The Twilight herald

CHAPTER 8

'My name is Mikiss, my Lord, Army Messenger Koden Mikiss.' He met Styrax's gaze for a brief moment, then lowered his eyes again. His horse, surrounded by muscular cavalry horses made even more bulky by their armour, looked fragile, and added to the picture of misery that was the exhausted, frightened messenger.

Styrax smiled inwardly. He would surprise a man with unexpected mercy more than once tonight.

'Come. We must ride,' he said, and his party set off at a brisk canter through the empty streets of Thotel. The looming stoneduns dotted around the plain cast huge black shadows over the smaller buildings set in long, wide avenues. The single cliff of the river-valley reached away to their left, the quartz adorning ancient shrines set into the cliff-face sparkling where it caught lamplight or moonlight.

'You have been carrying all of Salen's messages,' Styrax said, turn¬ing his attention back to Mikiss. It was not a question.

'Not all, my Lord, but many.' Mikiss sounded resigned to his inevi¬table fate; he had been expecting a sharp blade across the throat from the moment he recognised the general.

'Then it is fortunate for you that I noticed an enchantment compel¬ling you,' Styrax said calmly, 'or I would have been forced to conclude you were a traitor.'

Mikiss looked up, clearly startled by the word 'traitor'. He cut a strange figure, with the red-dyed skullcap that marked him out as a member of the messenger corps and an over-large grey cloak. The brass vambrace was ceremonial; he wore no other armour.

No doubt he is a competent messenger, thought Styrax, or Salen would not have used him. The harried trepidation on Mikiss' pallid face looked to be a permanent feature. Perhaps his family had bought the young man a commission as a messenger because he'd hardly survive

a week in command of a squad, let alone a company of men. It ap¬peared that he had not yet realised he was not for the immediate chop.

'I'm showing clemency, man.' He brushed away stammered thanks and went on. 'Where is Quistal? Can I assume he's waiting for me to return to the Gate of Three Suns before making his move?'

Mikiss nodded. 'His troops are camped on the Plain of Pillars and Salen's personal troops are in the sunken orchards. Where the coterie is, I don't know.'

General Gaur turned towards Styrax with a questioning look; the white-eye shook his head. The two often had little need of words, for they had been something like friends for many years now.

'They are of no consequence,' Styrax said out loud. 'Larim should have killed them all by now. The coterie will have felt their master's death.' He fell silent, thinking of the ground where they would have to fight. The Gate of Three Suns was a particularly remarkable con¬struction. The massive stone wall was strung across a thousand yards of flat ground between a stonedun and a long rocky plateau. The three circular gates set into it served as the main passages in and out of the city. His brief inspection earlier had suggested that the wall was straightforward engineering, not magic.

The sophisticated irrigation of the sunken orchards had been his second surprise that day – this was the desert, for pity's sake. Styrax hadn't expected the Chetse to show such ingenuity, but there was no denying the enormous skill involved. He decided he was right to seek the trust of the tribe; clearly there were remarkable men within the wild, unwashed masses.

'Before we discuss matters with Quistal, we have an errand to run,' Styrax announced to the unit in general.

'An errand?' echoed Kohrad. The young white-eye's voice sounded overly loud in the silent streets.

His words prompted a growled response from General Gaur. 'Keep your voice down; we don't want to run into a patrol if we can help it. Salen made sure all the night patrols were his own men. We don't need word to get back to the Plain of Pillars before we're ready.'

'An errand,' confirmed Styrax. 'Mikiss, where is General Dev being held?'

The messenger blinked in surprise. 'The commander of the Lion Guard? He's at his family's stonedun, under guard. He'd been injured

before the battle and couldn't be moved safely. Lord Salen wanted to make sure the general was alive for execution.'

'I'm sure he did. Take us there.'

'Father-' Kohrad started before Styrax raised a hand.

'No questions – have faith.'

'Yes, Father.'

Styrax couldn't see his son's face, which was obscured by the red-stained steel helm. It was impossible to tell if Kohrad was seething underneath; his reply had been crisp and level, but meant little. The boy was learning to hide his emotions even as his grip on sanity ap¬peared to be weakening.

