The Twilight herald

CHAPTER 17

The evening lay thick and heavy on the city's streets. Twilight had brought only a slight respite from the fierce warmth and the cobbles radiated heat like cooling hearthstones. Without even a desultory breeze drifting past, Mayel sat slumped against the brick wall of the tavern and swigged warm ale that did little to allay his thirst. Beside him, Shandek was scrutinising every passer-by, occasionally running a hand through his long greasy hair as though he could brush the heat away.

Brohm was not with them. Shandek had sent the large man off with Shyn, one of his other thugs, on some errand that Mayel was not party to. Mayel hadn't pressed the issue: Shandek was keeping that to himself to make the point that Mayel wasn't yet in his inner circle, and wouldn't be until Shandek saw some of the profit he'd been promised. You played it carefully with Shandek, whether he was your blood or not. He could see Shandek's patience thinning.

Scree had settled into a piecemeal kind of existence now that summer had a firm grip on the city. The sun's reign had forced the inhabitants into a twilight lifestyle. They attempted to sleep at night and through the hottest part of the day, leaving dawn and dusk for business. The air was syrupy, draining, sticky on the skin, and Mayel found it an effort even to raise his cup. The last few weeks had seen a cycle of terrific thunderstorms hammering the city, each clearing away only to begin building for another onslaught. The next was now well overdue.

Mayel was finding it an exhausting existence. The strange half-days were wearing at everyone. The stall owners ringing the theatre no longer called in constant banter to each other, instead staring dis¬consolately out at the near-empty streets. The previous day one had taken a filleting knife to her neighbour, for no reason that Mayel could discover. The only sound now was the rustle of a poorly affixed poster that proclaimed the name of the theatre's previous play. Though the billing had changed today to a comedy called The King's Mule, one poster for the dour tragedy A Lament of Feathers still remained.

'What I don't understand,' Mayel croaked, 'is how those damn flowers stay alive.'

'Flow'rs?' said Shandek, his voice slurred by torpor as much as alco¬hol. His head lolled as he fixed Mayel with a glassy look, for all the world like some ghastly animated corpse.

Mayel raised a finger and waved it indistinctly at the theatre. The surrounding walls were covered in long hanging bunches of henbane, its dark-toothed leaves glistened malevolently in the light of the torches that dotted the wall. Within a few days of the henbane being hung, buds had appeared and soon developed into bell-shaped yellow flowers. Despite the heat and the lack of either water or soil, the plants were thriving. During the day they were smothered in a constant hum of bees.

'Those stinking great things. The crops in the fields are withering, so how do those stay alive?'

'What do you know about flow'rs?'

'Not much,' Mayel admitted.

'Shut up then. Look, the acrobats are comin' out.' Shandek pointed to the theatre gates as they opened for six figures dressed in bright clothes. Three were the albinos Shandek and Mayel had already en¬countered, still barefoot, but now wearing coats covered in long strips ‹ vf coloured cloth. Two of the others were men; one was slim and wiry, with diamond-patterned tattoos covering his arms and a bloody tear¬drop on his face, a mockery of a Harlequin's costume (though he was dressed in black, which no Harlequin would ever wear). The other was a sallow-faced individual who looked more a beggar than an actor, His hair was matted and filthy, his features drawn, his skin unhealthy, as though he had been sleeping rough for months now. That one was certainly no acrobat, but in his hands was a long wooden flute that provided a tune for the tumbling.

The sixth in their group was one of the reasons Mayel and Shandek were there. The woman with long rusty-red hair was a good few inches taller than her male companions, and the centre of the little troupe. Each step was sinuous and elegant; she was too graceful to be humanly natural, Mayel thought. When the woman danced, her hands and feet were so quick he could hardly follow the steps, but it was her precision and deftness that made his breath catch.

'Our friend is back,' Shandek commented with a nod towards the theatre. On the second-storey roof of the theatre, almost hidden against the thick blanket of cloud, Mayel could just make out a figure. A cigar end glowed bright for a moment.

'Is it the same one?'

'Aye, I'd put money on it. Ilumene, he called hisself, won't forget him in a hurry. I've seen bully-boys of all sizes on these streets, and that's not one I'd mess with.' Shandek gestured up to the roof and grimaced. 'Even if he didn't have a crossbow on him.'

'Why do you think he's there?'

'They're expectin' trouble,' Shandek said. 'You've only to walk down the street to see how tight-strung people are. I don't know what's goin' on here, but there's somethin' in the air and it's more than just a storm.'

