Page 62 of Crucible of Chaos

What is recorded hereafter is meant neither for use in the ritual nor for idle study but rather as a warning. Those who first devised theSacrificia Purgadisnoticed an unusual phenomenon: the sacrifice, emptied of both will and sin, becomes a vessel whose spiritual emptiness demands to be filled. The temptation to inscribe sigils from other rituals and thus instil divinity into the sacrifice led some to attempt the creation of their own gods. The results of such heresy led to the first law of the Cogneri: the execution of any who perform such blasphemous experiments, all who bore witness, and above all else, the abominations they spawned.

CHAPTER 35

PRIDE

Late that afternoon, an eerie quiet settled over the shore. When Estevar had first crossed from the mainland three days ago, fiendish grey clouds roiled, thunder boomed and lightning flashed. Now there was nothing, no rain to drip down the back of his neck nor fog to prevent him seeing the tents and pavilions topped by the white, azure and silver flags of Someil half a mile away, across the drowned causeway.

‘How did you know they would come?’ Caeda asked, peering into the distance. It was too far for the naked eye to make out individual figures, but Estevar fancied he could envision the preparations well enough. Knight-commanders would be arguing with their counterparts among the infantry and archers to settle the lofty question of who should lead the charge once the tides had finally receded enough to make passage across the causeway possible. Engineers would be fighting to be heard over the din as they tried to warn of the dangers of sending too many horses at once over the slippery cobblestones–especially when the piers supporting the causeway beneath the water had likely been weakened by decades of neglect, let alone winter storms more savage than could ever have been anticipated by the original builders.

But the voices Estevar imagined most vividly were those of the priests. Invading the territory of a spiritual community, even in a nation with as dubious a view of religious privileges as Tristia, would surely be sitting uneasily with superstitious soldiers accustomed to praying to their favourite god before every battle. The Margrave of Someil would doubtless have recruited hand-picked clerics sympathetic to his cause: men and women who aspired to rule Isola Sombra once the heretics befouling its once-sacred soil had been rooted out.

‘They consort with demons!’ one of the clerics would surely be shouting, drumming up a feverish anger within the troops.

Another would suggest,‘And they plot against the margrave!’

‘They intend to take up arms against us!’ a third would surely venture.

If only all those things weren’t true.

‘My Cantor?’ Caeda asked.

‘Hmm?’

‘You didn’t answer my question. How did you—?’

‘Do you agree with Malezias’ assessment that by morning the flooding will have receded enough to make the causeway passable?’

She knelt down on the rocky shore to peer beneath the surface of the water at the drowned cobbles beneath. ‘The currents are unpredictable in winter, especially during storm season, but I see no reason to doubt him.’

‘Nor I–thatis how I knew the margrave’s army would be massing on the other side this afternoon. Someil will want to deny any resistance forces time to prepare, but he also needs his soldiers rested after the long march from his lands.’

Caeda stood up again. ‘Have you fought in many battles?’

‘Hundreds. I’m fighting one now.’

‘I mean real ones, like in a war where it ends in victory or defeat.’

He sighed, wishing Imperious were here with him. As much as he admired Caeda’s quick mind and insatiable curiosity, what he needed now was to steady himself for the duel ahead. Sullen as the mule could be, his was a soothing presence better suited to girding oneself for battle. ‘An investigator is always at war,’ he replied at last. ‘Victory occurs when the truth is revealed, defeat when the lie stands.’

Caeda tried to poke him in the chest again, but this time she yelped when her finger struck one of the bone plates sewn into the lining of his coat. ‘Ouch, damn it. You know what I meant– why must you be so obtuse?’

‘Forgive me,’ he said, both for the grievance of which she rightly accused him and of his unspoken but nonetheless ill-mannered comparison of her to a mule. ‘I do not like to speak of war, Piccolo. There are many who believe wars to be righteous, even glorious. Others argue for their necessity even if terrible suffering inevitably ensues. But to a magistrate, war means one thing above all others.’

‘What does it—?’ she began, but immediately held up her throbbing finger to forestall his answer. ‘Wait. I’ll bet I can guess.’

She began to circle Estevar, studying him as if he were a suspect caught fleeing the scene of a crime. She appeared oblivious to the rocky beach, though her feet were bare. ‘A pompous fellow we have here, my Cantor. A man who never fails to show off his superior intellect.’ She prodded him in the stomach,more carefully this time. ‘Yet, despite his disciplined mind, he eats to excess.’

‘Piccolo, this is hardly a matter for jest.’ He gestured at the crevices in the rocky slope behind them. ‘The final witness will be here soon. I need you to hide before the boat arrives.’

She ignored his protest, continuing her contemplative perambulation around him. ‘Because he lacks the will or fortitude to do otherwise? Unlikely. Because his girth is no impediment to good health? Perhaps. . . but a man who duels with such frequency knows he places his life in jeopardy with every fraction of a second in speed lost due to his greater weight.’

‘Piccolo, please, take cover in the shad—’

‘Ah ah ah,’ she said, cutting him off. She stroked the sleeve of his coat. ‘He values a garment almost more than his own life. Shall we convict him of vanity? We cannot, for while heisunquestionably vain’– she shot him a sideways grin– ‘and arrogant, dismissive, prone to pontification, ill-humoured, braids his beard—’

‘Mocking me will not produce an answer to your question.’

She frowned now, pursing her lips as if wrestling with a complex mathematical equation. ‘One must therefore conclude that these are merely symptoms of the suspect’s underlying disease, and his real crime is masked by these lesser sins.’

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