'Thank you,' Styrax said. 'Mikiss, is the stonedun guarded by Salen's men?'

'I believe so, my Lord.'

'Right, you lead the way. We'll follow, like troops under your orders. If any of the guards work out we're hostile, you will break left and get clear. If any run once we reveal ourselves, you and your elegant horse are responsible for chasing them down. Gaur, we do this quietly and efficiently.' He was watching Kohrad as he spoke and fancied he saw a slight twitch of the shoulder as his son recognised who exactly needed to be reminded.

'Now if any of you can actually remember how to ride in formation: close order, two columns, weapons hidden.' The veterans accompany¬ing Styrax all chuckled. They might be elite troops, they might not have travelled in close rank for years, but no soldier forgot their first drills. Quickly they opened up for Mikiss to reach the front, then lined up behind Styrax and Kohrad. The slither of steel indicated they were ready for the trouble to come.

'Creeping like a thief through the night,' Styrax commented abruptly, 'in a city I control, hiding from troops from my own army. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy this.' His words faded on the light breeze. A bat darted over their heads, startling Mikiss, who shrank down in his saddle.

Styrax clapped a hand on Kohrad's armoured shoulder and smiled at the night.

Fifteen minutes later, General Dev's family stonedun came into view. It was a tall, roughly cylindrical block of granite eighty feet high, pocked wirb squares that indicated window holes. Lights flickered in the windows on the upper levels, but the lowest two were dark. There was a blazing fire at the gate that illuminated the guards nicely.

'Idiots,' growled Gaur. 'Weeks of trouble in the city and yet still they make themselves easy targets for anyone with a bow.'

'Salen's best troops are waiting for us at the Gate of the Three Suns. With so many troops scattered around the city, I guess they'll have expected a quiet night here.'

Kohrad's reply elicited only a curt nod; General Gaur was rigorous in his duty and would naturally expect every Menin soldier to follow the regulations, whether they were troops of the line or quartermaster clerks, on duty or off.

The gate, an oval aperture ten feet high, served as the mouth for the lion's head carved into the rock. It stood half open. A few sol¬diers squatted by the fire, one slowly turning a spit with the carcass of a goat speared on it. As the horsemen approached, another soldier came through the open side of the gate. He paused and peered out into the gloom, then barked at the men around the fire. They jumped up, scrambling for their weapons. Sparks scattered as someone kicked one of the logs and spread a tongue of fiery shards over the stone steps. Styrax grimaced as he heard a sound escape Kohrad's lips.

Mikiss responded by pulling back his sleeve once again and holding his arm up high. Whether they could see the brass vambrace glinting in the firelight was hard to judge, but they all recognised the gesture. None of the soldiers drew a bow or nocked an arrow, but they did shuffle into some semblance of order, in case Mikiss turned out to be someone important.

'Who are you? What do you want?' called the man who'd spotted them first. His voice was rough, his accent Menin.

'You have a message for General Dev,' murmured Styrax. Mikiss repeated the words.

'Piss on your message,' the man shouted back, his hand creeping to his sword as the party continued closer. Styrax guessed he was the company lieutenant. 'Lord Salen said we were to admit no one, not even Lord Styrax himself, without word from the Adepts of Larat in advance.'

They were less than forty yards away. The soldiers began to drift forward instinctively; one swung an axe up onto his shoulder. Styrax could make out their uniforms now; the white tunics with multi¬coloured stripes on each sleeve identified them as Guards of the Hidden Tower, Salen's personal legions. They were rightly feared: they were loyal enough to carry out any orders without question, and the Adepts of Larat put less value on human life than a troll would. Even if they were the dregs of the legion, trusted only to stand guard here while the rest fought elsewhere, they would be tough enough – for most soldiers, that was.

'I have permission. Lord Salen himself sent me with a message. I have it here in my bag.' Mikiss' voice sounded uncertain, but as the horsemen closed, the guards could see clearly that he was a real army messenger.

'Leave your guards and approach.'

'Leave my guards?'

'That's what I said. Stop where you are and dismount. Approach on foot.'

'That's enough, I think,' muttered Styrax. 'Mikiss, break off.'

