The Twilight herald tr-2

by Tom Lloyd

  Azaer spoke to you?' Isak spoke softly, hesitating to interrupt.

  'Perhaps it was a dream, but what figment of the living mind would reveal such truths? These were terrible truths, truths that would change the face of the Land for ever, leading me down paths 1 had feared to tread, and showing me my own soul, its true shape and shine.'

  'Paths within you, or hidden places?' Isak asked. 'Why did the shadow come to you? What made you special?'

  'Why do shadows do what they do, go where they go? Shadows follow the living, witness to our deepest secrets. The shadow found me because I was the one to be found – even so young, my genius was lauded by all. What use to tell secrets to fools? Even in darkness, the shadows will follow.

  'The blinkers were taken from my eyes. Azaer does not lie – Azaer can¬not lie, for if you draw the shadows back, you reveal what is hidden. The shadows illuminate the path, they do not force one to take it, and certainly not one such as I, born to change all and leave Gods broken in my wake. Fools forge weapons to their own devices, I learned that before my tenth season, when my uncle showed me the mysteries of fire and metal. This you already know to be true: iron and stone have their shapes within them, and those shapes should never be denied. Not all steel should become a sword.'

  Sudden laughter rang through Isak's head, so fleeting that he wondered if the last vestiges of sanity Aryn Bwr had retained were gone forever.

  Then the voice returned with a chilling clarity. 'You above all know this to be true: you, the weapon both men and Gods tried to forge to their own ends, resulting in – well, not what was wanted. Azaer does not forge, but Azaer can see the shape within, because it itself lacks mortal flesh.'

  'Where did the shadow lead you?' Isak asked.

  'Deep, deep into darkness, down paths that had not been there under Tsatach's fiery eye.'

  'Where?' Isak insisted, desperate for concrete information. This mystical litany was beginning to try his patience.

  'No place mere mortals could find,' the dead spirit said, oblivious now to everything except his memories, 'no place to be found, except at twilight, where one world meets the next; between the edges of what we know and what we fear. We were three days' ride from where 1 would build Keriabral, on lands my House controlled, though I never found that barrow again. It was outside of time, the link between this life and what lies past Death's final judgment.'

  'A barrow,' Isak said, sensing they were getting somewhere useful, 'so you were underground?'

  'Down into darkness, into the bowels of the Land, the heart of the Land, a point of balance, a place of harmony and standing stones. Deep; so deep I feared going further would bring me to the six ivory gates of Ghenna itself

  'And what did you find?'

  'Gifts, links in a chain, twelve means to a thousand ends.'

  'Twelve gifts… and there was no price for these gifts?' Isak asked hoarsely. He could guess what they were now, for this was a scrap of history that made sense at last. Aryn Bwr had been a mage-smith of great power, but weapons that struck fear in the Gods themselves? The ballads and stories of that age told how Aryn Bwr had forged the twelve Crystal Skulls and made gifts of them to his allies. Nowhere did it say how he had managed this, nor from what he had forged them.

  'A fool's price, a fool's soul. I paid nothing, but I knew I would not wit¬ness the Land I re-forged. I strove for a legacy and it was that they tore from me. I was never driven down the path, only shown the one 1 would choose. My actions were predicted, anticipated, by hateful shadows that whisper and laugh in the night… they knew they would have me one day. They were always watching, always waiting, ever-patient for their prize.' He broke off suddenly and Isak felt a chill breeze run through his head.

  'In a moment of desperation, 1 gave it, in return for petty revenge,' Aryn Bwr said at last.

  'Revenge?'

  A memory stirred, one Isak recognised from his dreams. A great fortress crowned by towers as massive as the one he had come to know so well in Tirah: Castle Keriabral, Aryn Bwr's fortress, where he should have died – until, in a last desperate act, he'd called out a name and secured a completely different fate.

  'I remember,' Isak said, subdued. Pain and grief flowed from the dead king's spirit now. It took Isak a moment to shake off the anguish and pursue his original line of questioning.

  'What does Azaer want? What links the Skulls to the destruction of Scree?'

  'Deeds done openly betray little; done in the shadows, they speak the truth.'

  Isak hesitated. All this could be misdirection? Thousands of people are going to die – have already died. It cannot be so simple. If Azaer has had only a light hand in events, then it most likely hasn't the strength to become more involved – this change in tactics means either it's growing stronger, or it's taking a risk.'

  He tailed off as he tried to understand it all. For the hundredth time since his elevation, first to Krann and then to Lord of the Farlan, he cursed his own ignorance. He'd stolen time whenever he could to struggle his way through impenetrable scrolls and ancient books. He was not one who found pleasure in reading, but he knew the worth of knowledge. He had begun to associate the scent of leather bindings with a yearning for the breeze in his hair, and the feel of the rough parchment under his fingers brought on a sense of dread, a precursor to the stilted, ritualistic style of writing that invariably fogged his mind.

