The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (323 page)

The Prefect’s invitation arrived late in the afternoon. Much to the discomfort of their guards, Isak had gone up one of the guard-towers to look out over Toristern Settlement; he saw the messenger approaching with his escort. The guards, unable to speak the same language, had tried making threatening gestures to get him back into the secure quarters, but a determined white-eye was not easily stopped, and Isak was willing to take a chance that their orders didn’t include violence – at least not at this stage.

In the light of day Toristern remained unimpressive. The screen of silver birch limited his view of the city beyond, but what he could see was a uniform view of basic, single-storey buildings punctuated with the occasional warehouse. Only the restricted district bore any resemblance to the ancient grandeur of Tirah or even Scree’s modest prosperity.

Buildings of any significance or permanence appeared to be strictly limited to the cults and ruling councils. The massive ziggurat was not the only example of skill and endeavour, but even compared to Scree, before the firestorm had destroyed it, Toristern was little more than an overgrown town.

The messenger was another commissar; a man not much older than Isak with short hair and a neat beard. He came on foot with a squad of Black Swords trailing behind, the commissars’ feared enforcers echoing Isak’s opinion of their city: young and insubstantial when seen in the light of day.

‘My Lord Sebe, I bring the greetings of Prefect Darass, overseer of Toristern Settlement and Priesan of the Commissar Brigade.’

‘Priesan? That’s the highest rank, right? You have to walk the labyrinth to be raised to that?’

The man bowed. ‘That is correct, my Lord. He invites you and your companions to be his guests at the Dusk Ceremony this evening.’ Despite his youth the commissar was as blank-faced as the most experienced politician. Kestis had come across a devout believer, but this one was either a zealot of the worst order or a willing participant in his state’s cruel excesses.

‘Away from prying eyes, then,’ Isak remartked dryly. ‘You commissars don’t trust each other much, do you?’

The young man bowed. ‘It is the duty of a commissar to ques tion. Those of true faith can endure any test.’

Isak grinned nastily, drawing the scars on his face tight as he revealed the missing teeth in his month. ‘You reckon? Give me some pliers and a hot fire and I’m willing to bet otherwise.’

‘There is no force greater than faith in the Gods,’ the commissar countered smoothly, ‘but such a debate might best be continued with Prefect Darass rather than a man of my modest rank.’

Isak inclined his head to agree. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’

‘The Prefect anticipated you might wish to leave some of your companions behind, given that the shrine atop the ziggurat is of modest size.’

Isak hesitated. What exactly the Priesan rank would know of Vanach’s founding remained unclear, but they would be aware of
some
of the truth in Vorizh Vukotic’s schemes.

Is this a ruse to split us up, or a sign that he’s aware we might have Zhia or Koezh among us?

‘I’ll do so then. Three of us will suffice.’

Isak returned to their quarters, pausing at the door where Doranei and Daken were standing guard. Though mismatched in size, dress and weapons, the strange pair were united in their hostility as they stared at the newcomers.

‘Could you look less like you want to pick a fight?’ Isak muttered to them.

‘Only face I got,’ Daken replied softly.

‘I’ll alter it if I get back and find out you’ve started something.’

Before Daken could utter any reply, Doranei gave him a warning look and the Mad Axe pursed his lips, fighting his natural instincts, and nodded stiffly. He was part of the Brotherhood now, and King Emin had made it clear he needed to follow their rules: the mission was everything, you never let any personal bullshit get in the way.

Inside, Isak dug out a long midnight-blue robe from his pack, similar to the formal ones he’d worn as a lord in Tirah. It looked a little austere compared to the noble silks and lion-embossed cuirass Vesna had, especially when he kept the hood up, but with a white leather belt and stylised golden bee pendant – Death’s own symbol – he managed the noble ascetic image he was aiming for. Naturally Mihn wore no finery. He needed only to set aside his staff before setting off with Isak and Vesna, adopting his usual persona of humble manservant.

The walk to the ziggurat was quick and uneventful; Black Swords at every corner ensured even the Blessed of Toristern steered well clear. Once at the heart of the core settlement Isak stopped and took a few moments to appreciate its size, aware he had a while until dusk fell.