The messenger wheeled his horse sharply to the left. For a moment the soldiers followed him with their eyes. Styrax kicked his spurs into the flanks of his horse and as he drew Kobra, startled faces flashed back to him. He saw recognition blossom in the eyes of the lieuten¬ant. Kohrad howled at his side as they raced together into the group of men. The first man to die didn't even raise his weapon as Styrax's wide fanged blade cut down. His men were the best of the Cheme Legion; they were close on his heels, their long-handled axes hacking down at the lightly armoured infantry, moving in perfect harmony as they had a hundred times in the past.

Those with more sense fled into the stonedun, desperately trying to pull the heavy door closed behind them, but Kohrad slipped from his saddle and ran for the entrance himself. He threw his sword at the man trying to pull it shut, spearing him in a burst of yellow light, then leapt into the gap to stop the massive door on its inward swing. One man, seeing the white-eye had no sword, turned back and attacked him, but Kohrad dodged out of the way of the falling axe, then twisted back to grab the weapon, pulling the soldier off balance.

Kohrad shoved the door open again to disentangle his foot, then snapped a kick into the man's ribs, knocking him over. A second soldier ran forward as Kohrad tugged the axe blade free and spun it upwards with a flourish to catch his attacker under the chin.

In a matter of seconds it was over and stillness returned. Styrax surveyed his troops and gave an approving nod. The Reavers were

unparalleled throughout the Land, but most of them were white-eyes and they were actively encouraged to be wild. These Cheme troops were normal men – albeit many were far from normal – but discipline was as valuable as strength. He could trust these men to be swift and neat. Without an order spoken, they had dropped from their horses and started to drag the bodies inside. Styrax looked around and realised that Kohrad had disappeared. He opened his mouth to ask Gaur to fetch the unpredictable youth when the boy appeared again, sword drawn and dripping with blood.

'The guardroom is clear,' Kohrad announced in a low, level tone. Styrax nodded briskly. His son was making a great effort to remain in control, and he wouldn't insult him by remarking on it.

'Good. Major, stay here with the men. I doubt anyone will come; if they do, deal with the matter or pull back. Gaur, Kohrad, with me.'

The major nodded and unsheathed his dagger to cut the colourful robes from one of the dead men: they might as well look the part. Styrax left the man to it and swept through the door. Speed was of the essence now. The Third Army was waiting outside the city for the signal to attack. The longer they waited, the greater the likelihood that Salen's troops would discover them, losing them the element of surprise. As he moved silently up the stone steps, he heard frightened wbispers. Ahead of him was a sharp turn – anyone hearing the fight outside would no doubt be waiting there to see who came up the stairs. They would be expecting an assassination, a quick death in the night for the talismanic general instead of an execution that would likely spark a riot.

Styrax checked his pace as he reached the corner, in case an axe was going to be swung blind, then shot round it. A grunt of surprise preceded a heavy spear being thrust forward. Styrax, ready, grabbed the shaft and tugged hard, pulling the youth from the shadows. Gaur, close behind as always, slammed a hairy fist into the unprotected fore¬arm holding the spear. The youth yelped and dropped the weapon, t rying to scramble back until he realised the bestial general had him by the scruff of the neck.

'You'll do,' muttered Styrax. He took the boy from Gaur and gave him a shake. Startled, fearful eyes stared up at the huge white-eye as the boy froze. 'You understand me?' Styrax demanded in Chetse.

The youth flinched then opened his mouth to speak. Unable to find words, he nodded hurriedly.

'That was a foolish thing to do. Lord Salen would have used it as an excuse. Lucky for you that you just tried to run me through instead of one of his men, wouldn't you say?' Styrax smelled an acrid smell rise up from the boy, who looked to be less than thirteen sum¬mers – too young to join the army, too young to have developed the muscle a Chetse warrior needed. He smiled and put the boy down, then removed his helm and let the boy see his face, instead of the unnervingly angelic aspect of Karkarn etched into the faceplate.

'I want you to do something for me, boy,' he said. 'Did you hear what happened at the gate?'

The boy managed a nod.

'That was us killing the men who've been guarding you. They were going to wait until dawn, and then kill the general. Are you related to General Dev?'

