as his knees, good hand to his bloody mouth. ‘Forgive her impudence, she suffers from too little sense and too much loyalty.’
Grandmother Wexen beamed down as warmly as Mother Sun, but the ice in her voice froze Thorn to her bones. ‘Loyalty can be a great blessing or a terrible curse, child. It all depends on to whom one is loyal. There is a right order to things. There must be a right order, and you Gettlanders forget your place in it. The High King has forbidden swords to be drawn.’
‘I have forbidden it,’ echoed the High King, his own voice dwindled to a reedy rustling, hardly heard in the vastness.
‘If you make war upon the Islanders you make war upon the High King and his ministry,’ said Grandmother Wexen. ‘You make war upon the Inglings and the Lowlanders, upon the Throvenmen and the Vanstermen, upon Grom-gil-Gorm, the Breaker of Swords, whom it has been foreseen no man can kill.’ She pointed out the murderer of Thorn’s father beside the door, seeming far from comfortable on one great knee. ‘You even make war upon the Empress of the South, who has but lately pledged an alliance with us.’ Grandmother Wexen spread her arms wide to encompass the whole vast chamber, and its legion of occupants, and Father Yarvi and his shabby crew looked a feeble flock before them indeed. ‘Would you make war on half the world, Gettlanders?’
Father Yarvi grinned like a simpleton. ‘Since we are faithful servants of the High King, his many powerful friends can only be a reassurance.’
‘Then tell your uncle to stop rattling his sword. If he should draw it without the High King’s blessing—’
‘Steel shall be my answer,’ croaked the High King, watery eyes bulging.
Grandmother Wexen’s voice took on an edge that made the hairs on Thorn’s neck prickle. ‘And there shall be such a reckoning as has not been seen since the Breaking of the World.’
Yarvi bowed so low he nearly nosed the floor. ‘Oh, highest and most gracious, who would wish to see such wrath released? Might I now stand?’
‘First one more thing,’ came a soft voice from behind. A young woman walked towards them with quick steps, thin and yellow-haired and with a brittle smile.
‘You know Sister Isriun, I think?’ said Grandmother Wexen.
It was the first time Thorn had seen Yarvi lost for words. ‘I … you … joined the Ministry?’
‘It is a fine place for the broken and dispossessed. You should know that.’ And Isriun pulled out a cloth and dabbed the blood from the corner of Yarvi’s mouth. Gentle, her touch, but the look in her eye was anything but. ‘Now we are all one family, once again.’
‘She passed the test three months ago without one question wrong,’ said Grandmother Wexen. ‘She is already greatly knowledgeable on the subject of elf-relics.’
Yarvi swallowed. ‘Fancy that.’
‘It is the Ministry’s most solemn duty to protect them,’ said Isriun. ‘And to protect the world from a second breaking.’ Her thin hands fussed one with the other. ‘Do you know the thief and killer, Skifr?’
Yarvi blinked as though he scarcely understood the question. ‘I may have heard the name …’
‘She is wanted by the Ministry.’ Isriun’s expression had grown even deadlier. ‘She entered the elf-ruins of Strokom, and brought out relics from within.’
A gasp hissed around the chamber, a fearful whispering echoed among the balconies. Folk made holy signs upon their chests, murmured prayers, shook their heads in horror.
‘What times are we living in?’ whispered Father Yarvi. ‘You have my solemn word, if I hear but the breath of this Skifr’s passing, my doves will be with you upon the instant.’
‘Such a relief,’ said Isriun. ‘Because if anyone were to strike a deal with her, I would have to see them burned alive.’ She twisted her fingers together, gripping eagerly until the knuckles were white. ‘And you know how much I would hate to see you burn.’
‘So we have that in common too,’ said Yarvi. ‘May I now depart, oh, greatest of men?’
The High King appeared to have nodded sideways, quite possibly off to sleep.
‘I will take that as a yes.’ Yarvi stood, and Rulf and his crew stood with him, and Thorn struggled up last. She seemed always to be kneeling when she had better stand and standing when she had better kneel.
‘It is not too late to make of the fist an open hand, Father Yarvi.’ Grandmother Wexen sadly shook her head. ‘I once had high hopes for you.’
‘Alas, as Sister Isriun can tell you, I have often been a sore disappointment.’ There was just the slightest iron in Yarvi’s voice as he turned. ‘I struggle daily to improve.’
Outside the rain was falling hard, still making grey ghosts of Skekenhouse.
‘Who was that woman, Isriun?’ Thorn asked as she hurried to catch up.
‘She was once my cousin.’ The muscles worked on the gaunt side of Yarvi’s face. ‘Then we were betrothed. Then she swore to see me dead.’
Thorn raised her brows at that. ‘You must be quite a lover.’
‘We cannot all have your gentle touch.’ He frowned sideways at her. ‘Next time you might think before leaping to my defence.’
‘The moment you pause will be the moment you die,’ she muttered.
‘The moment you didn’t pause you nearly killed the lot of us.’
She knew he was right, but it still nettled her. ‘It might not have come to that if you’d told them the Islanders have attacked us, and the Vanstermen too, that they’ve given us no choice but to—’
‘They know that well enough. It was Grandmother Wexen set them on.’
‘How do you—’
‘She spoke thunderously in the words she did not say. She means to crush us, and I can put her off no longer.’
Thorn rubbed at her temples. Ministers seemed never to mean quite what they said. ‘If she’s our enemy, why didn’t she just kill us where we knelt?’
‘Because Grandmother Wexen does not want her children dead. She wants them to obey. First she sends the Islanders against us, then the Vanstermen. She hopes to lure us into rash action and King Uthil is about to oblige her. It will take time for her to gather her forces, but only because she has so many to call on. In time, she will send half the world against us. If we are to resist her, we need allies.’
‘Where do we find allies?’
Father Yarvi smiled. ‘Among our enemies, where else?’
The boys were gathered.
The men were gathered, Brand realized. There might
