The Twilight Herald: Book Two Of The Twilight Reign (40 page)

The main room had a square central bar of oak and stretched a good ten yards. With no fire or lamps, Mikiss struggled to adapt to the gloom after the glare outside, despite every window and door being propped open like a desperate plea for the wind to return. The major leaned on the bar talking to a massive broad-shouldered man with his curling beard tied into a fat bunch that swung wildly, punctuating each nod or shake of his head. Mikiss guessed the man was a former soldier, for though he was taller even than the Menin officer, his deportment was deferential. Old soldiers knew trouble when they saw it, and this man, surely more physically powerful than Major Amber despite his bulging gut, was instinctively acting like a man under orders.

Shart gave a small cheer as he saw the two full tankards of beer at the major’s elbow. He had drained half of his before Mikiss had even dropped the packs and picked up his own. Amber and the barkeep were talking quietly. The local language had its roots in Menin, since the original inhabitants were largely Litse and Menin. Mikiss couldn’t understand enough for a conversation, but Lord Styrax’s preparation for the campaign had been meticulous. Elite troops of Amber’s calibre were able to speak all the important dialects in the West, to cover eventualities just such as this.

The major gave the barkeep a nod and laid a silver coin on the bar top, saying something that sounded like, ‘yes, for all!’ before turning to Mikiss.

‘All seems fine so far,’ he commented, casting around the room again and seeing nothing of concern.

‘So he will give us directions to find Purn?’

‘He was told to expect us -well, you, anyway. Purn’s servant left instructions a week ago and has been in each evening since to fetch his master’s evening meal.’

‘Servant?’ Mikiss asked dubiously. They all knew the reputation of necromancers.

‘Aye,’ Amber replied grimly while Shart called the barkeep over to refill his tankard. ‘Don’t think he’s too popular, but when the money’s good, who’s going to complain?’

‘So is Purn nearby, do you think? It’s rather busy for him in this part of town.’

‘Doubt it, but that doesn’t matter. Safer for him to get his meals from further away, and it’s not as if he cares whether the food’s cold by the time it arrives, not in this weather.’

‘So what do we do now?’ Mikiss asked, eyeing Shart as the man enthusiastically set about his second pint.

‘We wait and we eat,’ Amber said firmly. ‘The man’s not coming until evening and I don’t want to be wandering the streets just waiting for some bored patrol to pick a fight.’ He nodded towards the barkeep, who smiled nervously in response. ‘He’ll bring us food in a while and make sure our tankards are kept full.’

‘Are you sure you want to let these two drink all afternoon?’

A smile split across Amber’s face. ‘They know their limits. Trust me, even if they start singing and dancing on tables, they’ll sober up in an instant if someone draws a sword or throws a punch. That little incident was just them letting off steam.’

‘Letting off steam?’ Mikiss shuddered. The brothers had been bleeding profusely by the end of the vicious fist-fight they’d had a week back.

‘Aye, they didn’t do any real damage. Shart’s got too many words in him; sometimes they just come out too fast and he gets on Keneg’s tits. Keneg has to remind his brother which one’s the elder, who’s in charge.’

‘They beat each other to a pulp!’

Amber’s smile widened. ‘We got a saying in the army, “No man’s your brother till you spill blood with him.” Those two know there’s no grudge to hold; even Shart knows that he’s not going to win most of the time, but he don’t care. They kick off, get it all out of their system and forget about it before the bruises fade.’ The major gave Mikiss a friendly thump on the arm, which was still smarting from where Shart had accidentally slammed him into the wall. ‘Anyone else spills their brother’s blood, and not even the worst fiend of the Dark Place will stop them.’

Mikiss looked at the pair. Shart was chatting animatedly with the barkeep, clearly enjoying the chance to practise his language skills. Keneg was staring at the floor, happy in his own world of silence. They couldn’t be more different.
Most likely half of their arguments start when Shart accidentally hits Keneg while he’s talking,
Mikiss thought, watching the younger waving his hands wildly to demonstrate a point.

Presently something resembling food was brought out by a greasy-haired girl. Her eyes were dark with fatigue, betraying a lack of sleep that left her movements weary and sluggish. Even Keneg’s glare when she slopped a little of the brackish stew elicited no response.