Again, he got a nod. In a dry rasp, the boy said, 'He's my great-uncle, sir.'

Styrax thought it sounded strange to hear the Chetse tongue in a high girlish voice. It sounded lighter, more poetic than he'd suspected – until now, he'd only heard it spoken by soldiers. 'I thought as much. What's your name, boy?'

'Esech, sir.'

'And you know who I am?'

The boy nodded, unable to say the words.

'Esech, I gave no orders for the general to be killed, nor for many of the other things Lord Salen has done in the city since I've been gone. Do you know what I do to men who don't follow orders?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Now tell me whether there are any more Menin in the stonedun.'

'Only four, sir; two in Uncl- in the general's chamber and two at the door.'

'Thank you, Esech. We're going to go and free your great-uncle now. I want to talk to him a while.'

'You're- Are you going to kill him?'

'No, I'm not. You believe me, don't you?'

The boy froze, unsure, incapable of saying to this huge white-eye's face that he disbelieved the Menin lord. After a moment he lowered his eyes and nodded.

'Good. Now go back to your family's rooms and tell your family that in a few minutes the stonedun won't have any guards. That means you will be able to do what you like, but it's not going to be much fun on the streets tonight. I suggest you all stay quiet and safe. Can you do that?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Then nod once more if I just keep on going up this main stair to reach the general's chambers, and go back to your rooms.' Styrax watched the boy bob quickly and scramble away. He straightened and replaced his helm.

'Right, no unnecessary commotion here. Kohrad, take Gaur's cross¬bows and go ahead. You can see well enough to get both guards?'

Kohrad nodded and sheathed his own sword, the flames from the blade licking at the gold band on the scabbard for another heartbeat before dissipating. He accepted one of Gaur's crossbows, loaded it with ease as the general did the other, then turned and began padding softly up the steps, both crossbows levelled and ready. Styrax followed close behind, weaving a simple spell to bind the tunnel's shadows around his son.

The darkly flickering armour melted into the murky surrounds and Kohrad turned up the last corridor without hesitation. Styrax caught sight of the two drowsy, bored guards over his son's shoulder only just before Kohrad shot them, one following the other so swiftly that the second man didn't even have time to see why his companion had grunted before a bolt hit him in the throat. Styrax stepped over the corpses to the closed iron-bound door.

More sloppiness, he thought to himself as he realised the door was too thick to allow the sound to travel. I would hope for better from my own army than this. Don't tell me they let the old man claim he'd catch a chill and allowed their numbers be divided the night before he was damn well scheduled for execution? Haven't they even contemplated someone attempting a rescue?

He drew a breath and hefted Kobra. The strange, fanged blade was pitch-black colour – except after it had killed, when it took on a deep red sheen. Styrax had always considered it a hateful weapon, too eager to drink the blood of those he killed. Unfortunately, that also made it the most powerful sword he'd come across, with the exception of that wielded by Koezh Vukotic, the last weapon forged by the Elf king Aryn Bwr, which was filled with last king's grief at the assassination of his son.

Styrax could have taken that sword as he watched Koezh Vukotic's corpse putrefy and disintegrate, but it had rejected him. There was not enough loss in his soul, he suspected. After he'd touched the blade with his scarred hand, Styrax hadn't wanted it either – so much pain would eat its way into a man, and that power was not worth the high price demanded. A long time ago he had been told that he would have to take everything he had, that nothing would be given freely to the Saviour he was to become. That suited Styrax, even after he'd rejected the dubious honour. He had earned his 'gifts', and bore no debt to the Gods because of them.

Kicking the door off its hinges, Styrax stormed dramatically into the room, almost colliding with the guard who had jumped up from his chair and was still fumbling for his sword. Styrax scanned the room quickly, then swung Kobra up to meet the second soldier's axe which was crashing down towards his hip. The force of his blow drove the man back and Styrax stepped away to give himself space to swing his broadsword properly, removing the man's head in a shower of blood and shattered bone. The other guard had regained his feet, but he barely had time to raise his own weapon before he found himself spitted on Styrax's sword. The magical blade pierced the centre of his cuirass and pinned him, whimpering, to the wall. Stepping close, Styrax snapped the man's neck to finish him off quickly, and led the sword jammed in the stone, feeding greedily.

