The Twilight herald

CHAPTER 22

From the top of Anhem's Tower, the tallest building in Scree's north¬eastern corner, Rojak watched the first shadows of evening steal over the Land, catching men and beasts unawares, wrapping them in deepening threads of twilight. He looked back at the city, where he could see a squad of brutal Fysthrall soldiers chopping their way though a crowd of locals. The rusty-skinned foreigners were worried these people were working themselves up into a frenzy, as had happened half a dozen times over the last few days, but in truth this lot were crying out for food, not slaughter. The Fysthrall didn't understand their language.

The minstrel smiled. 'Misunderstandings cause such misery, more than ill will could ever manage.'

Is that a challenge?'

Rojak gave a strange, girlish laugh. 'Perhaps not tonight,' he told his master.

Beside him, Ilumene pointed out over the fields, at a towering column of dust they'd been watching as it drew closer. 'It'll be a close-run thing. Who will bother to ask why we have a Devoted army outside the walls? How many in this city would believe that they're here only to protect the sanctity of Scree's temples, as they claim, and not in fact waiting like jackals to feed on the spoils of a failing leader?' He jabbed a thumb to the north. There were parallel thin red scabs running down the thumb from nail to wrist, and he curled it to ensure the cuts remained open. Against the clear pale blue above the horizon a dirty smear indicated the presence of another army. North, where every road led to Farlan lands.

'If those Farlan come any closer, the Devoted's commander will be forced to turn and face them; he'll have to dig in, or risk being raided by the Farlan cavalry every hour. The Farlan will interpret digging in as a gesture of intent and act accordingly.'

'And now it is time for us to give a helping hand, llumene, our favourite son; find us another priest for tonight's entertainment.'

'The show must go on, eh?' Ilumene's weathered face lit up with malicious mirth.

'There will be an audience. The good folk of Scree are consumed by their hatred of everything around them; they have passed the point of no return now,' said the minstrel, dismissing him with a gesture.

llumene ran lightly down the thick stone steps to the street below, past the Hound that Rojak now needed to help him get about. It was obvious to all concerned that what they sardonically called their theatrics was taking its toll on the minstrel, who was becoming in¬creasingly brittle with every passing day.

Rojak looked down at the little finger of his left hand, inspecting his most recent injury. He'd scraped his hand when he'd lost his bal¬ance on the steps, and a good inch of papery skin had been shredded, revealing desiccated grey tissue that did not belong in a living man. As Scree failed, so did he – but the knowledge that this was one more victory he would steal from King Emin elicited a chuckle from his wasted throat. He winced and fumbled for the flask of brandy he carried at all times.

'Now for the ill will I promised you,' said Azaer, an icy breeze sliding gently over Rojak's ear. 'Send Flitter and Venn to the camp of the Second Army; tell its commanders who their mistress truly is.'

'Will they be believed?'

'Belief is a fickle creature. Those who believe do so because they wish to. Bane and Veren's Staff could no more restrain themselves than King Emin could when he heard llumene had been seen, lronskin is the voice of reason in that camp. His unique affliction was punishment for offend¬ing Karkan. I'm sure he will be keen to follow his comrades to please the Gods.'

'Should we not wait until we see Siala's reaction to the Devoted?'

'The Devoted are in no rush to fight; they have yet to decide who their enemy is. When they see the Circle's mercenaries fighting each other, they will stand back and watch; as llumene so aptly said, their nature is that of jackals. The Second Army will march on the Greengate, as that is where the vampire's troops are. Every other gate is already barricaded, so this will bottle them all up together. Let them squabble amongst themselves, and turn on each other just as their Gods do.'

'Their weakness is our power,' intoned Rojak.

'Certainly, but let no one claim we are cruel; they shall be warned that their own flaws betray them.'

A new play for tonight?'

'The last play. After tonight we will retire to the wings and the theatre will be no more. We shall have nothing more for them but our final curtain call'

'So which is it to be for our last performance, my Master?'

'Twilight reigns, the gates are locked and within, the city burns. What could it be but "The Shadow Crucible"?'

'Tell me again why we're here?' asked Morghien through gritted teeth. He strained to pull himself up to the next branch. The trip had been an arduous one, despite Mihn's many talents, and for once Morghien was feeling his age.

'The answer to that hasn't changed,' Mihn said softly from the branch above. His attention was occupied by the earthwork ramparts surrounding a hill less than a mile away. The smooth sweeps of dark slope were illuminated by paper lanterns of yellow and red.

