hardly the guardian of marital fidelity, was sentinel to several marriages.
Vesna tore the letter open and scanned the half-dozen lines. As he read it his frown slowly softened.
My dearest,
By now I am sure Lesarl has given you the deed of trust and intimated that you are no longer bound by your military obligations. Let me remind you that Isak was my friend also, and I grieve for him as much as you. You must do what you can to further the cause he died for, but that has no bearing on our marriage. Today we will be married, no matter what tomorrow may bring - and this I do with full understanding, so let Lord Karkarn himself defend you if you try to make my choice otherwise.
With all my love on our wedding day,
Tila
‘See what I mean?’ Dace said cheerfully, ‘anticipated and outflanked. You never stood a chance, my friend.’
He thumped Vesna on his plate-armour shoulder, wincing slightly as he caught his palm on the black-iron.
‘I can still ask Karkarn to be my sentinel,’ Vesna growled, trying to be stern, but feeling his irritation melt away as he reread the letter.
‘And he too will have better sense than to cross a young lady on her wedding day,’ Dace declared. He thoroughly enjoyed being a family man, and he intended to savour every moment as his renowned friend followed in his wake. ‘And anyway, I didn’t see Lord Karkarn taking a paddling in the barracks last night - if I have to share the pain from your wedding rites I’m damned-well going to get some of the pleasure too!’
Vesna grinned at last. ‘Aye, and cruel on you that I don’t feel pain like a normal man these days.’ He took a last look at the letter and pictured Tila writing it. ‘Who am I to argue then?’ he said, unable to restrain his smile.
‘That’s better; at last the face of a man getting married!’ He grabbed Vesna by the sword-arm and started to drag him towards the barracks. ‘Now come and have a last meal with us; there are still a few filthy stories about you that need to be aired before you mend your ways.’
Vesna complied willingly and they repaired to the officers’ quarters, where, surrounded by men he’d fought alongside for years, he found himself the butt of altogether too many jokes. Vesna’s grin was even wider by the time they filed out and mounted up to proceed north to the New District, where Tila’s family lived.
While Vesna had the right to be married in the grandest temples in Tirah, too many were under the direct control of clerics hostile to the nobility. The cults had withdrawn their military threat as soon as it was clear the nobles would unite behind Lord Fernal, but tensions remained.
High Chaplain Mochyd was willing to conduct the service, so Tila had instead chosen an old shrine in the New District and scaled down the ceremony so Lord Fernal, along with half the guard, would not have to attend. As Vesna led a column of fifty Ghosts in dress uniform through the streets he felt a rare jangle of nerves in his stomach.
‘Okay?’ Dace asked, leaning in his saddle towards Vesna.
The Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn nodded, his face pale. ‘Just wondering what comes tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow? You wake up with a sore head and a better girl than you deserve!’ He laughed. ‘What comes after that is in the hands of the Gods, so you just need to get the first bit right before you start worrying about the rest. And for pity’s sake get that damn look off your face or she’ll want me for her wedding night instead!’
Vesna laughed at the suggestion, but it shook him from his gloom. They continued in cheerful spirits the rest of the way, the Ghosts singing lewd marching songs until they were within sight of the shrine. A few yards out they dismounted and left their horses in the charge of a young lieutenant and formed up in two columns, flanking Vesna and Sir Dace.
The shrine was on a fork in the road, with a door at the top of a dozen stone steps on either street. It was an ancient building, even by the standards of Tirah, and comprised three concentric circles of pillars below a curved roof that rose to a sharp peak in the centre. Directly below that was the carved heart of the shrine: a strung bow resting in crooked stone branches, surrounded by images