'You're Falcio val Mond, you're the First fucking Cantor of the Greatcoats and the world is still fucked. Now kindly get over yourself and tell us how we win this thing, because right now it's looking pretty hopeless.'

I glanced over at Valiana, standing tall, even as she fought back the madness in her veins. She tried to nod reassuringly, even though I should have been the one reassuring her. Then do it, idiot. Tell her. I'm usually embarrassingly terrible at these things, but I forced myself to my feet and stood before her. I placed my palms on her cheeks. Whichever Gods remain, please let me say this without bursting into tears in front of the other Greatcoats. 'All the hope I will ever need is in the endless courage of my daughter's heart,' I said.

Valiana put her hands over mine. 'It's the oath,' she said, smiling up at me, though her voice was still tight, almost stilted. 'If I . . . if I hold onto it I can . . . I think the oaths are more than just words.'

'All words are more than just words,' Rhyleis said, then added mockingly, 'When will you Trattari finally learn that?'

'Don't goad them,' Nehra said.

But there was a kind of truth in Rhyleis' derision that I was finally coming to understand. Back at the Palace of Baern, when Birgid had come with her Awe blazing, I had made some comment about Greatcoats not kneeling, but I realised now that the deeper truth I'd been hanging on to at that moment was my oath. I turned to the others, trying to decide who to start with. I chose Antrim. 'Why did you become a Greatcoat?' I asked.

'What? Why are you-?'

'Just tell me.'

He looked around at the others briefly, looking a little embarrassed. 'I . . . well, I come from the middle of Orison. The Viscount Drance ruled there. He . . . he had these rules about taxes: anyone who failed to pay the instant the collector came around was forced to burn his own lands, all their goods and livestock no one was allowed to intervene and no one was allowed to take them in on pain of suffering the same fate; no one could even feed them. So you either watched your neighbour struggling to live off whatever roots and berries they could find, knowing they would starve once winter came or you joined them.'

'You couldn't pay your taxes?' Talia asked. 'I thought your family was wealthy.'

'We were,' he admitted. 'But I tried to sneak food to a family who'd been forced to destroy their home. I was found out, and I paid the price.'

'How did you survive?' she asked.

He gave a soft snort. 'I killed a Knight, stole a horse and rode like seven devils were at my heels. By the time I got to Aramor I was nearly dead and the men chasing me finally caught me. The King's guards intervened and brought me to him. The King asked me what I'd do if he gave me clemency. I guess I must have been a little delirious because I said, "I'll make damned sure no lousy Viscount makes a man burn down his own home ever again."'

'So that was your oath?' Kest asked.

Antrim gave a little shrug. 'I like to think it came out a little more eloquently, but yes, that was basically it.' He turned to me. 'Why did you make me tell that story?'

'How long ago did you take the oath?' I asked.

He didn't hesitate, not even a second. 'Six years, three months and seven days.'

'Swear it again,' I said.

'Falcio, the King is-'

I pointed to Aline. 'Swear it to her.'

I expected him to argue, but he didn't. He picked up his shortsword and took three steps to stand before Aline. He said, 'I have known wealth and I have known deprivation. I have seen the power of charity and the vicious theft of the only scrap of bread from a child's mouth. The Law says no man or woman can be made to starve at the whim of another. I will ride the roads of this country until that Law holds true.' He gripped his sword tighter. 'I am Antrim Thomas of the Condate of Drance, and I am-'

Aline stopped him before he could finish. She reached up and placed her hands on the side of his face and pulled him close. I thought she was going to kiss him on the cheek, but instead she whispered something into his ear. She let him go and he looked down at her. 'I think I can live with that,' he said, grinning from ear to ear.

I didn't have to ask Talia; she had already picked up her spear and now she took Antrim's place, standing before Aline and speaking clear and true. 'Where I was born, in the Duchy of Pulnam, a girl of ten could be forcibly wed to a man of fifty. Her sisters and brothers could be killed for trying to protect her from her abusive husband. The King said that no child could be forced into marriage, that everyone had the right to love of their own free choice. I will ride these roads and I will see that Law and all the others enforced. My name is Talia Venire and by whatever Gods and Saints are left, I am-'

Again, Aline stopped her. She reached out to the taller woman and pulled her close into a hug that made Talia look remarkably uncomfortable. Aline whispered in her ear before letting her go. 'It'll do,' Talia replied. I'm not sure I had ever seen her smile quite like that before.

'Well you all know what I think of the Laws,' Brasti said, evidently deciding it was his turn. He started strutting around the room like an actor walking the stage, spinning an arrow between his fingers, then suddenly he stopped, making the arrow freeze in his hand as he turned to the rest of us. 'It's all shite, if you ask me.' The arrow started spinning again and Brasti continued his swaggering gait. 'But there are a lot of arseholes in this country: big men. Rough men.' He turned and tossed the arrow to Kest. 'Swordsmen, mostly.' He paused for a laugh that never came and shrugged before going on, 'And I suppose if a few Laws here and there can keep those men from making life even worse than it already is, and if being a Greatcoat means people can rest a little easier, live a little better, well then I'll ride these roads. I'll be a Greatcoat. I'll be the very paragon . . .' He paused and looked to Kest.

