by Tom Lloyd
Legana shivered, the small spark of Fate that remained within her vibrating as he spoke the words inscribed on Doranei’s arm.
— We must go, she wrote, pushing herself upright again.
‘Where?’
— To find the king. His last chance may already be in his hands.
CHAPTER 31
Major Amber stopped as an unexpected cool breath of wind drifted over him. He turned and looked at the city behind him, the dirty-white stone of Ismess nestled around the base of the slope he had been climbing. The wind tugged at his clothes with renewed force and Amber closed his eyes, imagining being carried up into the sky. When he’d started up towards the Library of Seasons there had been a Litse white-eye flying high above him, staring down at the grand, dilapidated temples and the sprawling Palace of the Three Winds.
The slope, a huge stepped incline two hundred yards long, was called Ilit’s Stair. It was the only official entrance to the library, located inside Blackfang Mountain. The rulers of the Circle City’s other quarters had tunnelled through miles of rock to provide private entrances, so they could meet on relatively neutral ground. The rigid white lines of the library looked even starker against the black rock of the mountain, especially when lit by the summer sun high in the sky.
Amber had ignored the hostile looks while travelling through the city of the Menin’s ancient enemy; he was used to them now. Walking up Ilit’s Stair however, he was reminded of the weapons stores in the guardhouse. Amber was from a military family, and his ancestors had doubtless taken part in the Menin slaughter of the Litse. The weapons — bundles of arrows and ballista-bolts, enough for every Menin who had participated - were stored even today, to prevent the quarter and the library being sacked again.
‘Didn’t help you though, did it?’ Amber called up to the dark shape in the sky. ‘You let us in this time.’
He resumed his ascent, part of him still anticipating the flash of an arrow from the shadows, but he reached the open gate without drama and stopped to inspect the changes that had happened since he was last there. The damage to the buildings took him by surprise; he hadn’t been back since the guardian had been woken.
As he walked through the gate, Amber realised the library was busier than it had been in years, centuries more likely. Blond-haired labourers swarmed over every building, even those that looked damaged beyond repair. As well as the workmen, he could see teams of engineers, soldiers and scholars, servants wearing the livery of the Ruby Tower — there were even some courtiers lazing in the shade or eating at long stone tables.
‘So it’s true,’ Amber murmured to himself, ‘Duchess Escral has moved herself to the library - but at whose suggestion, I wonder? If there really was a Devil Stair created in the tower by the assassins I can see why she would, but this isn’t the most obvious alternative.’ Intelligence on the assault on the Ruby Tower was sketchy, to say the least, but one mage had suggested the assassins had killed Aracnan by somehow casting him down into Ghenna. Amber suspected that before long the Menin would be getting the blame for it all, their lord having created that terrifying precedent in the recent battle.
The duchess’ scrawny steward caught sight of him and hurried over. He bowed low as he said, ‘Major, welcome to the Library of Seasons.’
Amber grunted in response and continued to scan the faces. Just emerging from the remains of the Fearen House, where the dragon had made a lair for itself, he spotted the waddling form of Lord Celao. As nominal custodian of the library, the obese white-eye should be securing his valuable property, but from the few Litse guards in view it appeared that wasn’t as great a concern as Amber had expected. Servants in a variety of liveries bustled around him, but he ignored them all - despite the fact some were carrying books from the Fearen House.
Interesting. Celao’s not only tolerating the Byoran presence; he seems to be giving tacit agreement to it, else he’d be throwing his considerable weight around.
‘I hope you’re not going to ask me for my weapons, Steward Jato,’ Amber said eventually.
‘Aha, of course not, Major.’ Jato’s beaky face was a mass of wrinkles as he tittered obsequiously. ‘Can I fetch you some refreshment on this warm day?’
‘Just Kayel, please.’
Jato straightened and frowned. ‘Sergeant Kayel? Certainly, Major. I believe he is attending the duchess in the Summerturn House.’ He pointed towards the building just past the ruined Scholars’ Palace. There were deep-scored claw-marks on the stone, but no apparent structural damage.
The steward started off in that direction, but before he’d gone a few yards Amber called him back. ‘Wait, I want to talk to you first.’