Mikiss watched Major Amber hunker down over a tough crust of bread, though his eyes were firmly fixed on the right-hand corner of the room. Mikiss could barely see the men sitting there, a broad-shouldered man roughly Amber’s size and a smaller companion. They had been anxiously watching the new arrivals, which had prickled Amber’s instincts. Now the mismatched pair were huddled together over their table, examining something.

‘Strange,’ Amber whispered to Mikiss when he realised they were watching the same pair. ‘An odd pair of labourers: one damned pale and skinny, the other as much a soldier as I am, and from those scars on his hands I’d say one who’s seen the wrong end of a torturer in his days.’

Mikiss half expected Shart to make a joke, but the brothers were busy with their food. The only sign they gave of having heard Amber was a surreptitious loosening of weapon ties. ‘Do you think they’re here for us?’ he asked.

‘I doubt it; General Gaur said there were bad things brewing in this place. Knowing what Isherin Purn’s sort are like, I’d expect his favourite taverns to be at the centre of whatever is going on. Whatever those two are about, it might not be anywhere near legal, but as long as it’s nothing to do with us I don’t care.’

They lapsed into silence, concentrating on the food, grateful at least that the poor excuse for stew had softened the bread a touch. An hour crept past, then another. The day grew hotter as the afternoon wore on. Through the open shutters and doors they could hear the sounds of city life dwindle to almost nothing under the oppressive weight of the heat.

Major Amber advised Mikiss to try to get some sleep, and did likewise himself. Mikiss lay on a bench, trying to summon the strength to move, but even that was beyond him. He had never experienced weather like this before; even in Thotel the air moved, and during the hottest part of the day you could retire deep within a stonedun. Here, there was no scrap of breeze to offer even the smallest respite, just an overpowering helplessness that weakened both spirit and limbs. Sleep was elusive; his body jerked itself awake every time his eyes drifted closed because of the day’s stultifying oppression.

‘I hate this city,’ he muttered feverishly. ‘With my eyes closed, it feels more like the Dark Place.’

‘Don’t close your eyes, then,’ Amber growled beside him.

Mikiss gave a disconsolate sigh and stared at the dirty beams in the ceiling until he realised something. With a grunt he sat abruptly up, feeling his damp back peel away from the bench below. His head swam and he had to rub his face to restore some life to it. ‘Our friends have left,’ he said.

‘Went about an hour ago,’ Shart replied shortly. Even his natural garrulousness was defeated by the heat.

‘I didn’t hear them.’

‘Who cares?’ Amber asked, still lying on the bench with his eyes closed.

‘It’s just strange they left when it was still so hot.’

‘It’s cooling,’ Keneg said unexpectedly.

‘How can you tell?’

‘The sounds outside. Folk are getting ready to start the day again. The farmers are probably bringing their produce to sell.’

The sound of footsteps in the doorway stopped their speculation. The major raised his head, and blinked hard.

A comical figure with sweat-plastered sandy hair and a rounded belly stood at the doorway peering into the gloom at them. His arms were over-large, out of proportion with the rest of his body, hanging loose at his side. He wore the simple shirt and cropped breeches of a servant, looking out of place in this city of dust and sweat because they were scrupulously free from both -even if they did bear traces of his last meal. He wore nothing on his feet -then Mikiss realised the strange man’s feet were completely different sizes and shapes - one would have been relatively normal, were it not for the neatly webbed toes, but the other was chubby and child-sized, a squat lump with fat little toes curling into the floor. Despite the oddness of his feet, they didn’t seem to slow the man down as he lurched towards the bar, his thick arms swaying from side to side.

The barkeep gave the newcomer a reserved nod and pointed towards the major before leaving for the kitchen. The strange man turned to regard them all for a moment, then frowned at Amber. Mikiss realised the major must have claimed to be Mikiss himself, just in case there was a nasty surprise waiting for them.

‘Master Mikiss?’ the man enquired, taking a few steps towards them, his voice surprisingly welcoming, considering his evident wariness.

‘And you are?’ said Amber.

‘You are Master Mikiss?’

‘Depends on who you are.’

The strange man didn’t reply for a moment. Eventually he shrugged. ‘My name is Nai, and I am servant to Isherin Purn. Are you Master Mikiss?’

Mikiss stood up. ‘I’m Koden Mikiss,’ he said.

