by Tom Lloyd
Isak broke the brief silence. ‘I take it you were here for a reason?’
‘There is always purpose in my master’s actions.’
And in your choice of words? Isak wondered. A prickle ran down his neck, but he refused to let it show. The man was playing a game, trying to unsettle Isak - but could he expect anything less of King Emin’s friend?
‘And that purpose is?’
Ilumene shrugged. ‘I was to give you a message, though I do not pretend to understand everything behind it. King Emin is secretly travelling to Scree, the Brotherhood his only guards -it was thought that you should know.’
‘Scree? Why? What’s happened there?’
‘I intend to leave tonight to find out more. The message was short; there was no space for explanations. I have heard a rumour about a monk fleeing his monastery and hiding in Scree.’
‘A monk? What could a monk have done to make Emin hunt him down personally?’ Isak was genuinely confused. ‘And in Scree, no less? I’d have thought a White Circle stronghold was the last place Emin would want to go.’
‘Unless he considered it important enough,’ Ilumene corrected him. ‘I have the impression the king will not be the only one hunting the monk.’
‘What could a monk have done to attract that sort of interest—no, wait, let me think: if a monk has done something wrong, he gets assassins sent after him. If King Emin is going himself, the man would have to be a mortal enemy -or have something the king wants personally. An artefact of some kind, perhaps?’
‘A reasonable assumption,’ Ilumene conceded, ‘but truly, I can tell you no more. And now, I must be on my way.’
‘Wait,’ Isak said as Ilumene turned to leave, ‘why did he send the message? Because he wants me not to lay siege to Scree? Or does he want me to get involved?’
‘The king did not give me a reason, but I’m sure he would appreciate you pursuing a more subtle revenge than the wholesale destruction of the city if he is inside it. I cannot say if he wants you involved; if the king required your presence, I’m sure he would have summoned you.’
Isak growled, disliking the implication that he was at Emin’s beck and call. ‘Then your king might have to be more careful about what he takes for granted,’ he snapped.
Ilumene bowed in acquiescence and disappeared into the shadow of a laurel. Even with his remarkable hearing, Isak couldn’t hear the man leave. It was as though he simply faded into the darkness.
Scree? What could possibly lure King Emin there? He looked to the south, where he fancied he saw the faintest of lights on the horizon. He had a sudden, desperate urge to know what the King of Narkang was up to.
‘Home first,’ he reminded himself. ‘Everything else can wait.’
CHAPTER 6
Zhia hurried across into the shade of the high-pillared porch, her thick shawl pulled low over her face to hide her from the scorching afternoon sun. Her coachman, Panro - who doubled as guard and servant, and once, on a particularly dull day in Narkang, lover -closed the coach door and climbed back up on the seat. He wouldn’t bother going far; it was unlikely the Red Palace would see any more visitors during the short time Zhia intended to stay. Scree waited drowsily for evening, when the sun’s ferocity would lessen; shops and stalls were shut up and even the most diligent of tradesfolk sought some shady corner or dark hallway. Zhia couldn’t help smiling; the unusual summer heat had proved an unexpected bonus. In Scree everyone would be sleeping during the day, so her nocturnal life was less likely to draw notice.
Zhia paused and savoured the light breeze that greeted her through the tall panelled doors, scented with sweet roses and orange trees from somewhere within. A man dressed in a dark brown livery stood waiting for her, his head bowed. No member of the White Circle would come and greet Zhia; the custom was for visitors to be presented once they had made themselves presentable. This was particularly useful for Zhia, for any errant ray of sun would blacken and burn her skin.
‘Mistress Siala has been informed of my arrival?’ she asked, snapping her fingers at the liveried man. Her Fysthrall dialect and mannerisms were impeccable.
‘Yes, Mistress Ostia.’ The man kept his head bowed as he spoke. ‘I am to escort you to her office immediately.’
But why? thought Zhia. She leads the White Circle now the rest of the leadership is dead, I made sure of that. Does she simply want an account of their failure? Or did she know that the Fysthrall queen carried the Skull of Paths with her? I think I was sensible to leave that in the carriage; she wouldn’t think to search that, but she might well have a mage up there with her.
