by Tom Lloyd
'This is hardly the time for quoting poetry at the boy,' said King Emin as he inclined his head respectfully to Zhia. He was wearing his favourite wide-brimmed hat, instead of the steel helm hanging from his belt. Strangely, he had pushed a tawny owl's feather into the band, rather than something grander, but the significance was lost on Doranei. 'And I've always rather thought Galasara was a self-impor¬tant bore, except for his last laments.'
Zhia raised an eyebrow. '"Poets and kings raise monuments to their own glory,'" she said.
Doranei recognised the quotation by Verliq, the most skilled human mage in history, whose only record was scores of treatises on magic and the nature of the Land.
The king conceded the point with a small smile. 'But for some reason I find myself footing the bill for both.'
Now they were behind the barricade and safe for the moment at least, Doranei took a moment to take in details. The barricade was longer than they had expected, encompassing a large area around the Greengate, including an entire street of houses, the contents doubtless stripped out to be used as building material. The reason for the size became obvious when he looked over towards the Greengate itself, where a great crowd of people huddled, thousands of terrified faces turning to watch the newcomers.
'Refugees?' the king asked, pointing towards the mass.
'Certainly, you didn't think the entire city had gone insane, did you?' Zhia said. 'These are what's left of Scree's population, the ones
untouched by madness. Many are not natives, which tells us some¬thing of the spell used, but not all of them, and I've not exactly had the time to work out the fine detail. Once my brother wipes out the remaining armies outside the gate, we can get these people away. They are innocents in this game, and I intend to deny Azaer as many of their lives as possible.'
She was dressed as Doranei had seen her last, that strange com¬bination of white patterned skirts and armour. Doubtless the White Circle had strict views on women fighting with the men, but he remembered Lord Isak saying that their queen had been a white-eye, and, as King Emin delighted in proving, folk imitated their monarch's habits as closely as they could. Strangely, Zhia still wore the shawl of the White Circle clasped about her neck and hanging down over her pearl-detailed cuirass.
Slung across her back was her oddly proportioned sword, a favourite weapon among the Vukotic, he finally recalled his swordmaster saying. Lessons felt like a lifetime ago. Like most of the Brotherhood, Doranei was a soldier's orphan. They were taught basic weapons-skills at the orphanage, and those who showed promise were handed over to the street-gang King Emin had adopted as a training ground for his young bodyguards. It was a strange double-life, mornings of petty theft and running errands in the gambling dens followed by afternoons with noble-born fencing masters or heroes from the army.
Doranei smiled. How much has really changed? Consorting with thieves and murderers one day, kings and princesses the next. The trick is to be able to tell the difference.
'I assume you're chasing the Skull,' Zhia said suddenly, 'but why? You have no ability yourself; why risk so much for a trinket that can, at best, only act as an unpredictable shield for you.'
The king didn't bother to deny the reason he was going south; he knew every mage in the city would have felt the artefact being used in such a reckless manner. 'Others will be seeking it out, others I would deny ownership of such a weapon. I suspect the minstrel will want it lor himself, and right now there are few men in the Land I would like to kill more, quite aside from the power that Skull would give him.'
'You know which it is?' Zhia's expression grew sharp.
'Lord Isak suspects it is Ruling, and I'm inclined to agree; it is the greatest of them and i(the shadow desires any, it would be that one.'
'And it is worth the risk? Holding a barricade against the mobs is one thing. If they catch you out in the open they'll tear you apart.' Zhia pointed to the south, where an orange glow lit the sky. 'They're being driven by those fires, and however skilled your bodyguards are, they cannot hope to survive against maddened hordes of thousands.'
'Then come with us,' King Emin said plainly. 'You could see us there safely and stop Rojak, whether he has found the Skull or not. Doranei tells me you're determined to see these people to safety?'
Zhia nodded, her shining sapphire eyes briefly finding Doranei, who found himself unable to meet them. 'I see no reason why they should all die just because some malevolent shadow intends to use their deaths to announce its presence in the Land. I've seen the ones wandering out there; they have lost all sense of reason or safety, and when fire spreads throughout the city it will take them all. Azaer will have the blood it craves, but my soldiers are protecting thousands who do not have to die.'
