The Light of Heaven (7 page)

"Forgive my Captain's over-eagerness, Preceptor. We are all angered by the outrage that took place today."

DeBarres nodded, and led his men away. Freihurr leaned in slightly to his Captain's ear. "Don't be too offended. Whoever tried to kill an Enlightened One of the Final Faith is probably connected to the Brotherhood of the Divine Path" The Captain nodded, relieved that the Duke was taking his man's side. He was relieved, but not surprised; he had served Kalten for a long time, and appreciated the loyalty that the Duke had always showed to his people.

"Let these religious types handle their own arguments, while we keep out of it," Freihurr added.

The Captain nodded, wondering how, if these Knights were so special, they had failed to prevent the attack.

Gabriella rolled her prisoner over onto his front, and tied his hands behind his back with a rope taken from a nearby block and tackle. During the process, she gave him a quick search. He carried no more weapons. She stepped back, deciding not to tie his legs. She wanted him to be able to walk back to the castle. Waking, he mumbled incoherently for a moment before shouting and swearing. He was covered in dirt and bleeding from his scalp. He was pinched-faced, the sort of person who's features were made for sneering. He was trying that now, but it wasn't working.

She watched him thrash his legs around, trying to get himself free.

"This is an arrest by the Order of the Swords of Dawn, for morality offences contrary to the proscriptions of the Final Faith here in Kalten."

"Morality offences?"

"The consumption of hard liquor in a region where it's prohibited by Ducal law, for starters. Which I'll admit is a technicality. Attacking an Enlightened One of the Final Faith is a much graver charge."

Gabriella could barely keep her voice from shaking; she hadn't had time to really assimilate what had happened at the castle. She wasn't sure whether she should be angry or shocked, and settled for both.

"On your feet. We'll talk about extending the charge to cover the shot at Eminence Rhodon when we get back to the castle."

'The shot.' What else could she say? She didn't even know whether the Eminence was still alive, let alone whether this prisoner was responsible.

"Let's not. Kill me and be done with it!"

"For someone who just tried so hard to get out alive, you're suddenly very keen to die. Conscience troubling you? I think you might benefit from a nice long chat with our Confessors. Come on."

"You must be joking, bitch!"

With that, he lashed out with his legs, sweeping her feet out from under her. She crashed to the floor next to him, and he reacted immediately by wrapping his ankles around her throat, and trying to twist her head. Her neck exploded into fire, and agony flared between her collarbone and her ears. She grabbed desperately at his legs, trying to pry them away. It was like trying to bend solid iron bars.

With a roar, Gabriella drew one sword and slashed at the outside of his right thigh, keeping clear of the artery, and cutting across muscle. The man screamed and his legs loosened.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Gabriella gasped.

Lightning-quick, he slammed his foot into her head, and her blade clattered away as she slid backwards across the floor.

Gabriella could see the pain explode in the fugitive's eyes as he bounced back onto his feet, but his wounds didn't stop him rolling for her fallen sword.

She lunged for him then, drawing her other sword, but he batted her blade aside with his and head-butted her. She fell back, dropping the sword.

He twirled the blade theatrically as he stood over her.

"This one's with love from the Brotherhood. Give their regards to Ludwig Rhodon when you see him in Kerberos!"

A flying white blur suddenly crashed into Gabriella's assailant from behind and she rolled to her feet as metal clanged beside her. When she had risen, the man's head was staring up at her. His body was still falling, next to a new figure. It was Erak Brand.

Gabriella shivered, and grasped his forearm tightly. Beyond him, six more Knights entered, as did a matronly woman in the white cloak of a Confessor.

"You're a hard girl to find, even after Markus reported you were heading this way." Erak said.

"What... what did you do that for?" she said, gesturing at the corpse.

"He was going to kill you!"

"He was going to try!" Gabriella protested.

"He might have succeeded."

She went over to the headless body and began searching through its clothes for anything that might identify the fugitive.

"Are you saying you go easy on me in sparring?" Gabriella said. "This man wasn't as good as you, and might I remind you who won our last bout?"

