by Tom Lloyd
The smell from the food carts, burnt fat, tamarind and honey, suddenly washed over them. Zhia felt her mouth begin to water at the scent of honeyed meat on the wind, but her attention was focused on Haipar. The effect of the breeze was like someone shaking the shapeshifter awake; startled, Haipar looked around with a confused expression before finally setting off for the theatre entrance, faltering after a few paces when she realised Zhia was not beside her.
Zhia looked up at the roof of the theatre and the clouds beyond. Her nerves were alive with strange sensations, a prickling under her fingernails that she couldn’t place: something familiar, yet curiously alien - rare enough in itself for an immortal, but a blend of contradictory strains that had Zhia confused.
There’s something I’ve missed here, but what is it? I can feel magic surrounding this building but its nature eludes me. She stopped; through the gloom of night she suddenly made out a face on the roof of the theatre, looking down at her, apparently grinning at what had gone on below. All she could see was that face, the glow of a cigar end and the outline of what looked like a crossbow. Who are you, and who’s that crossbow for? This square is crawling with soldiers, so you can hardly be here for security. As though she’d asked the question aloud the gargoyle-like figure disappeared in a flash of movement. Only a wisp of smoke remained behind, which soon disappeared to nothing.
‘Perhaps I should be a little more direct in my snooping around here,’ she said out loud.
‘What are you expecting to find?’ Haipar asked, returning to Zhia’s side.
‘Answers, my dear.’ Before Zhia could say anything else, someone discreetly cleared their throat behind her.
‘Your pet is back,’ Haipar said acidly, ‘and this time he’s got ribbons in his hair.’
Zhia turned and beamed at the men now standing before her. King Emin, in the centre, sported a magnificent broad-brimmed hat that kept his face in shadow. Doranei, at his side, looking considerably less at ease than his king, wore a high-collared formal tunic. He stood with eyes lowered and lips pursed, unable - or unwilling - to meet her smile.
Zhia inclined her head; the White Circle ruled here, and that was all the respect any man was offered. ‘It is delightful to see you again, sir,’ she said, careful of his title in such a public place.
Emin bowed low, sweeping off his hat. He was smiling. ‘Mistress, you honour me by remembering your humble servant.’ Zhia returned the smile. It was hardly a surprise that King Emin knew exactly how to act, and yet she found herself pleased all the same. When she did find the time to lock wits with this man, she suspected she would not be disappointed.
‘And Doranei, how handsome you look!’
The King’s Man glowered, and continued to scrutinise the cobbles at her feet.
Zhia looked at the remaining men, six members of the Brotherhood, dressed alike in dark tunics and high riding boots, these men were definitely bodyguards. The king looked more like a successful merchant; his lack of fashionable quirks made him almost anonymous.
‘But your constant companion? Left behind?’ Zhia enquired. There were quite a few white-eyes in the city, many of whom had been drafted into the Third Army to bolster the Fysthrall troops and set them well above the troops Zhia had influence over, so Coran would not have attracted undue notice. His absence surprised Zhia, and left her a little irritated - she had heard all the stories about the two having undertaken some obscure rite to link their minds, or souls, maybe, but she had not yet had the chance to observe them together.
‘These are tense times,’ Emin replied, ‘and his temper is somewhat short, particularly in this uncivilised weather.’
‘Tell him I sympathise. Tense times indeed, and thus your presence here is a remarkable risk.’
The king’s face remained politely blank and inscrutable as he replied, ‘A necessary one, Mistress. I have taken a few precautions in case I am recognised by the Circle, your good self notwithstanding, but I’m not here to continue that fight. I have business that cannot be delayed.’
Zhia looked at him for a moment, her head tilted on one side, as if she were pondering her next remark. Finally she sighed, and said, ‘I suggest you take care. Something is happening in this city, some sort of convergence. Your presence raises the stakes even higher.’
Emin nodded. ‘That comes as no surprise,’ he said mysteriously. Then he turned his attention to the ornate theatre gates. ‘Look - I think the performance is about to start. We should find our seats.’
‘One of my companions has had to join Siala, and my box will be terribly empty. Doranei, would you give me the pleasure of your company?’ Zhia asked, a smile trembling on her lips. ‘Haipar is no great fan of the theatre, and she does grumble so.’
