The Light of Heaven (13 page)

Two rough-looking men with swords at their belts rose from a small table next to the door as he entered.

"It's raining blood out there," Kell said. "Sandor Feyn is expecting me."

The men fell in beside him and showed him through to a small dining room. Only one table was in it and a small window overlooked the shipyards. Cold air poured in through the window, meeting the heat from the fire in the grate.

There were two chairs at the table. A large man in a well-cut leather tabard was already sat at one of them, munching on a hunk of meat. He had a dark red beard, neatly trimmed with a longer plait on each side.

"Well, Goran Kell, as I live and breathe." He indicated the chair opposite. "Sit down and help yourself. I hear it's been a... well, not just a long journey but a necessarily careful one." He pushed a goblet across the table. "Drink this, it should clear the cobwebs."

Kell sat down, with thanks. "I had to come. Something very strange has happened." He sniffed at the wine. "Clear the cobwebs? Poison the spiders more like." He drank it anyway.

Feyn's expression darkened. "Strange? I don't like strange, Kell. Strange brings the Swords to my door."

Kell waved the concern away dismissively. "The Swords are busy up in Kalten and doubtless taking names and cracking heads as usual. There was a man I hired: Lukas Bertram. I hired him to make a... political statement up there."

"That name rings a bell," Sandor Feyn said. He shoved his plate aside and massaged his temples for a moment. "It was a couple of weeks ago... Someone reported - Ah! He's dead."

Kell smiled thinly. "I worked that one out already, thank you." He shrugged. "The man knew he was most likely on a one-way -"

Feyn shook his head. "That's not what I meant. A fisherman scooped his body out of the bay a fortnight ago."

Kell blinked, and looked for any sign of joking in Feyn's expression. "A fortnight? That's impossible!"

Feyn shrugged. "People get killed all the time. And, as if the big bad world isn't dangerous enough, the profession of an assassin is an inherently risky one, as I think you'll agree. Now, what was strange?"

"But the attack went ahead, if not exactly as planned!"

"Not exactly?" Feyn echoed. He shook his head. "Come on Goran, 'not exactly' doesn't cut it. What was so exact about it?"

Kell grimaced. "The shot at an Eminence was made early; at the presentation of the happy couple instead of at the afternoon feast."

"And yet the shot was made, the target hit."

Kell paced around the small room. "Yes, yes... But it wasn't exactly the plan. and at the time Lukas was already dead." Something clenched in Kell's guts and he shivered.

"An unpleasant thought," Feyn said.

"Unpleasant? It's... I don't even know what the word is! If our man died a week before the event, then who the hell took the shot?"

"You and Scarra recruited him, Goran. Did he have an associate whom he might have confided in, who might have fulfilled the contract in the event of -"

"Not that I know of, but we never actually met. Everything was arranged through intermediaries." Kell paled. "Which can only mean one of them has made some kind of arrangement of his own, with God knows who."

"It's a strange matter."

"You're telling me," Kell agreed.

"What do you think happened?"

"It seems to me that there are two basic possibilities. One: that fat fool Scarra got it wrong. Two: someone's playing us, and if that's the case it's better to keep our distance from Scarra. He's always been unstable and trying to bounce back and forth in somebody's game will send him off his head."

"And then he'll get caught?"

"Assuming he hasn't been already. And I'd rather he couldn't point the way to me when he does get caught."

"What about Freedom? How much does he know about that?"

Kell gave a short laugh. "Sod all, my friend, sod all. It's not that I don't trust Scarra, but... I know how his mouth hates to sit still. If the Confessors don't give him something to chew on every five minutes, he'd give them something."

"Wouldn't it have been more sensible to silence him? Just in case? Chaga has never been shy about doing what's necessary."

Kell's lips twisted, as if he'd tasted something bitter and unpleasant. "It would have made more sense to never have had anything to do with him in the first place," Kell sighed. "But without his money and business contacts, we might never had the wagons we needed, or made the payoffs to the guilds..."

"All right, let's assume someone knew your plan."

"Someone must have."

"Then who? Faith Confessors have spies everywhere, but..."