Jato looked at him with an expression that Amber eventually realised was intended to be sombre concentration. ‘Of course, Major, how may I help?’
‘The child, Ruhen - what do you think of him?’
‘The little prince, sir? Why, he is a blessing for us all!’ Jato looked almost hurt at the question, and his pale cheeks coloured.
‘Does he — ? Well, does he seem like other children to you?’
‘Certainly not!’ Jato gasped. ‘He is above us all; untouched by the cares and fears of this life. He will lead us to salvation - to peace.’
‘And you’re his devoted servant, eh?’
The hectic colour drained from Jato’s face. ‘Of course I am . . . why would you ask such a thing? What lies have you been told?’
The fear was plain to see on Jato’s face, but Amber ignored his questions, saying, ‘That will be all, steward, thank you. Please fetch Sergeant Kayel.’
Steward Jato squawked breathlessly for a few heartbeats, until the big soldier pointed towards the Summerturn House, whereupon he flinched away and bowed hurriedly.
Maybe the link between Kayel and me remains strong, Amber noted as he watched Jato scuttle away. A magical link had been created in Scree between Amber and Ruhen’s big guardian, one that remained to this day. His best guess was it had been created by some follower of Azaer to add to the confusion and chaos that ended in the city’s destruction. He’d still not worked out how to exploit its existence. I shouldn’t have that effect on a man used to Kayel’s presence, not unless he had reason to fear.
His thoughts were disturbed by a peal of high notes chiming out from behind him. Amber turned and saw a long bank of shutters had been opened on the top floor of one of the smaller buildings on the bank of the small stream that ran through the valley. It was called the Watersong House, if his memory was correct, and he could see a rail inside the now-open windows, hanging from which were long steel chimes and small polished bells. A team of servants were ringing out some strange tune Amber didn’t recognise, as they did every Litse feast-day.
He looked back towards Ismess, suddenly remembering the drapes and flags he’d seen on the way here; at the time he’d been more interested in the Wall of Intercession set up at the arched entrance to the Garden of Lilies. The garden was one of the few elegant places in the city. It surrounded the foot of Ilit’s Stair, one of the most prominent positions in the quarter, so clearly it wasn’t just the Byorans who saw Ruhen as the answer to their desperate prayers - or, perhaps more accurately, the only one listening to their prayers in this time of violent fanaticism. One thing the citizens of Ismess had in abundance was desperation.
‘Well, if it ain’t the hero of the Byoran Fens?’ said a rough voice behind him. Amber turned to see Hener Kayel, wearing his usual evil grin. ‘Should I curtsey for the great man?’
‘Whatever you’re used to,’ Amber replied, disinterested.
The sergeant wore his uniform breeches and high boots, but he had discarded the jacket for an open-necked white shirt - which looked incongruous paired with the long steel-backed gloves that covered both arms. Amber felt distinctly overdressed in the heat.
‘I’m not really used to heroes,’ Kayel replied, mockingly, ‘so I’m a bit out of practice. Best I leave it out entirely — wouldn’t want to get it wrong and cause of
fence.’
Amber snorted, but before he could reply he sensed a sudden shift in movement. He looked around, and saw a group of Devoted soldiers approaching from the direction of the Akell tunnel, their red sashes, bearing the Order’s Runesword emblem, making them obvious, even at that distance.
Kayel, watching people’s reactions, gave Amber a comradely tap and pointed to the Litse lord. The grossly obese white-eye, Ilit’s Chosen, was looking like a man afraid as he sensed the shift around him. His hand reached for his scimitar-bladed spear, which was carried by a servant. Gesh, first among the library’s white-eye guardians, stood near Lord Celao, watching heads turn impassively. There was no sign that he’d noted Celao’s fearful reaction, though he could hardly have failed to see it.
‘Fat-boy’s scared,’ Kayel commented with a chuckle. ‘A nobleman from Tor Salan arrived in the night and demanded to speak to him.’
Amber considered both Gesh and the statement a moment. The white-eye was still wearing his ceremonial armour, but he now carried an ornate bow rather than javelins.
