‘Quite so.’ She prowled a circle around him, then gestured dismissively at Benoit. The Guildmaster fled whilst looking at
anything
but Vann.
Dear Kore … will I ever leave this room again?
Delfinne de Tressot motioned for him to sit, and he was too frightened to refuse.
‘Well, Master Vannaton: I believe you and I have much to talk about. Let’s start with your son Alaron, and his Arcanum thesis that postulated the theft of the Scytale of Corineus during the Noros Revolt.’ She bent over him, and her eyes flashed like those of a vulture. ‘
Tell me … who the Hel told him so?
’
Ebensar Heights, Zhassi Valley, on the continent of Antiopia
Rami (Septinon) 929
15
th
month of the Moontide
Kaltus Korion urged his khurne to halt and the beast did so with silent obedience, standing rock-still and waiting as he stared down the long slopes of Ebensar Heights at the blackened sands and smouldering bodies.
For eight days, Emir Rashid Mubarak of Halli’kut had thrown men at his First Army, masses upon masses, trying to smash through with sheer manpower. It had been slaughter on a grand scale, uphill and into the teeth of the Imperial magi.
Did they think my magi were like Echor’s, nothing but low-blooded provincials?
Kaltus Korion had the elite of the battle-magi, armed with construct beasts and siege engines, all bolstered by the gnosis: five hundred years of Rondian Empire knowledge, invention, experimentation and expertise, distilled into a perfect instrument of military magic and placed at his command. He had gnosis-guided exploding ballistae bolts; fragmenting fireballs launched from catapults more than half a mile away; flying constructs who breathed fire after the manner of the dragons of legend. And all this firepower had been concentrated on a narrow front where half a million men had thought to break through. The results had been catastrophic for Rashid’s Keshi.
Korion liked to imagine there were just the two of them, standing like gods over the battlefield, avatars of Kore and Ahm hurling men at each other like spells.
And I am clearly the better man
, he mused.
And the greater god
.
A nervous aide approached. ‘Sir, here are the latest despatch memos received via the relay-staves.’
Korion saluted the young man, well aware of his effect on the junior officers. Worship shone from the eyes of the men he gathered to his command tent, all dreaming that he would notice them and advance their careers.
He turned back to the view. Even his most senior commanders didn’t know why this place had been chosen to defend.
This ridge was on the west flank of the Zhassi Valley. On his charts, Ebensar Heights was marked very specifically, and it pleased him to be the only man in the army to know why.
Korion accepted the two despatches and studied the seals – unbroken of course, though the transcribing mage who’d taken the communications would know the contents – and wondered which to open first. He chose Tomas Betillon’s: news of betrayal, rogue mercenary legions and disarray in Javon.
Gurvon has botched it, so they’ve sent Tomas in. Hah!
He wasn’t surprised. Noromen had always been provincial muck, with no head for the heights of leadership.
Maybe now we’ll finally execute Gyle, as we should have done after the Revolt.
The second despatch was from far to the south, from the commander of the garrison at Vida, a Brician legion initially assigned to Echor’s command and assigned garrison duty.
What news could there possibly be from down there?
He had to read the note twice to believe his eyes.
Some of Echor’s Second Army survived? And they are commanded by …
my son?
He rubbed the grit from his eyes.
Seth?
He had to pause to picture his only legitimate son’s face: uncertain, weak-chinned, too much baby fat. Certainly not the face of a hero – not the face of a
real
Korion. The paperwork to officially legitimise another son was on his desk, selected from his string of male bastards. He re-read the note:
Seth led a retreat from Shaliyah?
My
Seth?
For a moment he felt something like pride, then he paused and scowled.
What does he know?
The thought spoiled his mood somewhat, especially as he read on. The bridges had been destroyed and this remnant of Echor’s force was trapped on the far side of the Tigrates River. It didn’t say how the bridges had been destroyed, or by whom. The commander wanted guidance – an army of Keshi was closing in on the younger Korion’s forces, and he didn’t know whether to aid him?
He stared off into the distance and thought about that.
No. Let my son forge his own legend. And if he does know of how Echor came to be defeated, let it die with him.
He scrawled a reply and handed it to the aide, almost sent him on his way, then paused as a thought hit him.
‘Tonville, isn’t it? I believe we had a wager on how many days the Keshi would keep coming? Yours was seven or under, was it not?’ He held out his hand. ‘My bet.’
The aide looked abashed, but pleased to be remembered. He fished out a piece of paper. ‘Will this do, sir? Redeemable from the Treasury, it says here.’
