by Tom Lloyd
'Mistress Ostia,' the woman said, looking carefully around the room us though anticipating an ambush of some sort, 'you have a visitor.'
The soldier faltered when Zhia called out in honeyed tones, 'My dear Doranei, can you not bear to be apart from me?'
The man stopped when he saw the bound men and carefully inspec-led their laces before he allowed himself to look at Zhia's shining eyes. 'I come on official business; we heard you took prisoners last night.'
'Indeed I did. Were you looking for someone in particular?'
'A man seen entering that house,' he replied grimly, taking a hope¬ful step towards Amber for a closer look.
An old friend of yours?' Zhia asked in a rather more business-like tone. Doranei gave a curt nod. 'Then you are mistaken; none of the men in that house could have been known to you.'
'You're certain?'
Absolutely It appears you have been misled.' The emphasis was not lost on Doranei, and he didn't argue further. 'The occupant of the house was a Menin necromancer,' she went on. 'These were the men seen entering the house, along with two more acting as their guards.'
A necromancer who won't last long once Lord Isak reaches the city,' Legana interjected darkly.
Mikiss blinked. Were Zhia Vukotic and the Farlan allies or not?
'Lord Isak? But he's here already,' Doranei said. 'He arrived yester¬day, with a small bodyguard.'
'Lord Isak is in the city?' Zhia looked taken aback. 'That confirms all my suspicions: there is some force drawing the powerful into Scree. I am surprised the Chosen of Karkarn are not also here.'
That last was directed at Mikiss, who ducked his head to avoid Zhia's eyes, yet still couldn't stop himself saying, 'Lord Styrax is busy in Thotel, his son has been the victim of some sort of magical attack and Lord Cytt has been dead for months now – it's rumoured that your brother killed him.'
Zhia raised an eyebrow. A magical attack? How interesting; I think we shall have to discuss that at greater length – but for the moment we have Scree to deal with. Siala is becoming an irritation to me. I lack the patience for her games, and now I see an opportunity. Killing Siala myself might leave me having to vie with the other sisters of the White Circle for control of the city, so better that someone else kills her so they have no recourse but to come running to me to take over the leadership.'
And you think to use my lord to do that?' Legana asked, anger rising in her voice.
'My dear, it would hardly be using him against his will,' Zhia prom¬ised. 'Once you make your report, I am sure Lord Isak will be hard to dissuade – and that I anticipate his reaction and profit by it is hardly using the man to my own ends.'
'Why would Lord Isak want to kill Siala?' Doranei asked, looking lost.
'Because Siala has the necromancer; no doubt she believes him to be a useful weapon for protection, rather than the means of her own destruction.' Zhia smiled at the irony. 'Try not to kill anyone if you break the curfew, Legana.'
'You won't need to,' said Doranei. 'He'll be at the theatre tonight. Only the southern districts are under curfew from nightfall; for the rest of the city the curfew ends half an hour after final curtain so the show can continue.'
'Under the circumstances, that shouldn't really surprise me,' mused Zhia. 'You are a fount of useful information tonight, aren't you?' She stroked the man's cheek, a predatory smile on her lips. 'And I see you're recovering your strength swiftly. I look forward to seeing you In complete health.'
As Doranei blushed and struggled to find the words to reply, she turned again to the mirror. She cradled a small bag that hung at her waist and whispered what to Mikiss sounded like an incantation, though he could not make out the actual words. He felt the air thicker and a curtain of shadow descended over her reflection, growing darker with every moment, until he could hardly make out any detail. She ended her chanting and leaned forward to stare into the murkiness.
For a few heartbeats, nothing happened. Mikiss frowned, trying to work out what was happening to the mirror when he started to recognise a shape, the lines tracing a different pattern, overlaying the images of Zhia and Legana that he'd originally been able to see. Now the sweep of Zhia's hair had become the curve of a man's neck and the line of her shawl was the edge of a swordbelt running across his.chest.
The man, wreathed in shadows, peered forward with a puzzled ex-pression, then stepped up out of the mirror onto the little table.
