‘He must have mistaken me for someone else then; perhaps I overestimated the man,’ she said after a few moments. ‘I was going to suggest we bind him to your service, but if he is so weak as to be afraid of me, then it might not be worthwhile.’
‘Perhaps,’ Siala acknowledged, refusing the bait, ‘but I think I may find some use for a man capable of raising daemons; we are preparing for attack, after all.’ Siala turned to leave. At the door she stopped and ran a fingernail down the lacquered surface, tapping it thoughtfully. ‘The sun is setting soon, Mistress Ostia. Recall your guard -and do be careful not to wander the streets at night. I have instructed the Fysthrall troops to be most rigorous in the execution of their orders.’
She didn’t wait for a response but walked out through the crowd of clerks and Fysthrall bodyguards she’d left in the corridor. Legana was quick to pull the doors closed behind her, anticipating a furious outburst, but Zhia did nothing more than walk to a side table, above which hung a tall rectangular mirror in a frame of gilt leaves.
‘So, she thinks to put me under house arrest?’ she said softly.
‘That’s hardly going to be a problem,’ Legana said. ‘Running rings around her soldiers isn’t going to cause us many difficulties. ’
‘I’m not so sure,’ Zhia said. ‘She’s testing me; she wants to see the true extent of my powers. It wouldn’t surprise me if Purn himself offered to help her.’
‘Is she going to try to kill you?’
‘No, not yet,’ Zhia said, ‘not while the Farlan are getting ready to attack. She cannot afford to lose any mage yet, and I’ve been careful to give her no cause to see me as a definite threat.’
She smiled, and Mikiss felt it through the hairs on his neck. An echo of her hunger caused his chest to tighten. As the evening light faded, he found his eyes growing sharper; the gloom of the unlit room began to suit him well. Being this close to Zhia let him sense something of her unnatural vitality . . .
The smell of blood wafted tantalisingly past his nose: Nai had picked at a scabbed-over cut. Mikiss shivered at the feelings the smell provoked. As he tried to block it out, his gaze kept returning to Zhia, marking every small detail, from the curve of her lips to the trailing thread hanging from the hem of her skirt, from the raised toe of her slipper—
The latch on the door clicked open and jerked Mikiss from his scrutiny as a muscular woman with grey hair entered, a soldier at her heel. The man walked uncomfortably, as though he’d just come from a good kicking. Mikiss felt his nostrils flare; no fresh blood on this man; the injuries were not new.
‘Mistress Ostia,’ the woman said, looking carefully around the room as 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 inspected their faces 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 hopeful 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 yesterday, 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 promised. ‘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 thicken 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 expression, 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 felt like a fire had flared up into a blaze and Mikiss felt his hands begin to tremble at the sudden aura of malevolence that filled the room, almost drowning out the electric tinge in his head. That, and the clear family resemblance, told Mikiss the newcomer was one of Zhia’s brothers. The effect of 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 distinctive 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, inspecting 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 apprehension.
‘I have yet to understand quite what is happening here,’ Zhia admitted. ‘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 be left alone.’ Koezh gave a nod of acquiescence. ‘I 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 of 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 fading. Even 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.’