‘Haipar? The shapeshifter?’ Emin asked sharply, receiving a nod from Haipar in response.
‘And she is not the only Raylin in the city,’ Zhia added as she offered her arm to Doranei. His cheeks flushed as he stepped forward and she beamed at him and patted his solid forearm with girlish affection.
Turning back to the king, she bade him goodbye. ‘It has been a pleasure, as always - and I hope this happy chance meeting will be but the first of many. It would please me if you would join me for dinner one evening.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘The Circle, for all its many talents, is not known for its conversationalists.’
‘Of course, Mistress,’ Emin said with alacrity. ‘And do be careful to return Doranei in one piece, he is somewhat delicate.’
Ignoring the amusement of Doranei’s fellows, Zhia smiled in reply and swept through the gates, Doranei in tow and Haipar following close behind.
Zhia had retained one of the best boxes, in the newly built second tier. The darkness of the corridor was broken only by thin lines of light that leaked out of the gaps between the thick canvas curtains covering each small doorway. They could hear muffled voices and the scrape of chairs as their fellow theatre patrons made themselves comfortable for the evening’s entertainment.
To Zhia’s surprise, her private box was already occupied. As Doranei politely held back the curtain for her, the oil lamp within illuminated a person - a man, she quickly realised - sitting with his back to the stage. He looked up and Zhia could see his tattoos, black feathers on both cheeks, and an ugly red scar that cut down one side of his face. Oddly - for the tattoos alone marked him as other - he was dressed in a labourer’s shirt and cropped trousers.
‘While the boy who served us last night was somewhat lacking in common sense,’ Zhia commented as she entered her box, ‘I confess to being a little surprised that he has been replaced by a monk … albeit a monk of unusual habits.’
‘A former monk,’ the man replied. His sharp-featured face looked shifty, suspicious. ‘Vellern and I have parted company.’
‘And so instead you grant me your company: am I to be placed above the Gods?’ She turned to Doranei as he peered past her at the stranger and said quietly, ‘Could you give us a moment alone?’
The King’s Man gave a grunt, looking hard at the former monk before retreating.
‘I’m not here to discuss the Gods,’ the man replied sourly. ‘The minstrel told me to speak to you. Your interest in us has not gone unnoticed.’
‘And you’re here to warn me off?’ Zhia said quietly. There was almost a sneer in her voice.
‘I am here to say that we will not tolerate your spies any longer.’
Zhia bent down to look the man in the face. ‘What is your name, little man?’
‘My name? Jackdaw. My name is Jackdaw.’ his eyes betrayed his growing apprehension.
‘Well now, Jackdaw,’ she snarled, ensuring he got a good look at her teeth and enjoying the way his face turned from white to green, ‘tell your minstrel that if he wants to frighten me, he needs to work a little harder than this.’
‘He-That was not the intention,’ the monk almost spluttered. ‘He hoped we could come to an understanding.’
‘And what exactly is it that you wish me to understa
nd?’
‘That we need not be competitors,’ the monk said, almost pleading, ‘that we could help each other - be allies.’
And exactly what help would I need from you, little monk?’ Her voice was soft, and menacing.
‘What do you need? My master has a particular talent for helping the ambitious.’ He sounded less shaky, back on firm ground. Ambition was something he could understand.
Zhia’s hand darted out and she seized the monk around the throat. Jackdaw yelped and scrabbled at her fingers, but for all her apparent delicacy, he was helpless. She felt him reach for magic and the familiar coppery tang filled her mouth as she tore the energies from his grip.
Jackdaw gasped with shock. He began to tremble, as if he had only now recognised what danger he’d been sent to confront.
‘My ambitions are my own. What do you think you can give me? What can I not take for myself?’
How can you take something you know nothing about?’ Jackdaw croaked. ‘What is more valuable in an age where the future is not certain than information?’
Zhia looked at him, considering. What else was going on in this city that she didn’t know about? She knew spies for the Knights of the Temples were making overtures to Scree’s elite, though they were hardly likely to fall for that. A necromancer was performing increasingly complex experiments somewhere in the poorer districts, but necromancers tended to be oblivious to politics. Neither were particularly interesting to her, at least at the moment.
‘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 elite 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 hashed 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 b
e 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 be 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.