He took stock of the living: two women cowered near the bed, obvi-ously terrified, while a young unarmed Chetse soldier by the window looked almost frozen on the point of running forward. Styrax ignored them all and walked to the bedside, where an elderly man bad raised himself up on his elbows. His only reaction was to raise an eyebrow at the newcomer, though the effect was somewhat spoiled by the thick grey bandage wrapped around his head.

'Ah, General Dev,' Styrax said graciously. 'I hear you're scheduled for execution in the morning.'

'Lord Styrax.' Chote Dev acknowledged his fellow soldier. 'I had suspected as much – but it appears that is no longer the case.'

Styrax paused and stared down at the man. 'Well now, that rather depends on you,' he replied gravely. He pulled up a chair and sat down besiele the bed as Kohrad and Gaur arrived at the open doorway. 'You are no fool, and running a guerrilla campaign at your

age would be rather taxing. I think you'd enjoy an easy retirement – and I don't actually want to have to kill you and all your family in a most unpleasant fashion. It would be a tedious waste for both of us.'

'What are you suggesting?' asked Dev, sounding puzzled. The ageing general was not best pleased to be at so great a disadvantage when speaking to his people's conqueror, but he was, as Styrax had gambled, a considered and cautious leader. The Menin agents in Thotel all agreed the general was one of the few men Lord Chalat had paid any attention to at all.

Styrax leaned forward. 'It's simple. Your reputation precedes you, both as a warrior, and as a man of honour. To execute you is unneces¬sary, as well as detrimental to my position here. I have shattered the Thotel legions. Soon I will defeat those coming from the remaining free cities.' The massive white-eye held up a hand as the general began to protest. 'My intention has always been one of conquest, not slaughter. I have no desire to destroy the Chetse people – I am no Dervek Grast.'

Styrax didn't bother concealing the scorn in his voice, and he could see the effect it had on the general. Most Menin revered Grast, de¬spite the man's terrible acts – trying to wipe out the Litse hadn't been his only crime, just his most notable. History had many monsters, yet outside the Ring of Fire, where the Menin lived, few names were as reviled as Grast's.

'And so-?'

'And so I see no need to further insult the wounded pride of the Chetse by murdering the man who is the epitome of traditional val¬ues. I want your word that you will engineer no rebellion against me, that you will take no part in any such activities.'

And you will take my word?' wondered Dev, too surprised to hide his surprise. The look on the old man's face said the rest: I wouldn't trust my word in your place.

'I will. In return, you may retire to your estates outside the city in, say six months? The city needs your leadership right now.'

'You want me to rule the Chetse from your pocket?' General Dev snorted. 'I think I preferred Salen's conversation. At least he didn't offer false hopes.' The Chetse veteran looked at the Menin soldier pinned to the wall and the beheaded man on the floor.

'I will appoint a permanent governor in due course,' Styrax con¬tinued, 'but I have no desire to see the city collapse into chaos because

its leaders have been slaughtered. I must listen to someone among the Chetse, and better it be someone I respect.'

'I'll be seen as your puppet.'

'Then get something of value from it. I'm here to negotiate if you want.'

'Leave the city?' the general replied quickly, prompting a laugh from Styrax.

'Perhaps not that.'

'Well, I had to ask,' Dev said with a sigh. 'If you want me to govern this city, I need some concessions. No requisitioning of held wealth or slaves, no conscription, and a guarantee that there will be no purge of the nobility.'

'No slaves beyond what would be acceptable by normal Chetse traditions,' Styrax countered, 'no conscription – I've never taken con¬scripts. If men want to join, they can, and they'll do it with the same rights and pay as any Menin. My coffers will need some refreshment, but nothing to bankrupt families or empty Chalat's treasury; it does me no good to break you. No systematic purges, of officers or nobles. I can't expect all of your countrymen to be reasonable, however, and my agents are extremely effective people. Doubtless some will die.'

The general grunted. 'I suppose that's reasonable. What about the Lion Guard? Salen said he would disband it.'

