The Twilight Herald: Book Two Of The Twilight Reign (47 page)

‘But you haven’t?’

Her question provoked a flush of embarrassment. ‘Somehow I never managed to save the money - first of all I had a lot of debts to pay off, but since I had inherited an Elven blade from my father, and I was my swordmaster’s finest student, I decided paying debts wouldn’t get my home back, so I commissioned my armour from the College of Magic and decided to win honours on the battlefield instead. I knew nothing of trade, so where else was the money to come from?’

‘And the money you’ve made on the field has gone to servicing the remaining debts?’ Tila finished his sentence. This was a common story; those who held a debt could sell it or pass it on. It was a cruel system, for one missed payment, maybe because of illness, or an emergency, was often enough to start the descent into bankruptcy. Once they were caught in this trap, few found a way to escape.

‘Mostly,’ Vesna admitted. ‘When I was knighted I was given land, of course, but it’s not worth enough to pay more than a third of the debt. Perhaps I should give trade a go, now I feel too old for battle.’

‘Nonsense,’ Tila said. ‘There’s no one in the tribe Lord Isak trusts more than you; the sensible money’s on him appointing you as General Elierl’s replacement in Lomin. There’s no duke there, so the eastern border needs an experienced commander more than ever.’

‘But what if that’s not what I want?’ Vesna asked sadly. ‘What if my nerve’s gone, and all I’ve left is an unsavoury reputation, and not even a child to pass my weapons on to?’

‘But that’s not true,’ Tila insisted fiercely. ‘Your nerve isn’t gone or you wouldn’t have made it here; you’d have died outside Tor Milist. Doubting yourself is only human, but I know you’d not even pause to think before stepping between danger and your lord -and while we’re on the subject, do you think Lord Isak has never doubted himself? He’s only a little older than I am and he grew up on a wagon-train, yet we now expect him to make decisions that affect nations! Suzerains, dukes and high priests defer to him on theology and prophecy; Isak must be horrified at the life he’s found himself living.’ Her voice softened. ‘He’ll need you to understand a sane man’s doubts, otherwise you’ll not be there when he no longer knows which way to turn.’

They heard footsteps ascending the stairs from the unused study below and turned to see Major Jachen’s face bobbing up into view. Isak’s Commander of Guards always looked sheepish when he was forced to disturb them. Clearly he’d come straight from his bed and hadn’t passed a mirror on the way, for his hair was plastered down over his scalp on one side and sticking up on the other. He wore a loose linen shirt and, bizarrely, despite the hot weather, a Chetse warrior’s kilt.

It was the first time Vesna had ever seen a Farlan in Chetse dress. It had clearly been made for Jachen, for he was taller than most Chetse and the kilt still reached his scarred knees -yet another sign of how far Jachen had gone to evade his past?

Vesna smiled inwardly and breathed in the faint aroma of Tila’s skin. He had been forgiven his own reputation once he joined Isak’s inner circle; perhaps redemption was also within Jachen’s reach.

‘Count Vesna, Lady Tila; Lord Isak requests your presence.’ Jachen sounded awkward, as though the formality of his position still did not come easily to him. ‘We have a visitor,’ he added, ‘a woman, apparently one of the Chief Steward’s agents.’

Vesna hauled himself to his feet and offered a hand to Tila.

‘Major, have you managed much sleep recently?’ he asked suddenly. Jachen’s reddened eyes and sickly complexion made him look like he’d spent the last two days drinking. ‘For a man who’s just woken up, you don’t look very well rested.’

‘I find it hard to sleep in this heat, and my head’s been aching ever since we arrived here,’ he admitted.

‘Surely you’re used to the heat?’ Vesna pointed at the kilt; the Chetse lived far to the south and much of their territory was little more than desert. Jachen must have served there to get into the habit of wearing a warrior’s kilt.

‘This heat’s not natural,’ Jachen said, ‘but you’re right, it shouldn’t be enough to stop me sleeping. Feels like there’s something in the air, like a song just out of hearing. I’ll be glad to see the back of this city.’

‘How about your dreams?’

A hunted look flashed over Jachen’s face. ‘What about them?’

‘You don’t look like you’ve been having normal dreams recently.’

The commander lowered his eyes and said quietly, ‘Recently? Not for years now.’ He coughed and turned to leave. ‘Lord Isak is waiting downstairs.’