"But they would have stopped the attack." Kell paced around the room, shaking his head like a dog with a rat in his jaws. "Who would have hired another assassin? The one who actually carried out the attack."

Feyn closed his eyes for a moment. "There's a man I know, who might be able to find out a few answers for you. He's worked for me before."

"Who?"

"His name doesn't matter."

"It does to me."

Feyn gave an amused grunt. "It does to him too. He wouldn't be happy if I spread it around. I'll get in touch with him, and tell him you require his services. I'll let him know how to contact you."

"Tell him the matter is rather urgent."

Feyn nodded. "Of course. Now, I presume you're not staying long in these parts?"

"I'll be returning to Fayence soon and then on to Freedom."

"The Faith will be expecting you to make for Fayence."

"I imagine they'll consider the possibility, but logic suggests they'll expect me to make for Freiport."

Feyn laughed. "Run the gauntlet of the Anclas Territories with a price on your head and every unemployed mercenary band looking for a quick profit?"

"It wasn't what I had mind." Kell rose. "I'll you send a message through the Huntress when I reach Fayence. I shall expect some information by way of reply."

"I'm sure things will be in motion by then," Feyn promised.

CHAPTER 7

Kell walked out of Sandor Feyn's inn, deep in thought, but not too lost in it to stop being alert. Outside, Chaga and two other men were waiting, their eyes alert and searching every face.

"One thing we must make sure of is that there are no tracks back to me. It's time to start tying off loose ends."

"Any particular ends in mind?" Chaga asked as they began walking through the streets of Turnitia.

"Lukas Bertam had several men hired to run interference for him during his escape. He's dead and someone else made the assassination attempt. Whoever did take the shot at Rhodon also had men running interference for his escape, and since he used the same route, perhaps he used the same men."

"Men who might be able to tie Lukas to you."

"Or who might tie our mystery assassin to me. I doubt they'd know the difference and the Faith Confessors wouldn't care."

"Consider them dealt with," Chaga said smoothly. "I'll put the word out immediately."

"One other thing," Kell said. Chaga turned expectantly. "I want to know everything those men know. If Lukas' men aren't the ones who took part, I want to know what happened to them. If the men who did help the assassin are not the same men hired to assist Lukas, then I want to know who they are and who hired them. Understood?"

"Thy will be done, sir. You have my word"

The hooves of Gabriella's horse cracked old bones as they neared Andon. Gabriella had known that the last war between Vos and Pontaine had cost uncountable lives before it ended, but she had been a little girl at the time, living above her father's bakery in Andon. From the window of her room she had been able to see the Cathedral library where her mother took care of the archives. She liked to spend days in there, reading not just tales of old Anointed Lords and their battles against the Brotherhood of the Divine Path, but the latest messages about the progress of the war, which were being archived there. Whoever won, the records would remain for future generations.

When war had come, the DeZantez family had moved to Dathyn, an out-of-the-way town in the Drakengrat. Gabriella had been both terrified that the war would come to Dathyn while also longing for it to do so. There had been only a few skirmishes near Dathyn, though the town was close to military supply lines.

The Faith itself had sided with Vos back then, and Gabriella's parents had both been keen that their daughter stay safe in the small village bakery with her father, just in case the Pontaine forces decided to attack the temporary Archive in Dathyn. They never did, and when the war was over, her parents had returned to Andon.

Then Gabriella had grown up and joined the Order, inspired by the reports she had seen, of the generalship of Katherine Makennon, who was now the Anointed Lord. Since then she had seen combat and fought and almost died. Until the past few days, however, when they had ridden past the edges of the Killing Fields outside Andon, she had largely forgotten what the place was like. And, as a child, she has never really understood the numbers of the dead.

For two days, their horse's hooves had cracked and crushed bones still lying unburied in the fields overgrown with evergreen weeds and flowers. She supposed they were well-fertilised with organic material since the war. There was no equipment left among the bones, not after so many years. No clothing, no armour, no weapons. Just bones. She didn't even want to think about how wide an area they truly covered, or how much denser the remains of the dead must be getting as they neared Andon.