'And then what? What do you intend at dawn, when you're in a makeshift camp somewhere out there? These people won't follow you then.'
'Perhaps I overestimated you,' Zhia said scornfully. 'I am not like you; I do not yearn for the adoring crowds. Once they are out of the city and safe, my role in this play is over. I will go my own way. Haipar is a more caring woman than I, so I'm sure they will reach Helrect unmolested.'
'So you will not come with us after the Skull?'
'I already possess one, remember?' Zhia's eyes flashed, but she kept any sign of irritation out of her voice. For all the emotion she betrayed, she could have been discussing the price of fish at a dockside market. 'Ruling does not interest me in the slightest. The longer Velere Nostil owned that Skull, the more I disliked and feared him.'
'What do you mean?'
Zhia gave a cold laugh. 'Be careful what you wish for,' she said, staring King Emin directly in the eye. 'It may not prove the blessing you think.'
'The Skull is not what I seek.'
Doranei felt a flicker of pride in his king, a man who had created a nation and commissioned his own state crown. What leader, con¬queror or king by birth, would be able to resist the lure of the Skull of Ruling? It was said that it Would confer an aura oi power on even those wilbonl the ability to wield if as a weapon. There was only one thing stopping King Emin becoming a tyrant: he knew perfectly well which desires drove him.
'Of course it is.' There was the hint of a smile on Zhia's face now. 'Whoever you want to kill – whoever's plans you intend to frustrate – don't pretend it has no lure for you.'
She turned to survey her own men, nervously gathered at the bar¬ricade, staring into the darkness. The vampire wore no helm and her long hair was loose, and every time she moved her head, locks of gleaming black hair danced in the growing breeze.
'I don't think I'll really be needed here,' she said after a moment. 'I've been keeping myself in check to avoid the inevitable irritations that would otherwise follow. You need me more than you're willing to admit.' She closed her eyes for a moment and placed her palm flat against her chest; Doranei saw her mouth what looked like Come before she looked up at the king again.
'Amber,' she called to the big Menin soldier who'd stood far enough to one side for courtesy, though close enough to watch everything that had been going on. He gave a grunt in reply and straightened up.
'Major Amber, I think it's time I took my leave,' Zhia told him. 'You've no real need of me now, and as a man I knew once said, "When companions appear, a journey should begin." Stay with Haipar and you'll be safe enough. I'll be visiting her once this business is concluded, so I will find out if anything unfortunate happens to you.' She fixed King Emin with a grim look as she said this.
Doranei saw that had cheered Amber up greatly. No doubt he had been taking bets with himself on which Brother would be sent after him. Denying Kastan Styrax, Lord of the Menin, any intelligence might prove crucial over the next few years. Doranei knew they'd still try, but if they had to wait until the mercenary army was well clear of Scree, it would be far harder.
A fearful keening rose from the huddled masses at the foot of the city wall as the ragged refugees shifted like the parting seas to form a corridor down which marched
the other Menin soldier currently in the city. Mikiss as a vampire looked completely different from the confused and bloodied messenger Doranei had first seen on the floor of Zhia's study. He stalked towards them, his face in shadow, as though the flames refused to light it. He wore a long, richly embroidered cerulean'blue coat, and pushed through his crimson belt were two long axes, the handle-butts a whisker from dragging along the floor and the spike tips brushing his ribs. Mikiss wore no armour except for the thick brass vambraces strapped on over the sleeves of his coat. Doranei had no idea why. He was keeping a careful eye on Mikiss; the change affected people in different ways. Sometimes a mild spirit could be corrupted overnight into a deranged monster, and there was no way of knowing until it was too late.
'Ah, my protege arrives,' Zhia said brightly. 'I think Mikiss is start¬ing to enjoy my gift.'
A growl escaped Amber's throat. His face darkened, and Doranei realised that Amber, the only one of them who knew Mikiss before, was less than happy with the change. Doranei had to sympathise: if one of the Brotherhood had been turned, Doranei would have killed him in an instant, to spare him from the horrors to come. The juxta¬position of that fact and his reaction to Zhia's perfume grew more troubling every day. It was true that the Vukotic family were apart from most vampires, but there was still a monster inside every one – even if Doranei could think of her only as the victim, caught on the losing side in a war.
