by Lloyd, Tom
The hand slipped away and Amber fell to the floor.
CHAPTER 5
‘My Lord,’ the servant called in a quavering voice, ‘the Duchess of Byora and her retinue.’ He stepped aside, making room for the duchess. This wasn’t the sort of grand hall which would normally accommodate such a meeting, but the Fist was a fortress and lacked such amenities.
The duchess entered the dark room slowly, taking a moment to grow accustomed to the light before she curtseyed stiffly. She was not used to paying obeisance to others, and sitting for an hour at the gates of the Fist hadn’t helped her disposition, but the white-eye seemed neither to notice nor to care.
‘Lord Styrax,’ she said while her retinue filed into the gloom behind her, ‘I thank you for granting this audience. I can only imagine — ’
‘Correct,’ Styrax growled, ‘you can only imagine it. Do not waste my time with sentiments you do not understand.’
‘My Lord,’ the duchess exclaimed in genuine shock, ‘my robes of mourning are no mere affectation! I myself lost my husband in the clerics’ rebellion.’
Styrax made a dismissive gesture and she bit her tongue as her still-raw grief raged at his arrogance. She gave the room a cursory inspection and guessed it was an officers’ mess, with doors on each wall and a fireplace in front of her big enough to heat the entire room. Lord Styrax sat with his back to it, wearing a black uniform emblazoned with his Fanged Skull emblem. He was unshaven and looked exhausted, and in the dim light the Menin lord looked old, as though his unnaturally long span was at last catching up with him.
‘Major Amber,’ the duchess said, inclining her head graciously to the soldier at Styrax’s right hand. She noted how he winced as he acknowledged her greeting. He was not in full uniform. One leg was splinted and stretched out on a stool; one arm was cradled in a sling. His bruised and bloodied face and the broken line of his nose put her in mind of Sergeant Kayel.
There were two other Menin, a man and a woman, in the room and she felt her breath catch at the sight of them. They sat to one side and were clearly not going to be part of the discussion, but they were priests of the War God and their presence made Natai’s hands tighten.
The bastard priests were at the very heart of Byora’s problems, from the murder of her husband to the fear that permeated its very streets. The religious district in Byora remained closed since the failed coup, and Natai had not been in the same room as a priest since the Gods had struck down two who tried to murder her and Ruhen. Even the sight of their robes made her want to order Kayel to draw his sword — Though that pair looked like no priests she had ever met, with their weatherworn faces freshly scrubbed, their boots —
She stopped.
No priests wear boots like those.
The duchess looked at the Lord of the Menin. You bastard, dressing up your troops as priests to see how I would react . . . Did you think perhaps I would not notice?
‘My Lord, let me make known to you my advisors,’ Natai said softly as she gestured towards Lady Kinna and the Demi-God Koteer.
‘One of them looks a little young,’ Styrax said. In the weak light his white eyes were even more apparent. She felt their heat on her skin.
‘My ward, Ruhen.’ She looked around and realised there was no seat for her. This was a studied insult, a major breach of protocol.
‘You will not be staying long enough,’ Styrax said, seeing her reaction.
Ruhen took a sudden step forward, slipping from Kayel’s unresisting hands to grasp the duchess’ skirt. He tugged it and she looked down at him, smiling.
‘I’m tired,’ he complained. He shook his head and his carefully brushed hair fell over his eyes, deepening the shadows in them.
‘There are no seats, sweetheart,’ Natai said, ushering him back to Kayel.
‘But he has one,’ Ruhen protested in rare annoyance, pointing a little finger at Lord Styrax. There was a collective intake of breath even as Natai shushed the boy and pushed him back into Kayel’s charge.
‘I apologise, Lord Styrax,’ she said, trying not to show her fear. ‘He is only a child.’
‘An allowance can be made,’ Styrax said in an oddly hollow voice. ‘Ruhen, come over here. You may sit on my knee.’
Before Natai could react Ruhen had again slipped Kayel’s grasp and trotted across the room. He was the size of a six-year-old, and he looked tiny in comparison with the seven-foot-tall white-eye. Though his head was no higher than Styrax’s knee, he did not appear in the least daunted. When he was close enough he reached up his arms to be picked up and with the gentleness of a father the mighty Styrax obeyed the unspoken order, sitting the little boy on his thigh, supporting his back with one huge hand.
Finally, Styrax looked at Natai. ‘Now, duchess, present your petition,’ he said.
Natai blinked for a moment at Ruhen, who gave her a little wave, then she hurriedly gathered her thoughts. ‘My Lord, the Circle City is plagued by the dragon you released. It is killing my own citizens, and the destruction in Ismess is extensive.’
‘Are you asking me to clear up after myself?’
‘I . . . I would not have put it so, my Lord — ’
‘Then I am mistaken?’
A pause. ‘No, my Lord, you are not, but I would not wish you to feel that I had spoken to you as I would to Ruhen.’
Styrax glanced at Amber, but the soldier said nothing.