'The Lion Guard will stay. I will, of course, take control of your armoury and disarm the men, but I realise the Lion Guard is not just a legion, to be disbanded and sent back to their homes. A Menin com¬mander will be appointed on your retirement. Someone with sense.'

'They won't stand for a Menin commander, and nor should any of the legions of the Ten Thousand have to.'

Styrax called softly, 'Gaur.' Soft footsteps entered the room and General Dev's eyes widened at the figure approaching. 'General Gaur,' said Lord Styrax, 'you have a new command: the Lion Guard of Thotel.'

'It will be an honour,' Gaur rumbled. 'They were competent, at least – one of the few we met on the field.'

'The few?' Dev spluttered. 'It was luck and bad leadership that lost that battle. A general possessed by a daemon is a poor tactician, and his lieutenants who replaced half the army commanders were just as bad. Without that, you would have been swept away by our phalanxes and died of thirst in the desert as you ran for home.'

Dev grimaced. Unable to leave his bed, he had been forced to lie there and hear of the fall of Thotel from a boy barely old enough to swing an axe. The Menin had swept across the Waste like a sudden spring storm and Lord Charr, or rather the daemon that possessed him, had rushed to meet them. In their haste the Chetse legions had been outflanked and outmanoeuvred. The core of their army, the Ten Thousand, had been severely mauled, but had managed to retreat while the rest were slaughtered on the field- and at the city gates, the Ten Thousand had found the way barred, Menin cavalry and cen¬taurs waiting to pick off any soldiers too exhausted or thirst-crazed to have the sense to surrender.

'Perhaps we would have found you a little more challenging,' Styrax agreed with a smile, 'but a man makes his own luck, and so does a general.'

General Dev gaped at Styrax. 'That really was you behind it all?'

'You find it so hard to believe? Chalat might have been limited as a ruler, but he was no fool, and he listened to men such as you. It would have been too great a risk to try to take this city with an army brought over the Waste; only a madman would divide his forces and force-march half to meet an unknown foe.'

'And in Charr you had that madman,' General Dev sighed. He looked his age now, his already withered skin pallid from the weeks of being bedridden.

'Not for certain,' said Styrax. 'Every agent said that Charr was an idiot, the sort that gives our kind a bad name; he should never have been Chosen – but it was always a risk that he might listen to his aides and not march out. A good general makes sure of victory before he offers battle.'

'But I still don't understand how you managed it.'

Styrax gave a dismissive wave. 'Some devotees of Larat playing with powers far beyond their control. A nasty business in all, but one that dropped a useful tool in my lap. The details – well, I think you would be safer not knowing. Now, time is rather against us so I must be leaving. I would appreciate it if you would accompany General Gaur to meet his new command staff. I'm certain you're not quite as ill as Salen believed. If he'd bothered to ask, he would have discovered that you were found on the Temples Plain, so clearly someone carried you here without killing you.'

'You want me to go now?'

'Certainly.' Styrax crouched down so he could speak more softly. 'Take care they are courteous. The beast is a valued advisor. Any harm coming to him would do more than have me revoke the promises I have made.' The white-eye gave a cold smile. 'Gaur is a humourless bastard most of the time, but if you want to hear him chuckle, tell him you're going to use him as a hostage when you bargain with me. Understand?'

General Dev nodded. 'I do. A lord's friendship is a fickle thing.'

'Then let us go. We will accompany you part of the way. The barracks overlook the sunken orchards, do they not?'

'They do.'

'Excellent. I might even put on a show in your honour.' Styrax stood and turned to leave, then hesitated. 'Did the guards even object when you asked for the door to be closed?'

General Dev gave a throaty chuckle. 'None that didn't fade before the face of an ill old man they wanted alive in the morning, although I can't say 1 expected you to be the one to take advantage of it!'

Styrax gave a snort and disappeared through the doorway, gesturing for Kohrad to accompany him. Gaur stepped toward the bed. With one taloned hand he gestured towards the shattered doorway. It was impossible for General Dev to make out Gaur's expression. The deep tangle of fur hid any clues.

'Come, General Dev. Our troops await us.'