The Twilight Herald

by Tom Lloyd

  Amber waved them over. ‘Shift yourselves, then; our friends are coming back for another try.’

  Doranei didn’t even bother to look back. He and his Brothers raced for the rough barricade surrounding the Greengate and scrambled up it, Amber helping by grabbing the scruff of Doranei’s collar and hauling him up while the raggedly armoured mercenaries beside him reached out hands to help the others. The Menin officer turned to do the same for the next man, and hesitated when he looked King Emin in the eyes and was caught by his icy-blue glittery stare.

  ‘Gods, if your eyes were darker I’d have thought you one of her brothers,’ Amber said gruffly to cover his hesitation.

  ‘There would be worse companions to have this night,’ Emin replied as he climbed the barricade of overturned carts, barrels and broken furniture as nimbly as a goat.

  ‘Bloody hope so,’ Amber said with a slight grin, wrapping his thick fingers around Torl Endine’s arm and lifting the scrawny mage up onto the top of the barricade. ‘Otherwise my night’s only going to get worse.’

  Endine gave a small squawk, but the constant state of terror and the effort of running through the city had drained any real feeling from it. As Amber put him down, Endine sagged into a small heap of bones and worn rags, like a horse recognising the knacker’s yard. Amber gave the mage a jab with his toe that almost sent him sprawling backwards. ‘Don’t see why you’re sitting down for a breather! I know a mage when I see one, and you lot are a damn sight better at scaring off those poor bastards behind you than arrows are.’

  Endine started to riposte, but all that came out was a weak wheeze.

  ‘You’ll have to excuse my feeble colleague,’ Cetarn declaimed. He didn’t look hampered by his paunch as he set about clambering up the barricade with all the gusto of a schoolboy. None of Scree’s dangers seemed to have affected the oversized mage in the slightest, something Doranei put down to a noble upbringing, and the blind determination of the noble-born that every danger was nothing more than a game to be enjoyed with almost childish enthusiasm. What really annoyed him was that most of the time the approach worked.

  ‘Endine cannot help himself,’ Cetarn continued when he reached Amber.

  Doranei could tell that the Menin soldier got a surprise when he realised the mage was both taller and wider than he was. There you go, bet you’ve not seen that from a normal so often, he thought in a moment of petulance.

  ‘I have grown used to carrying him under my wing. Once he’s recovered his breath, Endine will find some clever way to prove his worth.’

  Amber looked from one mage to the other as the rest of the Brotherhood slipped past him. ‘It’s not a wing, it’s a paw, if you ask me,’ he muttered under his breath, then, louder, ‘If that’s how you want it, then fine; just do something about that lot.’ He pointed towards a small crowd behind them, skirting the edges of the buildings as they approached, as though the light from the fires further down the street might burn them.

  ‘Certainly, what would you like?’ Cetarn replied brightly, pointlessly pushing the wide sleeves of his robe up to reveal pale skin marked with delicate tattoos and neat scars. Any high-ranking soldier would recognise the summary of Cetarn’s skill and experience; the Menin battle-mages would have something similar. Major Amber looked sharp enough to understand what the scars and tattoos signified.

  ‘Makes no difference to me,’ Amber said, reaching down to retrieve his crossbow. ‘Zhia says there’s no chance for them, their minds are broken. Best you can do is make it quick.’

  He ignored the windlass mechanism and cocked it in Chetse fashion, leather pads protecting his fingers as he pulled the string back by hand; a crude attempt to impress, but no doubt worthwhile if Major Amber was trying to keep a disparate band of militiamen, city guards and mercenaries together.

  ‘My dear boy, I’m not a white-eye,’ Cetarn said, ignoring the look he received from Coran. ‘Mass slaughter isn’t really my speciality; it requires too much raw magic and not enough subtlety. If you could use those bows to buy us a little time? Thank you.’ The fat mage gave an extravagant flourish of the hands, like a street conjuror. ‘Now, I’ve always said a good mage must adapt to his surroundings—’

  ‘No you don’t,’ Endine coughed from near their feet, determined to find his voice if it meant an opportunity to annoy his colleague. ‘You always say, “What’s the point of having all this power if I can’t bend the very fabric of the Land to my will?”’ He gave a very poor imitation of Cetarn’s deep voice.

  ‘Oh honestly, I say that once—’

  ‘Gentlemen,’ growled King Emin, ‘not the time.’

  ‘Of course, your Majesty,’ Cetarn said with a quick bow, ‘I have let myself be distracted.’ He dropped to one knee, his head bowed as though in prayer and his right hand outstretched with his fingers splayed. ‘This city has an overabundance of shadows. I’m sure it can spare some for us to employ.’

  Doranei turned to see the king’s reaction, but he could read nothing. Emin’s face was as blank as a Harlequin’s mask, lit with daemonic light as he held the wick of a bottle up to a torch and handed that to Coran to hurl at the approaching figures. Doranei followed the path of the bottle until it reached the ground and shattered to spread a pool of flame across the centre of the street. More guards arrived on the barricade, muttering to each other in grim, low tones, but the only sounds Doranei focused on were the hiss of fire and the hushed drone of Cetarn’s voice.

  Doranei was glad he could not understand Cetarn’s spell when he saw the shadows all along the street twist and writhe. The mage’s hand jerked in response to the movements, until he gained control over the dark shapes littering the floor and began to move and shape them, the deft strokes of a conductor leading his orchestra, coaxing them up, tugging them out of their hollows and cracks until they rose up through the air.

  Doranei could see figures through the shadows, as if looking at them through a wall of smoky glass across the entire street. They moved backwards and forwards, peering at the dark curtain but clearly not seeing through it as Doranei could.

  They paced with frustration as their prey was swallowed by the night, before giving up and turning back down the road the Narkang men had used, heading north towards the Farlan. The spell took less than a minute to complete, but by the end, Cetarn was sweating with the effort, and the soldiers were shivering at what he’d accomplished. Endine hammered his palms against Cetarn’s fat bicep, a strange look of jubilation on his face.

  ‘How long will that hold?’ King Emin asked coolly.

  ‘I wouldn’t like to estimate,’ Cetarn replied breathlessly.

  The king nodded; he knew his mages well enough to recognise ‘You should be impressed I managed it at all.’

  ‘Will you be able to continue with us?’

  Cetarn summoned the strength to look offended at the suggestion. ‘I am not the feeble one here, your Majesty. I shall continue as far as these hired thugs you keep as bodyguard.’ He clapped Doranei on the shoulder and managed to look defiant once the younger warrior had stiffened his back to take some of Cetarn’s weight.

  ‘Ah, sweetness; not war nor famine can raise mountains between us,’ purred a voice that sent a prickle down Doranei’s spine. Beside him, Cetarn’s cheerful expression collapsed. Doranei’s nostrils flared automatically, craving the scent of Zhia’s heady perfume as though it were a drug. He flinched at the sudden touch of soft fingers on his cheek, but his alarm melted under the force of her smile.

  ‘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-important 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 something 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 combination 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 for 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 if 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, conqueror 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 of power on even those without the ability to wield it 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 barricade, 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 han
dle-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 protégé arrives,’ Zhia said brightly. ‘I think Mikiss is starting 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 juxtaposition 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.’