The Bloodstained God (Book 2) (52 page)

“What…?”

“You saved my queen,” the captain said. “It would be dishonourable to kill you when I owe such a debt, and dishonourable to deny my cause against you.”

“And?”

“You must kill me,” he said.

Skal stared again, for a moment completely unable to find anything to say. It was simply too ridiculous. He began to laugh. Emmar surged angrily to his feet, but his precious honour prevented him from doing anything at all, so he was forced to stand there, red faced and scowling.

“Why are you laughing?” he demanded.

“Captain, I can no more kill you than I can turn into a wolf. You are my ally, and a doughty soldier I have no doubt. Your queen needs every man who can kill Seth Yarra to do just that. Please, let us name ourselves allies in that cause.”

Emmar looked undecided for a moment, and then stuck his hand out. “I will take your hand on it,” he declared. Skal took his hand and discovered that the man was at least as strong as he appeared.

Trouble had not abandoned them. Even as the main body of their force caught up with the queen’s party they could see Seth Yarra soldiers in the town, and to Skal’s dismay the bridge collapsed into the river. Clearly the party they had encountered had been a scouting group, and by the look of it there were ten times that number in the town. Of the Telan garrison there was no sign, and Skal guessed that in Greenhow the battle had gone the other way.

They camped that night on the slopes above the warehouses, looking down on the river and the broken bridge. Skal was not sure if he should attend the queen. He thought that she might like to be alone in her grief, or at least attended by officers of her own people, but he went anyway, to pay his respects and offer his condolences.

Militarily, it was not a bad thing that Terresh had been killed. The man had been a poor commander, and one who had been difficult to challenge, being a king. Better men sought the opinions of others, but Terresh had been ignorant of his own inadequacy. Besides, Skal had never been able to overcome his dislike for the man.

Hestia was a different matter. She was intelligent, graceful, willing to listen to the opinions of others and quick to understand what was said.

Outside the queen’s tent there was a small gathering of Telan officers. Emmar was there, and to Skal’s surprise he nodded and stepped over to the Avilian.

“She has been waiting for you,” he said. There was no rancour or resentment in his voice. It seemed that as quickly as the blink of an eye he had transmuted from enemy to friend.

“For me?”

“Aye, so they say.”

He went to the tent flap and the guards there drew aside as he approached. Apparently he was both expected and welcome. He ducked inside.

Hestia was alone. That was a surprise. Not only was she permitting an Avilian to be alone with her, but also a man. It was as gesture of considerable trust. She was seated by a fire, and her eyes were lingering on the flames.

“Queen Hestia.” She looked up.

“Lord Skal.” She gestured to a chair set close to her own, and he sat, waited for her to speak. It was some time before she did.

“You have seen Narak fight, have you not?” she asked.

“I have not,” he confessed. “When he came to Fal Verdan I was already injured and bedridden at the other end of the pass. I was not on the wall that day.”

“That is a pity. I would like to have known from one who has seen him. We hear so many stories.”

“I can tell you that those who have seen him fight are more in awe of him than those who have not.”

“A fair answer,” she said. “Perhaps he is truly the god of death then.”

“He does not seem so to me,” Skal said.

“No?” She looked back at the fire and was silent for a while. “Terresh had a theory. After Passerina brought me back from the edge of death he thought that perhaps she was life and he was death. How could we lose if we fought with both life and death on our side?” Her voice was very quiet.

“Queen Hestia, if I intrude upon your grief I will leave at once.”

She looked up sharply. “No. Stay, Lord Skal. I cannot talk to my own people. I must be strong for them. You are the only one, and I owe you my life.”

“I regret that I could not save the king also.”

“Do you? I could see that you did not think much of him, and he could see it, too. You know he wanted your respect, but he could never say so, not even to me.”

“He was a king, Queen Hestia, and his people loved him.” Why would the king have wanted the respect of a minor Avilian nobleman, a colonel?

“A kind thing to say, and true in its way. You are a good man, Lord Skal.”

“I am happy that you think so,” he replied.

She was quiet for a while longer. “She did more, you know.”

She? He supposed that Hestia was speaking of Passerina. “More?” he asked.

“More than heal me.” She touched her hair in the place where a hint of grey was invading her thick, dark locks. “The colour is coming back,” she said. “There was a scar on my hand from when I was a child, and it has gone. The lines on my face are fading. I am younger, Lord Skal.”

“Is that possible?”

“I see it in myself, and I am not deceived,” she replied. “And she takes life without touching those she kills. We saw it in Telas Alt, Seth Yarra dead without a mark, just fallen upon the ground as though…” she struggled for a word. “As though doused, like a fire, smothered like a candle without even a chance to put a hand to the hilt of their swords.”

It was a chilling image. “You saw this?”

“Not with my eyes, but where she passed the Seth Yarra no longer lived.”