Under the commissar’s urging, Isak eventually started the long climb up the massive staggered ramp that ran up one side of the ziggurat, pausing at each level to survey the settlement as it was incrementally unveiled. The priests standing on each of the levels kept their distance, withdrawing before he came into view so there was no way Isak could interact with any of them.

Before they reached the upper level, he rounded on the man escorting them. ‘Commissar, tell me, why is it in a nation of the faithful, your priests keep their distance?’

The commissar blinked in surprise, but it only lasted a moment before the young man recovered himself. ‘My Lord, as yet your status is uncertain and the purity of our priests is our greatest defence against evil. The priests of these temples live cloistered lives, the better to contemplate the will of our Gods and commune with their servant Aspects. It is the obligation of the Commissar Brigade to conduct all interaction with outside elements and endure the disruption of order this may lead to.’

Isak gave Vesna a look, but the veteran soldier was careful not to comment. He could see Vesna’s amazement, though: this nation’s fanaticism had tied even its own priesthood in knots, making it a prisoner of a political wing gone mad. Every other class in Vanach had been reduced to an irrelevance; even the heads of each cult were probably subordinate to the Commissar Brigade, answering only to some faceless council.

‘“There can be no greater tyranny than good intentions left unchecked”,’ Mihn said in Farlan. He earned a quizzical look from the commissar, but stared blankly at the man until he gave up and looked away.

‘So until all the signs are revealed,’ Isak concluded, ‘my exist ence goes unreported and unexplained to the people?’

‘Vigilance is our watchword,’ the commissar replied firmly. ‘We are guardians of the people and entrusted by the Gods to see them safely to the coming Age – even unto keeping them safe from themselves and their own failings.’

‘Naturally.’ Isak sighed and trudged on, suddenly keen to be away from the conversation.

As he reached the top of the ziggurat Isak discovered the commissar had discreetly stayed behind where they’d spoken, leaving the three of them to ascend the final stair alone. The shrine of Alterr stood in the very heart of the upper tier; a circular groove was cut into the smooth stone underfoot, marking the sanctified ground. At its centre was a simple round altar covered in a white cloth. The breeze was brisk that high off the ground, and the cloth’s edges fluttered madly, but it was held in place by five beautiful silver chalices.

Around the altar were three people, two men and a woman, with a fourth standing back in the recess of the half-dome shrine. He was dressed as an officer of the Black Swords, and was of no importance to proceedings here, even though he’d been summoned to a meeting where ranked commissars had not.

Of the other three, one, truly ancient, was a High Priest of Alterr. The white-haired, white robed relic stood with his hands clasped and eyes downcast. He had perhaps been instructed to avert his gaze even as he bowed with the other two.

‘My Lord, you honour us with your presence,’ declared the elder of the remaining two, a man past his prime but still strong and fit looking. ‘I am Prefect Darass, Overseer of Toristern Settlement, and this is my deputy, Counsel Aels.’ He indicated the handsome woman of perhaps fifty summers beside him who bowed a second time. Both wore plain brown clothes of good cloth, the yellow scarves of the Commissar Brigade, and identical black coats that hung like academic robes – but there was one crucial difference between them. The deputy, Aels, wore the white clasp of the Sentinels on her scarf, while Darass had a black one.

So Aels
, Isak guessed,
must be the Night Council’s local commander.
He stopped himself right there, telling himself,
don’t be stupid now; it doesn’t mean they’re the
only
danger, just the most obvious one.

Isak introduced himself and Vesna briefly before the Prefect turned to face the sinking sun and declared it was time for the dusk rituals. As though restored to life, the high priest jerked into action and began to drone a long, monotone prayer to Alterr. Isak kept silent, though he could hear Vesna reciting the Farlan equivalent under his breath. After five interminable minutes he was bored and restless, but at last the priest took one of the chalices and lifted it to his lips.

The brim was reverentially wiped with a cloth and both chalice and cloth were passed to Darass, who did the same before giving it to Isak. Rather startled, Isak swallowed some of the water it contained, then Vesna reached out to accept it from him, knowing he’d rarely been to temple and barely knew the rituals of Nartis, let alone any other.

When the chalice made its way back round to the High Priest and a second round of incomprehensible droning started up, Isak felt his heart sink. He belatedly realised each chalice must contain a different liquid, no doubt to be sipped in turn, and he gave Mihn a look – but the failed Harlequin had anticipated him. His hands clasped across his stomach, he was already staring fixedly at Isak. The white-eye got the message and returned to his former stance, closing his eyes to let the words slip gently over him with the evening breeze.