The servant was waiting patiently for a reply. When she did finally jab a finger towards the inside of the palace he bowed low and moved to lead the way. As she followed him down the hall, she saw the red theme continued inside as well. Outside, the painted pillars, window frames and doors were distinctive, even arresting, especially when seen from a distance. Within, the colours looked garish and crass, and incongruous with the elegant furnishings, which were far too sophisticated for anyone local, especially the duke Siala had recently deposed. Siala was apparently from Tor Salan, but until she met the woman there was no way of telling if the sophistication was hers. Zhia hoped so; the rest of the Circle had hardly taxed her brain, and an intelligent adversary would make her stay in Scree infinitely more entertaining.
A large open staircase took her to the second floor and she looked carefully at the high windows. It wasn’t often that she dared venture out during the day, but when it was necessary, she took every precaution.
Siala’s study faced the head of the stairs. The door itself, flanked by blank-faced Fysthrall soldiers before whom the servant cringed, hadn’t been spared the scarlet ravages of Scree’s previous ruler; the faces on the four carved panels had been stained red and detailed in gold leaf. To her right, Zhia noted a pair of male functionaries sagging when they caught sight of her, apparently aware that she would be admitted ahead of them.
‘Mistress Siala is just concluding a meeting,’ the servant at Zhia’s side murmured, and at her curt nod, he fled.
The door did indeed open a heartbeat later, and to Zhia’s complete astonishment a man dressed like a country minstrel strode out of the room with all the confidence of a king. Over a dirty green tunic he wore a gaudy gold chain with bejewelled coins laced through it hanging down to his navel, and a feathered hat was caught under one arm. His tanned, pinched face and narrow nose suggested southern origins. His skin was as grubby as his clothes.
Tor Salan perhaps, or Embere? Now what would Siala be doing meeting with a dirty foreign minstrel? Her train of thought stopped dead as Zhia realised the most remarkable thing about the man was that the gold chain was not costume jewellery. Now I know all I need to about Siala, Zhia said to herself. The minstrel had a deeply satisfied look on his face, one that might not have been there if Siala had paid enough attention to the gem-encrusted coins hanging off that chain. But what does it tell me about this man, dressed like a vagrant musician, standing like a king and wearing a king’s ransom around his neck?
‘Lady,’ the minstrel acknowledged, bowing with a flourish after he had taken the time to scrutinise her as carefully as she had him. The accent suggested something of the south as well, but no place she could identify.
Not ‘Mistress’, though; he almost seems to recognise me. Could that be possible, or has the heat just got me flustered? ‘Have we met?’ she snapped.
‘Unfortunately not, for you are new to the city, no? But if you seek your entertainment under cover of night, I am sure your presence in Scree will be to my profit.’ The minstrel bowed. ‘Now if you will excuse me, gracious lady, I must away.’
He didn’t wait for permission but trotted off down the stair without a backwards glance while Zhia frowned. Who was he? He said ‘under cover of night’ -but did he actually recognise her?
‘You must be Ostia,’ declared a voice from inside the study. Zhia resumed an expression of placid innocence as she s
wept in to the room. Behind a desk stood a tall, slim, striking-looking woman dressed in white silk; some fifty summers of age, Zhia guessed, though her face had weathered the passing years well. To her right were two others, sitting together on a narrow chaise longue, but Zhia sensed neither was a mage and ignored them. It was the remorseless gleam in Siala’s eye that had caught her attention. The woman stood perfectly still, taking in every detail of Zhia’s appearance. You don’t look like a fool, thought Zhia, a little scornfully. You know how to deal with minor sisters like Ostia, I’m sure, but that could simply mean you’re a well-born bully. What lies behind the make-up and fading beauty, anything of value?
‘I am, Mistress Siala,’ Zhia replied gravely, her hands clasped to her chest and head inclined slightly. Four peaked windows behind Siala spread a carpet of golden light into the room.
‘Please, sit,’ Siala said, nodding to a chair bathed in the warm sunlight.
