‘You presume much, for a failed monk,’ Zhia said, her voice laced with scorn. The idea that the minstrel might fill in the blanks in this increasingly complex puzzle was horribly tantalising, and so she rejected the offer out of hand - she knew her own weaknesses quite well enough to see when someone was playing on them.
‘I am just the messenger,’ Jackdaw protested, quaking again,
‘Well, messenger, get out.’ She pulled him up from his seat and shoved him towards the curtained doorway. ‘If your master wants to speak to me, he must do me the courtesy of attending on me in person.’
As the monk stumbled through the curtain, she called softly, ‘And tell him to bring something real to bargain with. If I wanted promises whispered in the night I would find myself a love-struck boy.’
Doranei watched the tattooed man retreat, then raised an eyebrow at the vampire.
‘Don’t give me that indignant face,’ she snapped, waving the Narkang agent back into the box. Doranei smirked, having at last elicited a reaction from her, but wisely said nothing as he took his seat next to her. Haipar poured them all a drink from the jug of wine conveniently found on the little table in the corner, then took up position behind Zhia. From there she could watch them both.
‘So, Doranei,’ Zhia began conversationally, once she’d arranged her skirts comfortably, ‘what are you and your king doing here?’
He sighed. ‘I couldn’t tell you even if I did know.’
‘Even if you did know?’ Zhia repeated with a light laugh. ‘Oh, dear boy, you’re a member of the Brotherhood, not some thick-skulled infantryman. It is a certainty that King Emin holds much back, but to believe that he would bring his élite guard to an enemy city and not so much as mention the eventual goal? Please, don’t insult us both.’
Doranei raised his hands. ‘What do you want from me? To give up the king’s closest secrets? Yes, we’re here for a reason, and no, the king hasn’t said he wants that reason to be made public.’
‘I do understand, Doranei, but you need to remember that we are
not
enemies. The situation grows increasingly fraught in Scree, and even Siala must have noticed. Food is becoming scarce, Siala’s own restrictions are starting to cause extra shortages, and this sucking heat is making the people restless. Civil order is on the verge of breaking down, and no matter how many soldiers there are on the streets, if the good citizens of Scree go on a rampage, we will not be able to contain them.’
She looked back at Haipar, then at Doranei. Taking one of his hands in hers, she said, ‘Strange as you may find this situation, it might be that we should attempt to trust each other. There are enough hands being dealt into this game that it will take a combined effort to have any effect on the eventual result.’
Doranei shrugged. ‘I will mention it to the king.’
Zhia noted his expression and left the matter alone for the moment, but Haipar had no such sensitivity.
‘He can’t be here for political reasons,’ she told Zhia. ‘If the king were here to deal with the White Circle, he’d bring an army. If it were an assassination -of any kind -then why bother coming in person? He’s here because he’s looking for something, or someone, maybe. If he were a mage, I would guess at some sort of artefact, but as he’s not, maybe a weapon?’ She closed her eyes for a moment, perhaps to see her own deductions more clearly, and continued as if speaking to herself, ‘Perhaps, if it was Aenaris, but I can’t believe Ostia wouldn’t know if that was in the city. So that must leave us with a person -so who is it? A spy? A defector?’
‘Interesting logic,’ said an accented voice from the other side of the curtain, ‘but still flawed - not even the magnificent Ostia could sense Aenaris if it is not being used.’
Haipar jumped up, the scrape of her chair not quite masking the shiver of metal as she started to draw her rapier.
Zhia shook her heard at Haipar as a lithe figure flashed into the box. Almost before anyone had realised, Haipar’s hand was stayed, then pale hands rammed her weapon fully back into its sheath.
‘Let’s not be uncivilised,’ the man murmured, placing a hand on Haipar’s shoulder and guiding her back into her seat. The shapeshifter was white, unable to resist this strange man, though not because of brute force, but through some more subtle compulsion.
Zhia watched Doranei assessing the newcomer. He obviously didn’t recognise the style of clothing, but he had noted the man’s jet-black hair and his unusual dark blue eyes -few in this part of the world had eyes like those. Doranei glanced at her, then looked back to the man.
Dear Doranei
, Zhia thought with a certain amount of satisfaction,
I don’t think you’d have noticed his eyes in this light were it not for the fact that you resemble a butterfly watching the pin whenever I look at you.