"I'm saying it doesn't matter how good a fighter is," Erak said. "You can always have a bad day. Everybody has some bad luck from time to time, and if it's when you're fighting for your life... The enemy only needs to be lucky once."

The Confessor prodded the headless corpse with the sole of her sandal. "Well, if this was the man who shot Eminence Rhodon, he was lucky."

Gabriella looked up at her, feeling a terrible sickening sensation.

"Did the Eminence -?"

The Confessor shook her head. "I don't know about that. I mean this one died quickly. Lucky for him. I don't suppose he said anything before he left us for the pits?"

Gabriella shook her head. "Just best wishes from the Brotherhood."

Confessor Kamil didn't look very surprised. "Well, if he is the one who shot at Rhodon, I'd expect a Brotherhood link. Unless, of course it's a political game and he's from one of the Pontaine cities, trying to stir up trouble." She glared at Gabriella and Erak. "It would have been nice if you'd left him in a fit state to tell us." She sighed. "Still, perhaps the body will tell us something."

"Let's hope," Gabriella agreed.

CHAPTER 4

Mud spattered up from under hoof as a column of riders passed down a trail at speed. The bridleway was wide, the silver birches set far enough back that no-one need fear being pitched from their mount by a stray branch. The horses were a motley bunch of breeds and colours, and all but one of the riders wore shields strapped to their backs and iron helms, tinted to the shade of blood by the sun.

As the valley widened, and threads of smoke became visible rising from below, a second group of hooded riders waited in a village so small it didn't even have a name. A farm at each end was separated by a few stone cottages and wattle fences. A river of churned mud running parallel to the fencing passed for a road through fields frosted white. A forested ridgeline on the horizon separated the countryside from the cliffs of Kalten. The two groups met in the middle of the village and one man from each side dismounted to meet the other.

"Scarra," Goran Kell said. He carried himself like a soldier, or a noble, and despaired of the slouching fat man. Scarra was far from ascetic, and far from a fighter, but his family was rich, and that made him useful.

"Everything is prepared, Kell. Our man knows what he has to do. There's backup to cover his escape."

Kell smiled mirthlessly. "There's been a change of plan." He beckoned to a tired-looking youth who was waiting in his entourage, on a tired-looking horse. The youth trotted forward. "Tell Scarra what you've just told me."

"Ludwig Rhodon was shot not an hour ago."

"Excellent news!" Scarra exclaimed. "You know, my boy, I have had my doubts about this scheme, but it's a great relief to know that it was merely needless worry." A frown crossed his face. "Actually, isn't it a little early? I thought it was supposed to happen at the feast."

"Oddly enough," Kell said calmly, "I thought that too. I know that, and you know that. But it would have been nice if you'd made absolutely certain that Lukas knew that as well."

"He knew! Of course he knew the plan!"

Kell's expression didn't change. "Someone didn't. So I'm changing the follow-up, just in case. We can't remain in this area. The Swords of Dawn are scouring all of Kalten. I suggest you find a safe territory for a few days. That's certainly what I shall be doing."

Scarra stiffened. "You can't just leave like this!"

Kell raised an eyebrow. "You'd prefer if I stayed here, got caught, and told the Confessors where to find you?"

"We should -"

"We should leave and neither of us should tell the other where he's going." With that, Goran Kell returned to his horse and rode away, his entourage falling in behind him.

Karel Scarra suddenly felt very cold and alone. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be rising among his peers, basking in the glow of history.

He turned and walked back to his retinue. The waiting mercenaries wore tabards bearing a red dagger. By the time he reached them, he had worked out how to tell them that Kell had messed things up and fled. Yes, that explanation would suffice. The brighter thought struck him that perhaps he could make some advantage out of this. He had spent a great deal in bribes lately, so perhaps he could recoup some of the costs now, cutting down on some more outlay.

He composed himself, arranging his features into an expression that mixed anger, apology and, hopefully, some charm. He mounted his horse before addressing his personal guard of mercenaries, feeling that he would be more commanding from the saddle than from the ground.

"My friends, we are betrayed!" he announced dramatically. "Something has happened in Kalten that was not part of Kell's plan. And Kell has decided to flee, abandoning us to our fate. I have decided that we should not go with him, as he will doubtless lead us to disaster."

