I
A quiet rain fell on the Square of Four Gods, muting sound and colour and leaving the folk who’d gathered there huddled beneath oilskins and heavy wool. The drizzle had begun at dawn and persisted throughout the morning, doing a good job of keeping people away. There was still a sizeable crowd watching the proceedings from behind the temporary wooden barricades manned by the Autarch’s men, but it was nothing like the numbers that would turn out on a trial day in fair weather. Belias was thankful for that. It would make their task that much easier.
The square was the largest in the city of Ran Ithor, a broad, open expanse of ironstone flags where five main thoroughfares met. The Autarch’s palace was only a short walk away, as was the city’s gaol. A number of prominent guilds had their halls here, and no fewer than seven temples overlooked the square. It took its name from the four great statues that dominated the space, one at each point of the compass. To the east stood proud Avane, the all-seeing god of justice. To the west was stooped Telanis, god of fate. To the north was the radiant Neritha, the Lady of Light, goddess of life. And to the south stood the cowled Nerisis, Lady of Shades, goddess of death. It was under their knowing gaze that the cityfolk gathered once a week to settle disputes and to judge those who had broken the laws of gods and men.
A paler patch of cloud in the heavy sky marked the sun’s position, only now lowering towards the statue of Telanis. The minor disputes had begun shortly after the great clock atop the Artificers’ guildhall struck the third morning bell, and were now all but settled. Out in the centre of the square, in the open space beyond the barricades, a magister was announcing the final trial of the day. The claimant had accused another man – his business partner, it seemed – of cheating him out of a sizeable amount of money. As the magister laid out the charges, the accuser and the defendant prepared themselves. In this part of the Empire trial by combat was very much still the vogue, and in Ran Ithor the favoured method was the shilling-duel. The accuser had donned a studded leather jerkin and was being handed a finely crafted rapier by a young boy whose looks betrayed him as the man’s son. The defendant was similarly garbed, but armed himself with a plain-looking blade that he sliced through the air twice in practice. The accuser knelt piously before the statue of Avane and mouthed a short prayer; the defendant looked to the crowd, winked at someone hidden from Belias’s view, and then flicked a salute toward the Lady of Shades. The crowd laughed at the touch. The shilling-duels were by law and custom never fatal, and the man’s sardonic gesture seemed to have won him some support.
The magister held up his hand, and the crowd quietened once more. Between forefinger and thumb the robed official held what would be the focus of the duel – a freshly-minted Imperial Shilling. Even through the veil of rain, Belias could make out the shine of the polished silver. On one side, he knew, would be the profile of the Undying Emperor, on the other the Imperial Seal. Accuser and accused stood forty feet apart, with the magister halfway between them; both fixed their gaze on the coin. The magister looked to each man. Seeing they were ready, he dropped the shilling to the ground and backed hastily away. The men were advancing before the sound of the coin hitting the flagstones had rang out across the square. Whoever grasped the shilling first would be adjudged the winner, and neither man wasted any time in trying to lay their hands on it. As it was they both arrived simultaneously. Steel met steel, and the duel was on.
‘Stop fidgeting,’ came a quiet voice from beside Belias. His hand had gone to the leather strap around his neck, and he had been unconsciously rubbing the trinket that hung there. With a guilty start, he dropped his hand back to his side.
‘I didn’t see you come up,’ Belias said.
‘Yes, well I’m not a great clodhopper like you, am I?’ The newcomer was a good head and a half shorter then Belias, and was dressed in a sleeveless hooded tunic worn over a plain woollen shirt and hose. Boots of good leather came to her knees, and a satchel was slung over one shoulder and across her chest. She didn’t look up at Belias; her gaze, like everyone else’s, was on the duel out in the centre of the square. ‘And try not to look so conspicuous. Here, I got you these.’
Still without turning to face him, she passed across four circlets – two of wood, one of brass, and one of copper. Each was etched with a string of words and religious symbols. Belias fingered them, uncertain. ‘Prayer rings?’
‘You must be the only person in the city who isn’t wearing any.’ She shook her own wrist, where a number of metal bands jangled. ‘See? They won’t kill you.’
Belias hastily pushed the rings over his hands and onto his wrists. They sat heavily, the unaccustomed weight an odd sensation. He let his gaze drift back to the duel, occasionally toying with the bands in a vain attempt to get them to sit more comfortably. Every now and then he’d sneak a glance at the figure beside him.
Finally, the girl sighed. ‘What is it, Belias?’
The words tumbled out in a rush. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea, Sabine? I mean, you’ve never even tried to­—‘
‘We have no choice, brother. You know that.’ Sabine finally looked up at him. Her face was pale – not from fear or nervousness but the powder she had brushed on, in the fashion of Ithoran women. A deep blue lined her eyes and striped her chin. Still, Belias could see the determination in the set of her mouth, the focus in her grey-green eyes. ‘Do not fret so, Belias. You play your part. I will worry about mine.’
Belias nodded. ‘And if we fail?’
‘Then we fail and it is done.’ She gave him a smile, then. ‘But we will not fail. It is not our destiny.’
‘You are so sure?’
‘Always.’ Sabine reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘Now prepare yourself. The moment draws near.’ With that she was gone again, lost in the crowd.