"While we're in Andon will you tell your mother about us?" Erak asked. He felt his guts tighten immediately. If Gabriella's mother disapproved, and tried to come between them, he didn't know what he'd do. Well, it was too late to change things, but how was he supposed to feel?

"Don't worry," Gabriella reassured him. "It'll be fine."

The Cathedral at Andon, presided over by Archimandrite Tomas Marek, was the most visible sign of the Faith in Pontaine. There were smaller cathedrals in Gargas and Volonne as well, but Andon was largest because it was closer to home, and because of its strategic value in times of conflict between the two nations.

Its great arms enclosed a Preceptory of the Order of the Swords of Dawn, a hospital, a seminary, and a large archive building. Gabriella felt strange riding past the archive's doors in armour. The last time she had been here, she had been in her early teens, visiting her mother, who was the archivist here. She was already a squire in the Order, and a friend of Erak's, but she had never worn armour in her mother's presence. She wondered whether she would get the chance to visit the archive during this visit, and whether she should wear armour if she did.

There were four posts from which to hang gibbets at the corners of the churchyard of the Cathedral, though of course none had been occupied recently, as the sight and smell of rotting bodies wasn't welcomed by the people of Pontaine as easily in the Empire of Vos.

A gibbet was being prepared in the yard, under the supervision of Preceptor DeBarres. This would be the site not just of an execution, but of a cleansing of the soul. The gibbet was an iron cage, slightly larger than an average man, and vaguely human-shaped. It was pitted and blackened, and lumps of charred meat stuck to the metal here and there. Freihurr vom Kalten gave it a distasteful glance as he watched with Eminence Kesar, who had come for the ritual cleansing after a brief trip to make his report to the Anointed Lord. Eminences Jan Voivode and Ludwig Rhodon had also come to Andon with them. Confessor Kamil stood nearby.

"Well," Freihurr asked Kamil, "Did this man Scarra say anything useful?"

"Little of practical value," Kamil admitted. "He confessed to apostasy in having joined the Brotherhood, and gave up the names of three people from his estate. He also confirmed what Sister DeZantez reported he told her."

"And what of the plot to shoot me?" Rhodon asked weakly. "You'll understand if I have a somewhat biased interest in the matter."

"He confessed to a part in that also. He named Lukas Bertam as the assassin."

"The assassin was killed," Freihurr said, "so his name makes little difference."

"And what about the whereabouts of the other man, Goran Kell?" Rhodon asked, anxiously.

Confessor Kamil shrugged. "Kell was apparently very firm about them not telling each other where they were going, just in case. All Scarra knows is really supposition"

In the Preceptory's deepest cell, Gabriella and Erak dragged Karel Scarra out of his straw and lice-filled cot, and prompted him towards the dark staircase. He had lost some weight over the past couple of days, and his belly had begun to sag. Without his fine robes, he was a repulsive sight, pale and clammy. The tattoo of two linked circles, symbol of the Brotherhood of the Divine Path, mocked her from his shoulder.

"It's time," Gabriella said blandly. "Was it a nice chat with the Confessor?"

"I told her all I knew." Scarra could only wonder whether Gabriella had kept her word about keeping his family's employees in work. He was tempted to ask, to be sure, but then took hold of his senses again. If he asked, she would either tell him they were executed in order to taunt him, or she might be provoked into doing so if the question made her suspicious of them. Always assuming they hadn't been punished anyway, which wouldn't surprise him.

He decided he'd rather not know.

He could hear singing from somewhere outside; the sort of uplifting tune the Faith used to make people think there was a better life after this one.

By this time they had emerged onto the yard and the grey light was blinding after several days in the darkness below. Men and women were singing along with a small choir led by an Enlightened One in pastel blue robes. It was a full service, all for his benefit.

Scarra couldn't take his eyes off the gibbet, an eight-foot high cage of blackened metal and he struggled against his captors as he was led towards it.

Gabriella tightened her grip on the struggling man and, with Erak's help, shoved him into the gibbet. Gabriella had thought she would feel triumphant at bringing this heretic to his cleansing, but she felt nothing. This was just something that had to be done, like oiling her swords. She wasn't sure whether this lack of emotion was a good thing or a bad thing.