‘Gesh has been made Krann of the Litse?’ he inquired.
‘That’s the one. Turns out the nobleman spent his entire fortune to commission a bow from the mage-smiths of Tor Salan, bankrupted himself a few weeks before you lot arrived at the gate.’
‘Our Gods are caring, then,’ Amber muttered, looking at the contrast between white-eyes. Gesh already looked more of a lord than Celao ever had, so he guessed it wouldn’t be long before a true ruler took charge of what Litse were left in the Land.
‘One of ’em, maybe,’ Kayel said with a wink. ‘I heard the man had the Lady’s luck - you lot killed all the mages in Tor Salan, so none of ’em lived to collect his final payment!’
Amber smiled distantly and looked at the approaching Devoted, led by Knight-Cardinal Certinse, without his attendant priests for the first time in months. More curiously, they were ignoring the unmistakable shape of Lord Celao and instead headed towards the Summerturn House.
‘Quite some allies you’ve got here, Sergeant,’ Amber commented. ‘The frightened Lord Celao I can understand; the only way to keep the support of his people is to unite them against us, but the Devoted?’
‘As Ruhen says, it’s always good to have friends.’
Amber frowned. ‘Are they Ruhen’s friends, or Duchess Escral’s?’
‘The duchess is the ruler of Byora,’ Kayel reminded him, ‘Ruhen’s a special little boy, but he’s not telling the duchess what to do.’
‘Leaves that part to you, does he? No, don’t bother answering that. I know the Devoted are having problems with their priests, but is it bad as all that?’
‘Depends whether you’d enjoy being strung up for impiety. As I hear, Akell’s at boiling point.’
‘But the Knight-Cardinal’s authority is based on the cults; isn’t every officer of the Order an ordained priest? It would be quite a step for them to seek outside help against their own.’
Kayel nodded. ‘Their problem, not mine.’
‘But to look to Ruhen for help? Half the Order must consider Ruhen and your band of preachers heretical.’
‘Don’t you think everyone needs to wallow in the glory o’ the Gods?’ Kayel said in a deadpan voice.
Amber glanced around, then gestured for Kayel to follow him back out onto Ilit’s Stair, where they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘I don’t think you do, no.’
‘What makes you say that, soldier-boy?’ Kayel asked, an edge of menace creeping into his voice. Amber felt his fingers ache for the feel of his scimitars.
‘Because I might not be as slow as I look, and nor’s Lord Styrax.’
Kayel gave him an appraising look. ‘Jury’s out on that one, soldier-boy. You got a problem with me, spit it out, or draw those pretty swords, but don’t just stand there catchin’ flies.’
‘I don’t think it’ll be a problem,’ Amber said, forcing himself not to square up to the man. There was something about the big sergeant that reminded him of a white-eye; that air of aggression and belligerence that could spark a fight from thin air. ‘But you’re not just a mercenary, and you’re not serving the duchess. Pretending otherwise is a waste of time and an insult to Lord Styrax.’
‘I think you better explain yourself better than that — so far I don’t like what I’m hearing.’ Kayel had his hand on his bastard sword now, and Amber could see by the set of his shoulders that the man wasn’t joking any longer; he recognised the readiness of a warrior ready to kill.
‘First of all, I don’t think there’s a problem between us, or our masters,’ Amber said in a calm voice, ‘so let’s not get straight to the cutting. I was in Scree, and I heard a name or two being thrown around. One was Azaer, another was Ilumene. Now any fool who lived through that little corner of Ghenna saw things that probably didn’t add up, pieces of the puzzle that were missing.’
‘Get to the point.’
‘I will. Your name is Ilumene; you’re a renegade agent of King Emin’s; you’re a high ranking follower of Azaer and you’re not in Byora just to kill time.’
Kayel paused, not for long but enough all the same that Amber knew he’d surprised him. ‘And what would that be to you?’
‘Maybe nothing, but from what I hear your master isn’t one for small ambitions. There’s a purpose in all you’re doing, and it ain’t a power-play for one minor city. However, my guess is we’re not in competition here.’
