The source of the stink became apparent upon encountering the first pickets, a pair of Ascendant Host halberdiers who exuded the kind of odour that arises only from weeks spent in the same heavy, part-armoured garb. They also sported unruly beards and tendrils of unwashed hair coiled from beneath the rim of their helms. Still, they weren’t lacking in soldierly awareness. Both were quick to level their weapons at me as I appeared in the circle of light cast by their torch. From the instant snarl that came to their lips, it appeared I required no introduction.

  “Traitorous filth!” the larger of the two greeted me, stepping forward to deliver a threatening jab with his halberd. His companion moved to the side, wary but equally hostile.

  “Alwyn Scribe,” I said, affording them a courteous bow. “Come in accordance with the Ascendant Queen’s summons. I believe I’m expected.”

  They bound my hands behind my back, tighter than was comfortable, but were otherwise assiduous in not doing me any injury. More soldiers were summoned to provide an escort, all just as foul smelling and unkempt as the two pickets.

  “Don’t you bother with inspections nowadays?” I enquired in disgust, earning a growling response from their sergeant.

  “The traitor will shut his vile mouth or I’ll shut it for him.”

  He was a powerfully built fellow I vaguely recalled from the assault on Athiltor, an event that now seemed a very long time ago. I wrinkled my nose at his breath as he loomed closer, all baleful eyes and bared yellow teeth, then drove my forehead into his nose. As he jerked back, I cast an inquisitive gaze across the faces of the other soldiers. They all had their halberds poised for a killing thrust, but none seemed about to deliver it. They could have used the staves of their weapons to beat me down, but they didn’t do that either. Even the sergeant, when he was done snorting and spitting blood, responded with only yet more baleful glaring rather than the expected flurry of punches.

  “No harm shall be done to the Traitor Scribe, eh?” I asked, forcing a grin to mask my concern. That they were so bound by Evadine’s word was not a good sign. For all their hatred, I saw a strange light in the eyes of these men. It was much the same gleam I noted even during the early sermons of the Anointed Lady, the cast of those lost in devotion. But then it had been momentary, subsiding into some semblance of rationality when the sermon ended. Now it seemed to have permanent possession of the soldiers of the Ascendant Host. Was this why they stank so? Even the basic ablutions of military life were a distraction from devotion to their Martyr queen.

  “Enough dawdling,” I said, putting an authoritative snap in my voice. “Let’s get where we’re going, shall we?”

  The camp they led me through was a malodorous mire of rutted, muddy tracks winding between tents arrayed in irregular order. Dirty, unshaven men and straggle-haired women lined the route, voices raised in a chorus of condemnatory abuse. However, like the soldiers who flanked me, their rage didn’t erupt into violence, so complete was their adherence to the word of the Risen Martyr.

  “You will burn, traitor!” one woman screeched at me. I could see her breasts through the ragged blouse she wore, not that she seemed to care. Others were even more ill-attired, bare-chested men and half-naked women crowding in to add their voices to the rising tumult.

  “Heretic! Oathbreaker! Burn him!”

  Their frenzied detestation rose to such a pitch that I started to fear it would overcome their obedience to Evadine’s will. Several times, my escort was obliged to push away the more enthusiastic tormentor, the cordon of soldiers tightening around me as the crowd thickened and their discordant hate inevitably coalesced into a chant.

  “Burn him! Burn him! BURN HIM!”

  Then, with a jarring suddenness, it all stopped. The chant choked off in mid-word and those around me, soldiers and mob alike, sank to their knees. We had progressed to a point near the centre of the camp where a large tent sat atop a low rise. A single figure stood there, cloaked and cowled, but all present felt the weight of her regard. She said nothing and made no gesture, merely turning and disappearing into the tent, but after that, the mob remained on their knees and the guards escorted me on in the wordless silence of the utterly cowed.

