The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (157 page)

The quiet crackle of a fire cut through the night and he let his ears guide him in the right direction. The witch had pitched a double-layered tent towards the far end, strung underneath three yews that had grown together to create three-quarters of an uneven dome. He set off down the path, but had gone barely a dozen paces before a deep voice spoke out from the shadows.

‘It is late for callers.’

Mihn recognised Fernal’s growling voice. ‘Would I be intruding?’

‘No, she will see you.’ Fernal stepped out from under the yew’s branches and joined Mihn on the path. The massive Demi-God sniffed the air as though checking for other visitors. ‘She is used to being awakened.’ He beckoned with one hooked talon and Mihn followed without further comment. Fernal, bastard son of the God Nartis, had an air of implacability about him, one that Mihn could only aspire to. With his savage lupine face and monstrous size, he looked out of place in a city of humans, but however keen he might have been to return to his wilder home in Llehden, he appeared unperturbed by it all.

The witch was standing beside the fire when they reached her small camp. ‘Am I needed at the palace?’ she asked as Mihn came close enough to be identifiable.

‘No, I’m not here on anyone else’s behalf.’

She cocked her head to one side. Though visible, her face was as unreadable as Fernal’s. ‘Then what can I do to help you, Mihn ab Netren ab Felith?’

‘I came to ask what you knew about death.’

‘Our God, or his deeds?’

‘The process as much as anything else.’

She scrutinised him for a few moments before gesturing to the fireside. ‘Please, join me. Even under that fleece you must be cold.’

Mihn did so gratefully, squatting down to warm his hands in front of the flames. Fernal picked up a small bowl and gestured at the pot hanging over the fire. ‘Something warm?’

‘What is it?’ Mihn asked as he took the bowl gratefully.

‘Nettle tea,’ the witch of Llehden answered as she sat on a log next to Mihn. She straightened her dress so it covered her ankles properly. He knew they were of a similar age, but Mihn felt like a child in her company, the memory of their first meeting surrounded by the gentry, Llehden’s forest spirits, reinforcing that feeling.

‘But in this weather, who cares so long as it’s hot? Now - what can I tell a man with a Harlequin’s knowledge about death?’

‘I - I do not rightly know,’ Mihn admitted after a brief pause. ‘I have been thinking about fate and prophecy, about the threads that bind our existence. I am not yet certain what it is I’m looking for, but I believe I need to know more about death if I am to understand my lord’s fears correctly.’

‘Then I doubt I can help you,’ the witch said gently. ‘Your knowledge of myth and legend surpasses my own - you know the descriptions of Death’s grey hall better than I, of the final judgment he delivers and of the Dark Place. I am familiar with the moments of death and birth, but not the halls of the immortals. You would need a priest of Death or a necromancer to tell you things you do not know.’

‘I suspect a priest would be even less likely to help me than a necromancer nowadays,’ Mihn said with a grim expression, ‘but perhaps…’ His face became thoughtful. ‘Perhaps the answers are already written for those who can reach them.’

The witch studied his face. ‘Are you talking about scripture or heretical texts? Just how much are you willing to risk?’

‘You bring me to my second question. Lord Isak feels the strain of responsibility on him; he fears the hurt his position may cause those around him. Xeliath, Carel, his father - they have all been permanently damaged by their association to Isak, and that guilt runs deep. He sees me without weapons or armour, and so he fears to let me serve him.’

‘He is right to do so.’

Mihn tried to read her expression but it was devoid of emotion. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ he said sharply.

‘It is a consideration,’ Ehla replied in a calm voice. ‘For all his power and gifts, it does Lord Isak good to think like a normal person from time to time. Concern for his friends may prove a useful reminder that he is a man and not a God. You do remember there is no actual obligation holding you here? You could leave tonight and walk away from the death that lies in that young man’s shadow.’

‘Says the woman far from home and camped in the freezing cold of winter.’ Mihn gestured to the park where the glassy sheen of frost covered everything.

She dipped her head, acknowledging his point. ‘I merely wish to remind you that the choice to stay is yours; that you should actually make that choice, rather than be swept along by the tide of history following him. He is a white-eye and the Chosen of Nartis; Lord Isak’s presence commands those around him, so it would be easy enough to forget you still have a choice.’

