The Twilight Herald: Book Two Of The Twilight Reign (63 page)

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?’

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 unless 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 to 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 concentration, 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 painfully 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. Dotted 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 unusually warm to the touch, as ever, but now the Skull felt as slippery and elusive as a wet icicle. His fingers 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.

Isak sighed. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed using magic, feeling the energies thrumming through his bones, but he’d had no choice -with the vast power available through his two Skulls, one small lapse of concentration would have announced his presence to the rest of the city. He couldn’t risk it before, but now . . . now it was like returning to the embrace of a lover.

The witch said to accept what was inside me,
he thought with a smile,
so why should that not include magic? It’s been with me my whole life, shaped me from womb to throne. Either I embrace it and keep control over it, or I risk letting it control me.

He cast his mind back to the battlefield outside Lomin, that winter landscape feeling an age away during this brutal summer heat, and he recalled that scary moment when he literally lost himself in the rampant tides of magic flowing through his body.
I refuse to let that happen again
, he told himself sternly
.

Soothed by the bright night sky, with only the moons for company, he found a moment of contentment -and then, at last, Isak could feel the distant presence of Nartis once more, beyond the western horizon, watching between one moment and the next as the Land continued unaware of the scrutiny. It was nothing like the raging torrent Isak had felt upon Bahl’s death -when the looming storm had rushed in to crash over his fragile body and raise him up to where the Gods stood -but something altogether more gentle and comforting. Isak’s connection to his God was a delicate thing, too weak to be noticed, until times such as this.

If the God of Storms took note of such a small thing, he did nothing about it. Isak sensed a vigil of sorts, one centred on the black pit of Scree beneath him. Below he felt his body almost swallowed in the darkness. The weight of the city beneath him was a black stain on the Land; a hole through which the normal order was draining away.

He reached his arms out wide, towards the distant clouds that had been kept at bay for too long. Isak gasped at the vastness of it all, for a moment terribly afraid of the thin shadow of his own soul, spread out over so many miles as the clouds started massing, closing a jealous embrace on the city.

And then here they were: flickering wings and sharp clicks in the darkness, shapes that darted and dodged after insects, flying in long, graceful spirals, drawn ever closer to his light.

He hadn’t known what would happen once he was here, but he trusted the witch of Llehden. He remembered when first they met, when the gentry of Llehden had welcomed him as a brother -these creatures that cared nothing for the squabbles of man had recognised in Isak something he didn’t quite understand himself. He was no prophesied Saviour -Isak needed no further proof of that, whatever any fool prophecy foretold -but the wilds had always been where he was welcome, and the mark of the Gods had deepened that connection; now he felt bound, and now he had to learn to understand.

The bats eagerly clustered around him, their sharp hunter minds curious at what they could sense in the air, though they couldn’t trace an outline of him against the clouds. They followed him down, spiralling towards Scree and the street where Isak’s body still crouched, before jinking away at the last moment towards the walls of the Red Palace. He opened his eyes just in time to see the swirling cloud of shadows descend upon the terrified soldiers, a darting funnel whipping around them as they ducked down fearfully.

Isak took a few steps forward, out into the moonlight where his armour shone brightly, and slid his helm over his head. No warning voices came from the wall; the Fysthrall guards were too intent on hiding from the column of bats that was spinning tighter and tighter. Isak felt magic billow through the night air, blossoming on the wall like flames bursting into being. He slid the shield from his back and onto his arm, anticipating an attack, before realising it was coming from the bats themselves.