Mannfred glanced over his shoulder, and then back at Jerrod. ‘Lileath of the Moon, and Ladrielle of the Veil,’ he said. ‘I knew I had heard those names before, secret names for a secret goddess. A goddess of the elves… and of men.’
Jerrod hesitated. ‘No,’ he said, softly.
‘Oh yes,’ Mannfred said. He stepped close as Jerrod’s blade dipped. ‘They do like their amusements, the gods. How entertaining it must have been for her to usurp the adoration of your people, and mould you like clay.’ He leaned close, almost whispering. ‘Just think… all of the times you’ve sworn by the Lady, well, she was right there, within arm’s reach. She heard every prayer, witnessed every deed.’ Mannfred grabbed his shoulder. ‘And said nothing.’
‘No,’ Jerrod croaked in protest. But it all made a terrible sort of sense. He could feel the connection between them, though he had not known what it was. And why else would the Lady have fallen silent, save that she was no longer the Lady, and had no more use for Bretonnia? He lowered his sword. For the first time in his life, he felt unsure. It was a strange feeling for him, for he’d never doubted himself before, not in battle or otherwise. But now…
He turned. Mannfred was gone. He shook his head. It didn’t matter. The vampire wasn’t important. Only the truth mattered. He was lying, he had to be, he thought as he hurried towards the King’s Glade. But what he’d felt when he’d first laid eyes on her and every time since. The way she would not meet his gaze. The way she had stepped between him and Malekith. Lying, oh my Lady, let him have been lying, he thought.
No guards barred his way, for which he was thankful. He burst into the glade where the council was being held. His sudden appearance had interrupted Malekith’s latest snarling rant, and all heads turned towards him. All save one.
‘Lileath,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Face me, woman.’
Silence fell over the glade. Malekith waved his guards back to their positions. The Eternity King slumped back into his throne, and said, ‘Well, face him, Lileath. Give the ape what he wants and maybe he’ll slink back off to wherever he goes to hide when someone raises their voice.’ Jerrod looked at him, one hand on the hilt of his sword. Malekith sat up. ‘Ah, I was wondering when he’d figure it out,’ he said softly, glancing at Alarielle. ‘Such dim-witted beasts. Unable to recognise divinity, even when it is right beside them.’
‘Be silent,’ Hammerson barked. The dwarf stepped towards Jerrod, ignoring Malekith’s sputtering outrage. ‘Lad, what is it?’
‘I know her name now,’ Jerrod said. Hammerson frowned, but before he could speak, Lileath turned.
‘And who told you that, Duke of Quenelles?’ she asked.
‘Is it true?’ Jerrod replied.
‘There are many truths,’ Lileath said, after a moment’s hesitation.
Malekith laughed bitterly. ‘This is pointless. I shall have my guards remove the ape and the dwarf both. How are we expected to proceed with such distractions?’
‘Proceed where?’ Hammerson said. Thumbs hooked in his belt, the dwarf scanned the faces of the Incarnates. ‘It’s been weeks, and all you’ve done is given yourselves a pretty name. Even the great councils of Karaz-a-Karak move faster than this, when the enemy is on our doorstep. Distraction – pfaugh. I’d think you’d welcome it.’ He patted the hammer stuffed through his belt. ‘And I’ll crack the skull of the first elf to lay a hand on me or the lad here.’
‘There is no need for skull-cracking, Master Hammerson,’ Lileath said. ‘I shall speak to Jerrod alone, away from the council, if he wishes.’ She looked at Jerrod and a wash of images flowed across the surface of his mind, memories and dreams, and for a moment, he was tongue-tied, humbled by her presence. He wanted to kneel.
Instead, he turned and began to leave. Lileath followed. They left the glade where the council met, and walked in silence to a nearby grove. For a while, the only sounds were those of the forest. The quiet shudder of branches, the rustle of leaves. And then, the sound of a sword being drawn from its sheath.
‘Is it true?’ Jerrod said.
‘As I said…’ Lileath began.
‘No,’ he croaked. ‘No, do not play the mystic with me. I am only a man, and I would know whether or not my life has been a lie. I would know whether my people died for the games of a goddess not even our own.’
‘Who told you this?’
‘What does it matter?’ Jerrod snarled. ‘All you have to do is say that it is untrue. Say that you are not the Lady, and I will apologise. I will renounce my seat on the council, and we shall ne’er meet again. But tell me.’
Lileath was silent. Her face betrayed no anxiety, only calm. ‘I do not deny it,’ she said. Her voice was icy. ‘Indeed, I am proud of it. I am proud of what I made of your primitive forebears.’
‘You used us,’ Jerrod said. ‘We were but pieces on a game board, dying for a cause that did not exist.’ He raised his sword. ‘We thought you were our guiding light, but instead you were merely luring us to our doom. Now the best of us are dead, and the rest will soon follow.’
‘There was no other choice,’ Lileath said. ‘Prophecy was my gift, and I foresaw the End Times at the moment of my birth. I needed an army, and your people provided one.’
‘Why us?’
Lileath looked away. ‘Asuryan would never have countenanced the creation of a new race. Not after what was provoked by the crafting of the elves.’ She turned and swatted aside his sword with her staff. ‘I chose your forefathers to serve a greater purpose. I drew them up out of the muck, and gave them nobility and honour second only to that of the elves. Without the codes and laws that I gave you, your ancestors would have wiped each other out, or else been trampled into the muck by orcs or worse things.’ She extended her staff, nearly touching his chest. ‘Make no mistake, human. What you have, your honour, your lands, your skill, all of that is my doing. You owe me your life and loyalty, whether I be Lady or Ladrielle. And I make no apology for collecting on that debt.’
Jerrod heard a low, animal sound and realised it was coming from him. His sword arm trembled with barely restrained fury, and his blood thumped in his temples. The point of his blade rose. ‘You are no goddess,’ he whispered. ‘You are a daemon.’
‘No,’ Lileath said. ‘No, I am merely one who does what must be done.’ She lowered her staff. ‘It was necessary, Jerrod.’ Her voice lost its ice, and became sorrowful. Her poise crumpled, replaced by resignation. ‘The world is doomed. But that does not mean that hope is lost. There is a world – a Haven – where life may yet continue, even as this one is consumed in the fires of Chaos. Without Bretonnia’s sacrifices, I could not have created it. Surely that is worth something?’
She stepped towards him. Her hand stretched out, and Jerrod flinched back. ‘Listen to me,’ she pleaded. ‘This war could never have been won. Not by you, or any of your brothers who died in service to the Empire, or in the civil war. But part of them, part of those who died, lives on in my Haven, protecting it from the evil which even now seeks to infect it. Even now, the spirits of your brothers, of all the knights who have ever died in service to the Lady – to me – fight on for a new world. A better world.’
‘So even in death, you use us as weapons?’ Jerrod said. A chill crept through him. ‘Even our ghosts know no peace?’
Lileath dropped her hand. Her eyes were sad. ‘What is a knight, but one who sacrifices for others?’ she said, softly.
Jerrod stepped back. ‘Small consolation, given that you were the author of that creed,’ he spat. He shook his head. ‘Is that all, then? Is that the story of us? Dogsbodies in life and death, serfs to immortal masters who see us only as weapons to be used and discarded?’