'Surprisingly, that's the right word,' Kest admitted.

Brasti grinned. 'I'll be the very paragon of Greatcoats.' He turned then, having perfectly timed his words and his steps to arrive in front of Aline. 'My name, little girl, is Brasti Goodbow, and I-'

She reached up for him as she had with the others, but just at the last instant he pinched her cheeks gently between thumbs and forefingers and kissed the top of her head. Before she could speak, he whispered something into her ear.

'You are rather impertinent, Brasti Goodbow,' she said, once he let her go, 'and I still can't believe my father ever chose you for the Greatcoats. But I consent.'

He spun back on his heel. 'Of course you do, sweetling. What choice do you have? I'm invaluable.'

Mateo went next, then Allister, and then even Darriana managed to summon up just enough humility to retake her oath. When Aline whispered in her ear at the end, Darriana grinned. 'Oh, I think that will do nicely.'

When Kest began to take his own oath he almost passed out from the pain of trying to keep hold of the hilt of his sword, until Aline whispered, 'Enough,' and gently lifted his hand away. 'You have to be more than a sword from now on.' She leaned forward and whispered in his ear as she had the others; his expression was more dubious, but he too nodded acquiescence.

When I had finished my turn, she smiled at me but said nothing. 'What?' I asked. 'No secret message for me?'

'You are his, Falcio. You have and always will be my father's heart.' She took my hand and squeezed it. 'I'm glad for that.'

Before I could reply she let go and walked over to the others and stood in front of Quentis Maren, who sat with his bandaged shoulder, watching the proceedings in fascination. The Inquisitor rose to his feet. 'I'm sorry, my Lady,' he said, startled at her presence. 'I meant no offence . . . I'd heard of the Trattari rituals, but never witnessed one. I should have left the room.'

'And how do you find our "rituals", Inquisitor?'

'Odd,' he replied, candidly, 'and and forgive me for saying a little sloppy compared to those of the Cogneri.'

'That's it,' Brasti said. 'Now I'm definitely killing him.'

Aline smiled. 'We are a rather sloppy company, aren't we? Here I am, heir to a throne that appears to come with precious little authority over anyone.'

'Precious little throne, either, now that the castle's in ruins,' Brasti added.

I should have hit him when I had the chance.

Aline ignored him. 'My lineage does come with one privilege, though. It is my right to choose those who will administer the Laws of Tristia.' She waited just a second to see if he'd understood, and when it was clear he hadn't, she added, 'Quentis Maren, I name you to the Greatcoats.'

The Inquisitor looked shocked, and slightly aghast. 'My Lady, forgive me, I am a Cogneri, I-'

'How's that been working out for you?' Mateo asked.

Quentis shook his head. 'Not well, I suppose.' He looked at Aline. 'But I'm a man of the Gods even if those Gods no longer live. I cannot swear to-'

'Give the oath you would give,' Aline said.

He started to kneel down in front of her but she took his arm and made him stand. 'The Greatcoats don't kneel.'

He swallowed, visibly the most uncomfortable recruit I had ever seen, and then said, 'I believe we should serve the Gods,' he said.

'You know they're all dead, right?' Brasti asked.

'I know, but I still believe there is something greater than our own self-interest, than what lies before us in field and forest, village and city.' He paused for a moment, then went on more firmly, 'But I also believe that Faith cannot be born out of fear or enslavement. Only if we are free can we find that Faith. I will not stand by as anyone, man or God, seeks to use terror to command obedience.'

Aline spoke to him quietly before kissing him on the cheek. He brought his fingers to the spot where she'd kissed him, looking oddly touched by her simple gesture. The Tailor rose silently, holding Harden's coat and I finally understood that she'd been adjusting it to fit the Inquisitor's body.

'Is that it?' Quentis asked, pulling on the coat. It was a perfect fit. 'I'm a Trattari now?'

Talia walked up to the man in her brother's coat, her fierce eyes appraising him. After a moment she punched him in the shoulder the uninjured shoulder hard enough that the former Inquisitor flinched. 'We really prefer the term "Greatcoat",' she said.

Mateo raised a glass in the air. 'Welcome to the Greatcoats, Quentis. The pay is lousy and the chances of survival are even worse.'

'Remember something else,' I said grimly, dampening the cheers that'd followed Mateo's toast. 'Your oath isn't worth shit if you're on your knees.'

He didn't look that convinced none of them did. They had seen the power of the new God and they all knew no amount of effort would keep us from falling before him.

'I don't know anything about magic,' I said, 'except I hate it. I know even less about Faith. All I know is that this world is full of chaos and corruption, and we Greatcoats stand against that. We stood and we delivered our oaths and well, maybe oaths are just words, but they didn't feel that way to me, not when I heard Antrim speak them, or Talia, or any of us. When we speak our oaths, when we bind ourselves to them, the words feel like-'

'Magic?' Brasti offered. For once he wasn't smirking.

'Greatcoats' magic,' Talia said, her hand gripping her spear. She was practically glowing with pride.

'Words,' Darriana said, her tone mocking, 'foolish words and foolish deeds is this all that's left to protect this shithole of a world?'

