‘A disturbing dream, Warden, if there was no cause to their deeds.’
‘But there was, sir, of sorts. With each child slain, I saw the slayer’s wealth grow, in coin stacks, in gems and silks, and slaves at their feet. I saw them grow fat, but through windows there was the flicker of flames, drawing ever nearer.’
‘Let us bend to our task here, Warden, and speak no more of ill dreams.’
When Finarra Stone pushed her mount ahead, into a pace verging on reckless, Faror Hend followed. The day’s light was fading, and upon the track to their left, the stream of figures lost all colour, gave up no light, and soon were swallowed in the gloom.
NINETEEN
The sounds of revelry filled the hust legion camp outside the command tent. Smiling, Hunn Raal studied the woman seated opposite him. ‘It seemed a modest gesture at the time,’ he said, ‘but I cannot refute the blessing of this outcome.’
Toras Redone did not smile in return. Her expression remained unchanged, and this detail had begun to unnerve the captain. She held her tankard in her left hand and the jug of wine, from her private stores, in her right, resting both on her thighs. ‘If you think,’ she said, only slightly slurring her words, ‘gifts of wine and ale to my soldiers are sufficient to win everlasting accord between our legions, captain, then your drunken ways have led you astray.’
Hunn Raal lifted his brows. ‘It ever pained me, commander, that we came to view each other as rivals-’
‘Your dislike of the Hust has nothing to do with rivalry. You fear our weapons and their songs of war. It is not my soldiers whom you need to ply with liquor to achieve peace between us, but perhaps such generosity applied to your own soldiers could improve matters.’
‘Songs of war? Abyss below, commander, we can list the many words available to describe the uncanny cries of your weapons, but surely not the language of music.’
Her level gaze remained fixed on him. ‘Indeed? What stirring symphony would you wish for war, captain? Drums to quicken the heart? A rising crescendo to mark the momentous clash of two foes meeting in combat? Sorrowful dirges to settle like ashes upon the inevitable scene of slaughter to follow? Are you a romantic, captain? Do you dream of glory and virtue, of heroism and bravery? Are we all brothers and sisters under the armour, under the skin and down among our bones which, when at last laid bare, lose all provenance?’ She raised her tankard and swallowed down another mouthful. ‘Is this the man who has come among us? Sodden and sentimental, yet eager to raise a hand and point an accusing finger at unbelievers?’
Hunn Raal bit back a savage retort. ‘The Hust Legion proclaims itself Mother Dark’s own-’
‘Does Urusander resent the claim? Do you?’
He shook his head. ‘Commander, there are Deniers among you.’
‘What of it?’
‘They do not belong to Mother Dark.’
‘Don’t they?’
‘Of course they don’t.’
She refilled her tankard — something she did after every mouthful. ‘Too many things weaken your resolve, captain. Your self-doubt creates enemies and then raises them up like things of mud and straw. But whose flaws are so displayed? Many an old soldier has noted how one is measured by one’s enemies. Yet, here you are, refusing to respect your foe, even as you exaggerate the threat they pose. Are you too drunk, captain, to countenance the contradiction?’
This night had begun in a contest of drinking, or so Hunn Raal had read the challenge in the commander’s eyes, when she had first invited him to sit with her. In the meantime, the wagons had trundled into the encampment, and the casks were unloaded to laughing soldiers, and Toras Redone had voiced no objection to the distribution of such bounty. He struggled to steady his thoughts. ‘I respect the threat they represent, commander. This is why I have come to you. Our legions must stand together, in Mother Dark’s defence.’
‘It is my understanding, captain, that she commands no such thing. Mother Dark does not compel anyone.’ Then Toras Redone suddenly snorted. ‘How could she, when the gifts of worship remain unknown? In what manner are we rewarded when we deem her a goddess? What cast this coinage of faith? The priestesses flounder in their beds and silken pillows. Mother Dark announces no laws and demands nothing from us. What kind of goddess is she, when she does not gauge her own power in terms of adherents? Worship her. Do not worship her. Either way, she remains unchanged.’
‘I am a simple soldier, commander, and I admit to avoiding the confusions of religious practice. I see the world as a soldier must see it. We all wear uniforms, be they girded for war or politics, or religion.’
