sleeve. Carel’s once-powerful arm looked white, except for the deep sickly bruise that had begun to reveal itself. Isak could see from the angle that it was a nasty break, and the colour made him think that Jeil would have his work cut out to save the arm at all.
‘Gods, it doesn’t look good,’ said the soldier, unthinkingly.
‘I know that, you bastard,’ Carel spat. ‘Nartis be blessed it’s my left.’
‘Lord Isak,’ called a booming voice and Isak turned to see the man Vesna had identified as Cardinal Disten advancing towards him. He was indeed dressed as the chaplain he had once been but, as he neared, Isak could see the cobalt-blue hems of his robe were faded and patched. The cardinal himself was an imposing man -several years older than Carel, Isak guessed, but standing over six feet tall, and still with a young man’s bulk. His long beard and the straggly remains of his hair were completely grey and his lean, lined face bore more than a few scars. Only his eyes belied the impression of age, burning fiercely from beneath thick dark eyebrows.
‘My Lord, it’s an honour to meet you,’ Cardinal Disten said as he dropped to one knee. Isak could see the moon-glaive hooked to his belt was still dripping blood onto the torn grass.
‘As it is you. But if you’ll excuse me, I’m a bit busy for pleasantries right now.’ A groan from Carel made him turn back to the injured man.
‘Isak, go and do your job. You are no surgeon, and if you think I’m going to let you touch me, then you must have been brained in the battle.’ Carel forced a smile that Isak returned. He touched Carel lightly on his good hand and rose.
‘Well, Cardinal, it appears I do have time after all. Please, rise.’ He gestured over at the figure of Karlat Certinse being stripped of his armour. ‘And now you can at last write the final chapter of your book.’
‘Hah,’ the cardinal replied humourlessly. ‘It’s been a long time coming, for certain, but I don’t intend to stop until I’m sure I’ve got them all. Life will be happier when I see his mother off to face the judgment of the Gods. I’ll be praying the creatures of the Dark Place find something sufficiently inventive for the lot of ’em.’
To Isak’s surprise there was little satisfaction in the cardinal’s voice, just a grim determination. He guessed the long years pursuing Malich’s followers had been his job rather than his calling. Perhaps the cardinal was just tired of dark secrets and death. Isak was already learning that too much of either could sour any man’s soul.
‘Would you do me the service of seeing to it? Acting with my authority to bring them all to trial?’
‘I will do as I am commanded, my Lord.’ Cardinal Disten bowed low, then gestured to a group of men who lingered on foot behind him. ‘May I present Brother-Captain Sheln, and Count Macove, a major of our order.’
Both men bowed low to Isak, who nodded as he inspected his newest allies. They were dressed in black studded leather and painted cuirasses and carrying their peaked Y-slit helms. Their heavy cavalry sabres were sheathed. The brother-captain was a grim, craggy-faced man of about fifty summers whose skin had an unhealthy grey pallor. There was a cold immovability about Brother-Captain Sheln that Isak was immediately wary of; there was no compassion in those eyes, and he had a sense of remorselessness, and ruthlessness -not what Isak wanted to see in the face of a religious fanatic, no matter whose side he said he was on. Isak had the impression the man was carved from stone.
Count Macove was younger, and looked like the dour expression worn by most of the dark monks didn’t come so easily to him. As if to confirm Isak’s first thought, Vesna approached and took the man’s arm in a familiar gesture.
‘I hadn’t expected piety from you, Macove,’ Vesna exclaimed, a broad smile cracking across his face.
‘Good to see you too,’ the man replied in equal cheer.
‘Gods, it doesn’t look good,’ said the soldier, unthinkingly.
‘I know that, you bastard,’ Carel spat. ‘Nartis be blessed it’s my left.’
‘Lord Isak,’ called a booming voice and Isak turned to see the man Vesna had identified as Cardinal Disten advancing towards him. He was indeed dressed as the chaplain he had once been but, as he neared, Isak could see the cobalt-blue hems of his robe were faded and patched. The cardinal himself was an imposing man -several years older than Carel, Isak guessed, but standing over six feet tall, and still with a young man’s bulk. His long beard and the straggly remains of his hair were completely grey and his lean, lined face bore more than a few scars. Only his eyes belied the impression of age, burning fiercely from beneath thick dark eyebrows.
‘My Lord, it’s an honour to meet you,’ Cardinal Disten said as he dropped to one knee. Isak could see the moon-glaive hooked to his belt was still dripping blood onto the torn grass.
‘As it is you. But if you’ll excuse me, I’m a bit busy for pleasantries right now.’ A groan from Carel made him turn back to the injured man.
‘Isak, go and do your job. You are no surgeon, and if you think I’m going to let you touch me, then you must have been brained in the battle.’ Carel forced a smile that Isak returned. He touched Carel lightly on his good hand and rose.
‘Well, Cardinal, it appears I do have time after all. Please, rise.’ He gestured over at the figure of Karlat Certinse being stripped of his armour. ‘And now you can at last write the final chapter of your book.’
‘Hah,’ the cardinal replied humourlessly. ‘It’s been a long time coming, for certain, but I don’t intend to stop until I’m sure I’ve got them all. Life will be happier when I see his mother off to face the judgment of the Gods. I’ll be praying the creatures of the Dark Place find something sufficiently inventive for the lot of ’em.’
To Isak’s surprise there was little satisfaction in the cardinal’s voice, just a grim determination. He guessed the long years pursuing Malich’s followers had been his job rather than his calling. Perhaps the cardinal was just tired of dark secrets and death. Isak was already learning that too much of either could sour any man’s soul.
‘Would you do me the service of seeing to it? Acting with my authority to bring them all to trial?’
‘I will do as I am commanded, my Lord.’ Cardinal Disten bowed low, then gestured to a group of men who lingered on foot behind him. ‘May I present Brother-Captain Sheln, and Count Macove, a major of our order.’
Both men bowed low to Isak, who nodded as he inspected his newest allies. They were dressed in black studded leather and painted cuirasses and carrying their peaked Y-slit helms. Their heavy cavalry sabres were sheathed. The brother-captain was a grim, craggy-faced man of about fifty summers whose skin had an unhealthy grey pallor. There was a cold immovability about Brother-Captain Sheln that Isak was immediately wary of; there was no compassion in those eyes, and he had a sense of remorselessness, and ruthlessness -not what Isak wanted to see in the face of a religious fanatic, no matter whose side he said he was on. Isak had the impression the man was carved from stone.
Count Macove was younger, and looked like the dour expression worn by most of the dark monks didn’t come so easily to him. As if to confirm Isak’s first thought, Vesna approached and took the man’s arm in a familiar gesture.
‘I hadn’t expected piety from you, Macove,’ Vesna exclaimed, a broad smile cracking across his face.
‘Good to see you too,’ the man replied in equal cheer.
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