of the hurscals, who swung a wild blow at Vesna’s head. The count retreated, fending off blows for a few paces before flicking his opponent’s sword away and punching the man’s arm with his black-iron fist, snapping the bone and sending the man reeling into the hinge of the now-open gate.
A second man attacked with more purpose, his shield raised high. Vesna, moving with blurring speed, stepped around the hurscal’s lunge, and the man fell screaming. A diagonal cut had sheared his shield in two, and the arm behind it.
The others hesitated, stunned by the count’s unnatural speed.
Vesna took a step back. He could feel the power of the Crystal Skull begging to be used. As soon as he focused on it the Skull emitted a bright white pulse, and the remaining hurscals stopped dead in their tracks.
‘Enough - stay your swords,’ Vesna called. ‘Suzerain Yetah, order your men back. I will not kill you, my lord, but I will kill any other man who tries to pass.’
No one else stepped forward. Vesna met the eye of each one. None had the strength of will to keep their weapon raised. He pointed to the injured men.
‘See to your comrades, then leave this place and return to your own lands. Tell any others you meet: the law is not yours to protect, unless so ordered by the Lord of the Farlan. If any man intends to kill his fellow Farlan, he must face me first.’
He turned away and stopped dead when he saw the companies of the Palace Guard were lined up in defensive formation. Sir Cerse, the legion’s colonel, offered him a crisp salute, and after a moment he returned it. They had been ready to defend him, even to fight their own alongside him if necessary.
And that’s a gift even Gods cannot give, Vesna thought as the ranks parted to allow him through. Swordmaster Pettir handed him the reins of his horse.
‘Lesarl will be pleased with you,’ Pettir said with mocking cheer.
Vesna scowled. ‘This cannot continue.’
CHAPTER 19
Ruhen smiled, his face turned to the afternoon sun. Its diffused light cast a pale yellow tint over the valley, while long shadows enveloped the waiting soldiers. He felt its warmth on his face as he breathed in the fresh clear air. Winter’s grip was lessening day by day and he could smell the change in the air, even if the arguing delegates nearby couldn’t.
In the wake of the dragon, the valley housing the Library of Seasons had taken on a dismal air. All of the white stone buildings had been damaged and the beast’s gigantic corpse still rotted below the southern cliff, but today Ruhen could taste something other than decay on the breeze. A hundred yards away there were tables set out on the grass, as close to the centre of the valley as they could judge. Without Ruhen close at hand Duchess Escral’s wits had returned enough for her to lead the debate, but as yet there had been no progress.
Lord Styrax sat beneath a huge army standard emblazoned with his Fanged Skull, looking bored, while the white-eye Duke Vrill, his pet politician, stood at his side shouting something at the men in scarlet sashes opposite.
The Knights of the Temples were divided into three distinct camps, each desperate to assert authority over the others while the negotiations stagnated. The Knight-Cardinal led one, a pair of generals, envoys for Raland and Embere, comprised the second, while the scarlet-faced priests of several cults made up the third faction.
Two squads of Devoted heavy infantry were assembled behind them, watching the proceedings with as much bemusement as the Ruby Tower Guards behind Duchess Escral; Ruhen could see only contempt on the faces of the élite Menin soldiers around the valley.
‘I’ve beginning to wonder,’ said Ilumene from behind Ruhen, ‘whether our presence has somehow only made things worse.’ The big mercenary smirked as he spoke. He pretended to straighten the white patchwork robe he’d worn specifically to annoy the priests. The missionaries preaching Ruhen’s message of peace had been first admitted to Akell, the Devoted quarter of the Circle City. Knight-Cardinal Certinse had given their presence his tacit blessing, but as soon as the cults heard their preaching, every priest in the quarter started screaming for blood. That Ilumene was attending the official negotiations dressed as one of Ruhen’s ensured the priests were filled with bile and fury when they started proceedings.
‘Let them dig their own graves,’ Ruhen replied and closed his eyes to savour