Skal considered this for a moment. It seemed unlikely. If the Benetheon could kill in this manner, then why did they not? Remard and others had died in the Great War. Beloff had fallen at Finchbeak Road. It made no sense, unless it was Passerina alone who could do this. Yet he had seen the sparrow heal Hestia with his own eyes, and nowhere in all the stories of his youth was this held to be a Benetheon power. It was unknown.

“But why does she not do this to all Seth Yarra?” he asked.

“I think it hurts her in some way,” Hestia said.

“Hurts?”

“I cannot explain, but it seems so to me. Yet I cannot be sure. I cannot even be sure that I believe what I am saying. It seems quite impossible.”

Skal understood. These were wild words, not the sort of talk a loyal Telan would want to hear from his queen, but Skal was not a loyal Telan. He did not know exactly what he was – a friend, an ally, a stranger? – but he was certainly not a Telan.

“You will not speak of this to anyone else?” he asked.

“I cannot, but the words must be spoken, even if to nothing more than the night air. They burn within me and cannot be denied.”

“Then I am glad to have been of service,” Skal said.

Hestia seemed to shake herself, pull free of her melancholy. She sat forward in her chair and looked keenly at Skal. “Forget what I have said, Lord Skal. It is of no consequence. But now we must speak more seriously. Will you support me?”

“Support you?” He did not understand the question.

“I will claim the throne of Telas,” she said. “The men know that you are a warrior of some renown, and if you stand beside me I will have a better chance of making that claim stick. Many will not like it.”

“They may not see my support as a positive thing, Queen Hestia. I am an Avilian Lordling, and there is no love for Avilian among your People.”

“I judge it differently, Lord Skal, and you will allow that it is my gamble?”

“It is.”

“Besides, I have other lords that are loyal to me. You are not the only card in my hand.” She smiled a thin smile. She looked tired, Skal thought, and it was hardly surprising. She had stood and fought with them. She had seen her husband die, and yet here she was plotting late into the night. He wondered for a moment what was in her mind, if it was simply the power that she wished to wield. It did not seem likely. Good men would have walked away from the challenges she faced.

“What will you do?” he asked.

“I will take Telas Alt as we planned.”

“We have lost the Greenhow Bridge. It will take more time. It will be more difficult.”

“So much greater the glory.”

Skal laughed. “I cannot fault your ambition, Queen Hestia,” he said.

“I must be bold or I shall be nothing at all, and if I am nothing, then the same fate will befall Telas. Will you support me?”

“I will.”

“Then I have one more thing to thank you for, Lord Skal.”

*              *              *              *

The dawn saw the funeral rites of the king of Telas. It was not a lavish affair. Terresh was, compared to his ancestors, a pauper king, driven from his capital, his royal palace a tent, his honour guard a battered phalanx of warriors. Yet they had done what they could.

All night the Telans had been abroad gathering wood, and now a pyre stood on the top of one of the hills that overlooked the spot where the king had fallen. It was fully ten feet high and draped thickly with cloths of blue and gold. Terresh had been placed on the top, dressed in his armour with his sword at his side. The body of one of the Seth Yarra soldiers had been placed beneath his feet to symbolise his mastery over his enemies, and all around him were piled sweet, aromatic herbs. The cloths and the bodies and the wood had been soaked in oil.

Around the pyre the Telan soldiers stood in ranks. There was a parade ground formality about the scene that seemed quite uncharacteristic for the Telans. They stood quite still, and in perfect lines, waiting for their queen. Skal had assembled his Avilians between the pyre and the town. They remained at the ready in case the Seth Yarra should attempt to launch some kind of attack, but he thought it unlikely. Now that their full force could be clearly seen from Greenhow it was clearly quite beyond the enemy’s ambition, and besides that the bridge was gone.

Skal himself waited where he had been asked to wait. He stood with a group of Telan officers and lords close to Hestia’s tent. They were a sombre, black browed bunch. There was no conversation among them. They stood silently, heads bowed, grim.

Hestia emerged from the tent a few minutes after the sun had risen. She was dressed entirely in white. Skal had no idea where she had found such a costume, but it looked stunning amid the glowering greys, browns and blacks of her escort.

“I go to farewell the king,” she said to them. “Will you do likewise?” It was a formal phrase, and the response was muttered by the assembled company.

“We will.”

She led them, straight backed and proud, along the path that led up to the pyre. A way had been left for her, and they all filed through the silent ranks of soldiers until they stood by the small tower of wood and Terresh’s remains.

Hestia stood for a moment, now with her head bowed, facing the pyre. A man stood next to her, bearing a lighted torch that guttered in the breeze. The oil soaked cloth flapped lazily against the wood of the pyre. Somewhere above the grassy hills a skylark was singing an inappropriate song, praising the joys of summer.

Hestia turned and faced her gathered people.

“Today we bring to a close the reign of Terresh, King of Telas, lord of the west, lion of the eternal kingdom, emperor of the seas.” Her voice faltered, and she reached out to put a hand upon the cloth, to steady herself. Skal wondered if she was as touched by grief as she seemed.