Gabriel stood, surrounded by the dead. He could hear weeping, which was fitting enough. Blood was everywhere and somehow it overwhelmed him. There had been no blood in the grey place, he remembered suddenly. Mortally wounded men had cried out in despair, but vanished as they were trampled underfoot.
Here, bright blood mingled with the rain, seeping between road stones. Gently settling corpses lay sprawled and broken all around. Such things were older memories, from his first life. Gabriel could hear the sighs of dying men as they breathed their last, or as bowels released in death. The dead relaxed, he recalled. They slept like children.
The rain came to an end, though everything dripped and plinked and steamed as soon as the sun came out. It appeared first as a bar of gold across the gatehouse columns, then lit dead and living alike. The weeping sound turned to great sobs as the young woman stood up slowly. There was blood on her dress, he saw. Gabriel smiled at her.
‘There, my dear. That wasn’t too bad, was it?’
He could still not quite believe his own speed, nor the strength in him. He fought with his old instincts, and perhaps he and his companions had practised more than most men ever could, taking entire lifetimes to learn the trade of iron. Yet when he moved, it was like a shadow falling across a man. Those who stood against him barely had time to cry out before they were cut down.
It should have wrenched his joints apart to have moved so fast. It should have broken his bones. Yet whatever had opened a hole on the hillside of the grey place, whatever had allowed him to return a man’s eyes and grow new flesh on old scars, it filled him still. It made him fast as thought and strong as hatred.
Gabriel turned in a full circle, seeing bodies and armour scattered on all sides. He had become the fallen angel, the story he had loved most as a boy. He was lightning – and he burned. He began to laugh, though he knew it was a kind of madness. He needed a quiet place, to rest and think. He looked up at the gatehouse that still loomed before him. Running footsteps and the clatter of arms were getting closer.
Gabriel took the young woman by the hand once more, though she tried to pull away from him, her beauty spoiled by fear.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We should not give them time to consider a defence … I …’
He looked down and saw that some of the blood that dribbled down his legs was his own. A wave of weakness staggered him, bringing sudden certainty. No. He would set the world on fire before going back.
With an effort of will, Gabriel touched his bare left hand to his side. It took just a moment to seek out the great sea he had drunk, the torrent that still filled him. He could not help wishing back the greater ocean he had known on waking, that he had spent so carelessly on the other two. He turned to Thomas then and found the hazel eyes were steady as they watched him. At least the man was loyal. He was not as certain about Sanjin, who seemed to glower at the world and could not heal himself.
Gabriel waited a beat and the blood stopped. A little warmth had sealed the gash, though he thought then of crossbows and cannon. He raised the woman’s hand and kissed it.
‘It is just a little further, my darling. Stay beside Lord Ran, where you will be safe. There, don’t cry! Did you think I would allow them to hurt you? Of course not. Now, do I need to ask if you will run?’
She shook her head, wide-eyed and afraid. Gabriel touched her cheek, feeling how cold she was.
‘Good. Then take up the fool’s leash and bring him with us.’
Gabriel strode on through the gatehouse, with Thomas on his right side and Sanjin limping behind.
Tellius paced up and down, so that the heads of some forty men and women followed his progress as one. The Twelve Families of Darien had not come there for him, of course, but for Lady Sallet and in particular at the command of the boy-king.
Arthur sat on a throne to one side of the man who had found him on the streets and taught him the Mazer steps. The golem seemed calm, but he was listening intently as Tellius laid out a plan. It was already clear from the expressions of the family heads that they were not happy. Arthur looked from face to face, seeing the ancient lines of men and women. He recognised some traits still surviving in the descendants of an older empire. Lords like Hart, with his mane of grey hair and the precious Blue Border. He had played a part in the defence of the city. The same could not be said of many of the others. While Lady Sallet and Lord Hart had been on the streets, risking their lives, where had the Regis family been hiding? Or De Guise, with his sword? Very few of the Twelve Families had covered themselves in glory that Reapers’ Eve festival, two years before. Perhaps, Arthur thought, it explained why they were resisting Tellius then. Through argument, they reminded all the others of their authority – and so played a part. It was possible that Tellius was not completely incorrect in his assessment, Arthur could admit. As their king, he felt a responsibility for them all, but there really were too many fools in the world. In that room, certainly. Arthur had lost count of the times one of them had tried to pat him on the head. It had been tempting to take his sword and thrash them with it, but Lady Sallet had forbidden any display of that sort. A king employed men to preserve his dignity. He did not do it himself. Apparently. Arthur kicked his shoe against the leg of the chair.
‘What you are asking …’ Lord Bracken began. He rose to his feet to speak and Tellius looked sharply at him, speaking again before the man could go on.
