The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (47 page)

‘I-‘ She sagged, conceding defeat, trying to ignore a vision of Vesna’s expression as she publicly handed her favour to the Sunbee, who for all his swagger, was a remarkably handsome young man. ‘If
Lord Isak agrees, then I would be happy to help,’ she said, hoping Isak
would leap to her rescue.

But Isak was still lost in his own thoughts: now he was staring at the figures opposite him. He could smell more than one mage out there. The woman seated beside Herolen Jex, Duchess Forell he assumed, was returning his scrutiny. Isak felt sure that she knew what he was looking for, that she could feel his presence questing softly out. She was a tall woman, and his extraordinary sight enabled him to make
out her proud, imposing face; her hair and eyebrows were oddly dark against her skin. The typical inhabitants of Narkang had pale, sandy-
brown colouring, but it looked to Isak as if the women of the White
Circle were marking themselves out by dyeing their hair a dark reddish-brown.

Isak found his eyes drifting away from the duchess and up to the
woman sitting behind her, who was draped similarly in a white shawl,
although arranged so that it covered almost her entire head. As Isak
stared curiously, the woman looked up and met his eyes; in the shadow
of her shawl, Isak could hardly see her face at all. When she smiled at
him, he felt it rather than saw it. A cold tremble slithered down his spine. Amidst the clamour of the crowd, he heard only her breathing. Through the radiance of sunshine and the glitter of a thousand
reflections, he saw only the darkness of her pupils. Isak’s head began to throb as though it had been suddenly plunged into icy water.

‘My Lord?’ Tila’s voice cut through the fog, startling Isak enough for him to break from the hypnotising stare. Seeing his alarm, Tila
reached out and laid a hand on his arm. The touch brought him back
to reality.

‘I’m fine,’ he said to Tila reassuringly, then, turning to the king, ‘Emin, who is the woman sitting over there?’ The king made no sign
that he had noticed Isak’s public informality. He followed Isak’s gaze.

That’s Duchess Forell,’ he said, a questioning look on his face.

‘No, I meant the woman behind her, the one with her head still
covered.’

‘I’m not sure. I think I’ve spotted all the titled women of the White Circle, so she cannot be particularly-unless that is Ostia.’

‘Ostia?’

‘A name I’ve heard - nothing more, unfortunately. Maybe her name is some kind of pun, that she’s come from the east, but it’s so obviously
bad that it must have a greater significance. Why?’

‘She keeps her face almost entirely covered, and she’s not moved since they arrived. Some of the women have been sent off to fetch or deliver messages, I’d guess, and they’re all dripping in jewels and
thus I’d assumed titled - but she, who looks like a commoner, just sits without even speaking.’

‘A good observation,’ the king said. ‘Can you tell if she’s a mage?’

Isak shrugged. ‘There’s something strange about her, I know that
much.’

The king sat back and whispered in Coran’s ear. The man nodded and moved off up the tiers as Isak returned his attention to the impending joust, which was just about to start.

The two knights cantered past each other, saluting each other with their lances. Sir Bohv’s visor was raised and he offered the count a smile too. Vesna gave a twitch of the helm in reply, but the roaring lion decoration made that appear less than friendly. As they reached
opposite ends of the fence, Sir Bohv flicked his visor down and both
men yanked their steeds about, kicking their spurs in hard. The crowd collectively drew in breath until the two men met and a massive cheer
raced around the stands. Both men hit: Vesna’s lance glanced off Sir
Bohv’s shield; the knight’s scarlet shaft shattered against the count’s
shoulder-plate.

The second pass was more decisive. Sir Bohv, saluting with his new lance, was greeted with a roar of applause from the public stand. He trotted round to see Vesna standing high in his stirrups and ready to
come again, and off they both charged. The Farlan hero kept himself
high until Sir Bohv had almost reached him, then dropped down to
present as small a target as possible.

