The Stormcaller: Book One Of The Twilight Reign (70 page)

As outside, all was still within, except for the gentle movement of drapes at the open window, through which came a wisp of a breeze. A huge four-poster bed, curtains of green and gold tied at each post, dominated the room. The shadow ignored the bed and its occupants, who lay across the linen sheets, barely covered. It ignored the ornate basket-hilt rapier hanging on a chair-back beside an axe, the blade of which was perforated by glowing red-edged runes, and moved to the far corner of the room, where a small spiral staircase took it up to a circular mezzanine no more than four yards across. A small, elegant desk stood at the centre. Eight thin apertures cut into the stone gave a view of the room below. Hanging from the wall were a number of two-foot-high purple slate tablets. There were eleven in total, each covered by a green velvet cloth embroidered with a bee with wings spread and the name of a city. The shadow ignored the nearest and glided around the desk to reach the cloth that bore the word ‘Scree’. It raised a long finger that tapered into a cruel claw and began to trace through the air in front of the covered tablet. A faint scraping broke the quiet.

The shadow finished its writing and looked through a stone slit at the couple slumbering on the enormous bed.
‘Come and join the performance, my friend,’
it murmured as it twitched the cloth slightly askew.
‘Yours is a starring role.’

Then the shadow spread its unsubstantial fingers and gave a sharp twist through the air. A muted crack echoed around the room. The deed done, the shadow retraced its movements, pausing momentarily at the bed where the two figures still slept, legs entangled despite the heat. One ethereal finger caressed the man’s cheek before pausing over an eyelid that gave a tiny twitch.

The heavy summer silence returned to the room as the shadow slipped towards the door and out into the twilight of the corridor, then faded into nothing.

 

King Emin scowled at the tablet, pulling his shirt to order and tucking it in to his breeches as he did so.

‘Come back to bed,’ purred Queen Oterness from the bed, stroking the slight bump of her belly. One sharp-eyed old countess had noticed it already and there had been a sudden surge of speculation at court that an heir to the throne might at last be on the way. The royal couple were keeping quiet for now - the pregnancy was in its early stages and the queen feared her age might cause difficulties - but in the meantime that small swelling had restored her husband’s precarious affection.

‘Unfortunately, I cannot,’ Emin muttered in reply. He didn’t take his eyes off the tablet as he reached out a hand and tugged the bell-pull that hung above the desk.

‘Oh, charming,’ muttered his queen. ‘My husband is too busy to entertain his wife, so he sends for his bodyguard to finish the job.’

Emin’s glare stopped the queen short and she pulled the sheets to cover her naked body. It was too hot for a shift, even if Coran was joining them, and she was too comfortable to leave the indentation she had shared with Emin but a minute before.

‘I’m sorry, Emin, you know I didn’t mean that in spite - but whatever is wrong? I’ve not seen you so angry in years - what’s the news?’

Coran jerked open the door and hurried in before the king had time to answer his wife. The white-eye glanced at the bed and bowed his head even as his eyes followed the linen-covered curves of the queen’s body. The white-eye was barely dressed himself, wearing only a long shirt tied at the waist by the sword-belt he was still in the process of buckling.

Oterness looked at the livid scars on Coran’s knee; he glowered at her and hurried up the spiral stair. He had barely reached the top stair when Emin reached out a finger and pointed to the uncovered tablet.

‘Summon the Brotherhood. We ride for Scree.’

Coran stared at the slate board, unspeaking, until Emin indicated they should go back downstairs. The white-eye touched his knee, running a finger over the ugly scarring there. His face darkening with fury, he followed his king.

Queen Oterness watched the two men, a shiver running down her spine as she wondered what was affecting them so.

Then Coren spoke, his voice trembling with hatred. ‘Ilumene,’ he said.

The blood drained from her face. All was explained in that one word. Before King Emin reached for his clothes he took his queen’s hand and squeezed her fingers. Her other hand fell protectively to her belly, trembling. When she touched the skin below her navel she could feel rough scars, and she could still trace a name with her fingers. The tattoo she’d put there only hid the name from sight; the scar remained.

‘And where we find Ilumene, Rojak will be close at hand,’ Emin told her. ‘And they will both pay.’