‘I ask nothing, my lord, beyond my responsibilities as a loyal citizen. The Crown asks this of you. The Crown and the Sallet family.’
‘Yes, yes of course,’ Lord Bracken continued. He was a large-chested man and the only one among that group who wore his family stone in the open. Deep purple, it rested as a bracer in gold on Lord Bracken’s forearm. It was said he never removed it. More than one lord or lady eyed the stone, their gaze returning to it again and again.
The man himself reached down to fondle the ears of a large golden hound sitting upright by his knee. The animal’s tongue lolled and it glanced around with the flickering interest of a young child, making some of the others look away. There were rumours about the animals in Bracken’s household, as many as there were about the stone he wore.
Bracken tried again, directing his words to the boy on the throne and Lady Sallet, sitting over to one side. She was the only real power in that room, Bracken thought. After himself, and perhaps Regis and De Guise. The others merely played at power. He felt a gaze on him and looked down to Lord Canis. The man was watching him with the coldness of his particular clan. Bracken tugged his gaze clear with an effort.
‘Master Tellius, I think perhaps “the Crown” has not considered the difficulties or the costs involved in what you propose. You would have us train the entire population as an army? To feed and clothe and arm them from our own treasuries? That alone is … No, I will come back to it. You suggested we send teams of engineers around the walls of the city, looking for ways to strengthen the defences. That is not unreasonable. I would be happy to put my name to such a suggestion. Yet you’d have us building trenches and traps and Goddess knows what else, tearing up farms and villages around the city for this wild scheme?’
‘It is my understanding that the Twelve Families of Darien take their authority to rule from the defence of the city,’ Tellius said suddenly. ‘If you will not defend Darien, perhaps you should consider how that affects your primary role. Perhaps you should consider whether a city even needs a lord who will not …’
‘Tellius,’ Lady Sallet said softly.
He clamped his mouth shut rather than raise his voice further.
Lord Bracken looked to those on either side of him for support. He found only one or two nodding, though that was in part the instinct or the caution of many years. There were few alliances among them, unfortunately.
‘What you have failed to consider is what will happen to the city while this is going on,’ Bracken said. He deliberately left bombast and anger aside to reply, knowing it gave his words more force to speak slowly and clearly in that place. ‘While men train as an army, they are not working. So food rots in the fields. Ships remain at anchor and are not unloaded in the docks. The entire economy of Darien comes to a halt for lack of souls to run it! What you are asking will mean poverty for tens of thousands, even starvation. The system runs, Master Tellius. It is a brave man who would put his hand into the wheels and cogs of Darien!’
Tellius began to pace again.
‘Two years ago, my lord, the city was unprepared for an attack. No one saw it coming. We lost the king, and the Aeris legion was inside the west gate before anyone even understood the city was in danger. There are still things we do not understand about that night, but we were not ready. That much is certain.’ Despite himself, he had begun to raise his voice in frustration once more.
‘You are asking us to bring the city to a halt for a vision?’ Lord Hart interjected.
Tellius knew the man was trying to be helpful rather than to undermine his points. It was still hard to reply calmly.
‘My lords, no. I am not asking that. It is true Lady Forza saw an attack on the city, as I said. I believe …’
‘This dark wave,’ Lord Bracken interrupted, his voice full of disdain. ‘Yet there are other seers in Darien, Master Tellius. Not one of them has come forward.’ He sat down, as if the point was unanswerable.
‘Not one of them has the Forza Stone!’ Tellius said curtly. ‘But that is not the issue at hand. The Crown desires his lords to prepare for an attack, to assess how well we could resist a major event like the one at Reapers’ Eve. That royal request was prompted by the Forza vision, yes, but that is not the reason for it. The reason is that we should never be caught by surprise again! Everything you value, Lord Bracken, was almost lost two years ago. The Twelve Families – your own family – would all have been killed in the civil war. His Majesty asks only that we run drills across the city, to establish our readiness. To be prepared. His Majesty has asked the Twelve Families to review our strength. If it goes well, perhaps it will become part of our calendar, every four or six years.’
Tellius could see grudging acceptance in the room. More than a few of the lords were raising their eyebrows and looking to those they called friends in surmise. The idea had found its first roots.
Lady Sallet rose and Tellius sat down, mopping his brow where it shone. It was his turn to observe the noble crowd, to see where resistance might yet cause a problem. His first glance, though, was to where Win stood straight-backed before them. His instinct was always to protect her, but it was a pleasure to be reminded she could command the room.
‘My lords, ladies,’ Win began, ‘His Majesty seeks a display, as you have heard. A review of the city defence. I think the common people of Darien will enjoy seeing the house guards march along the ring road – and many of them will welcome being trained. I have had a number of requests for citizen militias in the last two years. They fought well enough then, after all, as builders and carpenters and butchers. Without training, they fought for the city and for their own homes and families. It is reasonable to arm such men for the future, no matter what it holds. As Master Tellius has said, this may have been prompted by the Forza vision, but I believe it has sound foundations. It could be a great opportunity. Darien will surely face threats in the future, whether they come this winter or a dozen years from now. It is the merest common sense to be prepared for them.’