'What do you mean?'

'Have you been to temple recently?'

'Hardly,' Mayel scoffed. 'It's enough that the abbot makes me per¬form the devotionals every time I'm at the house without wasting more of the day at the temples.'

'If you did, you'd notice you're not alone in thinkin' that. This time of year Belarannar's temple should be near-full, not 'most empty.' He went to pour himself another drink and found the jug empty. He squinted hopefully into its open mouth before slumping back against the wall with a sigh.

'These last few weeks have been strange,' he continued. 'I've heard nothin' from Spider, though I know his boys have been busy, what with fights breakin' out all over the city and the city guard and Siala's troops circlin' each other. They don't even bother with madmen preachin' doom and destruction. I've had word the Devoted are snif-fin' past our borders in the east and it won't be long before the Farlan make theirselves known.'

'What do you think's going to happen?' Mayel asked anxiously.

Shandek belched, eyes fixed on the female dancer who was begin¬ning to weave her hypnotic dance as the rat-like beggar played a slow, mournful tune.

'I think the Farlan have left it too late; heard this Mistress Ostia has got the mercenaries too well-drilled to break at first sight of the

Ghosts ridin' up. Doubt they'll find it easy to take the city. We all know the Farlan have no stomach for a long war.' He tried to spit on the floor, but his mouth was too dry and all he managed was a sticky gobbet that flopped out onto his chin.

Mayel's snort of laughter was quickly cut off by a sharp cuff to his head. He rubbed the sore patch and frowned at his cousin, but changed the subject. 'So what's this new play they've announced then?'

'Called The King's Mule,' Shandek muttered, his voice thick with drink. 'It's rumoured they're goin' to execute a real criminal in the final act – that's why all these people are here.' He gestured around and Mayel gave a start as he realised they were surrounded by a crowd, all chatting and whispering fervently.

So much for death being entertainment for the mob, Mayel thought, with a bitter smile. The rich seem to have just as much of a taste for it. 'They're all here,' he whispered, 'noblemen, mages – even priests.' He pointed at a man in the unmistakable white-streaked robes of Vasle, God of Rivers, who was haranguing three women, two of them in the robes of the White Circle. 'They've all come to see; maybe we'll find a buyer tonight.'

'That priest hasn't come to enjoy death. Vasle's a gentle God; he's here to object, I'll wager. And he's a brave one; that's Mistress Ostia he's tear in' strips off.'

Mayel peered through the crowd of people. 'How can you tell? Her face is covered by a shawl.'

'See the one next to her, wear in' a sword with her dress?'

'I've seen a dozen different women from the Circle wear swords like that,' Mayel objected, still unable to make out the faces.

'Aye, but you catch that one's face, you won't forget her in a hurry. You'll be dreamin' about kissin' her for a month!' Shandek grinned. 'They say she don't like men much, but I don't believe that. Reckon I could put a smile on those sour lips.'

'What about that Ostia then? Folk say she's a mage, and getting ready to depose Siala. How about her for a buyer?'

Sbandek nodded thoughtfully. 'Ostia could be the one; I've heard that loo, but for the moment it's Siala givin' all the orders. First I'll watch'em a bit. You need to find out what your abbot's playin' around Willi now – no more waitin'. Tellin' me you think it's some ancient magical artefact ain't enough – can't negotiate if we don't know what we've got to sell!'

'It's difficult,' Mayel insisted. 'If he gets suspicious, he'll leave, and take his chances somewhere else.'

'You're runnin' out of time, cousin,' Shandek growled. 'Be bolder, like our friend the priest there.'

Mayel turned back to see the priest becoming increasingly ani¬mated, shaking his fist at the women, his voice loud enough to make the whole street stop and stare.

'If that's being bold, I think I'll pass on it,' he said. 'The man's going to get himself thrown into a cell if he carries on that way. If he touches any of them, he'll be in trouble- Oh, there he goes!'

A mutter ran through the crowd as a scuffle broke out. Two guards had stepped in, one receiving a flailing elbow in the face for his troubles. The other grabbed the priest by the scruff of the neck, not even seeing the fist of a young nobleman as it arced towards his face. After that, there were only thrashing limbs and angry shouts for half a minute before the rasp of steel being unsheathed stopped everything dead.

'These nobles,' Shandek said under his breath and he began to lever himself upright. 'None of the bastards 'ave a sense of humour. Time for another jug.'

