Sea of Ghosts - Alan Campbell [139]
‘All quiet, Captain?’ the witch asked.
‘Nothing but birdsong, ma’am,’ the man replied.
The military presence became more frequent after that. In places, acres of woodland had been burned to stubble to accommodate larger camps where hundreds of soldiers milled around gun emplacements and paced perimeters and trained in muddy meadows between the concrete buildings. Razor-wire enveloped everything. Great cannon batteries pointed at the skies. The sound of small-arms fire became more frequent.
Ianthe flinched as yet more gunfire crackled nearby. ‘Are they training?’ she asked.
‘News of our arrival precedes us,’ Briana said. ‘Most of these units have telepaths attached.’
‘They’re Guild soldiers?’
‘The finest war machine in the empire.’
‘I thought the emperor’s Samarol were the finest?’
Briana just snorted. ‘I once saw one brought down by an unarmed man,’ she said. ‘How good can they be?’
At last, with the long light of evening sloping through the trees, they passed through a final checkpoint in the gates of a massive stone wall, where soldiers winched up an iron grate to allow the carriage to pass. Ahead of them lay the Guild Palace of Awl. The Irillian mountains framed tiers of dark, pyrite-veined towers that soared skywards, their windows ablaze in the last rays of sun. Flags of white and gold hung from a score of poles set into the barbican, while pots of meadow-flowers adorned the promenade before the walls. On all sides, paths and steps led off into the cool shade of the forest behind. Ianthe spied a gazebo down beside a brook, where a group of eight girls in white robes sat listening to an older woman. Other Haurstaf strolled among the trees, enjoying an evening that seemed infused with the aura of summer itself.
Four carts waited on the flagged promenade before the main palace gate, while their drivers reclined on a grassy bank nearby. Ianthe’s own carriage drew up beside the others, whereupon their driver opened the door and folded down the steps.
‘What do you think?’ Briana asked.
Ianthe smiled, thankful that her lenses hid her tears.
The palace interior was cool and quiet, with grand halls and cascades of dark marble stairs and airy corridors leading in every direction. Guild psychics passed by, their white robes whispering on the mirror-black floors. Briana led Ianthe along a corridor in one wing and pushed open a set of double doors.
They had reached an enormous library, where hundreds of girls sat at desks, reading books. The faintly musty scent of paper and old leather bindings lingered in the air. Heads turned to face Ianthe. A murmur passed through the room. Someone giggled.
‘Sister Ulla,’ Briana said.
An old woman came over, her arms full of books. She was no larger than a child and wore her hair in a grey knuckle behind her head. Her face had the texture of a rotten log, and her restless little eyes looked like they had burrowed in there to escape predators. She glared at Ianthe with open hostility, then opened her mouth to speak.
Briana held up a hand. ‘This is Ianthe,’ she said. ‘I want her tested for the usual, then put in with the current class.’
Sister Ulla said nothing.
‘I am aware of that,’ Briana said, ‘but—’
The old woman remained silent.
‘Probably an affectation,’ Briana said. ‘You know what these—’
Sister Ulla continued to stare at the other woman in silence.
Briana wrung her hands in frustration. ‘Obviously that depends on what you find,’ she remarked. ‘I want a full progress report on this one.’ She glanced at Ianthe, before returning her attention to the old woman. A long moment of silence passed between them.
Sister Ulla then turned to Ianthe. She frowned and said, ‘Ignorant peasant. Don’t you have any inclination of what I just said to you?’
‘I’m sorry, ma’am,’ Ianthe replied.
A ripple of laughter spread among the girls seated nearby.
‘You will address me as Sister Ulla,’ the old woman said.
Ianthe swallowed.
‘I do not approve of those lenses,’ Sister Ulla said, ‘regardless of