Mikiss recoiled as the man entered the room. The newcomer was dressed in dark but expensive clothes: a nobleman on campaign. The enormous sword strapped to his back radiated a brutal ugliness. It fell like a fire had flared up into a blaze and Mikiss felt his hands begin to tremble at the sudden aura of malevolence that Idled the room, almost drowning out the electric tinge in his head. That, and the clear family resemblance, told Mikiss the newcomer was one ol Zhia's brothers, The effect ol both in the room together meant Mikiss could suddenly hear his own heartbeat drum loud in his ears. His head swam and he struggled to keep sitting upright.
The man had the dark blue eyes prevalent amongst the Vukotic; Mikiss had seen traders visiting Menin lands with the same distinc¬tive look. Even in the gloaming, Mikiss could make out that strange cobalt colour that seemed to glow with a faint inner light. Oh Gods, is it Koezh or Vorizh? Mikiss thought to himself as his fear subsided on a note of black humour. The Land has truly fallen into madness when a sensible man hopes it is Koezh Vukotic standing in front of him.
He stared at the man, racking his brain until he remembered Vorizh was rumoured to be the greatest of spies; no man ever saw him enter a room, and none could track him down. Would that extend to his sister?
'More pets?' the man asked, looking intently at Mikiss. 'You're collecting quite a menagerie: shapeshifters, Farlan beauties, Menin spies-' He frowned as he saw Nai and added, 'Curiously battered mages with odd-sized feet.' The necromancer's assistant scowled and shifted uncomfortably, still suffering from Legana's kick.
'Considering Scree's residents, it's a modest selection,' Zhia said. 'Now, I have need of you, o brother mine.'
'I thought you didn't want me in the city?'
'I didn't, Koezh, but the situation has changed.'
'Changed? How?' Koezh walked into the centre of the room, in¬specting Legana and Doranei. Mikiss had no idea what he was looking for, but after a while Koezh gave Doranei a slight nod of greeting. The soldier blanched, but returned the nod, despite his obvious apprehen¬sion.
'I have yet to understand quite what is happening here,' Zhia ad¬mitted. 'I'm certain I'm missing a vital detail, but I think it's now clear that whatever is happening in Scree is going to happen. There is nothing I can do to prevent it. The stakes are being raised daily.'
'So you want me on hand for when you need me?'
'Exactly. I can't be sure how many of the city guard and mercenaries will follow me; I believe there is a spell being worked on the whole city, centred about the sunken theatre, that is slowly affecting the people of Scree,' Zhia said.
'Affecting them? In what way?' To Mikiss, Koezh sounded like a well-spoken academic analysing a problem – hardly what he'd expected.
'The city guard reports that violence is rife throughout the city, and it's increasing. Siala has brought in troops to try to control it but the rioting is getting worse. While she hopes that a show of force will intimidate the mob, if things continue this way, no one in this city will have reason to do anything but fight to the death.'
'You believe that will happen to the entire city? No wonder you want the Legion of the Damned waiting for your call.'
'Exactly; there has to be a purpose to all of this, and I intend to be there at the end to do something about it.'
Koezh laughed at the determination in his sister's voice, though his was a voice permanently tinged with sadness. 'I think that runs in the family. How many endings have we witnessed between us?'
'Enough,' Zhia said firmly, 'but I prefer to keep to the present. Siala has pulled the majority of her
Fysthrall troops into the city. They were camped south of the city, just off the main road to Helrect, to keep the links between the cities secure. Usefully for you, she has kept the camp restricted. Only a select number of White Circle members were allowed to approach it.'
'So when we clear out the remaining troops in the camp, we'll he left alone.' Koezh gave a nod of acquiescence. '1 understand; we will take the camp tonight.'
Zhia raised a finger to her brother and went to take Doranei by the arm. 'No need to be hasty about it. First I think you should join us for the evening, enjoy a little society while some yet remains in Scree.'
When the evening's light had faded to nothing more than a faint brightness on the eastern horizon, two figures left the cover of the trees to the west of Scree and looked out on the houses beyond, clumps of buildings on dirt streets before the city walls. These rough homes had been erected by those too poor to afford the security ol the city walls.