Zhia stared down at the figure on the floor in distaste. The priest was a large man, but Legana had laid him out with one crisp punch. He was spread-eagled on his back, legs splayed out, one hand groggily reaching for his bruised cheek. Legana stood over him, sword drawn and levelled, holding off the men who had joined in the brawl.

'My dear, my respect for you just continues to grow,' Zhia said out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes fixed on Mistress Siala as the ruler of Scree stormed over. The woman was flanked by rusty-skinned Fysthrall soldiers. In the flickering light their glistening armour shone weirdly, as though crude lamp-oil had been spilt on it. Zhia sighed inwardly. No doubt Siala would see it a slight that the priest had chosen Zhia to voice his complaints to. Siala was beginning to realise that Zhia rivalled her for power in the city, and she was taking every opportunity for confrontation. That the vampire gracefully backed down every time seemed only to goad her further.

'Mistress Ostia, what is the meaning of this disturbance?' The ruler of Scree looked drawn and weary. The constant politicking amongst Scree's nobles was clearly taking its toll. Zhia knew Siala was working night and day to maintain her support in the city and keep the op¬position from uniting behind anyone else.

'A complaining priest, Mistress Siala, nothing of great consequence,' she said soothingly.

'And his complaint?'

'The granting of permission to execute criminals on stage.' She kept her tone conciliatory, her eyes low.

'And what do you propose to do about it?'

Zhia shrugged. 'He was raving, and you yourself gave the minstrel permission. I have decided to assume he had been drinking, though that cannot excuse laying a hand upon a Sister of the Circle. I'm sure we can find a nice quiet cell for his temper to cool off.'

Siala gave a brusque nod. 'See to it. I doubt he'll try it again. Legana, whilst I commend your swift action, do remember that as a Sister of the Circle you should try to conduct yourself with a little more grace. We keep dogs for a reason.' She waved a dismissive hand at the guards beside her and Legana bowed in acknowledgement, sheathing her sword.

And now, Legana, you will accompany me to the play. I've hardly seen you since Mistress Ostia took you under her wing, and I think it is time we caught up.'

She caught Zhia's eye and the vampire gave a miniscule nod. It was to be expected that Siala would interrogate Legana, so her story was ready prepared. With the briefest of bows to her companions, Legana followed as instructed.

As soon as Siala had moved on, Zhia beckoned Haipar over. 'Have him put in a cell, give him a day or so alone to calm down.'

'Yes, Mistress,' Haipar said with mock solemnity. Zhia guessed Haipar was resenting being forced into respectable clothes to visit the theatre. Once the two battered guardsmen had hoisted the priest up and taken him away, the onlookers, realising this stage of the enter¬tainment was over, began to drift inside. Zhia felt the pull herself, some force gently urging her in.

She stopped and turned to Haipar to see whether the Deneli had noticed the same, but Haipar seemed oblivious. She couldn't be sure the broad-faced woman from the Waste was even registering that people were walking past her. Haipar stared towards the gate, lost in thought, her face blank and empty.

The smell from the food'Carts, burnt fat, tamarind and honey, suddenly washed over them. Zhia felt her mouth begin to water at the scent of honeyed meat on the wind, but her attention was focused on Haipar. The effect of the breeze was like someone shaking the shapeshifter awake; startled, Haipar looked around with a confused expression before finally setting off for the theatre entrance, faltering after a few paces when she realised Zhia was not beside her.

Zhia looked up at the roof of the theatre and the clouds beyond. Her nerves were alive with strange sensations, a prickling under her fingernails that she couldn't place: something familiar, yet curiously alien – rare enough in itself for an immortal, but a blend of contradic¬tory strains that had Zhia confused.

There's something I've missed here, but what is it? I can feel magic sur-rounding this building but its nature eludes me. She stopped; through the gloom of night she suddenly made out a face on the roof of the theatre, looking down at her, apparently grinning at what had gone on below. All she could see was that face, the glow of a cigar end and the outline of what looked like a crossbow. Who are you, and who's that crossbow for? This square is crawling with soldiers, so you can hardly be here for security. As though she'd asked the question aloud the gargoyle-like figure disappeared in a flash of movement. Only a wisp of smoke remained behind, which soon disappeared to nothing.

'Perhaps I should be a little more direct in my snooping around here,' she said out loud.

'What are you expecting to find?' Haipar asked, returning to Zhia's side.

'Answers, my dear.' Before Zhia could say anything else, someone discreetly cleared their throat behind her.

'Your pet is back,' Haipar said acidly, 'and this time he's got ribbons in his hair.'