More figures drifted towards them. Two Jester acolytes trotted from the far end of the barricade, their white masks bobbing like ghosts through the gloom, and four shapes detached themselves from a knot of soldiers standing in the lee of the largest building, resolving into Haipar the shapeshifter, the Farlan woman Legana, still in her White Circle armour, the necromancer's assistant Nai and a tall, bulky figure Doranei remembered glowering from darkened doorways at Zhia's home.
When her small entourage had gathered, Zhia began to speak. 'I've played the stateswoman long enough, and events have taken a strange turn these past few weeks. Haipar, every soldier here will follow either you or Amber; take these people to Helrect and decide what you want there. There's no army to protect it, so you can take control, or you can take what pay you're owed and get out-'
'I'll be coming with you,' Haipar growled, 'Erizol and Matak are both dead; I'm going to see this through to the end.'
Zhia paused for a moment, on the point of speaking before she abruptly shrugged. As you wish.' She gave an almost wistful sigh. 'You Raylin are a curious breed. Legana, you should come with us too. Panro, collect my personal belongings and meet me at the far side of the barricade.'
King Emin coughed. 'Lady, we cannot be encumbered by baggage; it will slow us down.'
The vampire, a small smile on her face, said, 'Your Majesty, they are only a few personal items, nothing that will get in your way.' Her hand went to her neck and from underneath her cuirass she pulled three chains. She smiled, her long teeth shining bright. Each chain was strung with cut gems, a fortune in fat, glittering stones. 'When you live as I have, you learn the value of travelling light, but there are certain little luxuries no lady in my condition should be without, and gems are good currency wherever one finds oneself. Now, shall we be off?'
CHAPTER 27
Isak kept his eyes on the ground to avoid the shattered bricks that littered the road as he ran to the street corner where Major Jachen and the ranger Jeil were crouching. Above them the end wall on the first floor of the building had been smashed through and he glanced up into the black tear in the wall. The building had been converted into a barracks for the Fysthrall soldiers, which must have pleased the rich folk living all around. This part of the city was still dark, for the moment protected from the conflagration they could see consuming south Scree.
'How does it look?' he asked softly.
Jachen looked up. Only his eyes were visible through the helm, but they were enough to betray the man's anxiety. 'It looks quiet, my Lord. The scouts have not seen any mobs following the decoy troops.'
'They're there,' Isak said with certainty. He shone in the darkness with an intensity that made him feel all the more vulnerable. The moons were high and bright, free from the cloud that hung in a wreath around the horizon, and casting their light down to catch the exposed armour of the Farlan soldiers. 'They're probably keeping clear of the Fysthrall soldiers and whatever mages they have left.'
'The good news is that one of the scouts saw troops leaving the Red Palace compound for the Princess Gate, presumably to secure it for when they escape the city.'
Isak nodded. 'Pride; without Scree the Circle is finished. Siala won't abandon the city until the last moment; she won't want to leave un¬less she has to, and she certainly won't want to walk out into the welcoming arms of the Devoted, or the Farlan. No doubt the news that we'd entered the city put a smile on the woman's face.'
'We've sent the decoy troops to the south side of the palace, close enough to dissuade Siala from trying to escape.'
The advance troops consisted of a division of light cavalry led by Suzerain Torl. The clattering of hooves on cobbles was sure to attract attention from the mobs, which was the intention, and Isak was confident the soldiers would be able to ride through all but the most crowded streets.
He looked back at the troops behind him. Those who'd been with him from the beginning in Scree had been bolstered by a regiment of Ghosts and the suzerains from Saroc, Nelbove and Fordan, the first to beg to accompany him. The others had quickly followed, but he'd refused them, allowing those three only after Tila had whispered in his ear that they were men desperate to prove their loyalty. For the first time in what felt like a long time, Isak had laughed out loud. Here and now, these men still played their games, thinking about allegiance, respect, even dynasty. Only the look on Suzerain Fordan's face had stopped his laughter: the man was willing to risk his life just to show he was as true as his father had been – though there had been no breath of suspicion otherwise, still Fordan felt compelled to do this before he could walk proudly in his belligerent father's shoes.