Morghien gave a grunt and finally pulled himself up. Once he'd found his balance, the man of many spirits turned his head up to see Mihn, who was standing nonchalantly on a slim bough, his staff rest¬ing across his shoulders and his arms hooked over it.

Morghien knew better than try to keep up with a former Harlequin when it came to acrobatics so he made sure of his grip before speaking again.

'I actually meant, why are we climbing this bloody tree?'

'Ah, I apologise,' said Mihn. 'I'd assumed you were continuing the litany that started as we crossed the Green Sea, but now I realise it was a whole new complaint.'

'Tsatach's balls, I'm here as a favour to your master. I've got every right to complain if I want to,' Morghien muttered.

'I'm sure the magnanimous Lord Isak will be pleased you're taking every opportunity to exercise your rights,' Mihn said cheerily.

Morghien scowled at him. 'Now we're here, what can you see?'

'Much of the estate, all nicely lit up for our benefit. It is Meqao's Day today. Of all of Amavoq's Aspects, Meqao – Hunter of the Silent Wood, as he's known in these parts – is the most beloved by the Yeetatchen.'

'He's the one wilb the antlers and the huge-'

'No, that's Bohreq, the Herdfather. I thought you'd had an edu¬cation?' Mihn scratched at his ankle absentmindedly for a moment, before feeling the bandage on it and withdrawing his hand. Two days back he'd been bitten by a hunting hound on the loose, and though the wound was minor, he'd bound it to keep it clean. 'Meqao has the head of a silver-furred wolf and carries a spear in one hand, a brass bell in the other.'

'Brass bell? What damned use is that to a hunter?'

Mihn looked down and Morghien thought he could see the man's eyes glint in the gloom. 'I would be happy to recount the full saga of "Meqao and the Lady of the Bluebells" – of course, it will require a gong, a bell and a jug of water, and three hours of your close atten¬tion.' He smiled.

'Perhaps later then?' Morghien sighed. 'Wouldn't it be easier to get in to Lord Ajel's home if we dressed you as a Harlequin and got you to recite the saga?' He'd not meant it seriously, but he realised he'd over¬stepped the mark when Mihn tensed. The cool evening grew frosty.

'Don't suggest that again,' Mihn said eventually, his voice tight and quiet.

'I am truly sorry,' Morghien began. 'I didn't mean-'

'I know, but best the conversation goes no further.' After a moment of quiet, Mihn said, 'That is how we'll get in: if we run along the ditch bounding the meadow until we reach that dip, we'll come up behind those trees hung with lanterns.'

'Lanterns? Can you see if it's a sacred grove dedicated to Amavoq, or an Aspect that lives on the hill?'

'Not from here, no. You think an Aspect would notice you?'

Morghien gave a low whistle. 'Hard to tell, but last night Xeliath told me Lord Ajel has made a local Aspect of the hill protector of the compound.'

'So it will probably object when we take Lord Ajel's daughter from her bed chamber?' Mihn wondered.

'I hope not. She doesn't know the details of the bargain her father made. I'm hoping the Aspect will only notice if Xeliath is being taken against her will; she's determined to leave on her own two feet. Her father wants her present at the feast, but she's sure if she misbehaves she'll be taken back to her room and given something to make her sleep.'

'So we'll have to carry her out?' Mihn said.

'No, Xeliath's a cunning little minx, even touched by the Gods as she is in the waking world. She's been behaving herself of late and they've been letting her take her own medicine. She says they know now she's not a prophet, so they're not afraid she'll get loose and hurt someone. Tonight she'll be awake enough for our purposes. She says the festival's important to the Yeetatchen, so security should be lax, and that's good for us.'

'Assuming we even get there.'

'Have faith, my friend,' Morghien said with a snort of amusement. 'As long as I keep out of that sacred grove I doubt we'll be noticed.'

Mihn peered down, eyebrows raised. 'No complaint? Well in that case, let us join in the festivities.'

The compound occupied a small hill, the highest ground in the area. It stood at the southern end of the Silent Wood, the expanse of forest that belted the island, and a sheer-edged gorge made it virtually impenetrable for potential invaders from the east. It had been hard enough for Mihn and Morghien, and they had neither horses to lead nor an army to feed, and they had Xeliath to give them the lie of the land. All Yeetatchen, noble-born or not, were taught to scout, so her description had been far better than Mihn had expected.

The Yeetatchen compound was not defended by walls, but by earthen channels. There was little stone; the buildings set into the hillside were built of wood, and several had trees jutting through their roofs.