'Why not?' Kest asked. 'It's the only thing that's ever worked before.'

'There's only a few hours before dawn,' Mateo pointed out. 'We should prepare if we're going to meet the God in the ruins of Aramor.'

He was right and I was about to start giving orders when Aline stopped me. 'I'm not finished, First Cantor.'

The Tailor came forward again, holding another bundle in her arms. I had never seen this coat before: the brown leather was tinted with subtle hues of red and copper. On the breast was inlaid a dove. 'Are you sure about this, sweetling?' the Tailor asked. 'It seems a terrible idea to me.'

The heir to the throne sighed. 'Grandmother, will you please stop contradicting me? And stop calling me sweetling.'

'Never!' The old woman grinned, and for an instant she actually looked like a doting grandmother. I found it strangely terrifying.

Aline took the coat and for a moment I thought she was about to put it on herself. But she didn't; she walked to where Ethalia was standing by herself in the shadowed corner. 'Ethalia-who-shares-all-sorrows, Saint of Mercy.' The room went deathly quiet. 'I name you to the Greatcoats.'

There was a great deal of yelling, most of it apparently coming from me. 'You can't ask her to do this!' I shouted.

'Why not?' Aline asked, her calm an irritating counter to my loud frustration.

I turned to look at Ethalia, who still hadn't said a word. 'She's dedicated her whole life to peace to compassion. All we do is fight. We fight and we die and-'

'I accept,' Ethalia said, quietly.

'You don't have to do this,' I told her. 'Birgid forced you into becoming the Saint of Mercy; don't let yourself be forced into this, too.'

Ethalia smiled at me for a moment. 'No one forces me into anything, Falcio. Have you not learned that one simple thing about me yet? I chose to accept Birgid's burden, though I didn't understand it at the time.'

It was a perfectly sensible and brave thing to say, and it annoyed me. 'We're duellists, don't you understand that? For all our talk of laws and justice, most of us are nicknamed after the weapons we carry swords and spears and arrows, all used to kill.'

Ethalia took the coat from Aline's hands. 'And you are named for these, too, for the protection they provide, not only to you but to those you defend.' She reached out a hand and placed it against my chest. 'Perhaps we can all be more than just one thing.'

I put my hand over hers and held it there a while.

'It's time,' Aline said. 'I would hear your oath.'

Ethalia turned to her then, and I wasn't in the least bit surprised when she said, 'I am the friend in the dark hour. I am the breeze against the burning sun. I am the water, freely given, and the wine, lovingly shared. I am the rest after the battle, and the healing after the wound . . .' She paused for a moment, and then said firmly, 'And I am the sword against the sword, the spear against the spear. I am the answering voice when torment cries out for mercy. I am the friend in the dark hour,' she repeated, 'and I am a Greatcoat.'

This time I overheard what Aline said, and despite how furious I was, I had to admit that the name fit. I found myself looking around the room, at Kest and Brasti, with whom I'd started the first step of this journey, so long ago. They were smiling like idiots. I found the reason in the faces of the men and women around us: Antrim, Mateo, Allister, Talia, Quentis, Valiana and Ethalia. There were less than a dozen of us left, fools one and all, protected by nothing more than leather and bone and a few desperate words. It was impossible not to love these people.

Aline went over to where Nehra and Rhyleis were sitting together, mumbling and occasionally scrawling notes in a little clothbound book. No doubt writing down the story and getting the details all wrong.

'Lady Nehra,' Aline said, 'do you have the means to get a message to the Blacksmith and his creation, wherever they might be right now?'

'I'm a Bardatti,' she replied. 'Yes. What would you have me say?'

'Kindly inform the God that the Greatcoats are coming.'

CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX.

The Plan

In the penultimate chapter of Sen Errera Bottio's treatise on trial by combat, he describes seven vices that can lead even the most expert duellist to his death. The first, Bottio argued, is believing the praise of one's supporters: Their testaments to your skill and brilliance will be delivered with such eulogistic grandiosity that you risk forgetting your own weaknesses. Your enemy will not.

Sage advice, although in my case it really wasn't necessary.

'Congratulations,' Brasti shouted from where he sat opposite me on a chair in the surprisingly spacious second-floor bedroom I'd taken. 'After a lifetime of trying to come up with the worst possible plan ever conceived, you've finally succeeded.'

'You have a better one?' I asked, trying in vain to rub away the headache forming just behind my eyes. Brasti wasn't the first one to make that particular observation.

He threw up his hands in disgust. 'Sure, how about you just construct a giant ballista and hurl us one by one at the God, shouting "Injustice! Injustice!" because I'm telling you, that plan is at least as good as yours.'

I turned to Kest, who was leaning against the back wall. Up until now he'd stayed very quiet. Now he said, 'Your strategy is . . . inventive, to be sure, but it's based on conjecture about magic and Faith, things none of us understand. If you're wrong about even one small part of it, we'll all be dead before Brasti can even say he told you so.'

'Which would have been the only redeeming part of this plan, by the way,' Brasti said. He pointed to Aline. 'And after everything we've seen, you're expecting the heir to just-'