'How far to the palace?' he asked.
'Five hundred yards, my Lord,' Jeil said softly. 'I counted ten guards on the nearest stretch of wall; the rest moved off when they saw the Ghosts to the south. There are no foot patrols beyond the wall.'
'Good.' He beckoned and a handful of figures started to converge upon him. 'I'm taking Leshi, Tiniq, Shinir and Vesna; that's all. Jachen, watch our backs, and get ready to wade in if we get into trouble.'
'Only five of you?'
'It has to be quiet. I don't know how many Fysthrall are still in the palace, but probably more than we can handle. Vesna, are you ready?'
The count gave a curt nod. He looked strange in full armour, especially when on foot and standing next the more lightly armoured rangers. He had the face-plate of his helm up, the lion mask staring up into the sky. His face was tight, fixed in an expression of concentra-i ion, as though he could will his doubts away.
'Let's seek our revenge,' Isak said softly.
They kept to the shadows as best they could, but they were still pain-fully obvious on Scree's dead streets. The silence was disturbing. A city without people was a body without a beating heart. The stench of corruption filled the air. Soon the conflagration in the south would burn everything away, leaving only ash in its wake.
When the wall was almost upon them, Isak pulled off his silver helm and edged his head around the corner of the building, his blue hood blending into the shadows.
What if they did see it? Isak wondered privately. In this place the Gods have abandoned, would they be glad to see the face of Nartis?
There were half a dozen torches burning on the wall, just enough to illuminate the oil-coloured scale pattern of Fysthrall helms, and the white scarves around the soldiers' necks. Every one was shifting uncomfortably or pacing the wall. The ground before the wall was a stretch of formal gardens, with lines of low bushes that might act as shallow trenches for the attack party. Dotte
d around the gardens were several dozen crumpled shapes. After a few moments Isak could see there were arrows sticking up from some of the bodies.
'Now we need a diversion,' he whispered, 'something to get us close enough to kill them all quickly.'
'And your plan?' Vesna asked.
Isak could hear a strain of hope in the man's voice. 'Worried that I might be making it up as I go along, my devoted bondsman?'
'I'm not your bondsman any more,' the count reminded him, 'but I remain a loyal servant of the tribe, so obviously I'm eager to find out what you want me to do.'
'Excellent.' Isak smiled. 'Now I need to find some bats.'
'Bats?' Vesna and Jachen spluttered together.
'Bats. Night's heralds, Death's winged attendants. Look at the men on the wall; they're all shuffling about, or pacing, or twitching: no one's standing still. That tells me they're nervous. I think we should borrow the majesty of the Gods as we're going to punish a heretic; there's symbolism and everything there.'
Isak grinned at the count, who shook his head wearily. 'You're an example to us all, my Lord,' Vesna said darkly.
Isak reached over and patted the man on the slight peak of his helm. 'That's what I thought. Now shut up and let me concentrate.'
He pulled off one of his gauntlets and closed his eyes as he ran his fingertips over the Crystal Skull fused to his cuirass. It was unusu¬ally warm to the touch, as ever, but now the Skull felt as slippery and elusive as a wet icicle. His lingers slid almost without resistance over its surface as he reached out with his senses to the Land beyond.
The air was thick and heavy in his throat; he could almost taste the putrefying wounds of the dying city. Scree was expiring, almost on its last breath. He felt the empty streets all around him, the stony dust of its broken bones and the hot stink of its bloating flesh.
In his mind Isak kicked away from the ground and surged up into the cooling night sky, letting the oppressive street-level air drop away like a shed skin. He sensed the reviving kiss of the wind high above and felt a gasp of pleasure escape his body as the gusts lovingly wrapped him in their chill arms. The cold bright moons prickled his skin and drove the remaining vestiges of Scree's choking oppression from his body, purging the poison from his veins.