The only problem they encountered making their way down the ditches was the eight inches of water at the bottom, which constantly threatened to betray them to the patrolling guards, no matter how adept they were at travelling quietly.

At the end of the first of the long, dark ditches, Morghien touched his companion on the arm, stopping him from starting on the ten yards of open ground between them and the next bit of cover.

'I have a better idea,' Morghien whispered. He mouthed something Mihn didn't catch and, as he finished speaking, he gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes, quietly expelling the air from his lungs. Mihn watched as a tiny wisp of fog escaped Morghien's pursed lips and quested out a little, as though tasting the wind – then a figure stepped out from Morghien's body and turned its head to Mihn, who gasped in shock and backed up to the side of the ditch.

The figure was female; he could see that in the smoky lines of her face and the long, flowing hair that merged with the curve of her back. From her waist down she was less distinct, though the tendrils of fog that connected her to Morghien were almost tangible. Mihn felt the colour rise to his face as he realised the figure was entirely naked, but she appeared not to notice his embarrassment. He recognised her now: Seliasei, an Aspect of Vasle, the first and strongest of Morghien's spirits.

Seliasei scrutinised Mihn for a few moments, her expression blank, then stepped forward and bent down to place her hand in the ditch water.

'Vasle is God of Rivers,' Mihn murmured to himself. He began to see Morghien's plan. These ditches are connected, he thought, and if they all have water in, Seliasei will be able to lead us safely past any guards.

Morghien was still standing with his eyes closed, as if in a trance. Mihn hoped he'd be able to wake Morghien if anyone did come.

Apparently satisfied with whatever she felt in the water, Seliasei straightened and drifted forward. Mihn saw the hint of legs walking, but her movement was too graceful and ethereal to be human. As Seliasei moved out from the darkness and into the faint light, she dissipated until she was little more than a suggestion in the air. Mihn thought the guards, whose night sight had probably been ruined by the lanterns that adorned the whole compound – and who would probably have sneaked a drink or two to celebrate Meqao's Day – would dismiss anything they saw as fancy. Even if they didn't, were they really going to run to their commander claiming they had seen a ghost?

Mihn watched Seliasei as the Aspect, followed closely by Morghien, made her way around the earthwork and disappeared from view, then he shook himself and followed them until they reached a corner of the compound that was, according to Xeliath's description, in easy reach of her bedroom.

Less than a hundred yards away stood a great circle of tents where the household were celebrating Meqao's Day. Mihn could hear voices raised, haunting and beautiful in the cool summer air. He smiled slightly, remembering how much he had enjoyed feast days as a child. Without thinking, his lips began to move and silently join in. The song the Yeetatchen were singing was one of the oldest known, written before the Great War, when Amavoq and her Aspects regu¬larly walked among the Yeetatchen people. The rapturous silence that greeted the singers at its close tugged at his heart.

'Well, lad,' Morghien said at last, 'up you climb.' He gestured to the fat creeper entwined around the oak-bough wall.

Mihn gave the creeper an experimental tug. It seemed sound. 'I hope she's right about being able to make it out of here by herself,' he whispered. 'I don't fancy having to lower a white-eye down on my rope.' He checked again for servants or guards, then began to climb. There were plenty of handholds and within half a minute he'd slipped a knife up between the shutters and opened the catch.

He looked down at Morghien, barely seen in the shadow of the wall, who nodded. Mihn pushed open the window and slid over the window sill onto a large rug. He looked around, cataloguing the spar¬tan room. There was an ornately carved bed, with posts carved like bent branches, leading up to a canopy of leaves above, and a massive chest along the wall opposite the bed.

The only personal details Mihn could see were a silver-backed hair¬brush on the chest and a stuffed horse, a child's toy, on the foot of the bed. Mihn took a step towards it; the small horse looked old and well loved. No doubt Xeliath kept it still because she could no longer ride in real life, something any Yeetatchen would mourn.

A sound came from the bed, hoarse and strained, as if the voice was rarely used. Mihn thought perhaps it was his name being spoken, but he couldn't be sure. He took a step closer, still not able to make out who was under the dark blankets. He was afraid to speak in case they had made a mistake and he was in the wrong room.

The person in the bed moved and suddenly a soft light spread out over the blanket. Mihn froze; he'd spent enough time around Isak to know this wasn't lamplight.

'Xeliath?' he whispered. The light grew, mapping out the lines of her body under the blanket.