Is this one of the notes Dubrayle was fussing about?
Korion held out his hand, examined the paper, frowned, stared, and looked again. ‘Where did this come from?’
‘I don’t know, sir, but there are more of these in circulation than all the coins in existence. Crusader notes, we call them.’
‘Is that Dubrayle’s personal seal?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘But Dubrayle hasn’t even set foot in Antiopia – the army can’t issue notes with a Treasury seal.’
It’s just as Dubrayle suspected: someone has been using his name and seal. Serves the smug prick right.
He still didn’t see how this so-called promissory note crisis could be worth getting flustered over.
Tonville shuffled uncomfortably. ‘It’s the Treasury seal that gives it its worth, sir. Shows that it’s genuine. There’s a lot of rubbish notes out there, right enough, but these ones are guaranteed – look, it says so on the bottom here. But I can probably scrounge up some coin if you prefer?’
Korion shook his head slowly, turning the note over in his hand and examining the signature: not Dubrayle, obviously. The first name seemed to start with ‘R’, the rest was just a squiggle. ‘No, your debt’s discharged, Tonville. But I’d like you to look into the origin of this note.’
‘Right away.’ Tonville looked puzzled as he saluted and left. Korion turned back to the slopes and the view out over Rashid’s army. The plains were still thick with Keshi, despite all the casualties littering the slopes, and the hymns still rose from below, like a million Brevian washer-wraiths calling the dead to their graves. There’d been plenty of corpses, enough to appease even a Schlessen war god, but the wailing never ceased.
It’s nine months until the end of the Moontide
, he mused,
when we change this world for ever
.
THE END OF BOOK THREE OF THE MOONTIDE
The story concludes in
ASCENDANT’S RITE
Book IV of The Moontide
Acknowledgements
Thanks are due! Firstly to my brave test readers: Paul Linton, Kerry Greig and Heather Adams. Readers will not be aware of how many deranged and ill-judged ideas make it as far as the first draft, and these are the three troopers who read that draft, shake their heads, then pour exactly the right amount of cold water on them and me. This series is
so
much better for your efforts.
Heather is of course also my agent (alongside her husband Mike Bryan): thank you for fighting my corner and getting me this opportunity. I still bless the day we all met (in the hospitality tent at the polo in Delhi, obviously). An auspicious day indeed.
Mega-thanks to editor and publishing goddess Jo Fletcher for her expert judgement, knowledge and experience, and supportive nature throughout. It’s been a long epic and we’re only halfway through the second half! Continued gratitude and respect. Also thanks again to Nicole Budd and Andrew Turner at Quercus, Emily Faccini for the maps, art designer Patrick Carpenter and artists Paul Young and Jem Butcher for the cover, and all the rest of the JFB/Quercus team.
Biggest hugs to my wonderful wife Kerry, she of the eagle eye for detail, especially continuity, and fearless red ink. When someone loves you enough to tell you where you’re going wrong, you’re loved indeed. She also does supportive encouragement too! I’m a very lucky person.
Lots of love to my children, Brendan and Melissa, my parents Cliff and Biddy, and all my friends, especially Mark, Felix and Stefania, Raj, Andrew and Brenda, and Keith and Kathryn.
David Hair
Auckland, July 2014
HTJI
D
RAMATIS
P
ERSONAE
Unholy War
As at Junesse 928
In Yuros
Imperial Court, Pallas
Eighteenth Fist of Kore’s Holy Inquisition
Thirty-Second Fist of Kore’s Holy Inquisition
Twenty-Third Fist of Kore’s Holy Inquisition
Norostein, Noros
Silacia
Turm Zauberin Arcanum, Norostein
Gurvon Gyle’s Grey Foxes (based in Noros)
In Pontus
Ordo Costruo (Mage Order based in Hebusalim)
Hebusalim
Crusaders The First Army (Northern)
The ‘Lost Legions’ of the Southern Crusade
Lukaz’s cohort; Pallacios XXIII (Ramon’s guards)
In Javon
In Forensa
In Brochena
The Dorobon monarchy
Gorgio Family of Hytel
Other Javonesi
Gyle’s Mercenaries
Renegades
Among the Lamiae
In Kesh Sagostabad
Among the Hadishah
Zaqri’s Pack
Souldrinkers in the Sultan’s army
In Khotriawal Ardijah
In Lokistan Mandira Khojana monastery
In Lakh Teshwallabad
Baranasi
From the Past