Ascendant's Rite (The Moontide Quartet) (109 page)

‘Absolutely. In fact, I believe a party is planned.’

*

Ramon rode in behind his general, cradling Julietta and showing her the sea of cheering faces, though she was too young to appreciate it, much less remember. There were musicians and choirs bellowing hymns and folk songs as they rode through the crowds. Most of those who’d come to greet them were traders hoping against hope for something to buy and sell on, and local whores desperate for fresh pockets to empty. The Second Army marched in proudly, then just as proudly broke ranks and proceeded to get rotten drunk and dance until they fell over.

It was Darkmoon. When the next moon rose, it would herald the official end of the Moontide, though the Bridge was, according to reports, already almost engulfed when the tide was high.

It’s over
, Ramon thought, happy-sad.
Sol et Lune, it’s over.

At times during the night he glimpsed Kip, carousing among his Minaus worshippers, his Dhassan woman at his feet as he drank enough ale to float a Tigrates riverboat; and Gerdhart, preaching and giving thanks. He slipped into Jelaska’s tent but she was sleeping, so he kissed her brow and left.

He went looking for the healers’ tent, opened the flap, then stopped, smiling softly.

Seth Korion was asleep, cradling Carmina in his arms. The Brician woman signed at Ramon to go away. He winked at her, lowered the flap and slipped away.

He found Lanna Jureigh on a bench outside a doorway to a rented room, sipping brandy from a clay bottle and staring up at the stars. The doorway was packed with flowers and gifts of all sorts.

‘Oh,’ she said as he sat beside her. ‘It’s you.’

‘You were expecting someone else?’

‘Are you kidding?’ She waved a hand at the piles of flowers and gifts. ‘I’ve had serious marriage proposals from every man I nursed in the past two years.’

Julietta gurgled at the flowers, so Ramon put her down and let her crawl clumsily towards them. The healer watched the girl with wistful eyes. He kissed Lanna’s cheek and neck. She smelled musky and sweet. ‘Did you accept any of the proposals?’

‘Of course not,’ she laughed throatily. ‘I have a higher calling. The army.’

‘Would you accept a gift from me?’

She turned to face him. ‘That depends what it is,’ she replied, her voice non-committal.

He picked up Julietta and placed the girl in her lap. ‘This is your daughter, Julietta.’

Lanna stared. ‘That’s not funny, Ramon.’

‘It’s not a joke. I’m not meant for fatherhood. I’ve got too much to do in Silacia. A mother and a half-sister to free. Vengeance to harvest. I don’t have the time or energy to be a parent . . . or even the heart for it. She deserves better: she deserves
you
.’

Lanna shook her head. ‘I can’t.’ But she wrapped her arms around the little girl tightly, trembling.

‘Of course you can.’ He kissed the little girl’s forehead, then Lanna’s. ‘You’ll be perfect for each other.’

He left before she could find him a reason not to accept. It was like ripping himself in half.

Out in the night, Silvio and Tomasi were waiting with a dozen men, fresh horses and the expectation of gold beyond their dreams. It was almost two thousand miles to Silacia.

*

Seth Korion woke with the sun, staring at the back of Carmina Phyl’s shoulder. Her hair was tickling his nose and cheeks, and the air inside the tent was close and stale.

Well, that wasn’t what I thought it would be.

Love poetry spoke of sweet honey and wine, of stars that exploded and dreams that came to life; of love forged eternal on the fires of passion. But it had been rather sweaty and fumbling and he doubted that she’d really been as enraptured as she pretended. He’d gone to sleep faintly disappointed, unsure what had been so important about spilling his seed inside this woman, or any woman, actually. It all seemed rather low, like something peasants and farmers might do but better-bred people should eschew.

‘Better-bred’. Ha!

He must have snorted softly, because she was suddenly aware of him, casting a sleepy look back over her shoulder. ‘Oh, you’re still here.’

He wasn’t sure what to make of that. ‘Should I have gone?’

‘No, no. It’s just . . . I understood men like to leave while the woman sleeps. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.’ She rolled over to face him. ‘You can stay if you wish,’ she offered.

‘No. I need to be up. This is still an army, and we’ve a long way to go.’

She feigned protest, but not too hard. He dressed, kissed her mouth – sour from sleep – and left feeling little different to how he had going in.
Perhaps it will all feel more significant later.

‘Good morning, General!’ Lanna Jureigh called. She was outside her the healing tent dandling a baby on her knee – Julietta Sensini, by the look.

‘Good morning,’ he called ‘Is Ramon in there?’