‘If it doesn’t offend you, I would prefer to stand,’ Zhia replied calmly. She recognised Siala’s intention, to make her hot and uncomfortable as she was questioned - though the effect on a vampire would be rather more than merely uncomfortable. She stood behind the high-backed chair and arched her back theatrically. ‘I’m afraid all this travelling has knotted me up quite dreadfully. It would be a blessing just to be able to stand straight for a while.’
Siala conceded and directed Zhia’s attention to the two attendants on the chaise longue. They rose at Siala’s gesture. One woman was dressed like a common soldier, but with a rapier on her hip. She had the long, pronounced features of a Deneli tribeswoman. She gave Zhia a broad smile as recognition flashed in both faces.
‘May I introduce you to Haipar, who is acting as representative for a group of mercenaries we have employed.’
‘As a matter of fact, we’ve already met,’ Haipar said, pushing back her whitened hair. Her other hand rested on her sword hilt. Zhia ignored her; the blade was just for show. Haipar would not have been hired for her skill with a sword, but for her rather more brutal talents -and if she were representative of the mercenaries they employed, Siala had definitely bitten off more than she could chew. Zhia noted that despite being banished from her clan years ago, Haipar still brushed ash into her hair, as though trying to look as old as she actually was. It could have been a day since they last met, rather than the decade it was.
Siala arched her eyebrows. Zhia said nothing, but she shifted her weight, ready to leap for the door if Haipar gave her away. Fighting her way out of the Red Palace might be messy if some of her comrades were also around, but none were Zhia’s match, even without the Skull.
‘We once shared an employer,’ Haipar said after a moment. ‘Ostia was acting as political advisor, while I—Ah, I helped with certain matters of security.’
‘And thus I can personally testify to the efficacy of your employee’s talents,’ Zhia said with a smile, relieved at Haipar’s utter lack of loyalty. ‘I would have been in significant danger, had it not been for Haipar.’
‘Ostia flatters me; she had quite a firm grip on events, as I recall,’ Haipar replied, a calculating glint in her eye.
Siala watched them both, a slight smile hovering on her lip, before moving on. ‘The young woman next to Haipar is Legana, who has recently been persuaded to join the Circle.’
Legana, a startlingly beautiful woman of Farlan origin, said nothing but offered Zhia a brief bow. She was dressed as if for a formal hunt; her light jerkin of bleached chamois leather, though detailed in mother-of-pearl, was clearly functional.
No doubt you’d wear a man’s clothes if you could, Zhia thought to herself. Dear me, Lesarl hasn’t grown any more subtle with age, has he? Any fool could tell she’s ideal for recruitment to the Circle -so didn’t they even question it? That girl looks just a little too beautiful and a little too dangerous to be the innocent she would have us think.
‘Legana, Haipar, if you would wait outside?’ Siala’s voice broke into Zhia’s musings. ‘Mistress Ostia and I have business to discuss.’
Zhia felt Siala’s eyes on her back as she turned to watch them leave.
‘Ostia, you appear to be rather more experienced than I had realised,’ Siala began as the door closed. ‘I would not have expected you to run in the same circles as Haipar -not with her savage reputation.’
Zhia restrained a smile. Oh, if you only knew, you foolish little girl, she thought, but said, ‘You know what Haipar is, then?’
‘I do -or at least, I have heard stories of her kind. Considering the predicament the Sisterhood finds itself in, we are in need of such fearsome reputations.’
And yet you wouldn’t welcome mine. ‘That may be, but mercenaries like Haipar are notoriously difficult to control,’ Zhia said softly. ’Their value on the battlefield is undeniable, but they can prove tiresome at other times.’ She left her comment to sink in and changed the subject. ‘Might I ask about the man with whom you were just meeting?’
‘Who? Oh, the minstrel.’ Siala gave a dismissive wave. ‘Just the leader of some travelling players with a request.’
‘Just a travelling player,’ Zhia echoed, ‘yet he managed to secure a meeting with you? I’m impressed that you find time to sleep if you deal with every scrap of business yourself.’