One of the figures crouched and ran her fingers through the dust on the ground. The stubble of what was once long grass came up easily when she tugged at it, the desiccated stalks crackling and breaking as she rubbed them through her fingers.
This place is dying,' the witch of Llehden said, shaking her head sadly. For one bound so closely to the Land, it was exhausting to be here where the natural life was lading, liven in a desert, there was a balance and flow, but in Scree, that balance had simply collapsed.
'So what can we do here?' her companion asked. He would have looked massive compared to the witch's slender frame, had there been anyone nearby to see them. His long cloak, torn and stained by years of living in the wilds, hid a body as powerfully muscled as a Chetse white-eye. Long, tangled hair covered a strangely proportioned brow and jutting jaw, but it was the midnight-blue colour of his skin that would have attracted the crossbows had they tried to enter the city openly, instead of merely watching others do so.
'You don't have the power to redress the balance; what is it you hope to achieve here?'
'Understanding.' She looked around.
'Of what?'
'Of a threat your father and his ilk cannot understand, Fernal'
Fernal nodded and scratched his cheek with a cruelly hooked talon that explained why he carried no weapons on his belt. The colour of his skin marked him as a Demi-God, an unclaimed child of Nartis. His kind were less common than they had been in previous ages, now there were just a handful walking the Land. Fernal was one who had accepted his lot and lived a quiet, relatively peaceful life away from normal men.
'Azaer has finally shown its hand?'
The witch straightened up and brushed the remaining dust from her hand. 'The shadow's stench hangs over this city; the people are turning against each other. I know of no other mind that turns men inwards and against themselves like this.'
'To what end?'
'I have no idea,' she replied sadly. 'I have never had any contact with Azaer's followers; I have tried only to heal the victims of the shadow's machinations. I feel the shadow is anathema to all I hold dear, and I fear it.'
She used her walking staff to drag a path through the dust. Fernal peered down at the shape she was drawing, his bony brow looking even more crumpled than usual as he tried to make out the symbols.
'Will you try to stop it?'
'Of course. Whether I can or not, I will not stand idly by.' The witch stopped drawing in the dirt and stared at what she had done for a while before she erased it with her toe. She looked up at Fernal, a rare display of concern showing on her face. 'I've seen enough of Azaer's deeds to know that it goes against the balance of the Land; that in itself is enough for me to choose a side. In the last town we passed, they swore priests were being beaten in the street, temples were being burned. Tell me, Fernal, without people to worship them, without temples and priests to glorify them, what are the Gods?'
The blue-skinned figure was looking out over the city. Somewhere behind the walls a lambent glow indicated that the riots had begun early that night. 'Just a voice on the wind,' he replied.
'Well this is an evening for the unexpected,' Koezh commented coolly, walking with Legana on his arm, the perfect nobleman. 'I almost feel like introducing myself to Lord Isak, just to crown the peculiarity of it all.'
At Koezh's side, the young Farlan woman, still trying to hide her discomfort, followed his pointing finger to where a tall figure in a cape stood at the head of a squad of guards.
'1 suspect he would not react well to it. Everyone here is somewbal tense; understandable perhaps, after that repulsive travesty we've just sat through.'
I shouldn't tease her by suggesting such things, Zhia thought as sin-observed Legana, rather surprised at how fond she was of the prickly Farlan agent, but it is fun to watch her stepping out like a countess. I suspect she cares less that my brother is a vampire than that he's a male one!
'The boy was sufficiently respectful when I last met him,' Zhia replied. They were taking a turn around the theatre, ostensibly to avoid the confusion of coaches and sedans crowding around its exit. At her side, rather more comfortable than Legana, Doranei stifled a snort. She gave his hand a squeeze and leaned close to his eat. 'You disagree?'
They stopped at the head of the main street leading into the Shambles. A burning cart illuminated half a dozen Fysthrall soldiers who stood in a nervous knot two hundred yards down the road, flinching behind their shields as stones clattered down on them from every side. Zhia was pleased to notice Doranei couldn't stop hlmseli breathing in her scent before replying.