'You are Mihn?' she croaked, her hand twitching as she struggled to prop herself up. He strained to hear the musical notes of the Yeetatchen dialect, but she sounded more like a withered old woman than a girl in her prime. He tried to reply, but the words caught in his throat for a moment as he studied the ruin of her face in the magical light. Her short-cropped hair exposed her left side, and the damaged flesh, the slack muscles underneath trembling occasionally, on the brink of spasm. The eyelid drooping over her left eye hid the tiny pupil, and made the bright white iris of her right eye all the more startling.

'I – yes, I'm Mihn,' he said before realising that he'd spoken in his original tongue, a language he'd not used aloud in years. He repeated the words in Yeetatchen and saw the beginnings of a smile.

'He didn't say you'd be handsome.'

Mihn looked down, caught between embarrassment and amuse¬ment. 'Somehow that doesn't surprise me.' A floorboard outside the room creaked and the latch clicked, and Mihn covered the ground in two quick steps to reach the person entering. He smashed an elbow into the person's head, a boy, he saw, who dropped like a stone. Mihn caught him just before he clattered to the floor and eased him quietly to the ground, then closed and bolted the door against further inter¬ruptions.

Xeliath grunted in effort as she tried to get up, but Mihn ignored her while he checked out the servant boy. He was out cold, but hadn't suffered any lasting damage. Mihn pulled a length of rope from around his waist and a cloth from around his arm and soon had the youth bound and gagged. Then he took the boy's small knife from his belt and shoved him under the bed.

'Are you finished now?' Xeliath asked.

'Not quite.' He worked the chest onto the rug, then dragged it to the door. Like that it wouldn't be enough to stop a determined man, but Mihn was inventive: he jammed the servant's knife and one of his own spare blades between the floorboards right up against the chest so it was wedged tight up against the door – it wouldn't hold forever, but it would give them a few precious minutes. He chuckled to himself. Close inspection of his knife would show its local origin, courtesy of the merchant who had unwittingly provided it a few days before. A little bit of luck and a few hot tempers should send the chase in entirely the wrong direction.

Xeliath had succeeded in pushing back the blankets. Laid out next to her was a man's riding jerkin and trousers. 'You'll have to help me dress myself,' she said, her voice a little stronger than it had been at first. She pulled feebly at the cotton shift she wore. 'I can't manage alone.'

'My Lady-' he began, before his heart melted. She's a white-eye who's been crippled, he reminded himself. She'll have been stronger than any normal man under her father's command until her destiny was linked with lsak's; this must be doubly painful. 'I understand, my Lady.'

He went about the task as gently as time permitted, and Xeliath never made a sound, even though her pain was written on her face. Her right side looked perfect, but her left arm was curled in on itself, the tight fist bent around something hard and smooth, pushing the knuckles against her bony hip. The arm was the most damaged part of her body, as if whatever had happened had started in her fist, then spread. Her leg was not badly affected, but it was wasted from under-use, the veins showing clearly through the dry, flaky skin. She stared intently at the pattern of oak and elm leaves carved into the canopy, enduring the manhandling with her lips pinched together.

When Mihn had finished, he sat her up to slip on her boots and lace them up.

At last she looked Mihn directly in the eye. 'What is he like?' she asked softly.

'Lord Isak?' Mihn was surprised by the question. 'Don't you know?'

'I know what he looks like in his dreams,' she whispered, 'but sadly, dreams are only that. They tell me nothing of who he is.'

Mihn helped her upright and let her take her weight. After a little unsteadiness, she looked able to walk. 'Lord Isak is a young man trying to be a good lord,' he said after a moment. 'He's trying to understand what's been done to his life.'

'He fights it, though.'

'That's only natural, isn't it? As a white-eye?'

'It is in his blood to do so, but it is not always the answer. He may need others to show him that.'

Mihn hesitated, disturbed by the direction of her thoughts. 'Let's get you out of here so you can tell him yourself.' He guided her to¬wards the window, opened the shutter a little and peered out. The area around looked empty of armed men. 'Can you climb?'

'I'll manage.'

'Are you sure?' Mihn looked at her sceptically until Xeliath took his hand with her good one. Her fingers, shaking a little as he had helped her out of bed, now clamped around his wrist and began to crush it. After a few moments, Mihn gave a gasp of pain and she released him.

'I get the point,' he said dryly. 'You're still a white-eye.'

'Good boy.'

'But without meaning to offend you, my Lady, you are going to find it hard to climb with only one arm. Your left is completely useless, isn't it?'

She grimaced as her shoulder spasmed, as though responding to Mihn's question of its own volition. With her teeth gritted against the pain, Xeliath brought her left arm up to chest height, visibly shaking. With what looked like great difficulty, she turned her wrist so Mihn could see what she held.