Zhia turned and beamed at the men now standing before her. King Emin, in the centre, sported a magnificent broad-brimmed hat that kept his face in shadow. Doranei, at his side, looking considerably less at ease than his king, wore a high-collared formal tunic. He stood with eyes lowered and lips pursed, unable – or unwilling – to meet her smile.

Zhia inclined her head; the White Circle ruled here, and that was all the respect any man was offered. 'It is delightful to see you again, sir,' she said, careful of his title in such a public place.

Emin bowed low, sweeping off his hat. He was smiling. 'Mistress, you honour me by remembering your humble servant.' Zhia returned the smile. It was hardly a surprise that King Emin knew exactly how to act, and yet she found herself pleased all the same. When she did find the time to lock wits with this man, she suspected she would not be disappointed.

'And Doranei, how handsome you look!'

The King's Man glowered, and continued to scrutinise the cobbles at her feet.

Zhia looked at the remaining men, six members of the Brotherhood, dressed alike in dark tunics and high riding boots, these men were definitely bodyguards. The king looked more like a successful mer¬chant; his lack of fashionable quirks made him almost anonymous.

'But your constant companion? Left behind?' Zhia enquired. There were quite a few white-eyes in the city, many of whom had been drafted into the Third Army to bolster the Fysthrall troops and set them well above the troops Zhia had influence over, so Coran would not have attracted undue notice. His absence surprised Zhia, and left her a little irritated – she had heard all the stories about the two having undertaken some obscure rite to link their minds, or souls, maybe, but she had not yet had the chance to observe them together.

'These are tense times,' Emin replied, 'and his temper is somewhat short, particularly in this uncivilised weather.'

'Tell him I sympathise. Tense times indeed, and thus your presence here is a remarkable risk.'

The king's face remained politely blank and inscrutable as he replied, 'A necessary one, Mistress. I have taken a few precautions in case I am recognised by the Circle, your good self notwithstanding, but I'm not here to continue that fight. I have business that cannot be delayed.'

Zhia looked at him for a moment, her head tilted on one side, as if (the were pondering her next remark. Finally she sighed, and said, 'I suggest you take care. Something is happening in this city, some sort of convergence. Your presence raises the stakes even higher.'

Emin nodded. 'That comes as no surprise,' he said mysteriously. Then he turned his attention to the ornate theatre gates. 'Look – I think the performance is about to start. We should find our seats.'

'One of my companions has had to join Siala, and my box will be terribly empty. Doranei, would you give me the pleasure of your company?' Zhia asked, a smile trembling on her lips. 'Haipar is no great fan of the theatre, and she does grumble so.'

'Haipar? The shapeshifter?' Emin asked sharply, receiving a nod from Haipar in response.

'And she is not the only Raylin in the city,' Zhia added as she offered her arm to Doranei. His cheeks flushed as he stepped forward and she beamed at him and patted his solid forearm with girlish affection.

Turning back to the king, she bade him goodbye. 'It has been a pleasure, as always – and I hope this happy chance meeting will be but the first of many. It would please me if you would join me for dinner one evening.' She grinned suddenly. 'The Circle, for all its many talents, is not known for its conversationalists.'

'Of course, Mistress,' Emin said with alacrity. 'And do be careful to return Doranei in one piece, he is somewhat delicate.'

Ignoring the amusement of Doranei's fellows, Zhia smiled in reply and swept through the gates, Doranei in tow and Haipar following close behind.

Zhia had retained one of the best boxes, in the newly built second tier. The darkness of the corridor was broken only by thin lines of light that leaked out of the gaps between the thick canvas curtains covering each small doorway. They could hear muffled voices and the scrape of chairs as their fellow theatre patrons made themselves comfortable for the evening's entertainment.

To Zhia's surprise, her private box was already occupied. As Doranei politely held back the curtain for her, the oil lamp within illuminated a person – a man, she quickly realised – sitting with his back to the stage. He looked up and Zhia could see his tattoos, black feathers on both cheeks, and an ugly red scar that cut down one side of his face. Oddly – for the tattoos alone marked him as other – he was dressed in a labourer's shirt and cropped trousers.

'While the boy who served us last night was somewhat lacking in commonsense,' Zhia commented as she entered her box, 'I confess to being a little surprised that he has been replaced by a monk… albeit a monk of unusual habits.'

'A former monk,' the man replied. His sharp-featured face looked shifty, suspicious. 'Vellern and I have parted company.'

'And so instead you grant me your company: am I to be placed above the Gods?' She turned to Doranei as he peered past her at the

stranger and said quietly, 'Could you give us a moment alone?'