Nai, the strange mage who had been appointed Natai’s Menin liaison, had claimed Amber had killed the Chosen of Tsatach during the battle with the Farlan. That Styrax had looked to the man during this meeting showed he was probably telling the truth, and Major Amber’s star was indeed in the ascendancy.
‘You want me to do something about this dragon,’ Styrax said at last. ‘Isn’t it traditional to invite adventurers and wandering knights to kill it? You could offer them half of Lord Celao’s kingdom instead of your own, since Ismess is the most affected.’
‘I fear more than a few soldiers have already died at its claws,’ Natai said, not rising to his sarcasm. ‘More do so every day, trying to protect the innocents of the quarter. Who, because of the rules you yourself have imposed, are unable to travel from the city, and thus cannot flee the creature’s predations.’
‘Ah, my fault yet again.’ He gestured towards Amber. ‘Unfortunately, my champion managed to hurt himself while out giant-killing. It’ll be a while before he’s back at work.’
‘So you will not act?’ the duchess asked with a hint of anger.
‘Dangerous words, duchess,’ Styrax snapped. ‘Hinting at cowardice is a poor way to win me round; you would not live long enough to see whether pricking my pride has the desired effect!’
‘I apologise if I gave such an impression, my Lord.’ The duchess curtseyed again, lower this time than when she had she entered the room.
‘Do not take me for a fool, madam! You want me to react angrily, to claim I’ve never backed down from a fight - to remind you that since I became an adult I’ve never lost a battle?’ Styrax leaned forward. ‘But I don’t need to tell you that, do I? And you bring your pet Jester with you too, to flatter my martial prowess by such a champion begging for my help.’
The duchess looked discomforted by that, and was for a moment unable to remember why she had invited the Demi-God to accompany her.
‘Well, Koteer? Are you going to stand there like a fool, or will you get on your fucking knees and beg?’ Styrax demanded loudly.
Whatever the son of Death intended was forestalled when Ruhen tapped the Menin Lord on his thigh. ‘You shouldn’t use that word,’ he said, shaking his head.
Styrax looked down. ‘You think not? Is that what your nurse has taught you?’
Ruhen pointed towards Kayel, who made a good show of colouring and studying his own boots. ‘He does sometimes.’
‘I bet he does, the scamp,’ Styrax said, making a visible effort to get a grip on his rage. ‘You must tell your nurse that some people can say what they like.’
‘Do you let your little boy say it?’ Ruhen asked with disarming directness. The boy looked up through his tousled hair at the huge face above him.
Natai didn’t know whether to grab the child and run, to try to save them both from the lash of the white-eye’s unbridled fury, or if she should wait, and see if the child’s innocence would calm the savage beast.
Styrax looked into the swirls of shadow in the child’s eyes and felt his boiling rage subside. ‘I — My son knew who he had to respect,’ he replied in a choked voice.
Ruhen patted the thigh he was sitting on with the exaggerated solemnity of a child. ‘Don’t be sad. He isn’t hurting now.’
Natai watched Styrax’s face with bated breath. The effect of Ruhen’s words was clearly visible and she felt a surge of jealousy that the child was bonding with him, not her. If it had been any other child, Styrax would dismissed them all, maybe even violently, but she knew herself how difficult it was to tear oneself from the warm embrace of Ruhen’s eyes.
‘I can’t be sure of that,’ Styrax said.
Ruhen gave him a guileless smile. ‘He isn’t hurting any more,’ the little boy said again, firmly.
It looked as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders, the lines softening on the huge lord’s face. Then he remembered himself and carefully lifted Ruhen off his knee again, nudging him towards Natai.
‘Duchess, I have heard your plea,’ he said in a calmer voice. ‘You are correct that the Circle City is under my control and my subjects deserve my protection. I will find a way to kill or drive off this dragon, you have my word. For now, however, I will be left to my mourning.’
Mihn jammed his spade into the freshly turned earth and wiped the sweat from his face. The day was unusually bright for the time of year, but the brisk breeze that skipped off the glinting lake kept it cool. No birdsong cut the air, only the wind through the leaves and the rushes over at the water’s edge. The smell of wet earth surrounded him.
‘The day smells of hollow victories,’ he said to the Land in general, finding solace in the words of others, ‘a grave freshly dug, the rain on my cheek and a prayer in the air.’
‘But who is it you pray to?’ asked the witch of Llehden. He turned to see her standing behind him, her face shadowed from the late morning sun by a white mourning shawl. ‘Myself, I find I do have not the strength for it.’
She carried an oak sapling in both hands, one recently pulled from the ground, to be planted over Xeliath’s body in the Yeetatchen fashion.
‘Yet you wear the devices of Gods on your mourning shawl,’ Mihn pointed out, though he didn’t recognise the images.
Her hand automatically went to the old brass brooches pinned to the shawl.
‘They are Kanasis and Ashar, the local Gods of Llehden.’
‘Aspects of Amavoq?’
She shook her head. ‘Kanasis is a stag Aspect of Vrest and Ashar’s the Lady of Hidden Paths, an Aspect of Anviss. The God of Woods is more welcome here than his queen and mistress. We prefer not to fear the creatures of the forest.’
