The Twilight Herald

by Tom Lloyd

  Mayel shrugged. ‘The house was quite close to your necromancer’s; perhaps the relic attracted one of the daemons when they escaped the grounds. The abbot was really paranoid, right from the moment we left the monastery, so a daemon attacking the house could have pushed him the rest of the way.’

  ‘And what is your plan now?’

  Mayel didn’t answer at first. Nervously, he looked around at the others in the room and tried in vain to read their expressions.

  Isak did the same. The only person showing any emotion was Tila, and she was doing a fair job of hiding her anxiety over Vesna’s sudden show of fury. Only the set of her lips and poise betrayed her. He wasn’t surprised at the other blank faces; it was second nature for spies and career soldiers to hide their feelings.

  ‘I don’t have a plan now,’ Mayel said reluctantly. ‘My cousin’s dead, and I can’t go back to the abbot. With the city the way it is, I don’t know what I’m going to do. No one’s going to be hiring while mobs are roaming the streets. Even my cousin’s house has been ransacked -by his own men.’ There was a trace of indignation in his voice now, and he raised his chin a little defiantly.

  ‘Have you ever considered the life of a fighting man?’ said Isak with a grin.

  ‘Not really,’ Mayel admitted as he weakly returned the smile. ‘People trying to kill me has never appealed; even a monastery sounds better than that.’

  ‘As soon as you go out of that door, people will try to kill you,’ Isak said baldly. ‘My way, you’ve at least got a sword in your hand and comrades to keep you alive.’

  Relief and suspicion clashed on Mayel’s face. ‘You mean a sword like that one?’ he said hopefully, pointing to Eolis.

  ‘Hah, perhaps not quite like mine,’ Isak said with a laugh, instinctively jerking the blade away from Mayel’s attention, ‘but I’m sure we can find you something to suit your abilities. One of the men will show you how to avoid sticking yourself with it.’

  ‘Why would you want me?’

  ‘The same reason your abbot did; we’re not locals here. We’ve good trackers, but none of us are from Scree, so that probably makes you worth feeding.’

  He turned to Jachen. ‘Take him to whatever dark corner Tiniq and Leshi are lurking in. Our newest recruit is going to tell them exactly how to get to his abbot, so they can go and investigate.’

  ‘Of course.’ Jachen remembered not to salute, and beckoned for Mayel to follow him.

  ‘My Lord,’ Legana said, once Mayel was out of earshot, ‘what are my orders?’

  Isak cocked his head, trying to decide whether he should send her back to Zhia Vukotic’s side. And what is our next step? he wondered to himself. Is there anything more to do in this city beyond finding a safe way out? I think we’ve come too late for much else.

  ‘Does the vampire know what is happening in Scree?’ he said finally.

  ‘She has her suspicions,’ Legana answered. ‘She believes the ones running the sunken theatre are casting some sort of spell that is affecting the whole city. They’re followers of Azaer, if King Emin’s men are to be believed.’

  ‘Looking at what’s going on outside, there’s not going to be a city left for much longer, so their plan must be nearing completion. ’

  Legana inclined her head in agreement.

  Isak scratched his neck. ‘No doubt the theatre will be exempt from the curfew tonight. Perhaps we’ll find our answers there.’ He beamed and raised his left hand. Curls of orange flame began to twirl around his white fingers. ‘If not, let’s burn the bastard down instead.’

  CHAPTER 22

  From the top of Anhem’s Tower, the tallest building in Scree’s north-eastern corner, Rojak watched the first shadows of evening steal over the Land, catching men and beasts unawares, wrapping them in deepening threads of twilight. He looked back at the city, where he could see a squad of brutal Fysthrall soldiers chopping their way though a crowd of locals. The rusty-skinned foreigners were worried these people were working themselves up into a frenzy, as had happened half a dozen times over the last few days, but in truth this lot were crying out for food, not slaughter. The Fysthrall didn’t understand their language.

  The minstrel smiled. ‘Misunderstandings cause such misery, more than ill will could ever manage.’

  ‘Is that a challenge?’

  Rojak gave a strange, girlish laugh. ‘Perhaps not tonight,’ he told his master.

  Beside him, Ilumene pointed out over the fields, at a towering column of dust they’d been watching as it drew closer. ‘It’ll be a close-run thing. Who will bother to ask why we have a Devoted army outside the walls? How many in this city would believe that they’re here only to protect the sanctity of Scree’s temples, as they claim, and not in fact waiting like jackals to feed on the spoils of a failing leader?’ He jabbed a thumb to the north. There were parallel thin red scabs running down the thumb from nail to wrist, and he curled it to ensure the cuts remained open. Against the clear pale blue above the horizon a dirty smear indicated the presence of another army. North, where every road led to Farlan lands.

  ‘If those Farlan come any closer, the Devoted’s commander will be forced to turn and face them; he’ll have to dig in, or risk being raided by the Farlan cavalry every hour. The Farlan will interpret digging in as a gesture of intent and act accordingly.’

  ‘And now it is time for us to give a helping hand. Ilumene, our favourite son; find us another priest for tonight’s entertainment.’

  ‘The show must go on, eh?’ Ilumene’s weathered face lit up with malicious mirth.

  ‘There will be an audience. The good folk of Scree are consumed by their hatred of everything around them; they have passed the point of no return now,’ said the minstrel, dismissing him with a gesture.

  Ilumene ran lightly down the thick stone steps to the street below, past the Hound that Rojak now needed to help him get about. It was obvious to all concerned that what they sardonically called their theatrics was taking its toll on the minstrel, who was becoming increasingly brittle with every passing day.