The King's Man gave a grunt, looking hard at the former monk before retreating.

'I'm not here to discuss the Gods,' the man replied sourly. 'The minstrel told me to speak to you. Your interest in us has not gone unnoticed.'

'And you're here to warn me off?' Zhia said quietly. There was almost a sneer in her voice.

'I am here to say that we will not tolerate your spies any longer.'

Zhia bent down to look the man in the face. 'What is your name, little man?'

'My name? Jackdaw. My name is Jackdaw.' His eyes betrayed his growing apprehension.

'Well now, Jackdaw,' she snarled, ensuring he got a good look at her teeth and enjoying the way his face turned from white to green, 'tell your minstrel that if he wants to frighten me, he needs to work a little harder than this.'

'He- That was not the intention,' the monk almost spluttered. 'He hoped we could come to an understanding.'

'And what exactly is it that you wish me to understand?'

'That we need not be competitors,' the monk said, almost pleading, 'that we could help each other – be allies.'

And exactly what help would I need from you, little monk?' Her voice was soft, and menacing.

'What do you need? My master has a particular talent for helping the ambitious.' He sounded less shaky, back on firm ground. Ambition was something he could understand.

Zhia's hand darted out and she seized the monk around the throat. Jackdaw yelped and scrabbled at her fingers, but for all her apparent delicacy, he was helpless. She felt him reach for magic and the familiar coppery tang filled her mouth as she tore the energies from his grip.

Jackdaw gasped with shock. He began to tremble, as if he had only now recognised what danger he'd been sent to confront.

'My ambitions are my own. What do you think you can give me! What can I not take for myself?'

How can you take something you know nothing about?' Jackdaw croaked. 'What is more valuable in an age where the future is not certain than information?'

Zhia looked at him, considering. What else was going on in this city that she didn't know about? She knew spies for the Knights of the Temples were making overtures to Scree's elite, though they were hardly likely to fall for that. A necromancer was performing increasingly complex experiments somewhere in the poorer districts, but necromancers tended to be oblivious to politics. Neither were particularly interesting to her, at least at the moment.

'You presume much, for a failed monk,' Zhia said, her voice laced with scorn. The idea that the minstrel might fill in the blanks in this increasingly complex puzzle was horribly tantalising, and so she rejected the offer out of hand – she knew her own weaknesses quite well enough to see when someone was playing on them.

'I am just the messenger,' Jackdaw protested, quaking again,

'Well, messenger, get out.' She pulled him up from his seat and shoved him towards the curtained doorway. 'If your master wants to speak to me, he must do me the courtesy of attending on me in person.'

As the monk stumbled through the curtain, she called softly, 'And tell him to bring something real to bargain with. If I wanted promises whispered in the night I would find myself a love-struck boy.'

Doranei watched the tattooed man retreat, then raised an eyebrow at the vampire.

'Don't give me that indignant face,' she snapped, waving the Narkang agent back into the box. Doranei smirked, having at last elicited a reaction from her, but wisely said nothing as he took his seat next to her. Haipar poured them all a drink from the jug of wine conveniently found on the little table in the corner, then took up position behind Zhia. From there she could watch them both.

'So, Doranei,' Zhia began conversationally, once she'd arranged her skirts comfortably, 'what are you and your king doing here?'

He sighed. 'I couldn't tell you even if I did know.'

'Even if you did know?' Zhia repeated with a light laugh. 'Oh, dear boy, you're a member of the Brotherhood, not some thick-skulled infantryman. It is a certainty that King Emin holds much back, but to believe that he would bring his elite guard to an enemy city and not so much as mention the eventual goal? Please, don't insult us both.'

Doranei raised his hands. 'What do you want from me? To give up the king's closest secrets? Yes, we're here for a reason, and no, the king hasn't said he wants that reason to be made public'

'I do understand, Doranei, but you need to remember that we are not enemies. The situation grows increasingly fraught in Scree, and even Siala must have noticed. Food is becoming scarce, Siala's own restrictions are starting to cause extra shortages, and this sucking heal is making the people restless. Civil order is on the verge of breaking down, and no matter how many soldiers there are on the streets, if the good citizens of Scree go on a rampage, we will not be able to contain them.'

She looked back at Haipar, then at Doranei. Taking one of his hands in hers, she said, 'Strange as you may find this situation, it might be that we should attempt to trust each other. There are enough hands being dealt into this game that it will take a combined effort to have any effect on the eventual result.'

Doranei shrugged. 'I will mention it to the king.'

