back. Marcus lay in the darkness, hands behind his head, and listened to the murmur of distant voices like the rushing of a river. Yardem’s name had ripped off a scab he’d forgotten was there, and now he felt exposed and stung and less than halfway healed. He wanted to know why Yardem was in Suddapal, and what he meant by paying for information about Marcus. And he needed to know whether Cithrin was all right and what had happened to her in Camnipol, whether she’d lived, and if she had, at what price. The dread was like a weight on his breastbone. His mind flitted to all the sacked cities he’d been through, all the innocent victims of war he’d seen, and his imagination put Cithrin in their places.
The nightmares would come back tonight. The old ones of Alys and Merian. Women he’d failed to protect. If Cithrin was dead or hurt, someone would die for it. Yardem first, and then whoever had done it. Marcus knew from experience that the effort wouldn’t redeem anything, and that he would do it anyway.
He hadn’t fallen asleep when the door opened and Kit stepped in. At some point in the evening, something had spilled on him, and he smelled beery. The actor sat on the end of the bed and began unstrapping his boots.
“Asterilhold and Antea last year,” Marcus said. “Now Sarakal.”
“Apparently so,” Kit said. The first boot thumped against the floorboards.
“Your spider goddess eating the world. This is the beginning of that, isn’t it?”
The other boot thumped and Kit turned to lean his back against the wall. The light spilling in under the door flickered, barely more than darkness.
“I think this began long ago. Perhaps very long ago. But yes, this is what I feared would come. This and worse,” Kit said. And then, “I hear there is a ship leaving in five days for Suddapal.”
“Suddapal’s farther from the temple than Malarska.”
“It is. But if your unfinished business with Yardem Hane—”
“After,” Marcus said. “Job is we kill a goddess and save the world. Let’s not complicate it.”
Geder
You’re most kind, Lord Regent,” Ternigan said. “Your visit is an honor I hadn’t looked for.”
Geder smiled and shifted his weight, stretching his legs under the camp table. The tent was thick leather stretched on iron frames, almost as solid as a true building, but movable provided the work of enough servants. Lord Ternigan’s bed stood against one wall with a real mattress and wool blankets. An unlit brazier squatted in the room’s center, tinder and sticks already laid out in case the Lord Marshal should want to warm himself later. A decanter of cut crystal held wine, and Geder couldn’t help wondering whether it always did or if this was something special put together to impress him.
“I thought it was important to see the men in the field,” he said. “Raise their spirits. Let them know that the strength of the empire is with them.”
“Yes,” Ternigan said. “They were quite excited when they heard. I hope the journey wasn’t unpleasant?”
“Much more pleasant than the first time we were in the field together,” Geder said, and Lord Ternigan laughed. Geder’s first campaign—his only one, really—he had been under the command of Alan Klin, Klin under the direction of Lord Marshal Ternigan. Then, Geder had ridden with a single squire and a tired horse from Camnipol to Vanai. Now he rode in a wheelhouse almost wider than the road, slept when he wished to, ate where he chose. He lifted his eyebrows and glanced toward the decanter. Ternigan rose from his chair and poured a glass for him. Outside, the army of Antea waited in their own less elegant tents. The smoke from their cookfires tainted the air, reminding Geder of another night, another city, another fire.
The wine was decent, but a little acid. Too much, Geder suspected, would upset his stomach, but a glass wouldn’t do any harm.
“What is the situation?” he asked, and Ternigan sat back down, spreading his hands like a merchant in a stall.
“We knew this would be a siege,” Ternigan said. “They call Nus the Iron City for good reason. But we’ve cut off all approaches from land and Skestinin’s done a fair job keeping relief from coming by sea. No food is going in, and they have only the water they can draw from their wells inside the walls, much of which is brackish.”
“Why haven’t they surrendered, then?” Geder asked. “If they don’t have good water, they have to