'I think we should bring it with us nonetheless,' she whispered.

Mihn hadn't been able to identify it as he'd struggled to fit Xeliath's ruined arm into the shirt sleeve, though it felt smooth, and as warm as her own skin, for all its solidity. Now, in the dull moonlight, he saw a glassy surface and his heart went cold. The last time he had seen something like that, it had been fused to Eolis, Lord Isak's sword…

The Crystal Skull given to Xeliath had done the same thing, only this one had fused itself to the hand with which she'd first gripped it. It had probably attached itself to the bones within as well. To take the Skull of Dreams from Xeliath would require more than theft: it would need mutilation.

Mihn suddenly realised Lord Isak had been right to send him here. Sooner or later someone would try to take the Skull from her, and Xeliath would most likely die in the process.

'May I be allowed to tie a rope around you, in case you slip? I prom-ised my Lord I would bring you safely to him.'

The young woman shook her head. 'I have been imprisoned here for the best part of a year; I will escape it by my own strength or die trying. The wishes of the man whose fault this is do not concern me.' With no small amount of difficulty, she fought her way down the wall, clinging fast to the creeper as she searched for secure footholds. Her gritted determination paid off and she half-fell into Morghien's waiting arms.

They set off by fits and starts as rainclouds began to gather above. With Seliasei's ghostly assistance, they got to the edge of the forest as the first fat drops began to clatter through the leaves. Morghien led the way, a throwing axe ready in his hand, while Xeliath allowed Mihn to walk at her side, a secure arm around her waist in case her underused leg muscles failed her.

'Thieves, are they?' said a woman's voice behind them.

Mihn stumbled in shock, almost knocking Xeliath to the floor, while Morghien whirled around with his axe raised. Mihn could do little to help his companion beyond turning Xeliath so she could see who had spoken, but Morghien did nothing once he'd raised his weapon.

Standing a few yards behind them were three young women in long dresses. They had hair curling to their waists. The middle one had skin the same shade as Xeliath's. The girl on the left was a rich ebony, and the one on the right had a silvery sheen to her patterned coffee skin that caught the moonlight.

'Thieves they must be, sisters,' answered the right, smiling like a cat at Morghien as he put himself between Xeliath and the strange women. 'Thieves stealing the jewel of our household, I think.'

'And on our father's day as well,' continued the ebony-skinned woman. Her flesh was so dark Mihn could see little of her face beyond sharp little teeth and eyes that flashed green. 'Shall we permit it?'

'How could we permit it?' purred the middle sister. 'Stolen from our domain, when we are bound to protect her family? No, they must be punished.'

'We've stolen nothing,' Morghien said, prompting all three women to turn their hungry attentions solely on him.

'Strangers come and creep in through windows, hurrying away before the alarm is sounded, with a noble child under their cloaks. Thieves, we think,' she spat, with undisguised venom. 'Avoiding the guards is easy, but us? Not so; we can sense all that goes on in these parts, and how could we not notice a foreign spirit walking our fields?'

Out of the corner of his eye, Mihn saw a brief white flicker around Morghien's head. Seliasei, he thought. If she's worried, perhaps we should be too.

'They steal nothing, wolf-cubs,' Xeliath replied firmly. 'Leave and let us pass.'

The middle sister spared her a pitying look, all the time flexing her long fingers impatiently. 'You do not order us, we grant that boon only to your father.'

'Wolf-cubs,' Mihn blurted out. 'You must be the Daughters of Meqao, the Aspects of Amavoq bound to this place.'

'We are,' said the sister with ash-bark skin, 'and we do not care who you are, so be careful of how you speak to us.'

'He'll speak to you however he wishes,' Xeliath snapped, 'and you will run back to your trees and hide there until we are far away. In the morning, when you eventually appear before my father, you will say I have run off to be married to a soldier I met when he presented me at court, and he should not follow. He will hear from me soon enough.'

The sisters took a step forwards, hungry expressions showing long teeth and hanging tongues. 'And why should we do that, little one?'

'Because otherwise you are my enemies.'

As Xeliath spoke, Mihn felt a sudden warmth in the arm held close to him. He could feel a fire building inside her, one that sent a surge of prickling energy rushing through his body as well. He could see the sisters felt it too, and suddenly they were nervous.

'What do you have in your hand, little one?' the middle sister asked, rather more uncertain now. A burst of white light came from Xeliath's side, shining from the Skull through the ruined hand. The sisters howled and staggered back, shielding their eyes from the light. The lightest-skinned of the three dropped to her knees with a wail that stopped only when Xeliath halted the surge of magic. Thinking quickly, Mihn was ready to take her weight when the effects of the coursing energy hit Xeliath and she sagged onto his shoulder.

