The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (197 page)

‘Can we go back to the valley?’ Ruhen asked.

‘Do you want to see the men with wings again?’

His solemn nod provoked another smile. ‘Very well, we will. Lord Styrax will be glad to see us; he wants us all to be friends - would you like that?’

Ruhen paused to think. ‘Friends are good.’

‘That they are, my dear.’ The duchess hugged him close again and he could hear the quick beat of her heart, quite unlike his own.

He took her hand and looked her directly in the eye. For a moment she froze, lost in the shadows, before the moment passed. ‘Allying ourselves with the Menin may prove the best course, but let us wait for what Mage Peness has to say. Becoming friends can always wait a day or so, and it is always preferable to bring a gift.’

That evening Doranei and Sebe were eating in a small tavern on the outskirts of Breakale, just a short walk from the Beristole. Lell Derager, who continued to be their host, had suggested this as a good place to hear the gossip.

Wheel and Burn were increasingly unsafe these days, as the bartender had been quick to mention. She hadn’t specified where the danger came from and the two men from Narkang were too experienced to show too much interest. They took their time over bowls of greasy mutton stew, alert to the chatter around them.

‘ - ‘eard she was going to sell the whole of Hale to the Menin - ‘

‘ - Devoted got what was comin’ to ‘em, just a bunch of priests with swords - ‘

‘ - mad enough ta think they can use daemons in battle!’ broke his curse just with a touch, I tell you -we all felt it!’

Doranei paused and cocked an ear. The room was full of quiet conversations overlaying each other, but that last had sounded different. It took him a moment to place it, but when he did, it was all he could do not to turn around and stare at the speaker. Something in the tone of voice reminded him of Parim, the demagogue King Emin had pressganged into the Brotherhood: it had that urgent honesty that Parim used so successfully to convince his listeners to shower him in gifts.

‘Going for a piss,’ he muttered to Sebe, putting his drink down and tapping the bar twice with a spice-yellowed finger. He caught Sebe’s arm as he was easing himself off his seat, so Sebe could turn a little and not draw attention to himself as he checked the room to see who noticed Doranei’s departure. By the time he returned to his food he was sure there was no unwelcome notice being paid, just the usual raising of eyes as a big man with weapons approached, then passed. No one followed, no one stopped talking, so Sebe cheerfully finished his drink and waved for another.

When Doranei returned, he slapped Sebe on the shoulder, thanking him for getting the drinks in, and whispered as he sat down, ‘Back corner, wearing white.’

Sebe wiped up the last of his mutton with some gritty bread. ‘Looks out of place, doesn’t he? Not a priest’s robes, but no tradesman wears white like that.’

Across the room came another snippet of conversation: ‘ - no God ever did that for me, but you look into his eyes and it changes you. As noble as a prince and just a child - ‘

Doranei leaned over to Sebe. His friend smelled of damp wool and sweat, but Doranei didn’t imagine he was any better. ‘Doesn’t sound like he’s talking about any friend of ours,’ he muttered. ‘What do you reckon?’

Sebe shrugged. ‘Dressed like that I’d say he’s no innocent bystander. Don’t think we’ll get much out of him.’

‘Not the first one like that I’ve seen round these parts,’ Doranei agreed. ‘Looks like this is the next step, they’re recruiting to spread the word. There’s talk of beggars gathering at the gates of the Ruby Tower, of writing prayers to the Gods and fixing them to the wall. The desperate folk have given up on the cults, they’re looking for something else to believe in - and the shadow’s message is ready and waiting.’

Sebe’s expression mirrored Doranei’s own. ‘It’s your turn then.’ Doranei sighed. ‘True, and it won’t be the last either,’ he said grimly. ‘Let’s hope he gives us something useful.’

The pair finished their drinks and exited, quickly finding a dark corner of the street where they could wait unmolested for the hour until the man in white left the tavern and headed off alone through the night.

By the time General Lahk had asked him for permission to call a halt on the following day, Isak was already searching his memory for a secluded spot to carry out his unsavoury business. The route was one he knew well; past the Twins the road wound through rolling hills and across great stretches of grassland where once he would have stalked splay-toed geese and set traps for hares. Most of the game would have been frightened away by the approaching army, but the region itself was unchanged from the days when he’d crossed it in the wagon-train.