  Upon reaching the tent, the sergeant, blood still trickling from his busted nose, pulled aside the flap and jerked his head for me to enter. I noted the care he took not to look inside. Once again, I grimaced at the stench of him as I passed by. Inside, Evadine had removed her cloak and stood rocking a large, ornately carved cot. Her attention was fixed on the cot’s occupant and she didn’t look up as I entered. Unlike her soldiers, she was clean, the light cotton shift she wore beneath her cloak unstained. Still, I saw lines in her face that hadn’t been there at our parting, small but perceptible hardening around her mouth and eyes. As was ever the case with her, I found they made her more attractive. Even steeped in countless sins, Evadine Courlain was incapable of not being beautiful.

  “Your soldiers are a disgrace,” I informed her.

  Evadine didn’t answer at first, continuing to rock the cot, the gaze she directed at what lay within one of studious fascination rather than love. “Don’t you wish to see your son, Alwyn?” she enquired. I found her voice a distinct contrast to the grating, agonised mix of rage and betrayal from our last meeting in Couravel. Now she spoke with calm reflection, tinged with a note of weariness that bordered on cynicism.

  “Careful,” I warned, staying put. “Your deranged congregation might overhear.” I did indeed wish to look upon the child in that cot, but knew in this moment he was but another tool in this woman’s armoury. In him, I knew she saw the key to restoring my loyalty. “Wouldn’t want them knowing the fruit of your womb is but an outlaw’s bastard, would you?”

  “They know what I wish them to know and question it not.” She turned her gaze to me for the first time and I saw with surprise that she had a smile for me. It was a sad smile, full of regret I thought genuine. “I find it… trying, Alwyn, not to be questioned, something you never shied from. So here you have your last chance to do so. Ask of me any question and I shall endeavour to answer. But first, please, look at your son.”

  I approached the cot on unsteady legs, though it wasn’t from hours on Uthren’s heaving back. I didn’t know what I expected to find when I beheld the child we had made. Something monstrous, perhaps? A vile creature twisted by the malice of its mother’s soul. Instead, I saw only an infant at slumber, one tiny hand clutching his coverings while the other pushed a minuscule thumb into his mouth. Just a babe, like countless others, yet in that moment the most perfect and beautiful thing I had ever seen.

  “He sleeps well,” Evadine said. “Fusses little, though when the mood takes him he can scream loud enough to wake the dead. And he’s clever, even at so young an age, I see it in him. The way he looks at everything, so bright, so curious. We made something wonderful, did we not, Alwyn?”

  I strained against my bonds, wanting badly to reach into the cot, touch a finger to the child’s hand on the covers, feel him grasp it. Evadine, I knew, saw my need but made no move to cut the binding from my wrists. Regretful she was, but cruelty was not beyond her either. So, I could only gaze upon the child, lost in the wonder of something so perfect arising from a union as imperfect as ours. “Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, we did.”

  “Which compels me to ask, why did you turn from us? Why have you allied with our enemies?”

  Looking up, I saw her face bore the same sadness, but it had hardened somewhat, the first gleam of recrimination showing in her eyes. “You promised I would be the one to ask questions,” I said.

  She stiffened, features hardening further. “Then ask?”

  “Where is the Sack Witch?”

  She raised an eyebrow in caustic surprise. “So you truly did place yourself in my hands just for the sake of a Caerith charm spinner?”

  “She’s more than that, as I think you know. And I ask again, where is she?”

  “Securely bound, well guarded, and unharmed. For her to remain in such condition depends largely on you.”

  “How did you capture her?”

  Both eyebrows rose now, a small laugh escaping her lips. “Capture her? You imagine I have spent all these many months scouring the realm for one heretic? I didn’t capture her, Alwyn. She walked into this camp two weeks ago and requested an audience with the Ascendant Queen.”

  “One you didn’t grant, I’d wager.”

  Her humour faded and I saw a small twitch of discomfort on her brow. “I have more pressing matters at hand than to be gabbled at by a Caerith mystic—”

  “No,” I cut in. “That wasn’t it. You were afraid, or rather something inside you was afraid to face her. I fancy you haven’t even spent one moment in her presence.”

  Her face twitched again, more violently this time.