The mood altered slightly when Lord Canis rose to his feet. He was careful to observe the niceties of even an informal gathering, waiting in perfect stillness until Lady Sallet inclined her head and took her seat. She may have had the king’s ear, but the Sallets did not stand higher than any other of the great families.
Lord Canis was thin and strong-looking. It was said that he practised swordsmanship for hours each day and that he found no pleasure in food or love. The Canis family were rumoured to take no pleasure in anything, a particular facet of the black stone they held. Lady Sallet shuddered as she considered their fate. The ‘Dog Stone’, as it was called after their name, could heal the most terrible of wounds. Lord Canis himself had been cured of a rotting illness that would have taken his leg as a child. The cost was in the strange coldness she sensed in him even from across a room. The stone took gentleness and warmth. There were some who whispered that it took a soul. Yet it remained, as a vital treasure in the city. No one would ever break the Canis Stone, not if they had loved ones.
‘Your Majesty, my lords and ladies, Lady Sallet, Master Tellius,’ Lord Canis began, bowing to the king. ‘If we train the subjects of the Crown as soldiers, I wonder how long it will be before they have demands of their own. There is a great risk in this proposal, is there not? If the city is attacked, then, yes, there is merit in preparing stronger defences. If it is not, and yet we have given weapons to every adult male in the city, how long will we survive then?’
He paused, as if to invite objection. Lady Sallet spoke immediately.
‘The people of the city are loyal to the king, Lord Canis. Less so to the king’s lords, perhaps. That will not change.’
‘My lady, we do not rule by consent, but by the capacity to destroy. Your green warriors, combined perhaps with the Regis shield, the De Guise sword, the Hart border. There is no wild mob who could ever remove us from power. Yet your proposal is to create a vast army, to train and arm entire regiments. Will you give them these new guns? How long before someone suggests arming them in such a way, instead of months or years of sword training? No, what you describe is a shift of power, my lady. Perhaps a fundamental one.’
The king cleared his throat, so that both Lady Sallet and Lord Canis sat down. Arthur stood and walked a few paces forward. He was dressed in white and he looked no older than a ten- or twelve-year-old boy. Very few in that room knew his nature, but they had accepted him while the previous king lay cooling, while the city was still strewn with rubble and bodies. He had done nothing to concern them from that day, for all there were some who considered he was in the control of the Sallets.
‘My lord Canis, I believe you are mistaken,’ Arthur said. ‘I was there at the west gate during the assault by the legion. I watched from on high – and I fought on the gate itself. I saw the people of Darien rally to fight the invaders. I saw them take up what arms they had and strike back against trained soldiers. They gave no quarter. They did not run. It is true I saw no sign of the Regis shield or the sword of De Guise that day – though I did see the Sallet Green warriors. It is possible those artefacts could resist the murderous rage of an entire city. I doubt it, however. It is my belief that we already rule by consent – and that understanding is to be seen in every transaction. Or do you cheat your suppliers, my lord? Do you take their daughters against their will? Do you make slaves of their sons?’
Lord Canis looked away for a moment as he considered.
‘Your points are well made, Your Majesty. I will consider them further.’
He sat down and a subtle tension went out of the group. Arthur smiled at them all.
‘I have talked more today than in the last month. Lady Sallet and Master Tellius have my trust in this. I will leave them to arrange the defence of our city. Pray, gentlemen, ladies, that you never have cause to look back on this day and give thanks.’
Everyone in the room rose then to bow to the king of Darien. Arthur turned on his heel and left them to it. They waited until they heard the lock of the door being closed before they stood straight. The instincts of loyalty were ingrained, not least because their own status flowed from the Crown. Tellius sensed the shift in the room and nodded, pleased.
‘So, my lords. It is time for a distribution of duties. Imagine for a moment that an enemy approaches Darien. How shall we send him running? How shall we bloody his nose for him?’
Gabriel led his little group into echoing marble halls, urging them along whenever Lord Ran or the young woman wanted to collapse. Glancing back, he saw they were leaving a trial of bloody footprints, like a wound.
He had lost count of the number who had come against them. His monstrous speed had not slackened, though he had been wounded twice more in a melee. As far as he could tell, the cuts were more by accident than any great talent in those he faced. The Mazer swordsmen of his day had been giants. Those he faced seemed a lesser breed, unless it was just that he had grown beyond them. He did not find that advantage unpleasant, at least at that moment. Discovering he was both faster and stronger than all his opponents was actually making him giddy with pleasure.
