Joel Shepherd - Haven

He was leaving when Hydez yelled at him from amidst the wounded prisoners. “Is it true? Are they going to burn it?”

Andreyis ignored him, waiting for one of the soldiers to control a reluctant horse. Hydez lunged past his guards, and would have reached Andreyis had his wound not slowed him. A guard grabbed him, then another.

“You're not going to burn it!” Hydez yelled at Andreyis. “You pagan scum, you're not going to help them burn it! That's not their temple to burn, it's for all Verenthanes! Don't you dare burn it!”

The guards wrestled him back to the group. Andreyis walked with the soldiers into the rain, leading the horses with his one good arm.

The vast courtyard now held a cluster of people before the High Temple. Soldiers made a wall of shields before them, townsfolk come to see, bedraggled refugees standing in the rain, halting their flight from the advancing Bacosh Army to stare in dismay at the activity about the temple.

Some carts had been commandeered, and Andreyis helped the soldiers fit the horses into the traces. Even one-armed, he was some assistance, as these soldiers knew little of horses.

Captain Ulay pushed free from the crowd before the temple and strode over. He gave the soldiers orders in Enoran, and they and one other climbed into the three carts. “You stay here,” said the captain to Andreyis, “you'll be no use loading carts with one arm.”

The carts clattered off, Andreyis thought, to gather more things to burn. He followed the captain back to the temple.

“Whose orders are you following?” Andreyis asked him, as the rain grew heavier.

“That's not for you to ask.” The captain looked harried and worn, and walked fast, as though demons snapped at his heels.

“That's the High Temple of Enora,” Andreyis tried again. “You're a Verenthane, you're going to burn down your own temple?”

“Better that than let it fall into the hands of those scum,” the captain declared. He pushed through the crowd, as some Enorans called out to him, pleaded with him to stop. He ignored them and ran up the steps into the wide doorway.

Andreyis saw Yshel on the steps, in animated conversation with the dark-haired serrin lad who had also ridden with the prisoner column. The other serrin's hand went to his sword as he saw Andreyis approaching. Yshel put a hand on his arm, calming him.

“Did anyone order him to do this?” Andreyis asked her. Within the main doors, he could see broken pews piled in great stacks by the far wall. With oils such as serrin made, that would burn high. Behind that wall were rooms, and many timbers that would catch. If the end wall came down, the roof would follow.

“He says yes,” said Yshel, frowning.

“Who?”

“He doesn't say.”

“This is wrong.”

“It's just a building,” said the other serrin. “People are dying in their thousands, who cares for stones?”

“They care,” said Andreyis, pointing to the crowd gathered in the rain. “Captain Ulay might be mad for all we know. Does he look entirely sane to you?”

“It's war,” said the serrin. “Who is?”

“There are no other soldiers around,” said Yshel. “He is a captain, he has command. These are not our lands, we do not interfere with human affairs….”

“You're in this war! What's that if not interference?”

“We serrin are none of us Verenthanes!” Yshel retorted.

“Neither am I.”

Yshel rolled her eyes. “That's different, you're human.”

“And I think that in his human rage against his enemy, Captain Ulay is about to destroy something that his own people may never forgive him for.”

“You fight against these people. Why do you care?”

“And you fight for them. Why don't you?”

Yshel said nothing but stared up at the spires in faint desperation.

Andreyis tried again. “Where did those carts go, exactly? I didn't hear all the words.”

“They go to find the demon fire. There is a Steel artillery force encamped nearby.”

“Artillery?” Andreyis asked, not believing her. “So close to the Regent's advance?”

“There are bridges down on the approach-the Regent's army makes a detour to reach us, it will take him another day or two. Kessligh Cronenverdt thinks to make a trap for his armies with artillery…”

“Yshel!” Her serrin comrade stopped her in alarm, and said something else in Saalsi. They argued.

“Kessligh Cronenverdt?” Andreyis exclaimed. He'd heard rumours. Kessligh had been in Tracato. It made sense that he would be leading any rearguard action to delay the Regent's advance. The Regent was obliged by holy duty to capture Shemorane and make a grand display at the High Temple. Surely Kessligh would sense an opportunity.

If Captain Ulay burned down the temple, the Regent might not come. He would lead his army past, to stoke their fury at the crime, but he would not stay long for grand ceremonies. Ulay was ruining Kessligh's plan. Andreyis had fought against Enorans, and should have cheered at the thought. Only…

“Yshel, you must go and find Kessligh,” he demanded. “Get a horse, ride and find him, fast. He can stop this. If you tell him what Captain Ulay is doing, he will stop it.”

Yshel stared at him for a moment, then looked over the bedraggled crowds in the courtyard. And finally, up at the temple spires.

Then she ran down the stairs, and away to the stable square, and her horse.

“You wish the Regent to have his grand ceremony,” said the other serrin, darkly. “With the temple standing, he will return the Shereldin Star, and his armies will gain cheer from their holy success.”

“You know nothing,” Andreyis snorted. “Yshel understands. Ask her.”

Before long, the carts returned with loads under thick canvas. Soldiers pushed a path through the ever-increasing throng, pushing people back with their shields. With the carts at the very foot of the steps, they began unloading, with only a small distance to carry their cargo in the rain.

What they carried were stitched-leather balls, like giant wineskins except with cane ribs inserted for shape. Men carried them very carefully, two to a ball. These were the feared Steel artillery ammunition, filled with flammable oil-hellfire. The crowd recognised the shapes too, and the protests grew abruptly louder. Soldiers formed a perimeter, shields interlocked, as common Enorans yelled and pushed, and tried to force a way through.

Supervising the unloading, Captain Ulay gave a command, and the soldiers' swords came out. But some soldiers, Andreyis noted, did not draw, and cast filthy looks back at their captain.

“No one's looking at us,” a Valhanan man named Tybron murmured at Andreyis's shoulder. “We should do something.”

“What?” Andreyis asked. “The captain's unpopular, but if we take him down the other soldiers won't thank us. We could run, but wounded and without horses we won't get far.”

“I don't like burning no damn temple,” Tybron muttered. Tybron had long hair and tattoos, and rings in his ear. “No good ever came from burning holy places.”

Andreyis nodded. In Lenayin, men were more likely to kill each other over matters of personal honour, or in wars between different regions and different tongues, than over matters of faith. Lenays were a superstitious lot, and did not like to offend even the gods they did not pray to.

“Kessligh's coming,” Andreyis told him.

Tybron stared. “Kessligh?” Andreyis nodded. “Yes, that Kessligh,” the nod meant. Tybron whistled. “Hope he gets here in time.”

They stood and waited until Andreyis could stand it no more, and then ducked inside. Within, he found Captain Ulay supervising the placement of demon fire beneath the great piles of wooden pews. Soldiers watched, as more Lenay prisoners helped-all Goeren-yai. One soldier had a small flask of oil and a flint.