A broad smile flourished on his face. ‘But of course you are.’ His Menin was impeccable, with no trace of any foreign inflection. As Nai grinned, Mikiss realised they were actually of similar ages, although the servant’s weather-beaten face made him look older. ‘Gentlemen, we have been expecting you,’ Nai continued smoothly. ‘I hope your journey was enjoyable enough?’

‘It was long, dirty and exhausting,’ Amber cut in, ‘so enough of the pleasantries.’

‘Very well, sir,’ Nai replied, completely unflustered by the major’s brusque tone. ‘If you would all be so good as to accompany me?’

The barkeep brought out a covered bowl which Nai swept up with one hand, then scuttled back to the door. Mikiss groaned as he heaved his pack back up onto his shoulder and followed the soldiers out of the tavern into the blindingly bright afternoon. The sun, though lower in the sky, cast a white carpet over the paving stones and it was still hot enough to make the air in his lungs feel thin and inadequate. His knees began to tremble after only a few steps.

‘Here, let me take that,’ Shart offered. Mikiss looked up at the man’s outstretched hand and shook his head. Shart was certainly stronger and fitter, but the sodden state of the man’s shirt was testimony to how hard the journey had been on all of them. However much he hurt, Mikiss had been determined from the start not to be a burden, and he had no intention of starting now, so close to their goal. Shart gave a brief snort; of approval or scorn Mikiss couldn’t tell.

Mikiss was vaguely aware they were moving away from the heart of the city as they struggled on, first over uneven cobbles, then smooth packed-dirt roads lined with tall limes with wilting leaves of green and yellow and a type of hawthorn Mikiss had never seen before, its twisted branches covered in thin leaves and sharp spines.

It took them more than half an hour of walking at Mikiss’ erratic pace before they reached an area within sight of the city wall that was largely derelict. A handful of roughly mended buildings bore signs of life, but it struck Mikiss that there were no birds to be heard, not even where the trees had shrivelled fruit still hanging from their higher branches. A few people idly watched them from the shadows of doorways and windows, curious only at who might be fool enough to be out under the still-fierce sun.

This far out, past the old South Barbican that had once protected Scree, the houses stood well apart from their neighbours. Nai led them to a large, gloomy place that looked as if it had once been a country manor house until it was swallowed up by the expanding city, then abandoned to the ravages of wind and rain.

‘This is where Purn lives?’ asked Amber sceptically. It had once been a fine building, but now, surrounded by a high, rusted iron fence with wild undergrowth encroaching on it, the house looked neither inhabited nor habitable. Its nearest neighbour was in even worse condition, bearing the unmistakable black smears of fire-damage.

Mikiss sniffed the air. Here, more than elsewhere in the city, there was a smell of decay. Most of it was the house, he suspected, but there was something beyond the stink of unwashed bodies and rotting vegetation: a sharp smell of decayed meat. Perhaps this was just a hint of the horrors one might find in the home of a necromancer.

‘This is where my master lives,’ Nai confirmed. ‘Much of his work is conducted in the cellars, so we do not need all of the rooms. You are welcome to make use of whatever space you find above ground, and the house is reasonably sound, but I do suggest you keep clear of the attic. The floor is especially bad up there.’

Shart craned his head up to the roof, noting the large gaps in the tiles. ‘I see what you mean about the attic,’ he muttered, ‘but your idea of “reasonably sound” might be a little different to mine.’

‘It serves our purposes,’ Nai replied, ‘and of course we would not want anyone passing by to think there might be value in investigating the building.’

‘Don’t you have guards?’

‘Most certainly,’ the servant said with a small smile that filled Mikiss with foreboding, ‘but they lack both subtlety and the sense to make distinctions between children playing and enemy agents.’

‘As well as a heartbeat, no doubt,’ Shart muttered.

‘As well as a heartbeat,’ Nai echoed with strange enthusiasm. ‘And we prefer to keep a low profile, especially as tempers in the city are running somewhat high.’

‘Have there been riots?’ Major Amber asked.

‘Nothing overly dramatic, but the mood in the city has changed. There is no desperate scarcity of food yet, but that hasn’t stopped fights breaking out most nights.’ Nai gestured up at the pale blue sky and said gravely, ‘Since the weather turned, the people of Scree have been acting like animals. They rut and fight and scream in the street. Before long the city will begin to tear itself apart.’