Zhia noted his expression and left the matter alone for the moment, but Haipar had no such sensitivity.

'He can't be here for political reasons,' she told Zhia. 'If the king were here to deal with the White Circle, he'd bring an army. If it were an assassination – of any kind – then why bother coming in person.1' He's here because he's looking for something, or someone, maybe. II he were a mage, I would guess at some sort of artefact, but as he's not, maybe a weapon?' She closed her eyes for a moment, perhaps to see her own deductions more clearly, and continued as if speaking to herself, 'Perhaps, if it was Aenaris, but I can't believe Ostia wouldn't know if that was in the city. So that must leave us with a person so who is it? A spy? A defector?'

'Interesting logic,' said an accented voice from the other side of the curtain, 'but still flawed – not even the magnificent Ostia could sense Aenaris if it is not being used.'

Haipar jumped up, the scrape of her chair not quite masking the shiver of metal as she started to draw her rapier.

Zhia shook her heard at Haipar as a lithe figure Hashed Into the box. Almost before anyone had realised, Haipar's hand was stuyed, then pale hands rammed her weapon fully back into its sheath,

'Let's not be uncivilised,' the man murmured, placing a hand on Haipar's shoulder and guiding her back into her seal. The shapeshifter was white, unable to resist this strange man, though not because of brute force, but through some more subtle compulsion.

Zhia watched Doranei assessing the newcomer. He obviously didn't recognise the style ol clothing, hut he had noted the man's jet-black hair and his unusual dark blue eyes-few in this part ol the world had eyes like those. Doranei glanced at her, then looked back to the man.

Dear Doranei, Zhia thought with a certain amount of satisfaction, I don't think you'd have noticed his eyes in this light were it not for the fact that you resemble a butterfly watching the pin whenever I look at you.

'I suggest you keep as still and quiet as a mouse,' advised the new¬comer.

Zhia was certain Doranei had recognised that however tough he might be, he stood no chance against this man. To survive in these dubious circles was to recognise when you were completely out¬classed.

'Well, isn't this a rare honour?' she commented coolly, careful to ignore Doranei's meek acceptance of the order. Koezh, her elder brother, was not one for playing games, but there was no need for her to mark the boy out as anything more than an aide.

Koezh looked closely at Doranei and Haipar, then, deciding neither was a threat to him, relaxed and accepted the goblet Zhia was holding out to him. 'You're playing lady of the manor again?' He lifted the goblet in a silent toast.

Zhia smiled. 'It is the position I was born to, after all, so playing is not entirely the correct word.'

'You didn't think so when you were growing up – it was all we could do to drag you out of the stables, or stop you running around after the falconer like a love-sick puppy.'

'Ah, but as you see, I am now all grown up,' Zhia said, 'and a few years have passed since then, and more than a few since you last walked these parts. What brings you to grace our presence, dearest brother?'

Haipar, sitting stiffly, felt her eyes drawn to the black-hilted broad¬sword at Koezh's hip. This massive weapon was a far cry from the elegant rapiers most men considered the correct choice for a night at the theatre.

She was not alone in noting the sword. Zhia had no need to open her senses to feel how bloated with savage power Bariaeth was. The last king had poured all of his grief and rage into that weapon, and even now it exuded a cloud of choking sadness and hurt. Oh my dear brother, our God-imposed curses should be enough for any person to bear – but you never could refuse another burden, could you? She didn't need to voice her fears; her brother knew well the risks be took.

'Events are moving apace,' Koezh told her. 'Aracnan tells me a Saviour has arisen, so I thought it was time I stepped out onto this stage once more.'

Zhia ignored his attempt at a joke; Koezh had always been a serious man, and rather dour; humour did not suit him. 'The Farlan boy?' she asked. 'How can Aracnan be so sure? It wasn't that long ago that you were convinced Kastan Styrax was the Saviour.'

'He believes so.' Koezh raised the goblet to his lips, but hardly wet his lips. 'I'm sure Aracnan is a Demi-God, so perhaps his instincts are to be trusted – certainly more than mine,' he added with a bitter smile.

'Is Aracnan here?'

'Somewhere. We made camp outside the city and he disappeared in the night on some business of his own.'

'You made camp?' Zhia felt her foreboding grow. 'Did you not come alone?'

Her brother frowned. 'No; is that a problem?'

'Scree is witnessing some sort of convergence,' Zhia said. 'Did you bring joy?'

Koezh nodded abruptly.