‘Of course I don’t, but the man had persuaded an official to request an audience on his behalf.’ Siala paused, her eyes becoming slightly vacant and glassy. For a moment, Zhia thought the woman had been enchanted, then she recognised it as puzzlement. ‘A strange one, but persuasive. Certainly suited to the stage. I found his voice quite hypnotic.’
‘And his request?’
‘The request? Nothing important. The minstrel wanted to use condemned criminals in one of his plays to make an execution scene real.’
‘And your reply?’ Something was troubling Zhia: she of all people had few qualms about killing, and she knew full well how best to please a mob, but the man wore an augury chain, and augury chains were not trinkets for the vain. Whether it had been a test for Siala, or something else, there was something more going on. ‘Did you allow it?’
‘Yes. Do you disapprove?’ Siala glared, daring a challenge to her authority.
‘Not at all, it was mere curiosity. The man intrigued me.’
‘Why?’
‘He wore an augury chain, not costume jewellery, but a real one,’ Zhia said, interested in Siala’s reaction. ‘I would guess that no more than a hundred have been made in the last two millennia. The complexity, the materials -augury chains are incredibly expensive. That a wandering minstrel has one . . .’ Zhia shrugged. ‘What was his name?’
‘Augury chains?’ Siala looked blank. ‘I’ve never heard of them. He called himself Rojak; he has rented the sunken theatre between Six Temples and the Shambles.’
‘Rojak?’ The name meant nothing to Zhia. ‘If circumstances allow, perhaps I will take in a show after all.’
‘Well, before you do,’ Siala said brusquely, annoyed that she had been diverted from her intended subject, ‘please tell me what happened in Narkang. The few reports I’ve had have been patchy at best. It appears you were the only sister of any importance to survive.’ Her calm façade slipping, she leaned across the marble desk. ‘Is it certain the queen of the Fysthrall died? Were you there?’
Zhia had perfected the look of innocence thousands of years before Siala had been born. Now she knew what Siala wanted to know, and Siala’s careful scrutiny would bear no fruit.
‘I was not present at the queen’s death, no,’ she began, a touch of regret in her voice. ‘She had assigned me as handler for the pirate Herolen Jex - she had little faith in his intelligence and thought it best to have regular updates.’
Siala hid her disappointment. ‘And your escape from the city?’
‘When the attack failed, the city was chaos. I found myself in the company of two local mercenaries and once I proved to them that I’d be useful to them alive -and problematic to kill - we fled together. I must as
sume we were fortunate, for I remember little beyond those frantic periods of running and hiding, and killing those in our way.’ She watched Siala’s face as she added, ‘We stole some horses and my modest magic was sufficient to keep us hidden from pursuers.’
‘And what of the events in the jousting arena?’
‘Is there much to know? They had captured the Farlan Krann and were going to bond him to the Queen’s service as planned once he was awake. I cannot tell you whether they underestimated his strength, or if King Emin got a rescue party through - I do know the attack was anticipated, not the complete surprise our agents had led us to believe, so the king may well have been prepared.’
Zhia watched emotions flicker in Siala’s eyes and felt a moment of amusement. Scree’s new ruler was obviously desperate to find out about the Crystal Skull. Possession of the Skull would doubtlessly confer complete control over the White Circle -for someone with enough strength of mind, it might even grant authority over the entire Fysthrall tribe, if she ever ventured beyond the eastern mountains to where they had been banished.
The strongest of the Fysthrall had taken part in the attack on Narkang, all those people gambled away in a desperate attempt to fulfil a prophecy, the key mistresses and warleaders lost when Lord Isak called down the wrath of Nartis. The White Circle would not recover its strength in Siala’s lifetime, and those that remained this side of the mountains, already divided between cities, would soon discover they had few allies outside their strongholds. The Farlan were not known for their forgiving nature.
‘Were we betrayed? Is that how he anticipated the attack?’ Siala whispered.
Her thoughts were still on the Skull, but she couldn’t ask more without inviting suspicion and curiosity, and Zhia was certain the existence of the Skull was not a secret she’d want to share.