‘We’re coming, but . . . Commander?’ Jachen stopped and Vesna caught up with him and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. ‘Get properly dressed first. You’re not a mercenary any longer.’

There was a sparkle of defiance in Jachen’s eye, quickly checked. He nodded, and excused himself.

The open reception room that served as the heart of the house was ringed by enough pillars for a temple to Nartis. There was a mezzanine balcony, and above, it was open to the sky. Lord Isak circled a young woman, who was sitting comfortably on a cushion, watching her lord. Gone were the trappings of state and title; instead, Lord Isak, clad in a loose sleeveless shirt and cropped breeches, looked more like the suspicious, bare-footed youth he had been a year ago. Only the sheathed sword that he kept switching from one hand to the other and the whitened skin of his left arm that bore the kiss of a hundred searing lightning bolts marked him as someone different.

Two of Isak’s guards stood at the main door, armed with the short-handled glaives favoured by the Ghosts of Tirah. On the balcony Sir Kelet prowled, his beautiful silver-inlaid bow at the ready. Perched on the edge of the balcony, her bare toes hanging over the empty space below, was Shinir, Lesarl’s sour-faced agent. She was balancing her sickle-like khopesh, a brutal single-edged weapon, on her finger, and her long chain-link flail was draped around her shoulders. She never bothered hiding her dislike of Vesna, but he ignored her as he passed. Shinir could be a useful asset, but she was unstable, too close to being a Raylin for his liking. He knew that if he did get into an argument with her, he’d have to be ready to end it.

In contrast to Lord Isak, who fidgeted like a boy before his first battle, the young woman sitting cross-legged in the centre of the room was still and calm. Her hair was tinted red, like one of the White Circle, but she was undoubtedly a pure-blood Farlan.

Vesna felt a jolt as he realised he’d met her before . . . it took him a moment to place that beautiful face, then he had it: she’d been at a meeting in Lord Bahl’s tent, after the battle of the Chir Plains. She’d been standing silently at the side and he had dismissed her as an assassin. It looked like she was rather more than that.

‘Vesna, Tila, this is Legana,’ Lord Isak announced. ‘She is here to infiltrate the White Circle. Lesarl’s orders.’ He gave a sour laugh. ‘And although we’ve discovered their plans the hard way, she’s unearthed even darker secrets.’

‘My Lord?’ Vesna stopped. There was obviously more to Isak’s agitated state than just the sweltering nights and the magic unleashed throughout the city the previous night.

‘The death of Lord Bahl, or so she claims.’ Isak finally settled, leaning back against the pillar in front of Legana.

‘My Lord, I thought you would want to hear that part of my report first,’ Legana said.

Vesna thought he detected a slight northern drawl. ‘First the context,’ he said. ‘I want to know how you have heard such things; how such secrets were brought into the open.’

Legana bobbed her head, a wisp of rusty hair falling across her face. ‘Mistress Siala assigned me as an aide to Mistress Ostia -the name assumed here by the vampire Zhia Vukotic, as you know; Siala remains ignorant of her true identity. The night before last, Mistress Ostia -Zhia -captured the necromancer’s associates during the assault on his house. One was his assistant, who told us that his master was Menin by birth, and had been trained in his arts by Lord Salen himself. He was sent west to stir up trouble in these parts, and became acquainted with Cordein Malich, later becoming his apprentice.’ ‘Malich?’ Vesna gasped. ‘The Menin have been planning their invasion for that long?’ ‘But how did this necromancer’s apprentice bring about Lord Bahl’s death?’ Isak interjected.

‘Did Lord Bahl ever mention his dreams?’

‘Not that I remember. Why is that important?’

‘Because they used his dreams, his memories of his lost love, against him. Lord Styrax has been planning this invasion for years -how else could anyone have brought an army across the Waste intact? The one thing he had not anticipated is you, Lord Isak.’

‘Of course not,’ Vesna said, pacing the room himself. ‘How could he, when he was working so many years ahead? We knew some form of necromantic power was involved when Lord Charr usurped Lord Chalat. The Chetse were defeated because of this. Lord Styrax has used our own weakness against us: the Farlan had only one Chosen, and we have a history of insurrection, while the Chetse are prone to over-obedience. Thotel fell because no one challenged Lord Charr’s orders, even though any seasoned soldier could have seen the danger.’