Doranei, who had been watching the exchange whilst trying to appear indifferent, tried to cover his inadvertent gasp with a cough – Joy was the Crystal Skull Koezh had inherited from his father.

Zhia gave a small, private smile; few people would expect her brother to come bearing joy; sometimes she felt the name given to that particular Skull had been something of a joke on Aryn Bwr's part. 'So the Legion of the Damned is camped outside the city? I sup¬pose I should have expected as much.' Her brain was racing.

'What is the Legion of the Damned?' Doranei couldn't help but ask.

Zhia looked at him crossly, trying to warn him to stay out of this, then softened a little, drawn almost against her will to his innocence about such things. For some reason, she found it endearing. There were not many men able to make her forget the centuries between them.

'The Legion of the Damned is well-named,' she told him. 'It's an aRmy of mercenaries. My younger brother, Vorizh, made the mistake of turning a necromancer to vampirism several hundred years ago. The combination has proved, ah, troublesome.' She grimaced delicately.

'In this case, the necromancer had hired mercenaries to protect him and his lands, and in one of his most successful experiments he used a spell to take their life-force and replace it with magic. They did not take kindly to this – although they are now extremely powerful, and of course, they're untouched by the effects of time. Think of the Damned as an army of minor Raylin and I am sure you will understand the danger.'

She turned back to her brother. 'Something is drawing power of all kinds to the city – more than a score of Raylin, the remaining White Circle mages, the King of Narkang, and a necromancer I do not believe is allied to any faction. Now we have added Aracnan, who makes all of the fifteen or more Raylin I've employed pale into insignificance, two of the Vukotic family and at least two Skulls. There is also the immediate prospect of Scree being attacked, either by the Farlan, or by the Knights of the Temples – or maybe even both.

'What other forces remain hidden, that I do not know. The Farlan Lord holds two Skulls, and the minstrel who commands this troop of players wears an Augury Chain around his neck.'

Beside her Doranei gave a splutter of alarm and cried, 'What? No!' before lowering his voice and whispering, 'Oh Gods, are you sure?'

'Certain,' she said. 'I saw it myself.'

'Do you know his name?'

'Rojak.'

Doranei cursed under his breath, his fingers clenched into fists. 'So it's true then.'

'What is true?' Zhia said, surprised. Now here was another piece of the puzzle, perhaps. 'You know this minstrel?'

Doranei's eyes drifted part her towards the stage, where a flutist was coaxing slow, mournful notes from his instrument. Zhia reached out and snapped her fingers in front of his face to gain his attention again.

'Doranei, listen to me! Do you know this minstrel? Is this why the king is here?'

Doranei shook his head. 'Not exactly; but we had hoped to…' His voice tailed off as he found himself turning back to the stage, then he wrenched himself back to his companions. 'I must inform the king immediately.'

'Not yet,' Zhia said firmly. She pointed to a tall man dressed in robes of green and gold emblazoned with a pair of bees fying upside-down

who had launched into the narrator's opening speech. The costume was finished off by a jester's cap. 'The performance is starting, and if you leave now, you will draw attention to yourself. One of the players was on the roof with a crossbow earlier. Would this Rojak's associ¬ates recognise you?' Doranei nodded, glaricing towards the curtained entrance with suspicion. Koezh saw the concern and shook his head.

'There is no one out there, not even a servant.'

He slumped a little in acquiescence. 'I can find the king at the interval, then. They will not kill him here.'

'Are you sure? It might be too tempting to ignore.'

'As sure as I can be,' Doranei said. He looked uncertain, trying to balance his own knowledge with what help Zhia might be able to provide. 'Their feud is a long-standing one,' he started, 'and just assassinating the king lacks…'

He floundered for a moment before Zhia interjected, 'The personal touch? The need a man has to drive in the knife himself?' She sighed. 'The centuries go by and folk do not change. I hope that if the time comes, your king will prove himself the better man and not hesitate. After all, I cannot have an opponent in Heartland who is prone to grandstanding – he will be a sore disappointment to me.'

Doranei nodded, but his attention was on the stage again, his face thunderous.

Interesting, Zhia thought, this Rojak has really got under the king's skin. I wonder what exactly did the minstrel do, and why? As that thought crossed her mind, she turned to follow Doranei's gaze. Now she ac¬knowledged both the colours and the cut of the narrator's clothes. So this play is merely to goad King Emin? That means they know he's here already. But what purpose does this all have?