‘No,’ she replied, with an odd timbre in her voice. ‘He’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

She smiled, wet-eyed but happy. ‘Gone away. He said he had things to attend to in Silacia. But he left me with this little bundle.’ She hugged Julietta to her chest, beaming and crying.

Seth swallowed, then blinked, saluted and walked away. For a few minutes he felt lost, wondering how on Urte he’d work out what to do without Sensini. Then the tyranny of logistics took over, all the obvious things that needed doing but wouldn’t happen until he told someone so, and before long it was just another day of routes and supplies and equipment.

He cast Ramon from his mind, and Carmina too, and became a Korion again.

Hebusalim, Dhassa, on the continent of Antiopia

Rajab (Julsep) 930

One month after the end of the Moontide

Sultan Salim of Kesh knelt in the vast expanse of the Bekira-Dome, the greatest Amteh shrine of them all. The whole edifice had been emptied so that the Sultan could be alone to contemplate the wonders of Ahm. The inlaid marble shone in the brilliant sun, glistening words of the Kalistham rising from within the stone – a magic of the Ordo Costruo who’d built it, though they were largely Kore-worshippers or unbelievers.

Strange how much wealth we pour into such places, while the poor go without.

He’d been there for about an hour and it was about time he returned to the madness outside. He could hear the chanting masses gathered for a glimpse of him. He’d ridden into Hebusalim as a victor, exalted by the destruction of the Crusade. But there was so much that needed doing now; he had to repair the lives of his people.

Bare feet slapped on stone and another man dropped to his knees behind and to his left and made obeisance to Ahm. Salim let him finish, staying on his knees patiently in this vast place, which when full could hold twenty thousand but today held two.

‘Sal’Ahm, Great Sultan,’ Rashid Mubarak greeted him respectfully when his prayer was done.

‘Sal’Ahm, Emir Rashid. Walk with me.’ Salim got to his feet and together they went towards the fountain in the northward corner. They trod in silence until Salim asked, ‘Who is your lord, Rashid?’

‘You, Great Sultan,’ Rashid responded instantly.

‘Yet you keep secrets from me.’

‘It seemed necessary, Great Sultan. If I have erred, I beg forgiveness.’

Salim regarded the other man: perfection in a male form, from his lean but muscular body to his haughty face with their piercing green eyes and perfectly styled hair and beard. A mage, a master swordsman and a ruler: the true architect of the shihad, in the eyes of most.

Who sent his lover off to find the Scytale of Corineus and hasn’t spoken of it since.

‘Where is Alyssa Dulayne?’

‘I don’t know. None of those with her have come back. There has been no contact, and I cannot find her through scrying. The last report from her, she was flying towards Lokistan, seeking a monastery.’ Rashid sounded apprehensive. ‘The same monastery that the “Merozain Bhaicara” appear to originate from.’ He pulled a face. ‘They have hinted that she is their prisoner.’

‘And they have this “Sk’thali” also?’

‘I believe so,’ Rashid admitted, his worries even more clear now. ‘But we don’t know the purpose of these Merozains yet.’

‘Ramita Ankesharan leads them, with a Rondian husband,’ Salim reminded him. ‘She has no reason to love you, Rashid, or our faith.’ Rashid bowed his head at these indisputable facts. They reached the fountain and Salim sat on the edge and trailed his fingers in the pond. He didn’t want to alienate Rashid; he needed him. ‘Tell me of the oath you swore – and broke – to the Ordo Costruo.’

The emir’s face became puzzled. ‘I swore to place myself in service of the Order, who in turn were pledged to serve peace, and to build a better world for all.’

Salim nodded slowly, thinking of an idealistic dreamer with a predilection for poetry and wine who would’ve approved of the oath. ‘If I asked you to create such an order – an Ahmedhassan order – dedicated to rebuilding our cities and towns, would you do so for me?’

‘Of course . . .’ Rashid licked his lips. ‘But this is a time of huge opportunity, Great Sultan – the Rondians have been mortally wounded! If we moved agents into Sydia, inside ten years we would have friendly enclaves, ready to support a new shihad: the invasion of Yuros itself!’

‘We do not need a new shihad, Rashid Mubarak. We need buildings and aqueducts and irrigation – we need roads and bridges!
That
is our need!’

Rashid bowed in reluctant acquiescence. ‘As my Sultan commands.’

‘Then I leave the formation of this order in your hands, but I desire close oversight. Your magi have been trained to kill and destroy; retrain them in the arts of healing and building.’

‘As my Lord commands.’