‘And Mistress Zhia believes Lord Styrax may have influenced the actions of the White Circle as well,’ Legana added.

Vesna stopped his pacing and swung around to examine Legana. ‘Thus directing their efforts towards eliminating the other great leader of the West?’ he asked.

‘So she believes.’

‘I can think of no one more able to unravel deviousness, and at this point there is little I could not believe of Lord Styrax. I suspect he would even put our own dear Chief Steward to shame.’

‘Impressed, Vesna?’ Lord Isak asked.

‘Enough to respect him as an enemy,’ the count replied. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword as he continued, ‘Rather more importantly, it means we cannot forget the threat to Lord Isak. We will have to watch for assassins and instruct Mariq—’

‘No.’ Lord Isak’s soft interruption stopped the count. A prickle went down Vesna’s spine as he saw a hunted look in his master’s eye. As he looked around the room, he saw they too had felt the change, a sudden cloud crossing the sun.

‘My Lord?’

‘He will not send assassins.’

‘How can you tell?’

‘I know, leave it at that.’

Vesna checked his urge to question further. Isak had told them about his dreams, the Yeetatchen girl Xeliath, the soul of Aryn Bwr kept prisoner in his head, even what the dead Elf had claimed about Kastan Styrax being born the Saviour, until he chose his own route. Isak had mentioned a connection between the two of them, but not wanted to go into detail -and only a handful of people had been told that much. Obviously he would explain no further in the presence of Jachen or Legana, no matter how loyal they professed themselves.

Vesna did his duty and changed the subject back. ‘Legana, what did this necromancer do to Lord Bahl’s dreams?’

‘He used them to torment Lord Bahl with visions of his lost love, driving him to a certain place on the White Isle, where Lord Styrax could ambush him.’

‘Are we to assume that Zhia is aware of your true allegiance?’ Tila asked suddenly, stepping forward from the foot of the stair where she had been observing the conversation.

Legana nodded.

‘So she is aware that you are reporting to Lord Isak?’

Legana smiled. ‘It is her hope that Lord Isak will kill the necromancer, because he has made some sort of bargain with Mistress Siala and currently resides under her protection.’

‘So this could be nothing more than some artifice of Zhia’s, to have us do her bidding?’

‘I don’t believe so,’ Legana said plainly, turning to look at the younger woman. ‘Mistress Zhia had already come to the conclusion that Mistress Siala was more an obstacle than a help, even before we learned of Lord Isak’s presence in the city.’

Vesna watched the two of them. It was rare to see a woman more arrestingly beautiful than Tila. Legana managed to command the room almost as much as Isak, who was a white-eye, and stood a foot and a half taller. To Vesna’s experienced eye, Legana was not happy with the attention her beauty brought. White-eyes, he knew, were born to demand attention as entirely natural, and Isak had quickly shaken off the habits of his isolated upbringing, but Legana had obviously never grown too comfortable with the effect she had on a roomful of men.

‘You keep saying “Mistress”,’ Tila observed, as though sharing Vesna’s thought and taking it a step further. ‘That’s the form of address demanded by those of the White Circle. Have you grown attached to the Sisterhood?’

Legana looked startled at the suggestion. ‘It has become a habit out of necessity; it would be too easy to make a mistake if I wasn’t careful to always keep to the forms -and the future of the Circle is hardly one I would want to tie myself to. The White Circle suffered grievous losses in Narkang. They have no expansionist plans at present. Shoring up their defences before they are slaughtered by Narkang and the Farlan is their only goal, and it’s Zhia who is effectively in charge of four of Scree’s five armies. They are finished as a power in the Land.’

Tila didn’t respond, but her expression was cool and her eyes fixed on Legana. When the agent turned away, Tila gave Isak a small nod and stepped back out of the conversation again.

‘So we have an associate of Malich’s in the city, one who was also involved in the death of Lord Bahl and remains an agent of the Menin.’ Isak shrugged. ‘It’s a simple decision then; we kill him first.’

‘My Lord, he is under Siala’s protection, and a necromancer is constantly on guard; the attack on his house will have made him doubly watchful.’

Isak’s eyes flashed. ‘I don’t care. This necromancer is an enemy of the Farlan and a threat to us all.’ He pointed a finger towards Tila. ‘Those of you who lack any defence against magic will be the ones hurt in the crossfire when he comes after me.’