The Twilight Herald: Book Two Of The Twilight Reign (52 page)

‘My Lord,’ Jeil interrupted. Blood was seeping through the bandage Tiniq had wrapped around his forearm. ‘If there is fighting at the Greengate, should we not retreat to the house?’

‘No,’ Isak said firmly, ‘I’m sure Zhia will be able to handle them. We’re in no greater danger yet. I want this theatre destroyed before the night is out, then we’ll make our way back and work out how to avenge Lord Bahl.’

‘
You’re here for vengeance?
’ the witch asked in a disapproving tone.

‘No,’ Isak replied grimly, ‘but vengeance I’ll have all the same.’

The witch gave him a stony look and Isak could feel the reproach in it. ‘
There’s an old saying in Llehden: your greatest desires are always accompanied by your worst fears. What is it you fear, my Lord?
’

Isak looked away, unable to answer.

The light of dawn was no more than an icy gleam beneath the receding clouds when four groups of men appeared at the head of the huge ancient steps leading down to Thotel’s Temple Plain. The ground was still soaked after the night’s deluge and all around was the rush and clatter of falling water, pouring down from rocky clefts in the cliff, feeding the lake at its southern end where most of the city’s water came from.

The two oldest men embraced and shared a questioning look, but the remainder were careful not to catch each other’s attention as they assembled at the top of the massive stairway and waited as the western horizon brightened and the clouds parted before the light.

General Dev breathed in the damp scent of the plain. He remembered the last time he’d gone there, the night Lord Chalat had abandoned them -or been murdered, he still wasn’t entirely sure. Dev had had his skull cracked that night, leaving him bedridden and unable to oppose Lord Charr’s insanity which had ensured the Menin victory over them. Whether he would have been able to stop Charr was open for debate, but as Commander of the Ten Thousand, he would have been the only one in a position to try. The enormous guilt he felt was only compounded by his current collaboration with the Menin and, until he found a way out of this impossible position, it would continue to gnaw at his insides.

The fading gloom unveiled an ochre landscape streaked with long trails of rusty red clay and sandy seams. The cliffs surrounding the plain were dotted with straggly plants that clung to tiny ledges, and bats and flying lizards filled the air, returning to the caves in which they roosted. The heart of the plain was dominated by the gigantic pyramidal shape of the Temple of the Sun, where their patron God Tsatach heard the prayers of thousands around the Eternal Flame. Its copper peak was as bright and gleaming as the day the temple had been raised.

A sound came from their right. The general turned to see a man standing before the Temple of Nartis, one of three temples not standing on the plain itself. Dev, peering through the pillars, could see it was empty.

Odd,
he thought,
shouldn’t the priests of Nartis be performing the final ritual of the night?

The man walked towards them and offered a respectful bow that was not returned. General Dev glanced at his companions. Each group consisted of a tachrenn, commander of a thousand axemen, and a few of their command staff - like General Dev, they had been instructed to bring only their closest advisors, and no guards. No doubt they feared they were to be slaughtered before the city awakened, but General Dev suspected something else. Killing them quietly, even in guarded stoneduns, was easy enough to arrange. They wouldn’t have been invited to the Temple Plain if Lord Styrax wanted them all dead. To bring together the commanders of the legions that comprised the Ten Thousand - or at least, those who remained after the Menin’s comprehensive victory -with neither ceremony nor great secrecy: that spoke of respect, rather than a knife in the back.

The man, a Menin servant, he assumed, wore a nondescript grey robe tied at the waist, and loose grey trousers. He beamed at the eight groups of men. ‘Good morning, General Dev, and Tachrenn of the Ten Thousand; my Lord requests your presence for a small Menin tradition down on the Temple Plain.’

‘Do we look like we care about Menin traditions?’ spat Tachrenn Lecha, a tall Chetse with his arm still in a sling from a spear-wound he’d received in the battle.

‘Lecha,’ General Dev rumbled, unwilling to let the younger tachrenn stir trouble already, ‘it’s a little early for incivility.’