Sir Bohv had expected the change in position, a standard ploy, and lowered his lance to match it, but at the very last instant, Vesna threw
his body as far forward over his horse’s neck as he could, bracing his shield against his body. The lance slid over the surface and away - but Vesna’s, with a terrific crash, slammed into Sir Bohv’s gut and threw him straight out of the saddle. Commoners and nobles alike all leapt
to their feet, bellowing, clapping, screaming and stamping.

Isak’s fist tightened at the dull thump of Sir Bohv hitting the ground. His nerves were on edge already and the jousting was just another reminder of the imminent combat. Though his friend’s victory paled when compared to that, he stirred his massive hands to join
Emin’s applause.

‘Excellent strike,’ the king murmured.

Vesna reined to a halt and wheeled his beast in a tight circle, holding the lance aloft to acknowledge the crowd before urging his horse
over to the knight’s prone form. A tirade of obscenities made it clear the injury was not mortal and the crowd cheered again as Sir Bohv
was helped up, clutching his ribs, to congratulate the victor.

The count looked less than friendly a little later as he was forced to watch the Sunbee swagger over to the royal box and request Tila’s favour. She made no reply, but held out the white scarf for a page to
tie around the man’s golden-shining arm. In the bright sunlight it was
hardly noticeable against the fantastic armour, but as Vesna stroked
the red scarf on his own wrist, he could see nothing else. Tila’s impassive face went unnoticed, as did Emin’s satisfied smile.

The Kingsguard champion had won his own first bout of the day
easily. His opponent, a noble of similar age, picked himself out of the
dirt and stiffly bowed to the golden knight. With the formality over he turned and departed without a second glance.

They were childhood friends,’ explained the king. They grew up as neighbours, but one took the gold, the other the scarlet. Now they
cannot even shake hands. But we have more important matters to discuss than the sad realities of life. After the final joust, I will announce the duel is to take place. I expect Jex to find some dramatic moment then to signal the attack.

The Kingsguard are spread all around. We have a third of our men in the arena itself, dressed as watchmen, tradesmen and servants. The others are in small groups, running stalls or just milling about. The
mercenaries are further away - close, but not sufficiently so that they
will attract the attention of any alert watchman.’

‘So your men will intercept Jex’s mercenaries. Even if there are too many of them it will disrupt the attack and let us fight our way out.’

‘Exactly. But remember: our sole aim is to get to the palace and
survive the night. They have enough mages that we must take any opportunities that might come up; we must not linger for anyone. I have a man with orders to break the hinges of the gate so that Count Vesna
has a chance to fight his way out. As for you, Lord Isak, my mages will
protect you as well as they can at the beginning, ready to counteract
any magic used against the royal box, but it will not last long because
I’m not staying to fight. I suggest you do the same. You are the best
fighter on this field, so let Marshal Carelfolden and Mihn bring Lady
Tila in your wake. If you reach the city gates and they are half-closed, do not worry. Even if the daemon is released, it will let you pass.’

Even now Isak’s curiosity overrode the urgency of the situation. ‘Why wouldn’t the daemon attack us?’ he asked.

The covenant that binds the daemon protects the gatekeepers by causing the daemon to actively fear them,’ he said. ‘Simply put, the principle of counteraction means the more it fears our people, the
stronger it will be against anyone it doesn’t fear.’

‘But we’re not gatekeepers,’ Isak objected. The last thing he needed was to have to fight daemons as well as Jex’s mercenaries.

‘No, but you have been touched by your God, and the daemon can
sense this. That’s what it fears. As Chosen of Nartis, your contact with
the divine has been stronger even than those ordained as priests.’

Isak looked up at Mihn. The small man opened his hands in a half-shrug. He had no objection against the king’s logic.

‘What about your reinforcements?’

‘On their way. I cannot risk their arrival until the White Circle mages are fully committed. Duchess Forell is a rich and powerful woman, but she’s not much of an opponent. There must be someone
else behind this. The White Circle is a group that rewards success and
this is their boldest venture. Their leaders will be here somewhere, to claim the prize when it’s won.’

‘That woman, Ostia?’ Isak asked.