  'It can't be,' Isak muttered, more to himself than Aryn Bwr.

  'All deeds serve a purpose,' the dead king replied solemnly, 'but what use can shadows have of grand gestures!'

  In short, careful phases they came within sight of the barricade. They were all listening hard for voices: signs of panic, sudden shouts, anything that might signal the order to attack. Doranei looked at the half-dozen wooden houses blazing away on his left, casting long

  shadows over King Emin's painfully small company. The men made their way down the middle of the street in three neat columns. They marched smartly, keeping in formation, their best defence against the barricade's defenders. Even so, every one of the Brotherhood had an ear cocked for that first whistle of an arrow shaft.

  'Your Majesty.'

  Doranei didn't need to turn his head to know it was Beyn, on their right flank, who'd spoken. The street was silent aside from their quiet footsteps and his voice carried easily.

  'Something in the shadows,' Beyn said.

  'Something?' the king echoed.

  'Figure; too quick to see properly, but tall, not a citizen.'

  'Hooded and cloaked in white? Watching us?'

  'Yes, all in white. Looking towards the barricade, but he saw us too. Moving alone, not frightened to be seen.'

  'Tell me if it gets any closer,' King Emin said. 'We don't want to get caught up in someone else's problem.'

  'What is it?' Endine whispered, unable to keep quiet.

  Doranei looked at his king, who looked perturbed by the news, however calm he sounded.

  'Scree's end is near, then,' he said quietly, sadly. 'When the Saljin Man ventures inside a city's boundary, it's because it is no longer a city.'

  'The Saljin Man?' Now Endine sounded afraid. 'The curse of the Vukotic?'

  'The very same. The daemon can follow any member of that tribe. No doubt it can sense the death hanging around Zhia. We should move faster.'

  They picked up their pace, no one needing to be told twice. They'd all heard about the daemon that plagued the Vukotic tribe, and not even Coran wanted to try his arm against it.

  The ground by the barricade was littered with corpses, most un¬armed and many painfully thin, and those arrows the defenders had not bothered to recover after beating off however many assaults they'd endured. Doranei tried not to look at any of the bodies too closely as he carefully stabbed every one within range, in case one of the rabid creatures was only injured. They'd been lucky so far, encountering no more than a dozen stragglers between Autumn's Arch, where they'd left the Farlan Army, and the Greengate.

  Lord Isak
hadn't bothered trying to talk King Emin out of the expe¬dition – he was busy organising his own fool's errand, though Lord Isak had more soldiers to accompany him to the Red Palace, where they believed the necromancer was holed up. The white-eye had grasped the king's wrist in friendship and saluted the rest of the small band, just as any Farlan soldier would, kissing his bow-fingers and touch¬ing them to his forehead. The other Farlan had followed suit, and Doranei felt a flush of foolish pride that Lord Isak had spared them the moment of respect, before the Brotherhood had dropped over the barricade and marched south, heading for the spot where their mages, Endine and Cetarn, had sensed a Crystal Skull being used.

  'That's far enough,' called a voice from the barricade. Doranei froze as he tried to see who'd spoken; it was the local dialect, but not spoken by a local. As if bidden, a man clambered up the barricade and removed his steel helm to reveal a cropped mess of black hair and a mass of cuts and bruises.

  Doranei had seen that battered head watching him from the floor of Zhia's study: the Menin soldier who had so reminded him of Ilumene for a moment, though there was hardly a passing likeness. Amber? he thought Zhia had called him when they'd attended the theatre with Koezh. Was it a proper nickname or one she'd bestowed that night on a whim? In the flickering firelight, the Menin hooked the spike of his axe into his belt, though Doranei could clearly see the crossbow in the man's other hand.

  'I wish to speak to your mistress; does she still live?' Doranei called after hurriedly clearly his throat. He told himself it was the heat and dust in the air that had dried his throat, nothing more, and certainly not the fear of attracting attention to himself when they were so exposed out on the street.

  'Does she still live?' The Menin gave a cough that Doranei realised was a surprised laugh. 'Aye, she lives,' Amber said in a wry tone, 'and I'm sure she'll be glad to see another of her pets is still alive. Is that the whole of your company?'

  Doranei looked back at his companions. All but five were men of the Brotherhood. With King Emin were his white-eye bodyguard Coran, the mages, Endine and Cetarn, and the Jester acolyte Zhia had given them to guide them to where Rojak and Ilumene were hiding. They didn't need the masked man now, but Zhia had assured the king that the acolyte would remain loyal, and an extra sword was always welcome, even if Coran kept between the king and the acolyte at all times. They were less than a full company, though every man there was too valuable for the regiments. 'This is all,' Doranei called.

  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 sprawl¬ing 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 to¬wards 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, point-lessly 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 fash¬ion, 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 conjurer. '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 Goran 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 li
ttering 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 look 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 bold.'' 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 alV

  '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.