‘Incivility? General, you do recall that they have occupied our capital city -or has your new creature-friend made you forget that?’ said Lecha, appalled at what he viewed as his commander’s collaboration. Tachrenn Lecha had organised much of the city’s resistance; General Gaur had said as much in his last meeting with Dev, and he had made it clear they were losing patience with the man. Dev was far from happy with the situation himself; he was getting pressure from both sides, and life grew more complicated with every day. Very few Chetse approved of his current understanding with Lord Styrax and he had yet to decide himself whether he’d done the right thing.

‘I remember,’ Dev said, ignoring the tachrenn’s disrespectful tone, ‘and I also remember that our legions lack the weapons to stop Lord Styrax slaughtering any part of the population he pleases -and I also remember that most conquering armies would have executed us all after our city fell. I remember hearing only yesterday that a Chetse army marching to our aid from Cholos was crushed. So until the time has come when we are in a position to throw off our oppressors, please try not to antagonise the white-eye currently ruling us.’

Not waiting for a response, the ageing Chetse started off down the massive stair. He could feel the resentment behind him, but he knew there was nothing to do other than ignore it. Beside him hovered his nephew, a young infantryman acting as his aide since he was still none too steady on his feet after the recent injury. As he neared the Temple of the Sun and once again saw a white-eye waiting for him, General Dev felt his head start to throb again. His vision swam for a moment, causing him to hesitate enough for his nephew to notice and take his arm.

‘Gods,’ Dev muttered, loud enough only for his nephew to hear, ‘I was too old for this even before I got my skull cracked.’

After more than two hundred steps, set in a zigzag of three straight sections, he found himself on the plain, approaching the looming bulk of the Temple of the Sun, which was lit faintly from within by the eternal flame. The white shaft of light that ran from altar to apex shone only inside the temple’s boundary line. The pale stone of the temple glowed, and grew even larger in the dim of dawning morn.

Once they reached the temple, Dev realised that none of the figures waiting for them beside the small fire was in fact Lord Styrax, though the lord’s son, Kohrad, was there, slumped in a campaign chair and wrapped in what looked like white ceremonial robes. He looked drawn and sickly still, and the skin of his face and hands was blistered and scarred.

Curious: removing that burning armour from his body weakened the boy more than anyone could have expected,
Dev thought. The man hovering at Kohrad’s elbow looked like a doctor -he didn’t envy the man if his charge died.

Predictably, General Gaur was amongst those awaiting them. The bestial warrior nodded to the group, but had the good sense not to greet Dev personally. The apparent leader was Duke Vrill. He was the exception to the white-eye rule, for not only was he smaller than most of his kind, he was little more than half-decent as a warrior. Even stranger, he made up for that in other ways, for he was renowned as a cunning and patient strategist.

Dev guessed the duke must have recently returned to the city. He had been overseeing the ongoing campaign against the last two Chetse cities defying the Menin. Tachrenn Lecha insisted the continuing resistance was a sign that they could still drive the Menin out of Thotel, but Dev knew he was not alone in believing the only reason Cholos and Lenei remained free was because neither city was important enough for Lord Styrax to bother with yet.

‘Honoured guests,’ Duke Vrill declared with a broad grin, his arms spread theatrically, ‘it is a Menin tradition to take tea at the breaking of dawn, in a place of quiet reflection. I do hope you will join us in saluting the day’s first light.’

One of the assorted soldiers gave a snort of amusement. Lecha voiced the collective thought. ‘What tradition is this?’ he asked. ‘Just to drink tea as dawn breaks?’ He didn’t bother to hide the contempt in his voice, but Duke Vrill ignored it, as few white-eyes would have.

The Menin duke stepped forward, his eyes on the tachrenn, and said softly, ‘Just to drink tea, and to consider the beauty of the Land as it is revealed.’

‘No particular ceremony with the tea, then?’

‘None; I’ve always thought that ritual tends to get in the way of enjoyment -but it is tea brought from our home in the Ring of Fire. You could consider it symbolic tea, if you like.’ Somehow, the duke managed to keep any mocking tone from his voice.

Dev stepped in before Lecha refused the tea on symbolic grounds -this was obviously a face-saving pretext so both sides could come together in relative peace. He could smell business needing to be discussed.

‘I would be glad for tea,’ he said loudly, ‘and like all old men, I have learned that one should take any opportunity to appreciate the beauty of our Land.’