‘And Rashid: we will not put to death our Rondian prisoners. They will be a labour force for the rebuilding of Dhassa and Kesh – not slaves, but bonded workers. When the next Moontide comes they will be free to leave. I will keep a roster of them, and the fate of each will be accounted for.’

Rashid’s eyes flashed. ‘They are invaders!’

‘They are men who followed orders.’ Salim waited until Rashid bowed again. ‘And what of my new bride?’

‘Cera Nesti?’ Rashid shrugged. ‘Her value is less than it was, but she is still a strategic alliance. Place her in the zenana and plough her when her Moon is risen.’

‘On that at least we agree.’ Salim stood. ‘Come, we must meet these “Merozain” magi and find out if they’re any different to the other breeds.’

*

Alaron heaved a sigh of relief, and leaned on his elbows on the balcony. Beside him, Ramita held Dasra, showing him the newly risen moon. Nasatya remained elusive, and she had a resigned heaviness to her expression, the realisation that perhaps he would never be found.

‘I’m sick of banquets,’ Alaron said, watching the guests leave through the courtyard below. The evening had been spent with the Sultan of Kesh, a smooth and charming man who spoke of peace with apparent yearning.

‘So am I,’ Ramita replied. ‘I want to go home, Al’Rhon, to Aruna Nagar. I want to see my parents and my brothers and sisters. I want to show them my husband and my son. Can we please,
please
, go home?’

He shared her longing, but his home was thousands of miles in the other direction. His father was at Pontus. Apparently Elena had taken to her own skiff an hour after he and Ramita had left Brochena and had fished Father and Ramon from the mess at Midpoint Tower. He was so grateful he couldn’t think how he could ever repay her. Not that she’d wanted to have that conversation anyway.

‘There’s so much to do.’ Alaron sighed wearily. ‘We have to work out what to do with the Scytale. We’ve got to find Nasatya. We’ve got to make sure the Bridge has enough energy to survive being underwater. We’ve got to make arrangements for Corinea, and we have to work something out with the Ordo Costruo – and this new order Rashid Mubarak is creating.’

Ramita glowered. ‘I don’t trust that snake.’

‘Me neither.’

‘Then let it all wait!’ She took his hand, put it to her lips then her heart. ‘Please, come to Baranasi. We’ll marry under Omali rites: you will ride a white horse into my parents’ yard to claim me, we’ll walk thrice around the fire and exchange garlands, and be one in the eyes of the Gods.’

And it will mean everything to me
, her eyes added.
Everything in the world.

Brochena, Javon, on the continent of Antiopia

Rajab (Julsep) 930

One month after the end of the Moontide

The Scriptualist invoked the Ritual of Family, then the women present – Cera Nesti, Elena Anborn and Staria Canestos – unwound their scarves and removed their bekira-shrouds while the men looked on warily.

Cera concealed a smile.
What, too many girls in the room for you, boys?

Cera surveyed them: the lords of Javon: Emir Mekmud of Lybis, Stefan di Aranio of Riban, Justiano di Kestria of Loctis in proxy for his elder brother Massimo, and Emilio Gorgio of Hytel. The highest-ranking Jhafi nobles of Intemsa and Baroz were here too, and of course her own Nesti men. Posing on her left was Theo Vernio-Nesti, trying to pick up some reflected glory through kinship to her.

‘My Lords, welcome,’ she greeted them.

‘Good morning, Autarch,’ they murmured, clearly just wanting this over so they could get on with the voting for a new king. The day had come – her last council meeting. Outside, the ambassadors from Kesh were waiting, and these men would soon be rid of her again. And rid of Elena too, her role as her bodyguard over. Despite all that the magi had done for Javon, and Elena in particular, they feared the powers they could never attain.

‘My Lords, the ninety days of my emergency leadership are now behind us – by several weeks, in truth – but finally we are assembled together and can formalise my stepping down. It is with joy that I do so, knowing that I am passing the rule of Javon back into the hands of men born to rule.’ She hoped her inner sarcasm didn’t come through in her voice. She let her eyes drift around the room, looking at Stefan di Aranio, Justiano di Kestria and Emilio Gorgio as they fidgeted impatiently, keen for the real meeting to begin once she was gone. At Mekmud of Lybis, Saarif Jelmud and the other would-be conspirators, still seeing the disappointment and frustration they felt with her and what was to them an inexplicable decision. And finally she looked at Theo Vernio-Nesti, a pallid shadow of her father, or the man her brother could have been. ‘May the gods smile upon your decisions.’