'I am blessed by your mistress, Lady Amavoq herself. Be content you are doing her will in helping me.'

The three sisters stared at her fearfully, then turned and ran as one. They had gone just a few paces when their bodies became insubstan¬tial and vanished to nothing.

Xeliath panted furiously and forced herself fully upright again.

Morghien gave her a curious look and laughed. 'Lady Amavoq, that great romantic,' he said and laughed again.

Xeliath gave him an angry glare and he kept his mouth shut as he sauntered past her and back into the forest. An obscure little smile played across his face for the first time in weeks.

Mihn sighed inwardly and hoped Morghien wouldn't infuriate Lady Xeliath as much as he did Lord Isak. Even the beautiful half of her face was presently twisted into a scowl.

'Are you going to follow him, or stand there looking like an idiot?' she muttered. 'Come on, move.'

Mihn sighed again. It was going be a long journey home.

'Now isn't that strange?' Isak said under his breath. Keeping a safe distance from the squads of Fysthrall soldiers that ringed the sunken theatre and the surrounding streets, Isak and two of his guards were crouched behind a parapet that edged the flat roof of a nearby build¬ing. It gave an excellent view of the crowd outside the theatre's gate, and Isak recognised several people. A rough wooden frame covered in

sailcloth above them kept them in shadow. The owners of the build¬ing cowered stayed safely indoors, content to leave Scree's madmen outside.

'Bloody mad, I'd call it,' Tiniq said beside him.

That was the longest sentence Isak had heard from General Lahk's brother all evening. For a ranger who was at least twenty years older than he looked, Tiniq was as jumpy as a raw recruit, and had been ever since they arrived in Scree, constantly looking over his shoulder and twitching fearfully, as though he could hear the mournful bell of Death's gates somewhere nearby.

'That they're putting on a play I can understand, if what Legana said about a spell is true, but for folk to walk these streets to see it is nothing more than madness.'

'It must be part of the spell,' Leshi replied from Isak's other side. The two unnatural men were Isak's only guards that evening, to help them go unnoticed, though the ranger, Jeil, was keeping watch in the street. Mayel, who was their guide, was huddled in the far corner of the rooftop, keen to see, but desperate not to be seen. After nightfall, his city was given over to flame and fury, and he had no wish to be drawn further into the madness.

'Look at the rioting, the meaningless violence; at least this place is protected. Coming here probably looks like the sensible option to them, even though they have to brave the streets to get here.'

'Forsaken!' howled a voice behind them. Tiniq was a blur as he jumped up, sword drawn and raised, ready to protect Isak. In the street behind them where Jeil lurked, an old man staggered down the street, dressed in rags, a bloody wound on his balding head leaking blood down his face. He appeared oblivious of the men watching him. His voice fell to a mutter, jumbled syllables that made no sense, then rose again to a roar as he proclaimed: 'Failing city bound to a failing heart! She brings ashes; words and ashes from the darkness underground.'

'Jeil,' Isak hissed, 'shut the old bastard up before he attracts atten-tion.'

Hearing a voice, the old man stopped and peered up at Isak. He brandished a rusty dagger in the white-eye's general direction. 'What Gods abandon, so fire shall purge!' he screamed. 'They have cursed us; their servants cast spells upon us and must be sacrificed to the flame!'

Jeil stepped out of a nearby doorway, a short crescent-headed axe in one hand. Tiniq scampered across the roof towards his comrade,

sensing trouble as Jeil said, 'Bugger off, old man, or I'll kill you and you can see what Lord Death thinks of your words.'

The old man stared at Jeil for a moment, incomprehension fad¬ing to fury in a heartbeat. 'Servant of the Gods!' the man yelled. He raised his battered dagger and lunged forward at Jeil, shrieking. The ranger fell back to give himself room, only to hit the wall behind him. He swung the axe up and caught the old man in the armpit, pulling his own knife from his belt to catch the old man's blade.

The wound didn't look like it had any effect on the man as he slashed down, his blade glancing off Jeil's dagger and into the ranger's arm. Jeil kicked out in desperation, and succeeded in driving the old man within reach of Tiniq's broadsword.

They watched his head tumble off and roll a little way down the street.

Isak and Leshi were close behind, their weapons at the ready, but the street beyond was empty.

'Well, wasn't he nice?' Isak commented grimly as Tiniq wiped his blade clean on the old man's rags and set about binding Jeil's arm.