  “You feel it now, don’t you?” I persisted, stepping closer to her. “The thing that commands you. You’ve probably always felt it but told yourself it was the Seraphile, despite how ugly it feels, despite how it grew with every crime you committed, every bloody step on the journey that brought you here…”

  She had always been a strong woman, and skilled in the use of violence, but the blow she struck me in that instant told of a woman changed, altered. Her hand slammed into the centre of my chest with the force of a battering ram. Fortunately, she chose not to make a fist otherwise I doubt I would have survived it. I felt my feet lose contact with the carpet, all the air in my lungs expelled in an instant before I landed on my back several feet away, retching for breath, my vision dimming. Of all the many times I had been hit, only Sir Althus ever came closer to killing me with one blow.

  I regained my senses with an infant’s cries loud in my ears and a hard flare of pain in my chest. Spitting bile, I sat up, finding Evadine holding our son, a scowl of admonition on her brow.

  “You’ve upset him,” she said, every bit the chiding wife to a foolish husband. Had I entertained any doubts as to the fulsomeness of her madness, they dissolved in that instant. The Evadine Courlain I had known was gone now, replaced by a deranged soul who imagined herself a righteous queen in service to the divine. I knew the wall of delusion she had raised around herself was too strong a barrier to be broken by mere words, but still I felt compelled to try.

  “Don’t…” I began in a croaking rasp. Spitting, I tried again. “Don’t you ever pause to think on all the deaths you have caused? All the corpses in your wake? Couravel and Farinsahl burned, along with Martyrs know how many villages. Did you see the carnage you ordained at the Lady’s Reach or were you content to simply orchestrate the slaughter from afar? You have murdered children, Evadine…”

  “I have done what the Seraphile required of me!” she snapped, loud enough to cause the child in her arms to redouble his wailing. Sighing in annoyance, she held him closer, swaying gently from side to side as she whispered calming words. “Shhh now, Stevan. Mother and Father are only playing.”

  Suddenly, I found the sight of her holding him repulsive, a disgusting parody of motherhood. “What will you tell him?” I demanded, groaning as I struggled to my feet. “In years to come? How his mother began the Second Scourge she swore to avert?”

  “No,” she replied, voice clipped but calm. “I will tell him the truth. His father was once a good man seduced into evil ways by the heathen Caerith. And so, I punished them with fire and sword, for the crimes of taking the man I loved from me and their malign service to the Malecite. And I’ll start with that witch you’re so fond of.”

  I sagged in weary despair, shaking my head. “You ensure only your destruction. You don’t know what she is, what the Caerith will do should you harm her. Wilhum died killing Viruhlis, did you know that? Do you even care? You create vengeful enemies with every step you take on this road of chaos. It’s over, Evadine, you just haven’t realised it yet.”

  She afforded me a look that mixed pity and resignation, still rocking the child in her arms as his cries subsided. “You forget, Alwyn, I have seen what will come. I have seen the witch burn. I have seen armies that dwarf the Ascendant Host carry my banner across a thousand miles of righteous conquest. Ascarlia, the eastern kingdoms, the lands across the southern seas, all shall be united in the Covenant. It will be his mission, in time.” She raised Stevan up, the coverings falling away to reveal a happy face, his wails from seconds before abruptly forgotten. His cheeks bulged as he giggled and waved his arms in my direction. “And I saw you at his side. So, I won’t kill you, Alwyn. Nor do I think I could, for my love does not die so easily as yours.”

  Would that Mother was here to see this… “Never,” I hissed at her as the vision ached in my head. It occurred to me that the glimpse of the future I had been gifted may well be a mirror of her own. But where she saw wondrous triumph, I saw a destiny I was determined to avoid. “I’ll have no part of any crusade. I’ve walked that road before and this is where it’s led us.”

  “To the precipice of glory.” Evadine gave a grim smile and, pressing a kiss to Stevan’s head, settled him in his cot. “Glory that will be his in time.”

