The Grave thief

You're right, minstrel. These people want a king – they need a king – but I am not it. I can only lead them to one worth breaking their bonds for. Is that not our master's way anyway? To show a man the path and let him choose it himself?

A large natural pillar at the centre of the cavern dominated his view; its rough sloping sides studded with glinting quartz and stained by long rusty streaks. At points on the pillar some industrious priest had hacked or drilled holes to insert wooden beams that now protruded directly out some eight feet in all directions. From those hung shallow brass braziers like those by the cave entrance, once decorated but now as battered by the years as the priests who tended them. The hum of quiet chanting and a haze of incense filled the air, bringing back more memories of his father; of long days and nights in prayer that had left him drained and exhausted when he returned home.

The cavern stretched two hundred yards from left to right of Ve

Even with his back to them Ve

At the base of the pillar was the smallest and meanest of the cavern's shrines, little more than a trickle of water that ran down a natural cha

The priestess drew closer and he heard the hesitation in her footsteps. Perhaps she was wondering whether to reach out and pluck his arm, maybe even guide his elbow forward. He didn't wait for her to come to any decision but lurched off again, down the steps to the small shrine. Every visitor to the cavern would take a thimble-sized cup of polished brass and drink the ice-cold water. Legend said it had been blessed by the Gods and was the source of their remarkable abilities, but there had never been any mages among the clans and no one knew for sure.

Ve

'It is there.' He caught the faint whisper in his ear. Jackdaw sounded out of breath, but Ve

Ve

He put the thought from his mind and continued the prayer. Rojak had ordered him to give his people a king, and in a few moments, Jackdaw would have added to the spell on the water, opening his people to change, to ambition.

Let them choose a new path. Ve

'It is done,' Jackdaw said softly in his ear. Ve

Here is the reward you've been seeking all these years. Do you remember the tale of Amavoq's Cup? How deeply will you drink of this poisoned chalice?

Ve

'Why are you here?' croaked a voice on his right.

His face blank, Ve

He slowly focused upon the windspeaker. With both hands gripping a gnarled staff, the priest scowled and repeated his question.

Windspeaker, if you hear words in the rushing of air you'll see the hand of Gods in my actions. Men such as you taught me to recite the tale of the Coward's Mirror by heart. Before the end I will perform it for you, as a final chance to avoid your own foolishness.

'I have been sent,' Ve

'Sent by whom?'

'The Master.' Ve

Lap it up, you old bastard. Time for you to choose; hesitate here and she'll step around you. You'll fall behind and another will be remembered as the one who attended at the moment in history.

A tiny sound behind Ve

He lowered his head in prayer, the holy words a powerful presence ahead of him. A king for his people was Rojak's last order to him. They would not accept any king other than one they chose themselves, but Ve

'No king to rule you, no mortal lord to command you.' The last line of the holy words made the clans think they were special, that they were blessed. His contempt tasted as bitter as the prayer had.

'Listen to me well, for I am a guardian of the past,' he said in a cracked and raw voice, as though he had been silent all those years since last he had visited that place. It was the Harlequin's traditional opening to their audiences.

He waited, sensing the priests gather. He felt a hand on his shoulder and Jackdaw cha