‘I suggest you keep as still and quiet as a mouse,’ advised the newcomer.
Zhia was certain Doranei had recognised that however tough he might be, he stood no chance against this man. To survive in these dubious circles was to recognise when you were completely outclassed.
‘Well, isn’t this a rare honour?’ she commented coolly, careful to ignore Doranei’s meek acceptance of the order. Koezh, her elder brother, was not one for playing games, but there was no need for her to mark the boy out as anything more than an aide.
Koezh looked closely at Doranei and Haipar, then, deciding neither was a threat to him, relaxed and accepted the goblet Zhia was holding out to him. ‘You’re playing lady of the manor again?’ He lifted the goblet in a silent toast.
Zhia smiled. ‘It is the position I was born to, after all, so
playing
is not entirely the correct word.’
‘You didn’t think so when you were growing up -it was all we could do to drag you out of the stables, or stop you running around after the falconer like a love-sick puppy.’
‘Ah, but as you see, I am now all grown up,’ Zhia said, ‘and a few years have passed since then, and more than a few since you last walked these parts. What brings you to grace our presence, dearest brother?’
Haipar, sitting stiffly, felt her eyes drawn to the black-hilted broadsword at Koezh’s hip. This massive weapon was a far cry from the elegant rapiers most men considered the correct choice for a night at the theatre.
She was not alone in noting the sword. Zhia had no need to open her senses to feel how bloated with savage power Bariaeth was. The last king had poured all of his grief and rage into that weapon, and even now it exuded a cloud of choking sadness and hurt.
Oh my dear brother, our God-imposed curses should be enough for any person to bear
-
but you never could refuse another burden, could you?
She didn’t need to voice her fears; her brother knew well the risks he took.
‘Events are moving apace,’ Koezh told her. ‘Aracnan tells me a Saviour has arisen, so I thought it was time I stepped out onto this stage once more.’
Zhia ignored his attempt at a joke; Koezh had always been a serious man, and rather dour; humour did not suit him. ‘The Farlan boy?’ she asked. ‘How can Aracnan be so sure? It wasn’t that long ago that you were convinced Kastan Styrax was the Saviour.’
‘He believes so.’ Koezh raised the goblet to his lips, but hardly wet his lips. ‘I’m sure Aracnan is a Demi-God, so perhaps
his
instincts are to be trusted -certainly more than mine,’ he added with a bitter smile.
‘Is Aracnan here?’
‘Somewhere. We made camp outside the city and he disappeared in the night on some business of his own.’
‘You made camp?’ Zhia felt her foreboding grow. ‘Did you not come alone?’
Her brother frowned. ‘No; is that a problem?’
‘Scree is witnessing some sort of convergence,’ Zhia said. ‘Did you bring Joy?’
Koezh nodded abruptly.
Doranei, who had been watching the exchange whilst trying to appear indifferent, tried to cover his inadvertent gasp with a cough - Joy was the Crystal Skull Koezh had inherited from his father.
Zhia gave a small, private smile; few people would expect her brother to come bearing joy; sometimes she felt the name given to that particular Skull had been something of a joke on Aryn Bwr’s part. ‘So the Legion of the Damned is camped outside the city? I suppose I should have expected as much.’ Her brain was racing.
‘What is the Legion of the Damned?’ Doranei couldn’t help but ask.
Zhia looked at him crossly, trying to warn him to stay out of this, then softened a little, drawn almost against her will to his innocence about such things. For some reason, she found it endearing. There were not many men able to make her forget the centuries between them.
‘The Legion of the Damned is well-named,’ she told him. ‘It’s an army of mercenaries. My younger brother, Vorizh, made the mistake of turning a necromancer to vampirism several hundred years ago. The combination has proved, ah, troublesome. ’ She grimaced delicately. ‘In this case, the necromancer had hired mercenaries to protect him and his lands, and in one of his most successful experiments he used a spell to take their life-force and replace it with magic. They did not take kindly to this -although they are now extremely powerful, and of course, they’re untouched by the effects of time. Think of the Damned as an army of minor Raylin and I am sure you will understand the danger.’