Ahead of him, two masters waited in stillness and apparent calm, their swords drawn. Gabriel saw their eyes widen and he felt their heart rates spike higher. He knew he was blood-spattered by then. He could feel it gum his fingers. That was one thing he had not missed, in the grey place. Blood was unpleasant stuff, the very essence of a man splashed out into the world.
‘Thomas?’ Gabriel said to his companion-in-arms. ‘Would you mind?’
He gestured at the door and stopped to wipe something from his eye. His fingers came away red and he knew he would look terrifying when he entered the throne room of Shiang. The idea amused him. All men wore a mask. His just happened to be made of blood. Perhaps in its way, it was more honest than most.
The man called Thomas stepped forward, raising his sword in a guard position, as if about to begin a formal duel. His two opponents stepped in to meet him and Gabriel watched the man accelerate into a blur, his sword a silver streak they could not see to stop. With Gabriel’s heightened senses, he was able to observe their expressions change, from determination to sudden disbelief and blooming fear.
They did not have long to be afraid. Thomas finished them quickly, with blows across the throat, each a hair’s breadth above the armoured collar. Gabriel saluted with his blade as the man looked back.
‘Well done, brother,’ Gabriel said.
Thomas grinned and pushed open the doors to the throne room. They strode in together, with the woman half-hiding her face with one hand and Lord Ran stumbling and dazed as if he had lost his wits.
They had not stopped since passing under the shadow of the gatehouse. Gabriel still expected an army to be waiting for him in that room, but he had left a path of dead swordsmen behind on the way there. Blood dripped in a ring around him when he stood still. He flicked his sword and a spatter of it marked the polished floor.
At the far end, the young king rose from his seat and took up the sword of the Yuan dynasty. Gabriel could feel the power of the thing as he stalked down the length of the royal hall. It awoke a hunger in him and he remembered once again all those he would like to see restored to the world. Lord Ran knew the secret of it. All he needed was another stone.
‘Your Majesty, you won’t believe me, but this hall is just the same as it was a thousand years ago, more. You potters have maintained it well.’
Gabriel was moving quickly as he spoke, with Thomas like a leopard at his side. Sanjin was slower, falling behind with his half-foot. They left the young woman holding the leash of the fool and Lord Ran weeping behind them.
Gabriel lengthened his stride as he reached the king.
‘I thought your swordsmen would be better, Your Majesty,’ he said.
‘We sent the best of them away,’ the king replied.
He tried to move suddenly as he spoke, but Gabriel was ready for him. He watched the young man swing and lifted his blade to let them ring together. To his astonishment, the royal weapon passed right through his own, as if the steel was just clay. Gabriel had to pivot sharply on one heel to avoid the sweep of the blade ending in his ribs.
Yet whatever the magic of the sword, the wielder was still little more than a boy. Gabriel found himself holding the stub of a blade, just four inches from the hilt. With a shrug, he pushed it into the king’s neck.
The young man stared at him in shock. Gabriel reached out and took the Yuan sword as the king’s hand opened and life fled.
‘Thank you. It is a fine blade.’
As Gabriel sat on the throne with the royal sword across his knees, he frowned to himself. It was oddly disappointing. The meeting hall was empty except for the few he had brought to that place. He shook his head, dissatisfied. He had been a long time in the grey land. Happiness was elusive. Still, he had to seek it out, like prising a sea urchin from a rock. Beyond the spikes and injuries, the flesh would still be sweet and good. He looked up at the thought, seeing the young woman he had brought to the great hall. She too was marked in blood, with spatters of it right across her dress. Her eyes were dark with horror at all she had seen that day.
Gabriel breathed out, relaxing into the chair.
‘Come here,’ he said. ‘I will have the royal dressmakers replace that rag.’
He watched as she came forward, as if held by strings only she could see. As she reached him, she sank down on the steps, so that her dress spread around her. She sat with her head bowed.
Gabriel looked at her, seeing the beauty that had caught his attention on the street. His wife’s name had been Laila, but that did not seem to suit her. He thought back to the queen of his day.
‘I will call you Song,’ he said. ‘It was once a royal name, a royal house. Does it please you?’
She used the sleeve of her dress to wipe her nose and tears away. After a beat, she nodded. He smiled, satisfied.
‘Good. This is the first day, my dear. You’ll see some changes now …’
A note sounded and was gone. He hesitated. Neither Thomas nor Sanjin had reacted, but the fool on the leash had turned like a dog to its master. Gabriel blinked. It had not so much been a sound as a throb in the air, a pulse, or a call. It had come from the west, impossibly far away. He rubbed his face, suddenly weary.
‘Thomas? Summon the court. I think I will speak to them before we eat. And send for a barber to shave me.’