“How does it feel to be the Chosen of a god, Girton?” said Aydor as we walked toward the tower.
“Tiring.” He turned his head, trying to work out if I was serious or not. “I am not the Chosen, Aydor. I am sure Xus does not choose human representatives.”
“He doesn’t send his birds for everyone either.” There was something in his voice that made me uncomfortable, something close to awe and I did not want it.
“Just because they helped me get into the tower does not mean they were sent for me, Aydor. They may well have come for the Children.”
“But they did not,” said Aydor. “I have felt the touch of Xus,” he said. “It was a madness for me and that madness was in the air, it was in the birds. I felt it.”
“Even if I were chosen, Aydor, it is not in any useful way.” I slowed as we approached the tower. “I think Xus does not like the Children, and I made an oath to him, to avenge Feorwic. Maybe the god just wants her death avenged.” I stopped him. “Do not tell Rufra you think Xus has chosen me, Aydor. Do not tell anyone.”
“Why?” His face was childlike with wonder.
“Because, even if it were true, it would be fleeting. I do not want to be seen as some sort of prophet.”
“Rufra would not think that. He only really believes in swords.”
“Nevertheless …”
“Oh, very well, but the troops will talk, you know that.”
“But that is all it will be, talk. Please, Aydor?” He shrugged.
“You are a strange one,” he said. “Come. Rufra waits on our pleasure.”
We entered the Low Tower and the bottom room, full of men and women drinking, quietened as we did. Aydor nodded to the woman nearest the door and she nodded back, but her eyes were on me. Everyone’s were. As we walked up the stair I whispered to Aydor.
“Why were they staring? they have seen me before.”
“Not without your make-up.” My hand was at my face before I thought about it, touching skin, such an unfamiliar feeling. The slight rasp of stubble that was in need of shaving; the ridges of scars; the softness around my eyes; and the slicks of grease where I had not removed make-up well enough. The heat of a blush at the feeling of nakedness. “And they all thought you dead. They saw the crowd envelop you as Rufra moved them on.”
“They thought me so easily killed?”
“They thought only it was something they could not escape and then Rufra shut himself away the moment we returned. They have feared the worst.”
“This place,” I said, as a cold breeze snaked down the stair to swirl around my feet. “It makes people think that way.”
Aydor said nothing, only led me up the stair to the third floor and through the door to where Rufra waited. He looked vaguely annoyed when he saw Aydor and for a moment he did not seem to recognise me. Then his eyes widened.
“Girton,” he said.
“You are surprised I live?” I felt peculiarly let down.
“No, not really,” he said. “Just there were so many of them and … Well … I forget how talented you are sometimes.” He walked over to me, raised a hand and almost touched my face. “It is rare to see your skin, to think of you as a man.”
“That is all I am. All I have ever been.”
“You came in under the cover of the birds?” I nodded. “But not straight to me, so I knew you lived?”
“I was tired, hurt, not thinking straight.” He stared into my eyes, then seemed to accept this and, with a curt nod, sat back down. I saw him wince and his hand twitched. He wanted to reach for the wound on his side but stopped himself. Gusteffa brought over a herbal tisane to ease his pain but he shooed her away. Before we could talk any further there was a knock on the door.
“Come,” he shouted. His leaders appeared: Dinay, Vinia from Festival, Neander, and behind them Marrel ap Marrel.
“You have kept me waiting half the night, Rufra. I hope this is worth it,” said Marrel. He sounded drunk and his eyes were red.
“Worth it,” said Rufra. “That implies you may enjoy what I have to say and you will not. None of you will.”
“War then,” said Aydor. “We all saw Fureth stand with Gamelon and Danfoth. I think that answers the question of where the other blessed are giving their allegiance. Torelc the god of time has wrought his changes and none of them are good.”
“It need not be war,” said Marrel. “Though you,” he shot me a fierce look, “have not found my wife’s killer I am still willing to enter into an agreement with Rufra. War will help no one, and Gamelon is a fair-weather man. He gives his allegiance wherever the winds of power blow.”
“Gamelon should be removed,” said Rufra.
“Removed?” Marrel looked confused. “Ceadoc cannot be ruled without Gamelon. His family know its secrets, its laws. Without him—”
“We will all be better off,” said Rufra quietly.