The Shambles was strangely silent around them. Mayel said most people had barricaded themselves in their homes, those who weren't out trying to find food, to buy or steal. A crowd had built up at the Greengate, where all the city's supplies came in. A mob had already demolished and set alight a market to the west.

Mayel came to the top of the stair. 'How are we going to get out of this?' he whispered, his panic barely kept in check. 'Almost the whole city's like this – so we either burn with the madmen or get slaughtered by the armies outside the walls.'

Isak realised the boy was so terrified he was close to breaking down; he needed a little hope if he were to survive the next few hours. Isak unwrapped the leather covering that kept curious eyes from the spar¬kling hilt. He drew Eolis and held it up in front of Mayel's face to catch what light there was.

'You probably didn't notice when you saw it the first time,' he said, 'but this is no ordinary sword, and I am no ordinary mercenary.' Mayel stared at Eolis, wonder showing on his face, but still no understand¬ing. Isak continued, 'One of those armies out there is mine.'

'Oh Gods, you're-'

'Walking blindly in shadows,' interrupted a female voice in Isak's head, drowning out Mayel's words. He whirled to see a cowled figure

step into the open from an alley on the right. Isak's guards cursed and drew their weapons, but he raised his hand to stop them.

'And you are?' Isak said.

'As ever; a light in the darkness.'

Isak thought for a moment, her words forcing a memory to stir. 'Witch?'

She laughed, prompting his guards to exchange curious looks. 'I've been greeted in more friendly ways, but yes, you are correct.'1

'I don't know how else to address you.'

Ah, my Lord,' Tiniq began in an uncertain voice. Isak cut him off with a chopping motion. The ranger looked completely confused at the one-sided conversation – as Isak's guards had the first time he met the Witch of Llehden – but he didn't have time to explain.

And it is how you will continue. You already know that a witch should never reveal her name to anyone.'1

'Can you not give me some other name to use?' Isak said in his mind.

She advanced towards him, her face catching the moonlight. She looked more tired and worn than she had been in his dreams, as if the journey to Scree had aged her. Perhaps it was the effort of leaving Llehden?

'Call me Ehla, then; it is the Elvish rune for "light".'

'Well, Ehla, now you're here do you think you'll be able to stop the spell?'

'Unfortunately not; it will soon be completed. Events are out of our control, I saw armies marching on the city as I crossed the wall.'

'You crossed the wall tonight?'

'I would, be a poor witch if I could not fool a few city guards,' Ehla scoffed before gesturing towards the theatre. 'You were watching the audience?'

'It seems safer than watching the play itself.'

'Shall we, then?' She pointed up the stairs where Mayel was watch¬ing them. He misinterpreted her intent and shrank back, but Isak ignored him as he led the way back up to their vantage point, the witch close behind.

'Who can you see?' she asked as she sat on the low wall the men had been crouching behind, her back resting against the wooden roof support.

Isak pointed towards a group of women surrounded by city militia and said, 'Over there is Mistress Ostia, with her various agents and

mercenaries.' He said the words aloud, realising that his men would be more confused by no conversation than half of one, but he wasn't sure he wanted Mayel to know about the vampire, so in the privacy of his mind, he added, 'Ostia's the name Zhia Vukotic has taken within the White Circle.' He continued, 'One of them is also my agent. By the theatre's gate, Mistress Siala is doing the same as us, except I'm told she's more interested in the members of the White Circle, reasserting her control over them.'

'Who is it you're watching for?'

'The powerful. I think Siala is deluded, thinking that the White Circle remains a power in the Land. Scree is tearing itself apart, and the people here believe there are six armies outside the walls, all wait¬ing to pick their bones. I'm looking to see who Mistress Ostia has with her, who King Emin has brought with him, and what Raylin are walking the streets of Scree.'

'And what good will that do you?'

'You said yourself events are out of our control,' Isak said, strug¬gling to keep his temper in check when the very air he was breathing felt hot and agitated. He could feel the stifling waves of magic being exuded from somewhere around the theatre, like a scent of rotting flesh, and he could almost feel the pervading miasma of effluent stink, the result of the unnatural heat and the riots, that crawled like a pes¬tilence on his skin. The combination of the two had him constantly on the verge of gagging.

'I just want to know who's going to cause me a problem if I have to fight my way out of here. Why did you come over the wall if you don't believe you can do anything?'

'That we may not win here is no reason to simply submit. Scree is an unimportant city; none of the great powers control it, so there must be another reason why this is happening. There must be more to this spell than what we can see.'

