The Black Hawks. David Wragg

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СКАЧАТЬ palace.’

      ‘I do not, Sister. Perhaps he has hit his head. Perhaps he wishes to.’

      Chel stood his ground. A sickly fire burned anew in his innards. ‘I’m a sworn man in the service of a lord under the grand duke’s aegis. I’m protected as his guest and servant.’

      The sister walked toward him, her face curious, as if he were the most interesting turd she’d stepped in that day. She looked him up and down. Behind her, Hurkel had advanced, drowning them in his shadow. ‘Do I know you, sand-flower?’ Vashenda asked, eyes narrowed. ‘Are you Sokol’s brood?’

      ‘By marriage, not blood,’ he snapped, then cursed himself.

      She offered a smile that contained not a jot of amity. Her teeth were so white. ‘Between chosen people, a word of advice, perhaps?’ She stepped close, a silver flower gleaming at her chest, bright in his eyes. ‘Sand-flower or not, a lucky traveller keeps from the Rose’s path,’ she whispered, then clacked her teeth so hard in his ear he shied away, certain she’d bitten off his earlobe.

      ‘Brother Hurkel,’ she said, stepping away from him. ‘How high does Lord Sokol rank?’

      The beast-man waggled a slab hand, palm-down, his bottom lip protruding. ‘Middling, if friendly with his grace the grand duke.’

      ‘Of little consequence, then. Sand-flower, are you, perhaps, in need of some spiritual re-education at the croft? I doubt Lord Sokol will miss a “relative by marriage” for a few days, especially for the betterment of his eternal soul. Hmm?’

      She was shaking her head slowly at him. Chel felt himself shaking his along with her.

      ‘Good. Depart.’ A brief, bright smile. She turned back to the rag-clad preacher, who had remained on her knees. ‘Now, what have we here?’

      The meat-pile growled. ‘Heresy, Sister. Godlessness. Abomination.’ His thick fingers tightened around his mace. Chel heard its wooden haft creak.

      The box-preacher’s head was up; Chel saw a fierce gaze, clear and defiant, that bore into the robed figures looming over her. When she spoke, her voice was cracked but strong. ‘Your godless church is the abomination! Lo Vassad sits atop a festering dung-heap of corruption. Your type act not for the people, but for avarice, venality – how plush are your robes, false prelate.’

      Sister Vashenda cocked her head and raised an eyebrow to her colleague, a hand to her mouth in mock-horror. ‘Truly are evil days upon us, that such profanity be uttered before the Shepherd’s humble servants. That the poor townspeople should have been so assailed.’ She crouched in front of the kneeling box-preacher, lifting her chin with a finger, and trotted out her words with tired practice. ‘Very well. Will you repent of your madness and ill-speech, and be welcomed back to the good Shepherd’s mercy?’

      ‘I will never bow to you, idolater. I have heard the voice of truth, felt the touch of the real Mother of the earth.’ She rubbed at the odd scars on her arms, livid whorls shining in what sunlight escaped Hurkel. ‘I have been chosen by the storm.’

      Vashenda sighed. ‘I will never understand you people.’

      ‘You are dirt in the Mother’s eyes! You are—’

      ‘Yes, yes, dirt and damnation and such, very good.’ Vashenda stepped away with a wave of her hand. ‘Brother Hurkel, the heretic is yours. Have your fun, in God’s name.’

      A grin split Hurkel’s beetroot face. He began to advance, the mace gripped in his meaty fist.

      Vashenda’s eyes fell on Chel. ‘Sand-flower, you are still here.’ When he said nothing, she continued, directing her attention away from whatever Hurkel was about to do. ‘You know, people speculate on why the red confessors of the Brotherhood of the Twice-Blooded Thorn carry blunt tools on their divine business. Many believe that the Articles forbid the Shepherd’s children from carrying weapons, or from spilling blood in divine service.’

      Hurkel towered over the kneeling preacher, weighing the mace in his grip. He was chuckling to himself.

      Vashenda gave a rueful smile. ‘Nonsense, of course. God’s will must be performed by whatever means necessary.’

      Chel’s heart was galloping in his chest. He looked from preacher to Hurkel and back again, light-headed, mouth dry.

      ‘Sand-flower, what are you doing?’ Vashenda’s tone was low, warning, as he moved toward Hurkel. ‘Sand-flower! Do not be foolish!’ His breath coming in shallow gasps, fingers trembling, Chel stepped between Hurkel and the kneeling preacher, who was chanting something to herself in a low, urgent voice. He looked up into Hurkel’s porcine eyes, staring back at him with a hot mix of incredulity and outrage.

      ‘Sand-flower! Why in God’s name must everyone …’ Vashenda leaned her head against the crook of her staff, eyes clenched shut. ‘I suppose we’ll find out how much you’ll be missed after all, you stupid boy.’

      Chel didn’t move. He couldn’t. His gaze was locked on Hurkel. The enormous confessor was grinning again. Chel’s vision was twitching in time with the thump of his pulse, a taste like burning at the back of his throat.

      The distant peal of bells carried on the sea breeze, from somewhere out past the headland. They were joined by others, closer at the harbour’s edge, then a moment later the plaza rang with the clang and jangle of churches, chapels and watchtowers.

      Chel blinked. It couldn’t yet be ten bells, surely?

      Hurkel looked at Vashenda, who looked back at Hurkel, eyes narrowed, brows low. His expression matched hers. ‘That’s an alarm,’ Vashenda said slowly. Hurkel grunted, his attention dragged away from Chel.

      Shouts followed the bells. Suddenly the plaza was full of people again, running this way and that, their shouts and calls vying with the cacophony of bells.

      Vashenda grimaced. ‘We’ll have to take the heretic’s confession later. Brother Hurkel, put her in the cart with the others.’

      Chel stood his ground. Already the plaza was thick with motion, the sound of the bells sporadically near-deafening. ‘Leave her alone,’ he shouted over the noise.

      Someone was bellowing Vashenda’s name from across the plaza, another red-robed, tufted type, his features animated with alarm. Vashenda exhaled in exasperation, then leaned forward and fixed Chel with a fearsome glare as the chaos enveloped them. ‘This is not over, sand-flower. You may yet enjoy the chance to regret your choices.’

      She growled at Hurkel and jerked her head for him to follow. Hurkel gestured at the cart, but she shook her head. ‘They’ll still be there when we come back.’ The two of them stalked away, leaving the cart with its whimpering cargo locked at the plaza’s centre. Chel felt his insides unclench as they passed from view. He needed to get back to the palace.

      Heali was pushing his way through the crowd, his fleshy face waxy and pallid. ‘God’s breath, Master Chel. That’s pushing your luck, even for someone of your blood.’ He shook his head. ‘Why would you get yourself involved in all that?’

      Chel had stilled his breathing, although the light-headedness remained. ‘You saw? I could have used some moral support there, Heali. Besides, I’m sworn. They couldn’t have touched me.’ I hope, he added to himself.

      ‘I’m СКАЧАТЬ