Kayel’s - Ilumene’s - grip seemed to relax fractionally, although his hand stayed on his swordhilt. ‘Could be that’s the case — but why’m I the one being interrogated here? You show me yours first, major.’
Amber shook his head. ‘Don’t get ideas above your station, sergeant. You’re operating within the Menin Empire; that you’re doing it openly makes me think you’ve got nothing to fear from us, and vice versa.’ He took a step forward and prodded Ilumene in the chest. ‘But that’s a far call from equal terms, and don’t you fucking well forget it.’
Ilumene stared him down, not rising to the bait, but he was obviously a long way from being cowed. He paused before he spoke, long enough for Amber to realise he’d got under the man’s skin. Ah, the guard-dog’s learned to count to ten when he’s on official business, but Gods, how he wants to bite!
‘Your point’s taken,’ Ilumene said in a controlled voice, a tight and mirthless smile on his face. It was clear the renegade Narkang agent had been taught not to lose his cool easily. ‘Just remember this,’ he continued, ‘you lead troops into the Ruby Tower, you’d win because you got the numbers on us. Don’t let that fool you into thinking you’d be walking out alive, though, because I’ll be making it my business to personally take you down before I fall.’
‘We’ll just have to wait for that little test,’ Amber said, ‘unless you want your temper to get the better of you? I doubt your master would be too happy about that. How do things work out for the disciples who disappoint Azaer?’
Ilumene laughed. ‘Don’t know much of the Brotherhood, do ya? The mission’s everything. If you’re invading Narkang you’ll be finding that out soon enough. Dumb little children, most o’ them might be, but there’s no doubt they’re damned well-trained.’
‘I’ll bear that in mind. Now, if you’re intending to enjoy Menin hospitality any longer, you’ll be telling me your master’s goal.’
Ilumene shook his head. ‘That’s not my call, just as you ain’t got permission to tell me what your lord’s up to. Let’s just say we’ve got a bit o’ revenge planned.’
‘Revenge?’ Amber took a step back and turned to spit on the ground. ‘You best spin me something better than that - ’less it’s revenge against all the Gods, I don’t buy it. It doesn’t fit what you’re up to, and if that’s what I report to Lord Styrax, he’ll laugh at me and take offence at you.’ He smiled. ‘I imagine you can guess how he expresses his displeasure.’
‘Okay,’ Ilumene said with a scowl, ‘so our scores ain’t the main goal, sure enough. I can’t tell
you much - can’t - you get me? Just as you can’t choose to tell me why priests of Karkarn are meeting nasty ends recently - aye, we’ve noticed that too. So far we’re the only ones paying attention to the patterns amidst the chaos, but don’t kid yourself that’ll last through winter. All I can say is the master reckons there’s space for a new player among the immortals of the Land.’
Interesting; he said immortals, not Gods. ‘A new player? Azaer’s been playing for a while, so I hear.’
‘But on the lower Heartland board,’ Ilumene argued, ‘not the board of the heavens. The game’ll continue, just with some pieces moving in different ways.’
Amber got the message. Heartland played on two boards: the main board, where the bulk of a player’s pieces moved, but a second, smaller board, known as the heavens, where the most powerful pieces were. A player had to play both, with different ploys, or find themselves disastrously caught out.
‘My lord may require more.’
Ilumene cocked his head to one side. ‘A shakedown, is it? Well, let no man say my master ain’t accommodating. How about a gift, to prove our enduring friendship?’
‘What sort of “gift”?’
‘One your lord will appreciate.’
Amber gave Ilumene another jab. ‘We’ll have less of the secretive crap.’
‘Not a fan of surprises, eh? You the sort of kid who’d search the house for presents on his birthday? As you wish. It’s a Crystal Skull.’
Amber blinked. ‘Ah. Good.’
‘Good? Bloody generous is what it is. I don’t know, you try and do something nice . . .’ Ilumene gave a theatrical sigh.
‘Which one?’
Which one? You’re a picky bugger, ain’t you? Is sir a connoisseur of the apocalyptically powerful artefact? Does sir want to peruse the selection out the back instead? Skull of Time? Pah, waste of it, more like!’