As the order was given, Isak stayed in the saddle, watching the soldiers around him jump to Lahk’s command. He pulled the blue silk hood from his face and let the blustering breeze run its chilly fingers over his cropped scalp as he stared into the advancing evening. The supply wagons had men swarming all over them, seeking tents, food and firewood. The sight reminded him of army ants killing a praying mantis.

Isak had widened his eyes in disbelief when he’d seen how much baggage was to accompany the armies. Combined, they numbered more than fifteen thousand men, and the Quartermaster-General, a comical little man with stumpy arms and legs called Pelay Kervar, had another thousand under his command - as many in his charge as the colonels he screamed invective at on a daily basis. When the Farlan were at war, Kervar outranked both colonels and suzerains, and his bodyguard was nearly on a par with Lord Isak’s own. Isak dismounted and spent a few minutes seeing to Toramin, his warhorse, before allowing a hovering groom to take over. It was still habit for him to attend to his own horses before making camp, but he knew there was another reason he had busied himself there. Each evening he had a promise to keep, one that left him feeling sullied and, even worse, had not yet proved as necessary as he had hoped. Commander Jachen loitered nearby, carrying a canvas sack and a few lengths of black wood in a manner that made it clear he preferred not to touch any of them.

‘Still no sign of more troops from Lomin?’ he asked Count Vesna, knowing he would have been told as soon as they were sighted.

‘No more, no. Looks like Suzerain Suil’s optimism was ill-founded; the Eastmen nobles will have been glad for any excuse to stay at home and watch the fanatics leave.’

In their armour, they were a striking pair: Isak in Siulents, all in silver and Vesna in black with his roaring lion’s head crest in bright gold - they drew looks even from troops used to their presence. The magic imbued in Siulents demanded attention and that effect was magnified in the fading light, while Vesna’s reputation made the hero almost as noticeable to the weary soldiers.

Isak had to agree with his friend. Duke Lomin had refused Isak’s summons to provide troops, not believing in Isak’s promise that the east would still be defended. That gave the suzerains of the east all the excuse they needed not to join a crusade they had no interest in.

‘They would have given us the superiority we need. It cannot go unanswered.’ Isak said, though the words felt hollow as he spoke them.

‘From what the scryers tell me, I believe we still have enough,’ Vesna assured him. ‘Lord Styrax brought only a small force: four legions of infantry, three of cavalry. It seems he is adept at taking cities without any large-scale engagement. He will not have had the time he needs to prepare for us. I doubt he is even looking this way.’

Isak gave him a sceptical look.

‘No, perhaps it won’t be that simple,’ Vesna said, backtracking swiftly, ‘but just remember, Raland and Embere are his problem. How could he possibly expect a pre-emptive strike from the north?’

‘So we stick to the plan?’

‘Certainly. The scryers have his troops outside Akell at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll retreat to the south of the Circle City so he’s not watching his back.’

Vesna retrieved a rolled map from his saddle-bag and opened it up for Isak to look at as they walked. They headed for an outcrop, little more than a rise of rocky ground held together by the roots of an ancient oak, but it afforded a little shelter from the prying eyes of soldiers.

‘The majority of the ground around the Circle City is pastureland, which favours us. A southern position offers good escape routes and to a degree constrains your attackers - they must come down the channel between the city and the fens, which means you can predict the route your enemy will take and most likely prepare a few surprises there. You can station archers and light cavalry to fight a running retreat and encourage pursuit, taking down the bridges over the rivers as you fall back. And you put mages on all sides to wear your attackers down further.’

‘Isn’t it a bit obvious?’

‘Yes - but we’re the ones looking for battle. Chalat wants the ground to manoeuvre in and bring our force of numbers to bear, and once past the two rivers he will have plenty of that. He has excessive confidence in the discipline of his troops. The enemy knows exactly what he’s facing; scryers are not easily fooled by an army on the march.’

Isak grimaced. ‘The more I hear, the more disastrous this all sounds. Talk to General Lahk, find me options.’ They reached the outcrop only a few paces behind Commander Jachen.