He shook his head. ‘I have not forgotten, and I choose to do what I can. I’ve seen the look in the eyes of those who returned from Scree. I cannot walk away.’

‘Very well. So what help do you need of me then?’

Mihn took a deep breath. ‘Last week Isak mentioned something that Aryn Bwr said to him in Scree and it stuck in my mind: “not all steel is destined to become a sword”. I will never have the power to rival his; the Gods did not bless me in that manner, but they did bless me. Acrobatics have always come easily to me; my skills of tracking and stealth surpass the Farlan rangers I have met - these are abilities of subtlety that I had hoped your witchcraft could augment.’

‘Would you be a thief or assassin for your lord?’ Ehla asked sternly.

‘I would do what my lord asks of me,’ he replied, ‘but my vow remains. Count Vesna has already asked that of me and I will not change my mind.’

‘Good. I will not let my magic be infected by a murderer’s deeds.’ Ehla spent a while inspecting Mihn. He matched her gaze for a while, until he noticed that Fernal was watching him equally as intently. The weight of the Demi-God’s scrutiny was harder to bear, for it crawled over his skin.

‘I have watched you in your master’s company; you keep close to him, as close as a shadow - ‘

Fernal raised a hand to cut her off. ‘Be careful how you name him,’ he said with a warning growl, ‘for a name shapes, just as it is defined by shape.’

‘Call a man cousin to Azaer and you open him to its influence? A sensible precaution,’ she conceded. ‘We have no idea of the shadow’s power, but if I were to augment your natural abilities somehow we should not be thinking of you as a shadow.’

‘But you have an idea of what you could do?’ Mihn fought the flicker of excitement in his heart.

Ehla nodded. ‘It will take careful thought and preparation, but I have an idea. A witch’s magic is not based on power but insight, on working with what already exists. You are a quiet man in manner and action, easily overlooked and skilled enough to slip through the night unnoticed. I might be able to help a stealthy man become ghostly, to push you beyond the limits already reached by the training of your childhood.’

‘How would you do it? A charm? A spell?’

‘A charm you would wear, stitched into your clothing, perhaps; the magic would have to be woven in while you were wearing it to make it become a part of you.’ At last the witch showed some trace of emotion. ‘An invocation to a God perhaps? Cerdin, God of Thieves? Nartis? The Nighthunter might be a powerful ally in such a working.’

‘No Gods,’ Mihn said forcefully. ‘If the magic is to become part of me, I do not wish to be linked to anything greater than me.’

‘Not an invocation then,’ she said with a nod, her attention lost in the dancing flames of the fire, ‘nothing so simple. A spell that would have to be tied to your very soul if it is to be strong enough for what Lord Isak may ask of you.’

‘Also dangerous,’ Fernal added. ‘Consequences will be tied to you also; it will be a binding you would not easily escape from.’

‘But it is possible,’ Mihn insisted.

Ehla took a long sip of tea and continued to stare into the fire, thinking. ‘It is; a spell of concealment. I have used something similar many times before, but for a ghost it will have to be painted onto your skin - no, tattooed, to bind the energy within, otherwise the efficacy is only temporary. A tattoo is part of you; it will make the spell part of you, only to be removed if the skin itself is cut away.’

‘How long will you need to prepare?’

Ehla wrinkled her nose. ‘A day to find the ingredients and tools and to make the necessary preparations. I assume the Chief Steward will be able to provide everything I need. Should I tell him why?’

‘Tell him nothing, not yet.’

‘Very well. Tomorrow night might be rushing matters, so make it the following night.’

Mihn stood, drained the tea and handed the bowl back to Fernal with an appreciative grin. It didn’t stop the chill in his bones, but it had made him feel blissful. He sighed as he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. For the first time since returning to Tirah he had a purpose. ‘Thank you. I will return at dusk the day after tomorrow.’

Legana stopped in the dark lee of a building and took a moment to clear the dizziness surging through her head. She tried not to massage her temple as she so desperately wanted to, knowing the movement would only draw attention. Instead, she pressed her fingers against the stone wall, glad of its cold, reassuring presence -until she realised she was pushing her fingertips right into the stone. Again she had to smother the urge to giggle like a little girl.

