“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.
“Who ordered you to burn it down?” Andreyis yelled. Everyone paused and looked. Captain Ulay saw who it was, and gave an order to two soldiers. The soldiers advanced on him. “The rest of you are just going to stand there? Your captain's gone mad! This is the High Temple of Enora, and your gods are going to hold you personally responsible for destroying it!”
The two soldiers advancing on him stopped. Andreyis saw that one, beneath his steel helm, was very young and looked very frightened.
“If this temple falls into their hands,” Ulay roared at them, “it will mark the fall of Enora! We swore that we would never allow them to place the Shereldin Star in this place, and I will not hand them such a victory!”
“That which you lose you can always win back!” Andreyis retorted. “If you burn it down, you destroy your symbol of nationhood with your very hands! Why don't you just cut your own damn throats while you're at it?”
Captain Ulay yelled at the two soldiers in Enoran. They looked at each other, and did not advance further. Ulay snarled, and strode toward the soldier holding the flint and flask.
“Don't let him have it!” Andreyis yelled. The soldier stood paralysed as his captain advanced. “He has no orders, he's just making it up! He lied to you!”
Ulay took the flint from his unresisting man, and snarled orders to two other men. Those two obeyed without hesitation, and came striding for Andreyis.
Something fizzed past Andreyis's shoulder, and struck one of those men squarely in the chest. His armour was thickest there, and the arrow bounced off, but he froze in shock. Andreyis looked behind, and there was Yshel, bow in hand, reaching for another arrow even now. Behind Yshel, walking with the aid of a tall staff, was a familiar, grey-haired figure. Andreyis stared.
“You're not burning down the fucking High Temple!” Kessligh yelled. “Have you gone completely insane?” Behind him came Nasi-Keth and serrin, more than a dozen.
“Hold them back!” Ulay commanded, uncorking the flask.
A serrin man with powerful arms took stance beside Kessligh and pulled a huge bowstring with a shuddering creak. “I have him,” he announced, sighting at the captain.
Soldiers ran in front of their captain, shields raised, and made an impenetrable wall. Still the serrin sighted, as though seeking a gap between the shields, with some confidence of hitting.
“I am Kessligh Cronenverdt,” Kessligh announced. “You have heard of my victories against the Regent! I am the most victorious of all commanders in this war, and I command that this folly shall cease!”
“You're a Lenay pagan like all the others!” yelled Ulay from behind his wall. “You have no command here! Now clear the damn temple, because I'm going to light it, and the first flame will turn everyone on this floor to ash in the blink of an eye!”
Soldiers began to leave, ushering the Lenay prisoners ahead of them. One prisoner, limping on a bad leg, made a sudden lunge for Ulay, barehanded. His tackle brought down a soldier, and opened a gap in the wall of shields. An arrow whistled, and suddenly Ulay had a serrin arrow through his arm. He stared at the arrow. His soldiers all watched as the flint hit the ground. No one seemed to know what to do.