any case? It’s a surprise the city didn’t all know before we arrived.’
Vesna spurred his horse into a canter and broke away from the column, covering the ground quickly. A regiment of penitents had formed up around the fountain-statue of Evaole at the centre of the Barbican Square. Vesna took in the whole scene with a single glance: the Palace gates were shut and archers stood ready on the battlements above. The rest of the square was deserted.
The penitents looked nervous, shifting restlessly while the priests in charge of them bristled at his arrival — or one of them did at least; the other was a priest of Karkarn, of middling rank by the hems of his scarlet robes. His reaction had been one of opposites; stepping boldly forward, then faltering, most likely when he saw the teardrop on Vesna’s face.
‘Count Vesna, the city rejoices in your return,’ announced the other priest, somehow contriving to sound disapproving of what he’d just said. He was a man of Nartis, and as tall as Vesna, though he lacked a warrior’s muscle. His features were small and rounded with cheeks like a baby’s, but his expression was rapacious.
‘Really?’ Vesna said in a dead tone and looked around. ‘I didn’t notice anyone celebrating. Is that what you’re doing here?’
‘No, my Lord, we are here on the orders of the High Cardinal himself — ’
‘To besiege the Palace?’ Vesna broke in, recognising the pious tones of a fanatic; it was easy enough these days.
‘To ensure the rule of law and the will of the Gods are done,’ the priest snapped back. ‘The abomination Chief Steward Lesarl has installed in the Palace must be driven out, along with the Chief Steward himself. The impious ways of that wicked man have forced our hand, and we stand here in defence of the entire Farlan tribe, against the machinations of inhumans and all outsiders.’
‘Last stand of the faithful, eh?’ Vesna growled. ‘I was present at one of those in Scree. I can tell you: it brought us only hurt.’
‘Unmen Dors!’ hissed the priest of Karkarn, ‘perhaps it is time we left?’
‘Leave?’ Dors shrieked at his fellow unmen, ‘and disobey the orders of the High Cardinal, the voice of our Gods himself?’
‘Enough,’ Vesna shouted, loud enough to make even the fanatic hesitate. The penitents were staring at Vesna with increasing apprehension. He knew his reputation as a warrior wasn’t the cause; it was the effect of Karkarn’s blood flowing through his veins. Time to use that divine authority.
‘Unmen Dors,’ Vesna continued in a quieter voice, ‘you will lead your troops away from this place and instruct the High Cardinal they are not to return. You will do this now.’
‘You do not issue the cults with orders,’ Dors squeaked with outrage, ‘you have no authority over us! It is our duty to see the abomination is removed from the seat of power and prevented from issuing his monstrous orders!’
Vesna didn’t bother to respond; there was no reasoning with a fanatic. He felt something flicker inside him, something stir and grow. A coppery taste bloomed on his tongue and the Land grew suddenly sharper, each line and shadow more defined. He felt shadows spill from his shoulders like a mantle of boiling darkness and a sudden surge of rushing power flowed through his limbs.
The shadows cascaded all around and flooded the cobbled square around his horse. Vesna took a slow, deep breath and twitched back his red cloak to reveal the iron-clad arm. Tight, twisting energies snaked around the black-iron plates and Vesna saw Unmen Dors’ eyes widen.
‘Get out of my way and take your mercenaries with you,’ Vesna snarled, feeling his face flicker as he spoke — the spirit of the God of War was coming closer to the surface. The ruby teardrop blazed with crimson light and cast a bloody corona around Vesna’s head.
He felt the reverberations of his voice in his mortal bones; the whole of Barbican Square appeared to shudder with every syllable. The unmen’s resolve collapsed and he staggered backwards, his hands raised as though to protect himself from a physical blow. The priest of Karkarn sank to his knees, white-faced and terrified.
The penitents, all mercenaries, no doubt, shrank back. Those among them who prayed would pray to Karkarn, and none would doubt the God’s presence now. They began to shuffle away while Dors still cringed under Vesna’s stare, but the tall priest was stirred to action when he heard the scrabbling footsteps of the penitents