“No,” said Marrel. “We will all be lost and the high kingship will become meaningless. Our family records will be lost, the Tired Lands will dissolve into border wars and …”
“I have lied to you,” said Rufra quietly. “All of you. I have lied about my reasons for being here and it was a mistake. So now I will tell you the truth.” It was as if his words were a souring and they drew all good will from the room. Even Rufra’s own people looked shocked at his admission. “But,” he raised a finger, “that truth must not leave this room.” All eyes turned to Marrel.
“Very well.” He shrugged. “Say what you must. I give my word and you know it is good.”
“I visited Ceadoc before the plague,” he said quietly. “I saw its horrors and I attended a feast put on by Darsese and his sister, Cassadea. They put on fights during the food, sexual acts in the aisles to entertain, exhibits from the menageries were brought out and—”
“This is why you are prepared to fight? Because you are squeamish?” said Marrel.
“No,” said Rufra. He did not look at Marrel. He stared at the floor and the muscles at the sides of his jaw were like hard balls, a sure sign of him holding back his temper. “Darsese killed a man. He did it for our entertainment. A warrior of some renown, I believe. He was also a Landsman.”
“High kings killing people is not new,” said Marrel. “Even the Landsmen must bow to him.”
“Not in all things, Marrel, and not in this. I was talking to one of his courtiers when he did it. He had sat me away from the throne, as an insult, and I heard raised voices. A scream. When I looked over Darsese was standing, his hand held out, and the air was full of a sickly stench, like gone-off honey. The man he killed, his armour was bent, broken. There was silence for a moment, and then Gamelon started to applaud. After a moment the court joined in. Only I did not. Only I was appalled.”
“I do not—” began Marrel.
“When I first met Girton,” he nodded toward me, “there was a sorcerer loose in Castle Maniyadoc and she murdered a man named Heamus using the black hammer. I saw the corpse, how it looked. Darsese used the black hammer that day.”
Inwardly, I winced at the word “murdered” though it was true. What he did not say was that Drusl, the sorcerer, had been our friend and I that had loved her.
“Sorcery? The Landsmen would never …” said Marrel.
“Fureth stood by Darsese while it happened, Marrel. He stood right there by him and applauded.”
“If that were true,” said Marrel, “why would Darsese let you go?”
“Because he could, Marrel,” said Rufra quietly. “Where could I go? What could I do? Who would believe me? I could not go to the Landsmen.”
“That is why you never let them return to Maniyadoc,” said Marrel. “I thought it was their cruelty.”
“The cruelty? Partly, at first, though I believe they do a necessary job. I was near to letting them back, but the hypocrisy? I could not stand it.”
“You should have come to us,” said Marrel.
“Would you have believed me?” He looked up, meeting Marrel’s eye. “Would you?” Marrel stared at him, then shook his head and sat on a bench.
“No,” he said. “I would not. But Darsese is gone now and—”
“The Landsmen remain, Marrel. Gamelon remains, and as they have had truck with magic before what is to stop them doing it again? Can the land cope if another sorcerer rises?”
“No,” said Marrel, “but simply knowing this would be enough. We could topple Fureth with it.” He did not sound convinced. “We can at least use it to bring Gamelon to heel and—”
“Magic is still being used,” said Rufra. “The birds, tonight, that was not natural. Someone is using …” I could almost feel Aydor by me, about to blurt out how it was the god that had done that, and he had done it for me. I stepped forward.
“Darsese lives,” I said.
“What?” I felt Rufra’s attention turn to me. It was like I opened the door to a furnace and all its heat was concentrated on me.
“That is what they say in the town, or they did until the Children of Arnst started hunting down those who believed it.”
“What the living and the thankful squabble about,” said Marrel, “is hardly of concern to those of us who will rule. Darsese died of plague and was burnt on the pyre. Those of the town are superstitious fools.”
“They are led by Arketh, the high king’s torturer. She also says the high king lives.”
Now Marrel fixed his gaze on me.
“She is a broken thing. They say she is mad,” he said, but he no longer sounded as sure of himself.
“But it makes sense,” I said. “If Darsese went too far with his magic, what better way to deal with him than by making him vanish under the guise of the forgetting plague? They could not allow it to get out that the high king was a sorcerer without ruining themselves. And if Gamelon or the Landsmen wanted to quiet the rumours of Darsese living they could not do it, it would appear strange. But the Children of Arnst have been given free run of Ceadoc town.” “If High King Darsese lives,” said Marrel, “then why is he not on his throne? If he was a sorcerer, how would they make him vanish? It makes absolutely no sense, magic or not.”