She turned back to her brother. ‘Something is drawing power of all kinds to the city -more than a score of Raylin, the remaining White Circle mages, the King of Narkang, and a necromancer I do not believe is allied to any faction. Now we have added Aracnan, who makes all of the fifteen or more Raylin I’ve employed pale into insignificance, two of the Vukotic family and at least two Skulls. There is also the immediate prospect of Scree being attacked, either by the Farlan, or by the Knights of the Temples -or maybe even both.
‘What other forces remain hidden, that I do not know. The Farlan Lord holds two Skulls, and the minstrel who commands this troop of players wears an Augury Chain around his neck.’
Beside her Doranei gave a splutter of alarm and cried, ‘What? No!’ before lowering his voice and whispering, ‘Oh Gods, are you sure?’
‘Certain,’ she said. ‘I saw it myself.’
‘Do you know his name?’
‘Rojak.’
Doranei cursed under his breath, his fingers clenched into fists. ‘So it’s true then.’
‘What is true?’ Zhia said, surprised. Now here was another piece of the puzzle, perhaps. ‘You know this minstrel?’
Doranei’s eyes drifted past her towards the stage, where a flutist was coaxing slow, mournful notes from his instrument. Zhia reached out and snapped her fingers in front of his face to gain his attention again.
‘Doranei, listen to me! Do you know this minstrel? Is this why the king is here?’
Doranei shook his head. ‘Not exactly; but we had hoped to . . .’ His voice tailed off as he found himself turning back to the stage, then he wrenched himself back to his companions. ‘I must inform the king immediately.’
‘Not yet,’ Zhia said firmly. She pointed to a tall man dressed in robes of green and gold emblazoned with a pair of bees flying upside-down who had launched into the narrator’s opening speech. The costume was finished off by a jester’s cap. ‘The performance is starting, and if you leave now, you will draw attention to yourself. One of the players was on the roof with a crossbow earlier. Would this Rojak’s associates recognise you?’ Doranei nodded, glancing towards the curtained entrance with suspicion. Koezh saw the concern and shook his head.
‘There is no one out there, not even a servant.’
He slumped a little in acquiescence. ‘I can find the king at the interval, then. They will not kill him here.’
‘Are you sure? It might be too tempting to ignore.’
‘As sure as I can be,’ Doranei said. He looked uncertain, trying to balance his own knowledge with what help Zhia might be able to provide. ‘Their feud is a long-standing one,’ he started, ‘and just assassinating the king lacks . . .’
He floundered for a moment before Zhia interjected, ‘The personal touch? The need a man has to drive in the knife himself? ’ She sighed. ‘The centuries go by and folk do not change. I hope that if the time comes, your king will prove himself the better man and not hesitate. After all, I cannot have an opponent in Heartland who is prone to grandstanding -he will be a sore disappointment to me.’
Doranei nodded, but his attention was on the stage again, his face thunderous.
Interesting,
Zhia thought,
this Rojak has really got under the king’s skin. I wonder what exactly did the minstrel do, and why?
As that thought crossed her mind, she turned to follow Doranei’s gaze. Now she acknowledged both the colours and the cut of the narrator’s clothes.
So this play is merely to goad King Emin? That means they know he’s here already. But what purpose does this all have?
Zhia forced her own eyes away from the stage and back to the conversation at hand. ‘I shall have to tighten security in the city. We have so many strangers wandering the streets that it’s only a matter of time before people start to die.’ She looked at the two men facing her. Koezh wore a look of brotherly affection, a welcome change from the drawn, world-weary face he generally sported. Doranei appeared to be gripped with some sort of ghastly fascination as he looked from one sibling to the other.
‘Please don’t take offence,’ Doranei began hesitantly. Zhia immediately pouted, causing him to stammer as he continued, ‘but, since you are only masquerading as a member of the, ah, the White Circle—’
‘Why do I care?’ Zhia finished for him.
Doranei nodded and bowed his head.
‘We are cursed to care, my brother and I. The Gods saw to that in their final judgment. Do you know nothing of our history?’
‘Little,’ Doranei admitted. He looked around to check no one was paying them any attention, and lowered his voice even further. ‘I know that you were turned into vampires, the undead. To stay alive you are forced to drain the life from others, and the touch of sunlight will set your skin aflame.’