‘The religious equivalent of pissing behind a tree,’ Isak sighed as Jachen pulled a square wooden panel from the sack and began fitting the wooden supports into it. On the panel was a painted icon of the Wither Queen, loaned with all possible grace from the Temple of Death, and hanging from it was a small iron incense burner. That Isak was praying to the Queen each evening was not a secret, but if he did so openly, he knew others would feel honour-bound to follow suit.

‘Better than nothing, my Lord,’ Vesna said as Jachen set down the makeshift shrine and retreated. ‘At least it’s clear you don’t expect every man in the army to pray to her; the note I found in my bedroll from Lesarl’s man, Soldier, made that clear enough.’

Isak wrinkled his nose at the thought. ‘She’d be the only one of the Gods growing in strength. I don’t want to imagine how she might use her power.’ He waved a hand at the shrine and almost immediately a dirty-coloured smoke began to leak from it.

‘Ah, my Lord?’ Vesna prompted as Isak knelt down before the shrine. He picked up a broken piece of branch from the floor and held it out. ‘If you want something hot ready when you’re finished…’

‘I’m not a performing monkey you know,’ Isak growled. All the same, he reached out a hand and strands of greenish light swirled briefly above his palm before erupting into foot-long flames.

‘I would never make money from you in that manner,’ Vesna said with a smile.

Isak gave a noncommittal grunt; he got the joke, but it wasn’t enough to lighten his mood.

The branch quickly caught and Vesna turned back towards the camp. As he walked away he caught the bitter scent of incense and heard Isak’s voice, murmuring. He picked up his pace as a woman’s purring laugh echoed distantly on the wind and a dead finger ran down his spine.

Not for the first time, Vesna pressed his fingers against his left forearm and traced the shape of the flat silver case that held Karkarn’s tear. The action reminded him of when his father had died and he had inherited the two gold earrings of rank; he had been forever checking the heirlooms were securely fastened, and that reminder brought a renewed ache to his heart. He had been count for six months before he grew used to their presence, and only then did the guilt of inheritance start to ebb.

When do mortals deal with Gods and come away from it well? he asked himself for the hundredth time, looking back at Isak. And still I keep Karkarn’s tear close at hand. Still I have not refused him.

Nai paused at the entrance of the Fearen House and pulled his coat tighter around his body. He looked back the way he had come and saw Sergeant Kayel watching him in the distance. The other two soldiers the Duchess of Byora had brought with her were busy marvelling at their first sight of the valley. The sickly-looking blond man from the Byoran Guard couldn’t tear his eyes off the winged white-eye, Kiallas. The slim Ruby Tower major was more interested in the massive white buildings.

There was no respite from the icy wind, even in the portico of the Fearen House. It howled around the valley like a spiteful harpy. Nai worked the arm-thick brass latch and he found himself dragged in by the door as the gale caught it and pushed it open. He managed to stop it crashing against the wall, nearly pulling his arm out of its socket in the process, but still got a furious look from the guardian who’d had to jump out of the way.

The man watched Nai struggle for a moment to close the tall door before reaching to help.

‘Thank you,’ Nai growled in his native tongue as the guardian’s efforts made no appreciable difference. ‘Nice to have a useless streak of piss getting in the way.’

The guardian’s expression made it clear Nai’s tone had crossed the language barrier even if the words meant nothing. As the door clanged shut he gave the man an insincere grin and headed to the centre of the room where Lord Styrax had taken over the largest of the desks. Major Amber was there as well, sitting beside his lord and staring disconsolately down at a large book lying open in front of him.

Both men wore the formal grey uniforms of the Cheme Third Legion, and Lord Styrax’s massive shoulders sported the gold epaulettes of a general. Nai suspected it amused Lord Styrax to conform to the library’s rules one day and ignore them the next. Up above he could hear the wind rushing over the great dome. They had lit more lamps against the gloom of a day that had never properly brightened after dawn; midday approached and still heavy shadows lurked in every corner of the library.

‘My Lord,’ Nai murmured when he reached the U-shaped desk.

Lord Styrax held up a hand to stop him. ‘Unless you’re an expert in Elven cross-pentameter, I’m not interested.’

‘It is urgent.’

Styrax opened his mouth, then shut it again in a rare moment of indecision. It was another few heartbeats before he spoke again. ‘Very well - but quickly.’