unsure how that will even be possible without killing every argumentative noble in the tribe.’ Vesna gave a tired laugh. ‘And there are a lot of them!’
‘Then for that reason and several others I call you brother,’ Fernal announced with a smile to share the humour. He gave Vesna a dismissive wave. ‘Go, I need to be alone — how you humans think with the noise of a city all around you I cannot understand. Go and greet your intended; life does not stop with the death of any man.’
Before he went to find Tila, Vesna knew he had one more person to see first. It would take a division of Ghosts to drag him from her side once he was there, but she would understand the delay — indeed, when Vesna went back out onto the training ground, he caught sight of her face, and the little wave she gave told him she had anticipated his next mission.
Amidst the chaos of the training ground it took him a while to work out where to go. He knew Carel was a typical soldier, however long ago he had retired from the Ghosts. In grief they tended to go silent or loud, and drunk in both cases. Even after he’d lost his arm in battle Carel had been a formidable presence in the palace, never more comfortable than when he had a drink and an audience. With his world turned upside down, Vesna guessed the veteran would go the opposite way and seek out silence the way Vesna wanted himself.
‘But he’ll want to work; a man like that can’t sit still for long,’ he said aloud, starting off across the training ground as servants and soldiers parted before him.
The palace forge was the closest of his choices and when Vesna ducked his head inside and peered through the smoke he realised he’d been correct. None of the few men within looked like a marshal, but he spotted Carel’s swordstick propped against a wall.
As he closed the door behind him Vesna felt a tremor in his eyes as they adapted with unnatural speed to the gloom. By the time the door was shut he could see perfectly clearly.
This was the main weapons forge, and Vesna could see it was running at full capacity, in anticipation of the Guards’ losses. Keeping three furnaces and six anvils running day and night was gruelling work, not allowing time for idle talk. Vesna saw Carel at the back, working in unison with another man. They weren’t doing the finesse work, that was left to the skilled smiths, but even a one-armed man could lift a hammer and beat a lump of steel.
‘Change it,’ said Carel’s partner when he noticed Vesna standing behind them.
With a reluctant exhale, Carel let the hammer slide through his fingers. As he took the tongs, he noticed Vesna for the first time. Carel looked ragged in body and soul: sweat- and grime-stained, his white hair was grey with dirt and tied back with a fraying strip of material. His blood-shot eyes looked empty.
‘Thought your count was off,’ he said to his companion in a hoarse voice.
To Vesna he said nothing, but there was no need when the pain and years were plain on his face. The count felt a sudden pang of fear in his belly. He realised he had no idea what to say to the man who had been a father to Isak.
Carel watched him hesitate and gestured to his partner to continue, turning the steel shard to the correct position. When the man did so Vesna realised the fingers of his right hand were frozen in a twisted grip and he was using his left: another damaged veteran, he assumed.
‘You were there?’ Carel called after three blows with the hammer.
Vesna shook his head. ‘He ordered me to lead the army away. He died to save us all.’
Carel’s expression darkened. ‘Rode a long way to do that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean we should’ve seen it’d end that way an’ stopped the boy.’
Vesna took a cautious step forward. ‘Carel, he was Lord of the Farlan; the choice was his. It wasn’t one he took lightly, I know that much. It was a risk he thought worthwhile, and no one would have been able to persuade him otherwise.’
‘Really?’ Carel snapped, glaring up at Vesna. ‘Used to joke the Gods set me on the Land to keep that boy out o’ trouble. Don’t seem like a joke now, just a failure.’