'I laving spent a few weeks in Lord lsak's company, respectful isn't the first word I'd have used for him,' Doranei said with a faint grin,
'Really? I rather believed you thought highly of the man,' Zhia said. Behind them a handful of guardsmen, Major Amber, Nai and Haipar,
shuffled to a halt. She watched the Fysthrall troops huddling under their shields while they tried to edge away, and briefly wondered if she'd brought enough men with her.
'Oh I do,' Doranei answered hurriedly, 'and I wish I could have gone to greet him tonight – if it had been under other circumstances – but he's a white-eye, and one of the Chosen. I don't think he feels any great need to be respectful to anyone – and it doesn't come naturally to him anyway.' He shot a cautious look at Legana, not wishing to start trouble, but she didn't appear to take umbrage.
'Do you know why he is here,' Koezh asked, 'pretending to be a mercenary bodyguard instead of at the head of an army? From what you told me of Narkang and the White Circle prophecies, he would have justification enough.'
'He was lured here by one of Azaer's agents,' Doranei said.
Azaer?' said Koezh, a little taken aback. 'The false daemon-cult?'
'Azaer exists,' Doranei confirmed. 'It may not be a true daemon, but it's certainly some sort of immortal, albeit an unusual one – Azaer has no form or physical power, unlike normal daemons, but it does have guile. It exists as a shadow only, teasing out the cruelty and arrogance in men for its own purposes. I doubt you'll have come into contact with it, or its followers; the shadow is too weak to risk going near either of you.' He hesitated. 'Well, so King Emin believes, and he's come into conflict with Azaer's followers more than once. Azaer pre¬fers to steal its followers, to use words and magic to turn them against what they once believed in.'
'Which brings us back to this minstrel of yours,' Zhia said. 'I doubt you would have been able to see the wings but he was there tonight, watching the crowd.' She felt Doranei's body tense as she spoke, but pressure on his arm stopped the man from turning around to look at the building. She knew they would be watching her closely now.
'My late arrival has left me without all the facts,' Koezh interrupted, 'and if I'm to play, I need to know everything. We have an immortal that is neither God nor daemon, and you tell me the criminal execu¬ted on stage tonight was no wrongdoer but a priest?'
'Exactly so,' Zhia said, remembering with distaste the final scene of the play they had just watched. It was s
urely no simple mistake that the theatre troupe had taken the wrong prisoner from the gaol for that night's performance. 'The entire play was a bitter mockery of the Gods, and then instead of using a condemned man as they were supposed to, they killed a priest, one I had put in gaol to cool his temper,' she said bitterly. 'Fate's eyes, the priest had been complaining about the execution of men on stage!'
'And the crowd laughed,' Koezh finished, dismissing the irony with a shake of his black hair. 'Azaer wants to turn the people of the city against the Gods? You said the temples have been all but abandoned in recent weeks, and you've had to post guards to stop people throw-ing things at the priests-'
He was interrupted by a terrific crash from somewhere up ahead, followed by the sound of splintering timber and crumpling walls. Screams and shouts were interspersed with cheers and laughter. Thi¬orange flicker in the night sky fell away as the burning building col-lapsed in on itself, but Zhia could hear a low growl swell menacingly, and she knew the light would soon return.
Footsteps echoed from the dark side streets: men skulking in the shadows, looking for easy prey. They must have decided Zhia's parly was not for them, thanks to her guards, and because she was wearing her white shawl, marking her as a woman of the White Circle. They weren't all mages – only a few had any real ability – but rumour was a powerful tool, and many believed all who wore the shawl had magical powers.
'But what is the goal here?' she wondered aloud. 'There is a very patient mind at work behind all this.'
'It's pretty obvious the actors are no simple band of travelling play ers,' Koezh said. 'Those albino siblings look like gentry to me, and if they're here, in a city, they must have been stolen away from the woods they belonged to – and that, to me, is more remarkable than the presence of mages or Raylin.'
The clump of boots made them turn; two columns of soldiers trot-ted towards them. Seeing Zhia's shawl, the man leading the troops barked an order in their jagged language and the men clattered to a halt. Some were injured and their scaled armour and fat shit-Ids looked rather battered.