that the screams emanating from the Sepulchre were terrible, and prolonged, conjuring all manner of unwelcome conjecture as to my brother’s actions below. It is also true that the sight of Kehlbrand when he eventually emerged from the building birthed a chill in my heart that has never truly faded. But it wasn’t the blood that slicked his arms from wrist to shoulder, nor the gore-covered knife he tossed to Obvar that began my journey from sister to traitor, it was my brother’s eyes.
He had always possessed the piercing gaze of one granted both intelligence and insight, not to mention cunning. Consequently, becoming the object of his scrutiny was often an unsettling experience for those not so blessed. But that night it was different. Now there was a knowledge that accompanied the scrutiny, a sense that he already possessed the answer to any question he might ask.
So, when I asked him if he had touched the stone, the reply was no surprise. “Of course I did, little colt.” He laughed and drew me into his blood-soaked arms. “And here I stand, hale and whole. It was just another lie from a best forgotten corpse.”
“What happened? What did you . . . ?”
I fell silent as he drew back and put a finger to my lips. His smile was as warm as ever, but his knowing gaze also possessed a glint of warning I hadn’t seen before. “I entered into communion with the Unseen,” he said. “As would be expected of the Mestra-Skeltir. They gave me such gifts, dearest sister. The stone is a source of power—that is what the priests were guarding for so long, festering away in their greed and privilege. Ask of the Unseen with an honest heart and they shall reward you.”
I wanted to believe him as much as I had wanted to disbelieve the Mestra-Dirhmar, but found I couldn’t. It was there in his eyes when he released me and turned to Obvar, the sense of knowing, birthing a certainty in me that my brother had emerged from the Sepulchre changed, and it was a change in the core of his being for, in addition to his altered gaze, there was the power I now sensed in him. Kehlbrand had received a gift.
“We’ll take a tour of the camp,” he told Obvar. “The priests were never loved but there are still those who harbour unwise loyalties to the old ways.”
“True,” Obvar conceded. “But, after this they’re hardly likely to say as much out loud.”
Kehlbrand started towards the gate with a purposeful stride, his tone one of brisk cheerfulness. “They won’t have to. Little colt, I’ll find you in the morning. See if you can come up with a ceremony of sorts to mark the occasion. Some form of ritual will be expected.” He turned back for a moment, arms wide and voice exultant. “For tomorrow the great march to the Golden Sea begins!”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
The commencement of the great march, in truth, proved something of a misnomer for what was in effect a series of campaigns and alliances conducted over the course of the next two years. Although we had achieved dominance over the Iron Steppe, the Stahlhast were not the only people to ride across its vastness. Many tribes to the south and east had been driven off to face annihilation in the southlands generations before, but those that remained were still substantial in number even if they couldn’t hope to match us in battle. Kehlbrand, however, desired no battle with other Steppe folk, considering them far too valuable as warriors.
Therefore, he was swift in rejecting Obvar’s suggestion that the first act of the great march should be to destroy the Tuhla, a confederation of tribes who ranged across the western Steppe as far as the coastal mountains.
“The Skin Riders?” Obvar said in disdain when Kehlbrand gave voice to his intentions, an appellation referring to the Tuhla custom of cladding themselves in armour of hardened oxhide.
“I have a sense,” Kehlbrand replied, “there is one amongst their elder chiefs with a keen eye for opportunity, and a deep hatred of his rivals. After all, they look to the Merchant Realms with just as much envy as we do.”
He refused to engage in the traditional practice of sending emissaries on the grounds that “they’ll just come back tied to a saddle and headless. I’ll go myself.” And so he went, alone with no escort into the heart of the Tuhla dominion despite voluble protestations from