‘No, my love, they cannot. But,’ he added, ‘arrows will suffice.’
The breath hissed from his wife. ‘Then indeed we have descended into savagery. And yet,’ she continued after a moment, ‘the first acts of barbarity did not come from the Deniers, did they?’
‘No, milady,’ Kellaras replied. ‘In Kharkanas, I spent some time tallying reports of the slaughter. That young man was correct. The innocents are all dead, and their bones litter the forests of Kurald Galain.’
‘Yet Urusander claims to represent the commoners of the realm? How does he not choke on his own hypocrisy?’
‘He chose, my love, not to include the Deniers in his generous embrace.’ Gripp Galas leaned to one side and spat. ‘But to be fair, I would wager Hunn Raal was the one to set the Legion wolves upon these fawns.’
‘The distinction is moot,’ his wife retorted. She gathered up her reins. ‘Ride on, then. We but build upon our charge of outrage, and must hold to the faith that a day will come when we can unleash it. Captain Kellaras.’
‘Milady?’
‘Be certain that Lord Anomander understands. I will unite the highborn to this cause. I will see the matter of the Consort set aside, to wait for a later time. Now, we must unmask our enemy, and see the way before us clear and without compromise. Tell him, captain, that I swear to this: no political machination will stifle my distemper. There will be retribution and it will be just.’
They set out once again. Behind Kellaras, Hish Tulla continued. ‘Hunn Raal will hang. As for Urusander, let him plead his innocence before knowing eyes, beneath public regard. Upon that stage, he will fail to dissemble. Captain, was it not your lord who said that justice must be seen?’
‘He did, milady.’
‘Just so. Let it be seen.’
Kellaras remained alongside Pelk, even as she quickened her pace to draw some distance from Hish and Gripp Galas, as husband and wife had fallen to a low exchange of words. The captain glanced across at her. ‘They were tempted,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘Stone-tipped, the arrows they chose for us.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Uncommon pain, I’m told, when there is a sharp stone lodged deep in your body, cutting this way and that with your every breath. I would think,’ she added in dry tones, ‘that even a soldier could not fight on, through such pain. As weapons of war, it’s my thought, captain, that arrows will make warfare a thing not of honour, but of dishonour.’
He grunted sourly, thinking back to his own hunger for violence. ‘Perhaps, then, war’s true horror will be revealed for all to see, and make us one and all recoil.’
Her answering smile was guarded. ‘Shocking us into eternal peace? Captain Kellaras, you have the dreams of a child.’
Stung, he said nothing.
She shot him a look, her eyes widening. ‘Abyss take me, Kellaras – you thought that an insult?’
‘I – well—’
‘Discount the gifts in your heart if you must,’ she said, ‘but leave them free for me to hold, and hold I will, tighter than you could ever imagine.’
Her words set an ache in his chest. Blinking against the glare of sunlight on snow and ice, he rode on in silence.
Behind them, husband and wife bickered.
* * *
There was a time, long before Grizzin Farl had taken for himself the title of Protector, when he had made the blade of his war-axe the voice of his temper. He had been like a drunkard, with fury his wine. Youth had a way of carving everything into sharp relief, making divisive every world and every moment within it. Anger was his only answer to the revelation of injustice, and injustice was everywhere. In those times when exhaustion took him – when the ongoing battle against authority, tradition, and the churning cycles of habit made him stumble, stagger into some emptiness – he fostered for himself a façade of cynicism. The zeal of the axe-blade was quickly blunted, and the weapon proved heavy in his aching arms. With that cynical regard, he saw awaiting him a future of unrelenting failure.
Youth made rage and world-weariness into lovers, with all the passion and private heat that one would expect, when the blood was still fresh. Desire fed lust, and lust promised satiation, but it whispered clumsy words. Vengeance, a matching in kind between crime and punishment, as if justice could bring down the hands of a god, to make clear and certain every divide, and, by so doing, reduce the complexities of the mortal world into something simpler, easier to stomach.
He had soon found himself among the Forulkan, to see with his own eyes how such justice was meted, and in this time he began to awaken in unexpected ways. Perhaps it was nothing more than nostalgia that could lead one to yearn for some imagined simplicity, a world shaped in childhood, and then reshaped by remembrance into something idyllic. It was, indeed, all too easy to forget the confusion of a child’s world, where what was known was minimal, and therefore seemed but a simple and possibly more truthful representation of reality. Sufficient to serve that child and so give comfort to the child’s mind. But nostalgia was a dubious foundation to something as vital as a culture’s system of justice. Grizzin had seen quickly the flaws in this nostalgic genesis, as it proved to be the core of the Forulkan court.
Still young, he had revelled in the theme of vengeance within the Forulkan system. But before long his cynical regard saw too clearly the abuses, the subtle ways of undermining the very notion that the blade of justice hung over everyone. Instead, he saw how, among the privileged, escaping that shadow of retribution and responsibility had become a game. He had seen the evasions, the semantic twisting of truth, the deliberate obscuring of meaning, and the endless proclamations of innocence, each and all delivered with the same knowing glint in the eye.
The lovers of his youth grew strained.
One day, in the Great Court where sat the Seven Magistrates and the Seven Governors, and all the assemblies of guild and craft, and the commanders among the Deliverers, and the Company of Deliberators, Grizzin Farl had drawn his double-bladed axe, shaking it free of its blade-sheath.