Free Orb Sceptre Throne by Ian C. Esslemont Page A

the onlookers’ breath caught in aesthetic appreciation of the beauty of a single cut perfectly executed in power, timing, accuracy and form, passed.
    And the gathered Jistarii all bowed to their Second.
    Later that evening Jan sat cross-legged at dinner with his closest friends among the ranked: Palla, the Sixth, and Lo, Eighth these many years, but recently, with the reported death of Blacksword, under consideration for promotion to the long empty rank of Seventh. With them also was an old friend of his youth, Beru, one of the Thirtieth.
    ‘Will Gall reclaim the Third?’ Jan asked Palla.
    She laughed, and, ducking her head, lifted her mask to take a pinched morsel of rice and meats. ‘He will. And with gratitude to be back on his old rung again.’
    ‘Gratitude? I did not act as I did for his benefit.’
    She bowed, all formal, but her voice held humour: ‘Gratitude for reminding everyone why he has remained Third for so long.’
    Jan motioned gently to close the subject. He turned to Lo, seeing the seven lines of soot that radiated from the eye holes of his friend’s mask. ‘And what of you? Will you take the Seventh?’
    Lo bowed stiffly from the waist. ‘If commanded. But I do not seek it. It is … distasteful … to step up in this manner.’
    From Beru’s tense pose Jan could tell he had something to say. ‘And you, Beru?’
    The man bowed, and kept his gaze averted. ‘With respect, Second. There is talk of this swordsman, whoever he may be, who slew Blacksword, the Lord of the Moon’s Scion. Some say he must be regarded as the new Seventh. Some suggest a challenge.’
    Jan had been reaching for a pinch of meat, but stilled. ‘You know I am against such … adventurism. I opposed the expedition of punishment against the Pannions. What did that gain us? Mok’s skills wasted against rabble and unworthy amateurs.’
    His three companions ate in silence for a time, for all knew Jan’s feelings regarding Mok, his elder brother, who volunteered to silence those disrespectful Pannions. And who returned … changed. Broken.
    It fell to Palla to speak, the one who shared the greatest claim to intimacy with him, as the lovers they had been. Until both had climbed too high in the rankings and the tensions of the challenge intervened. ‘And yet,’ she began, cautiously, ‘you supported Oru’s venture.’
    Jan made a deliberate effort to soften his tone. ‘Oru claimed to have had a vision. Who am I to dispute that? I allowed him to call for any who would voluntarily accompany him.’
    ‘And twenty answered! Our greatest expedition ever mounted.’
    ‘True.’ And for the greatest goal of all. For only to him, as Second, did Oru reveal the truth of his vision … the belief that somehow, in some manner, he would regain the honour of the Seguleh stolen from them so long ago. A mad, desperate hope. But one he could not oppose.
    His gaze fell on Lo, face turned away as he raised his mask to drink. Perhaps he should allow the challenge. Any man who could defeat Blacksword … if he could better Lo then he could have the rank.
    A gentle tap at the door broke into Jan’s thoughts. He nodded for Beru to answer. On his knees, one hand on the grip of his sword, Beru cracked open the door and spoke in low tones to whoever was without. After a short exchange he opened it.
    It was an old man, an unmasked honoured Jistarii who had chosen the path of priest. The man shuffled in on his knees and bowed, touching his brow to the bare hardwood floor. ‘My lord. You are requested at the temple. There is … something for you to see.’
    Jan inclined his mask fractionally. ‘Very well. I will attend.’ The priest bowed again. He shuffled backwards on his knees and stepped out of the low threshold without turning his back upon them. Jan took a sip of tea to cleanse his mouth.
    Palla bowed in a request to speak.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘May we accompany you?’
    ‘If you wish.’
    The main temple of Cant was a large open-sided building