‘One must always take the time to pay attention to what’s around,’ boomed a deep voice from the temple, and they turned to see Kastan Styrax step out from the lee of a pillar. The massive white-eye lord was swathed in a long grey cloak, but Dev’s schooled eye detected the full suit of armour underneath the enveloping material.

‘Strange, none of the others are dressed for battle,’ Dev muttered to himself, looking around discreetly. The two soldiers tending the fire had sheathed swords on their hips, of course, as did Kohrad Styrax and Duke Vrill, but no one else was armoured.

What is playing out here?
Dev wondered.
Styrax’s helm is lying on the temple floor, and he surely knows no crowd of old soldiers is going to miss his gear -he wants to make it very clear that he’s the only one ready for battle, but why? I really am too old for this.

Once the two soldiers had served tall cups of pale green tea to each man they retired to a respectful distance.

Dev realised Lord Styrax was watching him fixedly and with a curt nod, he ordered his aides to do likewise. One by one, the tachrenns copied him. Although some looked less than happy, it would have been a gross insult not to follow their commander’s lead. Even Tachrenn Lecha wouldn’t defy his general quite so openly.

‘Gentlemen,’ Kastan Styrax said, once the staff were out of earshot, ‘now we are no longer lords and commanders, merely old soldiers sharing tea and grumbling about the state of the Land, as old soldiers are supposed to.’

Old men grumbling about the Land? What do you have to grumble about, O lord of all you survey?
Dev wondered, then:
Gods! Are you asking a favour of us?

Lord Styrax walked through the group to face the War God’s temple, second on the plain only to Tsatach’s own Temple of the Sun. A stylised image of Karkarn in his berserker aspect, with long wild hair and savage canines, had been carved above the entrance. When the Menin lord turned back to the men, there was a satisfied expression on his face.

‘Tachrenn Echat,’ he said suddenly, ‘I hear condolences are in order.’

The tachrenn looked alarmed for a moment at having been singled out. Echat’s darker skin and delicate features marked him as from the easternmost part of the Chetse territory, one of the desert clans who lived on the fringes of the Waste. It was a harsh and unforgiving place that bred the finest Chetse warriors; many of the Ten Thousand were recruited from those wild parts. Echat shook his head, as if to clear it, then said, ‘The raids, you mean?’

‘Certainly,’ Lord Styrax said. ‘I hear your own clan took heavy losses -though not without giving a good account of themselves.’

Echat looked stunned for a moment, as much at
who
was offering him condolences as the fact that the lord even knew of the action. ‘I thank you for those words,’ he stammered a little, ‘but every child of the desert is well used to the danger. It is just another aspect of life for us.’

‘No doubt -but I hear there is more activity in that part of the Waste this year. A number of my own troops have also been lost.’

Just what are you saying?
Dev wondered as he watched the exchange closely.
Echat has played it down, but they’ve been hurt badly, and not just by the Siblis. There is word of Elven raiding parties too.

‘These things are rarely predictable,’ Dev said out loud, ignoring the grateful look on Tachrenn Echat’s face. When Lord Styrax turned to face him, Dev was filled with the certainty that this was no idle chatter. ‘The nature of the Waste has always been chaotic,’ he added.

‘True enough, but news of the recent upheaval can only embolden raiders,’ Lord Styrax said. ‘Jackals are quick to exploit any weaknesses they see.’

General Dev spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. ‘There is little we can do to aid them; the desert clans will have to fend for themselves for the moment.’

Lord Styrax sipped his tea with a thoughtful expression that didn’t fool Dev for a moment. The white-eye looked past the men as the first rays of dawn crept over the cliffs surrounding the Temple Plain.

The cynic in General Dev saw Lord Styrax had positioned himself carefully. A very old shrine to the sun’s first light, a minor Aspect of Tsatach called Kehla, stood on the cliffs directly west from Tsatach’s main temple. It consisted mainly of an archway, through which the rising sun now appeared, bathing the Menin lord in golden rays while the surrounding ground remained in shadow.

Styrax raised his cup to the sunrise and downed the liquid. The Chetse soldiers all sank to one knee as their patron God appeared. They bowed their heads and, lips moving in unison, said the dawn prayer together.