“Magic is power,” said Rufra. “Today, Girton saw a man he was sure should have died of his wounds walking as if he were uninjured. What if, rather than destroying magic, the Landsmen have found a way to control it? By controlling Darsese?” Marrel was leaning forward, one hand on his chin, the other scratching the side of his face.
“It is just words, Rufra. There is no proof.”
“Your wife is dead, Marrel, mine nearly, as well as my children. I think it was an attempt to set the two most powerful in the land at each other’s throats. Only we possess enough men to fight the Landsmen and the highguard.”
“But we are stuck in Ceadoc without our armies.”
“If we can bring together all our blessed and their retinues, together with Festival, we could stop whatever the Landsmen are doing now.” The room was utterly still at those words, silent. Sweat dripped from the nose of every man and woman in there, but it was not because of the heat, it was the tension.
“No.” Marrel shook his head. “It is not enough. Not just words, we must have more.”
“What if we find Darsese?” said Dinay.
“How does that help?”
“It proves what Rufra says for a start,” she said. “And, though I have no love for the Landsmen, I cannot believe they are all hypocrites. Many must not know. It may be only a very few who do. If we can find Darsese and take where he is held, the Landsmen will likely turn on those holding him when all is exposed.”
“How do we find him?” said Rufra.
“The Sepulchre of the Gods,” mumbled Aydor from the back of the room.
“What?” said Rufra. “That is the holiest place in the Tired Lands, and besides, it cannot be reached. It is—”
“Flooded,” said Aydor. “I know. But that is not true.”
“It isn’t?” I said.
“Well.” Aydor walked forward so he stood in front of Rufra. “It sort of is. Benliu, tell them,” he shouted at the priest of Torelc. “I wanted to see the statues so I asked him to look into it.” Benliu nodded and came forward. Aydor went back to standing by the wall.
“Blessed Rufra, Blessed Marrel,” he began.
“Just get on,” said Aydor.
“Very well,” said Benliu. “It is true that water blocks the way to the sepulchre—”
“I’ve seen it,” said Aydor.
“I thought you wished me to get on?” said Benliu. Aydor shrugged and leaned back against the wall. “The sepulchre is entered through a pool. The pool must be emptied and the supplicants go through the empty pool and up the other side to enter the temple. They are reborn from the water, as the dead gods will be, you see. The pool is emptied by some age-of-balance machines, and it is these that do not work.”
“So it cannot be accessed,” said Rufra.
“That’s what’s odd,” said Aydor. “Even if the machines are broken, it is not a massive pool. Nothing a week and a workgang with strong backs couldn’t fix with some handpumps.”
“So,” said Marrel, “you think they don’t want people going into the sepulchre?”
“Exactly,” said Aydor. “And Girton’s not the only one who can do a bit of investigating. Tell them the rest, Benliu.”
“My friend, Harrick,” said the priest, “told me that the sepulchre has been flooded ever since the high king died.”
“Then that is as good as anywhere to start our search,” said Rufra.
“If the high king is there,” said Marrel, “—and I am not saying I believe you—it will be well guarded. And who would be fool enough to risk going to look?”
“I’ll do it,” I said, though I had no idea how. Marrel looked to Rufra.
“Very well,” he said. “Though Girton cannot go alone. For all we know he could go to sleep in the stable and come back saying what you want us to hear. He must take another with him, someone who can be trusted.”
“But Marrel,” said Aydor, “Girton is well capable of sneaking about the castle. Anyone who goes with him is more likely to give him away than help.”
“Nevertheless, someone must. And it cannot be one of your men, Rufra. I will pick someone I think—”
“Tinia Speaks-Not,” I said.
“Leckan ap Syridd’s Heartblade?” said Marrel. “How will you get her away from him? And how will she tell us what she saw if she cannot speak?”
“She can write,” I said. “And she works for Leckan because he rewards her well. All you need to do is reward her better.”
Marrel slitted his eyes at me.
“And I suppose this comes out of my purse?”
“It is the biggest right enough,” said Aydor. “And even if Rufra is wrong, Tinia is a true assassin. You will have hired one of the best Heartblades in the Tired Lands.”
Marrel glanced over at his own Heartblade, Gonan, and the man shrugged, then nodded.
“Very well,” he said. “I will have to get a message to her. She may not even come.”
“I think she will,” I said. “She holds her master in no great esteem. Now, if there is nothing else, I am in desperate need of sleep. Please forgive me if I leave.” I turned on my heel, barely waiting for Rufra to give me a nod of acceptance.