"What's the plan?" a shaven-headed mercenary with large ears and a scar across his brow demanded.

"We'll make for the vineyard, Hasso. There I shall pay you my share of your wage, and we'll decide our next -"

"Wait," Hasso snapped. He nudged his horse next to Scarra's, as the other men murmured among themselves. "What do you mean, your half?"

"Kell has taken half our funds with him."

Scarra felt a sudden chill. His instinct for survival struggled with his instinct to be tight with his money, and it was a case of the proverbial irresistible force meeting the immovable object. He smiled beatifically, hiding his fear.

"We hired you together, but while he robs you, I will stand by my promise, and pay what I owe..."

"You mean
half
of what we are owed, don't you?"

Scarra considered throwing himself on their mercy, but couldn't bring himself to do so. They were his employees, after all. Most of them were just thugs, not particularly intelligent and he was sure he could convince them that the absence of Kell meant the absence of half their fee. Scarra himself, of course, had been the richer of the two, and he could have paid the mercenaries their full fee many times over, but it was much more satisfying to smear Kell for running out on him.

"If Kell has stolen from you, there is little that I can do."

"We could ride after him," Hasso pointed out, "and take it."

"We could," the Captain of the Red Daggers said at last, "but we won't. We'd be fighting our own."

"Since when did that stop us, Sarkos?"

"Cut it out, Hasso," Sarkos snapped. He sighed. "Scarra has a point." Hasso grunted derisively. "And so long as you're in the Red Daggers, you'll show some respect to our employers."

"Respect?" Hasso scoffed. "You're going to swallow his guff and keep working?" He shook his head. "You might be that way inclined, but I can't say I am."

Captain Sarkos nodded slowly. "Like I said, as long as you're in the Red Daggers."

Hasso balled his fists, digging his nails into the palms. This was how he and his fellows were rewarded for their service? Short-changed? His right hand reached for his sword, but he stayed it just before grabbing the hilt.

He didn't want to kill the men he'd been serving with. Sarkos was a good man in a fight, even if he wasn't sensible about money. Most importantly, Sarkos was good enough that Hasso wasn't sure he could take him; not if the rest of the company sided with Sarkos.

There were too many men in the company, and most of them, like Sarkos, were cheap enough to accept the pittance that Scarra offered them. Most of them used to work for cheap protection rackets and were used to being paid a couple of copper pieces; they didn't know what a real professional soldier's wage should be.

Hasso was a real professional soldier, however, and he was used to being paid at least a silver piece per day and that was what Scarra had originally promised. He grimaced, knowing that he should have known better than to trust the word of the fat man. There was little, if any, sincerity visible in Scarra's eyes or audible in his voice when he spoke.

"I didn't sign on for half-pay," Hasso said bluntly. "You're right, Sarkos, I've no place in the Red Daggers." He reined his horse in, and walked it slowly away from the other mercenaries. "I'll take my cut of your half now." He held out a hand.

Scarra hesitated. Perhaps he should order the others to attack Hasso. He was, after all, just one man against several. Then again, he was a good fighter, and Scarra dreaded to think what would happen if he triumphed. He knew that Hasso would kill him, and not swiftly. There would be pain and... And he didn't want to think about that.

He counted out the appropriate number of coins from his purse and slapped them into Hasso' hand.

"I am a fair man," he said primly. "I will always pay you what I owe you."

"You owe me this much again."

"Kell and I as a unit owe you this much again. I've paid
my
share."

Hasso scowled, and stuffed the coins into a pouch. He wheeled his horse away.

"Where are you going?"

Hasso considered for a moment, then gave a cruel smile. "I'm going to get the other half." He nudged his horse into a gallop, in the direction that Kell had gone. Sarkos and a few others drew swords, clearly intending to pursue him.

"Hold," Scarra said. He was tempted to let them kill Hasso, but after a few seconds' thought realised that Kell would do the job for him. Why risk the safety of the men he had left? It wasn't as if the mercenaries knew the details of his plans. "Kell will pay him off, one way or the other."