyance, as if repelled by an unseen barrier.

  “She doesn’t want you getting any closer, eh?” I asked, inclining my head at the campfires.

  Uthren gave another snort and scraped the earth with his hooves then, with a final glance in my direction, he wheeled about and galloped off into the gloom.

  The siege lines surrounding Castle Ambris were easily discerned even at night, being illuminated by the many torches that blazed atop the battlements. As I drew closer, I made out the telltale marks of a recent assault; black streaks on the walls with the ground betwixt trenches and wall rich in the detritus of battle. Ladders lay broken upon a field littered by corpses and speckled with the fletchings of arrows and bolts. The massive iron and oak gate appeared undamaged and the banner of the Blousset family rose high above the walls, signals that the mighty seat of the Shavine duchy was not even close to falling. The gallows Tiler had spoken of were also easily identified, the bodies they held swaying in the night air. Most were full grown, but two were smaller and so swayed more.

  However, the most curious aspect of the scene, one that became more potent as I approached the outer picket of the Covenant Host, was the smell. All battlefields stink to varying degrees. Those that take place in open field tend to reek of disturbed earth and the shit of both people and horses, taking on the sickly tang of corruption in the aftermath. Sieges produce a melange of smoke, dung, and the mingled aromas of many cook-fires. This one was different, for it reminded me more of the slums of Couravel, a musty, unpleasant amalgam of unwashed bodies and uncovered latrines. It told of a slovenliness that would have had Swain reaching for his whip.