Zhia forced her own eyes away from the stage and back to the conversation at hand. 'I shall have to tighten security in the city. We have so many strangers wandering the streets that it's only a matter of time before people start to die.' She looked at the two men facing her. Koezh wore a look of brotherly affection, a welcome change from the drawn, world-weary face he generally sported. Doranei appeared to be gripped with some sort of ghastly fascination as he looked from one sibling to the other.

'Please don't take offence,' Doranei began hesitantly. Zhia immedi-ately pouted, causing him to stammer as he continued, 'but, since you are only masquerading as a member ‹›l the, ah, the White Circle-'

'Why do I care?' Zhia finished for him.

Doranei nodded and bowed his head.

'We are cursed to care, my brother and I. The Gods saw to that in their final judgment. Do you know nothing of our history?'

'Little,' Doranei admitted. He looked around to check no one was paying them any attention, and lowered his voice even further. 'I know that you were turned into vampires, the undead. To stay alive you are forced to drain the life from others, and the touch of sunlight will set your skin aflame.'

'The youth of today, they live only for the moment.' Zhia gave a schoolmistressy click of the tongue. 'That was not the only curse bestowed that night – foresight I could not have expected from a God, yet one of them did realise that to be such a monster would drive a person mad, so to ensure every drop of horror was wrung from this punishment, the Gods decreed that we would not decline into madness, but that our sense would remain, and our wits would be untouched by either the passing of years or guilt over our deeds.' She could feel her fingers tighten as she thought of that gnawing guilt; it had been her constant companion down through the uncountable years.

She looked away from Doranei, not wanting to see the horror in his eyes as she continued, 'They wanted to make sure we would always understand the fear in a man's eyes as we drain his life, and that we would always be sickened with compassion for others. We will never become inured to this. Our people were punished for following us out of blind loyalty. In turn, we now feel the suffering of innocents, more strongly than you could ever imagine.'

'And my presence may only worsen the situation,' Koezh surmised.

'Exactly,' Zhia said wearily. 'Which is why I want you to leave.'

'Leave?'

'You and your Legion can do nothing to prevent this city descend¬ing into chaos. Anything you do will only fuel the fire.'

'So you would have me hang back and do nothing? Let the White Circle and the Knights of the Temples determine the course of the next Age?'

'Our time will come, but not yet.' Zhia rubbed her arm, where the tight-fitting silk clung uncomfortably in the heat. 'The best thing you could do is march south.'

Koezh cocked his head at her. 'You think Lord Slyrax is that much of a threat, even with such a great distance between him and the Menin homelands?'

'I do,' Zhia said with certainty. 'In the thousands of years since the Great War, has there ever been a warrior to match you? I doubt it myself, yet Kastan Styrax cut you down and took your armour as his prize. If there is any man in the entire Land who can conquer the Chetse and win the hearts of their warrior orders, I think it is Kastan Styrax.'

'And then he will not need fresh troops from the Ring of Fire,' Doranei finished. 'If he wins the loyalty of the Chetse, who knows how far his empire might stretch?'

'There might be no limits. If the city-states of the West descend into chaos, as they are threatening to do, they will be unprepared for the Chosen of the War God.'

'Narkang is ready, and the Farlan are even more powerful than the Chetse,' Doranei objected.

Koezh turned to the young man with an amused expression. 'Narkang is ready? Narkang was saved only by a stroke of fortune, so I hear. If the White Circle had taken the king and his city, your precious Three Cities would have quickly followed. As for the Farlan, years of unrest have weakened them, and now their greatest leader in a thousand years is dead. In Lord Bahl's place they have a young man said to have the fury of a storm running through his veins, bearing gifts so laden with power and the weight of history that even his own generals must be nervous.' Koezh leaned over Doranei and gave the younger man a cold smile. 'I would say your readiness could be improved a shade. At the very least, your king should conclude affairs in these parts and see to his own borders. Complacency is a foolish thing to die for.'

Zhia smiled as her brother gave Doranei a condescending pat on the shoulder and gestured towards the stage beyond. Now be quiet and watch the play. A little culture will do you good.'

With the briefest of touches on her gloved fingertips, Koezh left soundlessly. That was their way. Experience had taught them that their encounters should be brief and tender, else arguments break out, with dramatic consequences. Zhia was actually ahead in those slakes, having murdered her brother three times now, but they had long ago agreed that the novelty of killing each other had worn off and it was too much of an irritation to do so merely out of pique.

He would do as she asked; Scree was her affair now and he WOULDN'T interfere. As the Land edged closer to the brink of ruin and change flickered across the skies, they both knew this might be their best chance.

Zhia smiled.