sheds a skin. He’ll shed the title he has now the same
way.’
‘Refuge no longer exists,’ Heast said evenly. ‘The rank no longer has meaning when there are no soldiers.’
‘Your witch still wears the title.’
‘By all means, tell Anemone to stop.’
‘Commander. Captain.’ Le’ta appeared surprised by the animosity, but he must have known of it before he entered the inn. Over a decade ago, Gaerl – Heast refused to use
the self-appointed rank of commander – had tried to use the name Refuge for his own mercenaries. ‘We are not here to talk about old difficulties or, indeed, the men and women that you
have known in your service to the world of coin. Instead, we are here to ensure that all that can be done is done for the Mireean people.’ He tapped one of the papers on the table. On the
cover was a picture of Muriel Wagan and, around her, an ocean of bones. ‘It is a difficult task when stories like the ones here are being printed. We can all agree on that, I’m sure. It
will be difficult to do anything for Lady Wagan and her people if they are linked to this monster.’
‘They need blankets and food,’ Heast said, turning back to the merchant. ‘Lady Wagan has given me access to Mireea’s finances to provide for them on Wila. I would like to
begin with that as soon as I can.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Le’ta frowned slightly as he said the words. ‘But I warn you, it may not be as easy as simply buying and shipping goods. We will be required to
petition the Keepers to allow us access.’
‘I will speak to Xrie,’ he said. ‘We should be able to avoid that.’
‘The Soldier?’ Gaerl frowned. ‘The Captain of the Yeflam Guard is not an easy man to get an audience with.’
‘It can be done.’ He did not look away from Le’ta. ‘I’d also like to request a personal favour, if I could?’
‘Of course,’ Le’ta said, just once, this time. ‘What is it?’
‘I’d like to meet with Lian Alahn – privately.’
‘He has fallen considerably from favour with the Traders’ Union,’ the merchant replied. ‘He is not even currently in the country. I am afraid he will be able to do little
for you.’
‘It is a personal matter concerning his son,’ the Captain of the Spine said. ‘That is all.’
6.
Bueralan Le sat in the shell of a building, the moon’s light seeping through trees to fall through a broken roof, where it offered little solace to a man in grief.
He had been unable to save Dark.
Kae
.
Liaya
.
Ruk
.
Aerala
.
Zean
. He repeated the names to himself each night, an act of punishment in his suffering.
He saw them again, each of them fallen in the cathedral. Saw the candles flicker along the walls, the light wavering over the dead. He heard the sound, a shifting mass, in the rafters. Then he saw
Kae first. Saw Liaya and Ruk together. And after them, Aerala. Next, he saw the blonde-haired child at the end of the cathedral. She stood at the top of a small dais in a simple dress of white. She
was but a handful of steps from Zean’s body, as if his oldest friend, his blood brother, did not matter. Bueralan could close his eyes and remember the green eyes of the child. He had been
ready to die. Then the child had stepped towards him and said, ‘I have a gift for you.’
A soul.
Zean’s soul.
After, the child had called him god-touched, had said that he could call on her –
only when what is at stake is innocence
, she said – and she released Samuel Orlan into his
care, but those words, those actions, were like shadows around him. She spoke but he felt only the crystal she had given him. A chill had begun to settle into the black skin of his hand as he held
it, had begun to numb it to where his white ink tattoos began on his wrist. Outside the cathedral, he placed it in a dark leather pouch, but he could still feel the cold. Even so, he threaded a
piece of leather through the end of the pouch and tied it around his neck and let the chill settle
way.’
‘Refuge no longer exists,’ Heast said evenly. ‘The rank no longer has meaning when there are no soldiers.’
‘Your witch still wears the title.’
‘By all means, tell Anemone to stop.’
‘Commander. Captain.’ Le’ta appeared surprised by the animosity, but he must have known of it before he entered the inn. Over a decade ago, Gaerl – Heast refused to use
the self-appointed rank of commander – had tried to use the name Refuge for his own mercenaries. ‘We are not here to talk about old difficulties or, indeed, the men and women that you
have known in your service to the world of coin. Instead, we are here to ensure that all that can be done is done for the Mireean people.’ He tapped one of the papers on the table. On the
cover was a picture of Muriel Wagan and, around her, an ocean of bones. ‘It is a difficult task when stories like the ones here are being printed. We can all agree on that, I’m sure. It
will be difficult to do anything for Lady Wagan and her people if they are linked to this monster.’
‘They need blankets and food,’ Heast said, turning back to the merchant. ‘Lady Wagan has given me access to Mireea’s finances to provide for them on Wila. I would like to
begin with that as soon as I can.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Le’ta frowned slightly as he said the words. ‘But I warn you, it may not be as easy as simply buying and shipping goods. We will be required to
petition the Keepers to allow us access.’
‘I will speak to Xrie,’ he said. ‘We should be able to avoid that.’
‘The Soldier?’ Gaerl frowned. ‘The Captain of the Yeflam Guard is not an easy man to get an audience with.’
‘It can be done.’ He did not look away from Le’ta. ‘I’d also like to request a personal favour, if I could?’
‘Of course,’ Le’ta said, just once, this time. ‘What is it?’
‘I’d like to meet with Lian Alahn – privately.’
‘He has fallen considerably from favour with the Traders’ Union,’ the merchant replied. ‘He is not even currently in the country. I am afraid he will be able to do little
for you.’
‘It is a personal matter concerning his son,’ the Captain of the Spine said. ‘That is all.’
6.
Bueralan Le sat in the shell of a building, the moon’s light seeping through trees to fall through a broken roof, where it offered little solace to a man in grief.
He had been unable to save Dark.
Kae
.
Liaya
.
Ruk
.
Aerala
.
Zean
. He repeated the names to himself each night, an act of punishment in his suffering.
He saw them again, each of them fallen in the cathedral. Saw the candles flicker along the walls, the light wavering over the dead. He heard the sound, a shifting mass, in the rafters. Then he saw
Kae first. Saw Liaya and Ruk together. And after them, Aerala. Next, he saw the blonde-haired child at the end of the cathedral. She stood at the top of a small dais in a simple dress of white. She
was but a handful of steps from Zean’s body, as if his oldest friend, his blood brother, did not matter. Bueralan could close his eyes and remember the green eyes of the child. He had been
ready to die. Then the child had stepped towards him and said, ‘I have a gift for you.’
A soul.
Zean’s soul.
After, the child had called him god-touched, had said that he could call on her –
only when what is at stake is innocence
, she said – and she released Samuel Orlan into his
care, but those words, those actions, were like shadows around him. She spoke but he felt only the crystal she had given him. A chill had begun to settle into the black skin of his hand as he held
it, had begun to numb it to where his white ink tattoos began on his wrist. Outside the cathedral, he placed it in a dark leather pouch, but he could still feel the cold. Even so, he threaded a
piece of leather through the end of the pouch and tied it around his neck and let the chill settle
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