‘I’m going to enjoy being a Goddess,’ Legana said softly to the night as she ran a finger over the five indentations she’d made in the granite. ‘Oh yes, I am.’

The cool night air filled her lungs with a pleasant rush. The Lady’s necklace under her clothes felt like a warm tingle on her skin. The giddiness was less frequent now, just occasional bursts of confusing and conflicting sensations as the two sides of Legana slowly became accustomed to each other: mortal and divine; outside of time, yet requiring sleep and food like she had before.

Legana had taken a fair range of narcotics in her varied life - both in rituals at the Temple of the Lady and on assignment in dens of every vice known to man - and knew nothing could compare to this. Drunk on Godhood, Legana had almost forgotten to kill Mikiss that first day as she stumbled about their shared rooms. Fortunately, the former Menin army messenger was new to his own powers and hadn’t sensed the change in her in time. His moment of incomprehension had been enough for Legana to snatch up a sword and remove the vampire’s head.

He barely saw me move. He still looked puzzled as he fell, she remembered, grinning to herself.

Since then Legana had been careful not to forget her mortal life, even if that was now behind her. She still had a mission, and that required preparation. It had taken more than a day for her to get a grip on her body’s limitations again; now that she was connected to Fate, some of her instincts were conflicting, contrary to the requirements of a physical body. Once she had felt able again, Legana had visited Hale, the Temple District of Byora, to scout her target. She had kept clear of the Temple of the Lady, preferring to deal with matters in turn.

Legana hadn’t dared to actually sit in on one of the night-time rituals at the Temple of Alterr. Even in the smaller of the two domed chambers, the one dedicated to the lesser moon, Kasi, it was likely at least one priest would also be a mage. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t afford to take the chance that someone might notice her, mark her as unusual.

She forced herself to keep walking, to remain unremarkable. Hale was never deserted, not entirely; the rhythm of prayer and ritual demanded regular attention. Few of the temples here would perform a High Reverence, but all had their daily observances and remained open for worshippers much of the day and night. A long silk cloak covered her entire body down to her ankles, rippling gently in the evening breeze. Legana had found that she could ignore the cold of winter easily enough, but the dark green cloak remained a useful way to hide swords and clothing that might be seen as out of place in Hale.

‘Damn piety,’ Legana grumbled. ‘Too many witnesses during the day, and Alterr’s services take place at night. Let’s hope the Lady’s recovered enough to smile on me now.’

She reached a crossroad. On the right she could see three peaked buildings set back from the road. They were connected by slender arches, with a courtyard marked out in between them: the linked Goddesses of Love.

No doubt the priests of Triena and Kantay are tucked up in bed and trying to ignore the sounds of worship coming from their sister’s temple. Legana smiled. How much easier this would have been if Ayarl Lier, her target, were the kind to take a regular trip to Etesia’s temple, where the purple and red lanterns shone and lust was worshipped with enthusiasm. As it was, she’d watched the man from a distance as he walked in the street one day. His manner made it likely the young boy trailing at his heel was a catamite, so she’d dismissed the possibility.

The temple of the Moon Goddess was at the end of the road, past the linked temples, and it was dominated by the great dome of Alterr’s chamber on the left. A long crescent wall with a single gate blocked the way. The top of Kasi’s smaller chamber was visible on the right. In the compound behind were the half-dozen buildings that comprised the more mundane part of any temple complex: dormitories, stables and offices, for the most part.

Legana knew several of those dormitories normally given over to novices now housed penitents, the militia of choice among the priesthood, it appeared - or the piety of preference among mercenaries, depending on how one wished to look at it. Novices were usually young, and bound to the temple for a certain number of years, while penitents tended to be significantly older. Penitents didn’t need a formal commitment before an altar, just a robe and a tattoo on their index fingers. Before they had served the agreed period of penitence, they were tied only loosely to the temple; experience showed that many men just couldn’t adapt to the rigours demanded by temple life.

She ducked through the low gate, one hand ensuring her hood still covered her copper-tinted hair, and stopped dead. A strange sensation slithered down her spine, quite unlike anything she had ever felt before. Like a faint scent on the breeze there was something unexpected within the compound. Slowly she turned to the left, where Alterr’s chamber stood, a smooth-sided half-dome forty yards in diameter, painted a stark white that glowed very faintly in the moonlight.