Behind the shrine was a raised garden, enclosed by a stone balustrade, that stretched twenty yards to the stone side wall of the building behind it. Over the slanted roof of the shrine itself he could see a pair of trees that shaded the garden.
There was quite a gathering there, despite this being a restrained affair. A group of nobles clad in all their formal finery were gathered around the steps, while Tila’s immediate family, the High Chaplain and a handful of her closest friends stood around the heart of the shrine.
As he approached, Tila stepped into view from behind the High Chaplain. His beaming bride was wearing a formal dress of blue and white, its simplicity serving to highlight her beauty. Her head was partially covered by a matching blue shawl embroidered with white and gold, and she wore charms to various Gods and Goddesses woven into her hair - a wedding was the only time all Gods were welcome at any temple, so Tila wore her favourite charms safely.
Vesna felt a pang of guilt. The only God accompanying him to his wedding was Karkarn, the God of War. All Gods might be welcome to bless a wedding, but some more so than others, he suspected.
‘Now, my Iron General,’ said a cold voice in his mind, ‘do you ask my blessing on this happy day?’
‘I do, Lord Karkarn,’ Vesna replied silently. ‘Above all other Gods I ask your blessing.’
‘And it is so granted,’ Karkarn replied. ‘Just remember the saying; “War is a jealous mistress” - never has it been so true.’ Without waiting for a response Karkarn receded into the depths of Vesna’s mind, returning to the distant echo that was a constant presence. Vesna understood his God’s meaning.
He fell in behind his sentinel and Sir Dace led him up the steps, calling his greetings to those assembled. Tila’s father stepped forward and Vesna bowed low to the man. Introl was a slim man with weak eyes; he looked fragile compared with his son-in-law-to-be. Vesna knelt and unbuckled his sword and Introl took it. Next Vesna pulled off his tunic, fumbling a moment with the toggles that had been added to his left side so it could be pulled over his black-iron-encased arm. His stomach tensed instinctively as the cool air rushed in and enveloped him, but then the sensation faded.
Vesna chanced a look up at Tila; she was watching him with a half-smile on her lips. The other women in the party didn’t look so impressed - Vesna’s broad chest was as heavily muscled as any man there, but the scars on his torso from past injuries were now deep red, and starkly obvious. He might be in good condition for a man approaching forty summers, but there was no doubt his body was a monument to the abuse it had received during years of military service. The sight was clearly shocking to Lady Introl and her sisters, but Tila blew him a kiss.
He grinned, then quickly lowered his eyes as Master Introl threw a white sheet over Vesna’s shoulders, unsnagging it as it caught on his jutting pauldron, symbolically clothing him. He rose and continued up the steps to Tila’s side.
As he looked at the faces assembled around the shrine he caught sight of Carel at the rear and felt a knot in his stomach. The marshal was dressed formally, but there was little joy on the old soldier’s face. He stood just outside the consecrated area of the shrine, under the garden’s trees, where the ashes of the dead were scattered. Vesna offered him a half-bow, trying not to dislodge the sheet, and received a cool nod in return. In that moment he knew their friendship was dead. Carel was attending the wedding out of love for Tila and as a memorial to Isak, nothing more.
In the next moment he saw Carel’s eyes narrow, and the veteran was already starting down the steps, thumb on the catch on his sword-stick, by the time Vesna turned. A mutter ran around the crowd of witnesses and faces turned to the door Vesna had entered by.
The street was a hundred yards long, and it sloped up away from the shrine, leaving the Tower of Semar visible behind the buildings. There seemed to be some sort of commotion at the head of the street as two Ghosts advanced towards a third, who drew a massive sword.