Mihn snorted and looked around at the dark trees of Llehden. ‘That’s something of a surprise; these woods are as unfriendly after nightfall as the Farlan eastern forests.’
‘Llehden is a place of power, it attracts all kinds of creature, but that doesn’t mean we should live in fear. Enter a gentry den and you’ll be torn limb from limb; see one in the wood and your luck will hold all day, I’m told.’
‘You’re told? Surely you see them more than most?’
She shrugged. ‘A witch makes her own luck. Even a drunk on a winning streak wouldn’t be so foolish as to gamble against a witch.’
Mihn turned back to the grave he’d dug. ‘Even a drunk knows luck will eventually run out,’ he said with a heavy heart. ‘Only I failed to see it coming.’
‘Don’t be a fool. You knew it was coming; you just assumed the price would be one you could bear to pay.’
‘So what do I do now then?’ he snapped. ‘Just accept it?’
‘Unless you are about to place yourself above the Gods, yes.’
The witch’s calm voice angered Mihn, but as he scowled at her the trees nearby shuddered under a breeze he couldn’t feel on his face.
‘Death’s a part of life, had you forgotten that? Don’t start getting above yourself, Grave Thief.’
His head dropped as the dull ache in his gut intensified and eclipsed the anger of grief. ‘How can you be so accepting?’
‘Because there is no other choice. Xeliath was one of the Chosen; and she died in the boat with us, not on Ghain. She isn’t bound for Ghenna - and what more can we ask of Lord Death? To choose the time and manner of one’s death? She died to save Isak when he could not protect himself - a charge given to her by the Gods themselves when she was Chosen - and she died fighting, strong and fierce. Do you think Xeliath would have had it any other way?’
Mihn reluctantly shook his head. ‘I know you’re right, but — Is there nothing I can do?’
‘You can remember her fondly, and thank her for her sacrifice. I suggest you keep away from the afterlife for as long as possible - you pledged your soul to a daemon, remember.’
He nodded, not wanting to get into that argument again. Offering his soul had not been part of the plan.
‘It’s time. Go and fetch Isak, if you can shift him.’
‘And if I can’t?’
‘Bring Xeliath by yourself.’
He set off along the lake shore towards the small house. Daima was keeping watch inside, a grim expression on her face and a thin pipe clamped between her teeth. The only table in the main room was taken up by Xeliath’s body, wrapped in a length of green canvas.
‘It’s time,’ Daima said, grimacing as she pulled on her pipe, as if the tobacco had soured. It took her a while to get up; she had been sitting with the body for hours while he dug the grave.
Mihn looked at Isak, who was lying on a makeshift bed, his back against the far wall, staring at the floor. His arms and legs were drawn into his body and his lips moved slightly, as though he was whispering to himself, though Mihn could hear no sound. Every once in a while Isak’s eyes would widen, then he would take a heaving breath, almost as if he was surprised at the need to breathe once more. He was oblivious to anyone else’s presence.
‘Did you expect anything different?’ Daima asked. ‘It most probably felt like years to him.’
‘Have you checked his bandages?’
‘Aye, and he’s healing even quicker than you’d expect of his kind. Still hasn’t spoken, though.’
‘Not at all?’
‘Hasn’t even noticed I’m here. Give him time; some things don’t heal as fast as others.’
Mihn walked over to Isak, and his body tensed a little more as Mihn’s shadow fell over him. His scars seemed to darken, even more than they should in the shadow, and Mihn heard the faintest of whimpers break the silence.
‘Isak,’ Mihn whispered, crouching down beside him, ‘Isak, can you hear me?’
There was no response, but when Mihn tried to take Isak’s hand he felt the massive muscles tense and it was drawn in protectively. Mihn applied a touch more pressure, but he got nowhere. However gaunt he now looked, the white-eye was more than double Mihn’s body-weight; it would be impossible to move him if he decided to resist.
Mihn gave up for now and went to gather Xeliath in his arms.
‘Isak, we have to bury Xeliath,’ he said, trying one last time, but there was no response. With a sigh Mihn headed for the door, leaving Isak to shiver and whisper alone.
‘A wounded animal takes time to coax round,’ Daima said as they rounded the house and headed for the grave. ‘Let it happen at its own pace.’
At the tree-line Mihn could see the pale faces of the gentry watching them. The forest spirits wouldn’t help or hinder, but they often watched funerals from afar - the one act of reverence they appeared to approve of. Mihn was startled when the caw of a solitary raven overhead prom
pted low mutters and growls from the watching gentry.
‘That is what worries me,’ Mihn replied after a while. ‘The animal inside Isak is a dangerous one. What if that is all that is left?’
It was night by the time General Gaur returned to the Akell quarter of the Circle City. With his right arm bandaged he rode awkwardly, accompanied by a disordered group of his huntsmen. It was only the quality of his armour that distinguished him from the ragged champion Lord Styrax had extended a hand to in the fighting pits of Kravern, the great city at the entrance to the Ring of Fire. The decades since had not touched the beastman other than the faintest of silvering around his dark muzzle.