After four more rounds the ceremony was over, and after a nod from Prefect Darass, the High Priest bowed to those present before leaving. He didn’t make eye contact with Isak at any point, apparently afraid, even in these circumstances, to risk what a commissar might view as contamination.

‘And now, my Lord Sebe,’ Prefect Dasass announced, advancing with a studied smile of welcome, ‘may I offer you refreshment?’

The soldier standing in the wings was already moving as the Prefect spoke, heading around behind the half-dome and returning with glasses and a swan-necked glass jug that Isak could see was filled with pale red wine. With each of his guests served, Prefect Darass spoke several toasts – to the moon, the Upper Circle and his guest. Each was recited as if by by rote, the words no doubt set in stone.

‘You bring us exciting times, my Lord,’ Darass said next, the formalities finally completed. ‘The future of Vanach and all servants of the Gods may now follow your guidance, but I find my thoughts lingering on the past still. Your name is not known to me; might I enquire a little of your background?’

Isak forced himself to keep eye contact. ‘There’s little to tell. My parents were Farlan. I became a soldier like most white-eyes, then I found a different path.’

‘Quite a path, my Lord,’ Aels interjected. She indicated the Roaring Lion emblem on Vesna’s cuirass. ‘Whilst we might be isolated, we do hear a little of the Land beyond our bor ders. Another white-eye had the renowned Count Vesna as his vassal—’

‘Who then died, as I’m sure you also heard,’ Vesna said, the menace in his voice unmistakeable. ‘Nor am I a nobleman of the Farlan any longer, the Gods have set a different path before me. The tribe of my birth lies behind me.’

Aels inclined her head. ‘I am reminded of a saying by one of Vanach’s founding Priesans: “Mindful of our past, we walk to the embrace of the Gods with ties of family and honour falling in our wake”. Our future does not lie with the Tribes of Man, nor with the tyranny of kings: so it is written in the Ziggurat Mysteries the messenger of the Gods granted us.’

‘Everything will change,’ Isak agreed. ‘For good or for worse, change has come.’

‘Surely you do not doubt the power of the Gods?’ Aels asked in studied surprise. ‘No force could overcome their majesty, not even the Great Heretic when he is reborn and summons his daemon army.’

Isak blinked. He couldn’t see Mihn’s face, so he didn’t know what dogma or prophecy this daemon army might refer to, but he was not surprised the last King of the Elves, the great heretic Aryn Bwr, was part of these zealots’ ultimate calling.

Let’s just hope they don’t find out in whose body Aryn Bwr tried to be reborn
.

‘The enemy of the Gods is born,’ he said carefully, ‘and my fear is that the power of the Gods has been turned against them. Your priests must have informed you that the Gods are weakened, drained by the effort of striking a faithless servant’s name from history. The enemy will act soon, and the faithful must be ready for him.’

‘The enemy has a name?’ Darass demanded before Aels could speak again.

Isak inclined his head.
It seems lies come more easily now I’m not a politician or nobleman.
‘It masquerades as a child, a ward of Byora named Ruhen. Under its influence the duchess has already banned the cults there, and its disciples now carry its heresy throughout the Land.’

‘Troubling news,’ Aels said with less emotion than Isak would have expected, ‘but the faithful of Vanach are ready. We walk with the Gods. I pray you share our resolve for the third of the signs requires that be demonstrated unflinchingly.’

‘You think I lack resolve?’

Aels shook her head. ‘No, Lord, but I fear you must lose a powerful ally to fulfil the sign. The loss of a servant means little in the eyes of the Gods.’

‘Loss? I’ve no intention of losing anyone,’ Isak said. His fingers itched for the grip of Eolis, currently wrapped in cloth on his hip to avoid it being recognised as the weapon of the great heretic.

The woman looked genuinely apologetic, but there was no such emotion in her voice when she explained, ‘Lord Sebe, the third of the signs, as described in the Ziggurat Mysteries, is that the one sent by the Gods shall know the true meaning of sacrifice. This has been debated at length by the Councils of the Commissar Brigade, who believe it calls for the sacrifice of one of the twelve. I am here as a member of the Night Council to attest to your constancy.