Isak paused. 'Legana said the Menin were searching for a Crystal Skull. Could this be a way to find it?'

'You with your two Skulls have been lured here; why go to so much effort to find only one?' The witch hesitated, a flash of doubt in her eyes. 'I could only see that being worthwhile if it were the Skull of Ruling, the most powerful of them all, so the legend goes.'

Isak nodded, that made sense. Ruling, the last of the Skulls to be forged by Aryn Bwr, had been given to his eldest son and heir, Velere

Nostil, to help him rule after the Great War – Velere's mother, Valije, had foreseen Aryn Bwr's death at the Last Battle. He knew that re¬building after the destruction of the Great War would require genius, and his heir would need help. Neither Valije nor Aryn Bwr had foreseen their son's assassination by Aracnan two years into the war, and no one knew what had happened to the Skull until it reappeared during the Age of Darkness, in the hands of a Litse warlord.

'Mistress Ostia has one also,' Isak added, 'and Legana tells me her brother has arrived in the city, so he will no doubt be carrying his own.'

'There are at least five Crystal Skulls in the city?' The witch sounded aghast. 'That does not bode well. Power attracts power. What do you plan to do?'

'Now? Watch the faces, and once the crowds have left the theatre, burn it down.' Isak broke off and peered at the people waiting outside the theatre. 'What's happening now?' He pointed towards Mistress Ostia's group. Some soldiers had joined her and they could hear urgent voices arguing, some calling over to Mistress Siala's troops. As they watched, a nearby company of Fysthrall soldiers hefted their weapons and started at a trot down a side street. After a little more discussion, Ostia's group followed them, weapons drawn.

'It looks like one of those armies outside has lost patience and attacked the city.'

'It must be the Greengate that's been attacked if it's Ostia who's going to deal with it,' Isak reasoned aloud, 'but who's doing it? The Farlan wouldn't, and I doubt the Knights of the Temples are so driven by their dogma that they've abandoned all reason and attacked when they're so outnumbered by the White Circle armies.'

'The spell on this city promotes chaos and madness; most likely the mer-cenary armies and Raylin have decided they no longer need to take orders from the White Circle.'

'Then we're in more danger than ever before.' He turned to his men. 'Tiniq, can you contact your brother? We need to send a mes¬sage to General Lahk.'

The ranger shook his head as the witch interrupted Isak. 'My com¬panion can do that. What message shall 1 give him?

Isak turned to the witch. 'Will your companion make it through the picket lines alive?'

Ehla smiled. '/ should hope so; he is a Demi-God, a son of Nartis.'

'Well then, tell them to dig in and hold their position. They are not to attack the city until your companion passes on my particular order. When I am ready to break our way out, we will head for Autumn's Arch – Mayel, that's the gate, right?'

The young man flinched at being addressed unexpectedly and nod¬ded hard.

'Good,' Isak continued, 'Autumn's Arch is the least defended, and we'll take them by surprise while Lahk marches in. If the Greengate's being attacked, Autumn's Arch is their only option – the New Barbican in the north is the best defended, the Princess Gate to the east is closest to Siala's palace and has the Dawn Barracks nearby, and going for the Foxport in the south would leave them far too exposed to the mercenary armies stationed there.'

And how will these orders be believed? Fernal is not Farlan; your general may think him nothing but a Raylin employed by the Fysthrall.'

'Tiniq, how do we get your brother to believe the messenger?' Isak asked.

The ranger looked bemused for a moment. 'I suppose, ah, something about our childhood? He has a scar on his knee from stabbing himself, the first time we went hunting.'

Isak couldn't help laughing, remembering when he'd done some¬thing similarly stupid and Carel's expression when he'd had to admit it. He repeated it for the witch's benefit, and she gave a curt nod.

'My Lord,' Jeil interrupted. Blood was seeping through the band¬age Tiniq had wrapped around his forearm. 'If there is fighting at the Greengate, should we not retreat to the house?'

'No,' Isak said firmly, 'I'm sure Zhia will be able to handle them. We're in no greater danger yet. I want this theatre destroyed before the night is out, then we'll make our way back and work out how to avenge Lord Bahl.'

'You're here for vengeance?' the witch asked in a disapproving tone.

'No,' Isak replied grimly, 'but vengeance I'll have all the same.'

The witch gave him a stony look and Isak could feel the reproach in it. 'There's an old saying in Llehden: your greatest desires are always accompanied by your worst fears. What is it you fear, my Lord?'

Isak looked away, unable to answer.