‘Perhaps.’ Emin said no more. Instead he busied himself with a loose thread on his coat where one of the red-lacquered buttons on his oversized cuffs had snagged and torn off. As he picked off the broken thread and brushed it to the ground, there was a metallic
sound that caught Isak’s attention. A lavish exterior, something sharp underneath: King Emin was beginning to be almost predictable.

They talked of inconsequential things as they picked at food, and drank watered wine for the sake of appearances. Isak tapped a finger on Eolis as he wondered how he himself would have organised the coming attack. Beside him, Mihn looked as though he had a slight
humpback, where Isak’s shield was hidden beneath a long cloak. The king’s mages would be little use against a crossbow, and Isak couldn’t
wear Siulents’ larger plates without being obviously ready for battle.

Isak let his eyes drift over the crowd. High in the far stand he saw
the Devoted major, sitting alone and scrutinising the royal box. When
Isak met his eye, the man nodded slowly and deliberately and though
Isak made no gesture back, the major appeared satisfied, for he rose,
wrapped his plain brown cloak about his body, and quietly departed.

******

A cheer broke from the crowd as the king’s herald stood. Vesna pushed himself to his feet and strode purposefully towards his horse. He ran a
hand over the horse’s jousting armour, tugging at straps and the saddle
until he was satisfied that all was in order.

Resting his arms on the worn saddle, he looked down the jousting
fence to where the Sunbee was being helped to his feet. Once upright,
the cocky youth took a turn before the public stand, waving to an
adoring public with Tila’s scarf fluttering from his arm. Vesna looked
down at his own favour, touching the red silk, then looked to the
royal box, where he locked eyes with Tila. Her steady gaze told Vesna
that she’d been given no choice, and he accepted that - but he still intended to teach the boy a lesson.

Once he was in the saddle, Vesna’s eyes didn’t leave the golden knight for an instant. The first pass decided nothing. Both lances glanced off their targets without troubling the riders. On the second,
the Sunbee came close to unseating his opponent as his lance exploded
in a shower of splinters on Vesna’s shield. The count was rocked back
in his seat, but he had years of experience behind him and managed to keep his seat - although he was pretty sure that if they had not been using tourney lances, Vesna would have found himself lying in the mud with a shattered shoulder.

As the Kingsguard champion waited for a second lance, Vesna studied the ground carefully and carefully guided his horse a little further
away from the rough fence separating the clashing riders. The Sunbee
took a moment to collect a few last cheers from the gallery behind and then snatched his lance from the air as his page tossed it up.

Vesna smiled. The boy was undeniably good, but he was careless when it came to watching his opponent. In a contest of narrow margins, victory was in the details. His horse responded perfectly to his touch, sprinting forward to close the ground faster than normal, and
the younger man wasn’t able to react in time. Vesna felt only a glanc
ing impact on his shield as he watched the padded tip of his own
lance slam squarely into the Sunbee’s midriff.

Screams and cheers erupted all around as the Kingsguard champion
was catapulted over his horse’s rump. The pandemonium made Isak reach for his sword, even as he rose to cheer the victory. The foreigner might have triumphed, but still the people gave him thunderous applause. Raising his lance high above his head, Vesna turned and saluted each section of the crowd individually before trotting to the
centre of the arena and formally saluting Isak and the king.

That done, Vesna dismounted and hurried over to where his opponent was lying flat on his back. The king’s doctor was kneeling at the man’s side, but as the count reached them he took the ashen-faced
Sunbee by the elbow and gently helped him up. His wrist was broken
and his pride bruised quite as much as his stomach, but he had the
good grace to shakily offer the white scarf Tila had given him.

Vesna laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder, his black
mood dispersed. ‘Don’t worry, boy, you’ll mend soon enough,’ he said
cheerily. ‘It’ll remind you to pay more attention to your opponent next time.’ He turned his attention back to the adoring crowd, who seemed completely indifferent to the fact that their own champion
had been humbled, and by a foreigner at that. Even the noblemen and
the well-to-do townsfolk clapped and threw flowers at Vesna’s feet.