  Straightening, she turned and barked an order which had the broken-nosed sergeant hurriedly pulling aside the tent flap. “Take Lord Scribe to his witch. Even one such as her should have the comfort of friends before just execution. And when you stack the fire, build it high. We burn her come the dawn.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  The Sack Witch had been imprisoned in the blackened and part roofless inn that comprised the only building still standing in the ruin of Ambriside village. The cluster of cottages and workshops were all either burned or torn down to their foundations, the lanes littered with broken crockery and furnishings. I saw no bodies, meaning Lorine had wisely commanded the inhabitants take shelter in the castle. To my surprise, upon being shoved into the gloomy disordered mess of the inn, I saw light gleaming on a row of bottles behind the bar. Any other army would have looted and drunk the lot, but not the Ascendant Host.

  “We’ve orders not to spill your blood, traitor,” the broken-nosed sergeant growled at me, the intended intimidation diluted somewhat by the nasal burr with which he spoke. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t smash your feet with a hammer if you take one step outside these walls.”

  “You’re most likely going to die tomorrow,” I told him, wincing at the ache in my chest. “Think on that when you’re building the fire.”

  He growled again, glaring in baleful impotence as he retreated to slam the inn door closed. Looking around at the varied shadows, I saw no movement that might signify another occupant and felt a moment of panic. If she’s already dead… But then I heard the soft rustle of cloth and my eyes detected a shift in the shadows near the cold and empty hearth. Moving closer, I found her perched on a chair in calm repose. Unlike me, she hadn’t been bound, her hands resting in her lap, uncovered face regarding me in warm welcome.

  “Alwyn,” she said. As she smiled, I saw the mottled bruises that discoloured her features.

  “She had them beat you,” I said, moving to crouch at her side.

  “Actually no,” she said. “Her followers got somewhat excited when I appeared. Her captains were obliged to rescue me. What use is a dead hostage, after all?” She smiled again and gestured to the shadows at her back. “You’ll find another chair back there somewhere, if you would care to join me.”

  “I would. But first—” I rose and went to the bar “—I think I would like a drink.”

  After several attempts, I managed to dislodge one of the bottles behind the bar, sinking to my haunches to retrieve one of the glass shards with my bound hands. “It occurs to me,” I grunted as I worked the fragment’s edge along the cord about my wrist, “that I have never learned your name. Seems a trifle insulting to call you Sack Witch, and I would find addressing you as Doenlisch overly formal.”

  “I had a name once,” she replied. “But it means nothing now. Feel at ease to call me what you wish.”

  “No.” I hissed in relief as the glass completed its cut and the cord fell away. “That won’t do.” I stood to inspect the bottles, removing the stoppers to sniff the contents until I found the least acrid brandy. Retrieving two goblets from the floor, I returned to the fireplace.

  “Do you indulge perchance?” I asked, setting the goblets down on the hearth and pouring a measure into both.

  “It has been…” she paused, brow wrinkling in calculation “… at least two centuries since I partook of liquor. I wonder if the taste has improved.”

  “I doubt it.” I handed her a goblet and went in search of the chair she mentioned. It was a poorly made, rickety thing that creaked under my weight. Still, after the day’s exertions I was grateful for any relief. We drank in silence for a time, the Sack Witch grimacing at her first sip, but choosing not to put the brandy aside. I soon drained my goblet and reached for the bottle.

  “I had thought,” she said, “you would have many questions for me.”

  “I do, but I’ve become tired of meaningless answers.” My chair squeaked as I settled back into it. “I found out where that book came from, but I suppose you know that. Do you still have it?”

  “It’s in safe hands far from here. I thought it best kept from the mother of your child.”

  Was there a slightly acidic edge to her voice then? A hint of reproach? “You knew this would all come to pass,” I pointed out. “It’s there in the book, is it not?”

  “Much of it. But not all. Some things are different. I told you before about the vagaries of fate.”

  “Is this in those pages?” I waved a hand at our surroundings. “You, me, her, all here at this moment? Your impending death, I mean to say.”

  “Yes.” She sipped more brandy, her grimace less pronounced this time.

  “And yet you came anyway.”

  “Some fates can never be avoided. Some tangles in the unseen skein of the world will always snare you, regardless of how hard you struggle.”