  Rojak looked down at the little finger of his left hand, inspecting his most recent injury. He’d scraped his hand when he’d lost his balance on the steps, and a good inch of papery skin had been shredded, revealing desiccated grey tissue that did not belong in a living man. As Scree failed, so did he -but the knowledge that this was one more victory he would steal from King Emin elicited a chuckle from his wasted throat. He winced and fumbled for the flask of brandy he carried at all times.

  ‘Now for the ill will I promised you,’ said Azaer, an icy breeze sliding gently over Rojak’s ear. ‘Send Flitter and Venn to the camp of the Second Army; tell its commanders who their mistress truly is.’

  ‘Will they be believed?’

  ‘Belief is a fickle creature. Those who believe do so because they wish to. Bane and Veren’s Staff could no more restrain themselves than King Emin could when he heard Ilumene had been seen. Ironskin is the voice of reason in that camp. His unique affliction was punishment for offending Karkan. I’m sure he will be keen to follow his comrades to please the Gods.’

  ‘Should we not wait until we see Siala’s reaction to the Devoted?’

  ‘The Devoted are in no rush to fight; they have yet to decide who their enemy is. When they see the Circle’s mercenaries fighting each other, they will stand back and watch; as Ilumene so aptly said, their nature is that of jackals. The Second Army will march on the Greengate, as that is where the vampire’s troops are. Every other gate is already barricaded, so this will bottle them all up together. Let them squabble amongst themselves, and turn on each other just as their Gods do.’

  ‘Their weakness is our power,’ intoned Rojak.

  ‘Certainly, but let no one claim we are cruel; they shall be warned that their own flaws betray them.’

  ‘A new play for tonight?’

  ‘The last play. After tonight we will retire to the wings and the theatre will be no more. We shall have nothing more for th
em but our final curtain call.’

  ‘So which is it to be for our last performance, my Master?’

  ‘Twilight reigns, the gates are locked and within, the city burns. What could it be but The Shadow Crucible?’

  ‘Tell me again why we’re here?’ asked Morghien through gritted teeth. He strained to pull himself up to the next branch. The trip had been an arduous one, despite Mihn’s many talents, and for once Morghien was feeling his age.

  ‘The answer to that hasn’t changed,’ Mihn said softly from the branch above. His attention was occupied by the earthwork ramparts surrounding a hill less than a mile away. The smooth sweeps of dark slope were illuminated by paper lanterns of yellow and red.

  Morghien gave a grunt and finally pulled himself up. Once he’d found his balance, the man of many spirits turned his head up to see Mihn, who was standing nonchalantly on a slim bough, his staff resting across his shoulders and his arms hooked over it.

  Morghien knew better than try to keep up with a former Harlequin when it came to acrobatics so he made sure of his grip before speaking again.

  ‘I actually meant, why are we climbing this bloody tree?’

  ‘Ah, I apologise,’ said Mihn. ‘I’d assumed you were continuing the litany that started as we crossed the Green Sea, but now I realise it was a whole new complaint.’

  ‘Tsatach’s balls, I’m here as a favour to your master. I’ve got every right to complain if I want to,’ Morghien muttered.

  ‘I’m sure the magnanimous Lord Isak will be pleased you’re taking every opportunity to exercise your rights,’ Mihn said cheerily.

  Morghien scowled at him. ‘Now we’re here, what can you see?’

  ‘Much of the estate, all nicely lit up for our benefit. It is Meqao’s Day today. Of all of Amavoq’s Aspects, Meqao -Hunter of the Silent Wood, as he’s known in these parts -is the most beloved by the Yeetatchen.’

  ‘He’s the one with the antlers and the huge—’

  ‘No, that’s Bohreq, the Herdfather. I thought you’d had an education?’ Mihn scratched at his ankle absentmindedly for a moment, before feeling the bandage on it and withdrawing his hand. Two days back he’d been bitten by a hunting hound on the loose, and though the wound was minor, he’d bound it to keep it clean. ‘Meqao has the head of a silver-furred wolf and carries a spear in one hand, a brass bell in the other.’

  ‘Brass bell? What damned use is that to a hunter?’

  Mihn looked down and Morghien thought he could see the man’s eyes glint in the gloom. ‘I would be happy to recount the full saga of “Meqao and the Lady of the Bluebells” - of course, it will require a gong, a bell and a jug of water, and three hours of your close attention.’ He smiled.

  ‘Perhaps later then?’ Morghien sighed. ‘Wouldn’t it be easier to get in to Lord Ajel’s home if we dressed you as a Harlequin and got you to recite the saga?’ He’d not meant it seriously, but he realised he’d overstepped the mark when Mihn tensed. The cool evening grew frosty.

  ‘Don’t suggest that again,’ Mihn said eventually, his voice tight and quiet.

  ‘I am truly sorry,’ Morghien began. ‘I didn’t mean—’

  ‘I know, but best the conversation goes no further.’ After a moment of quiet, Mihn said, ‘That is how we’ll get in: if we run along the ditch bounding the meadow until we reach that dip, we’ll come up behind those trees hung with lanterns.’

  ‘Lanterns? Can you see if it’s a sacred grove dedicated to Amavoq, or an Aspect that lives on the hill?’

  ‘Not from here, no. You think an Aspect would notice you?’

  Morghien gave a low whistle. ‘Hard to tell, but last night Xeliath told me Lord Ajel has made a local Aspect of the hill protector of the compound.’

  ‘So it will probably object when we take Lord Ajel’s daughter from her bed chamber?’ Mihn wondered.

  ‘I hope not. She doesn’t know the details of the bargain her father made. I’m hoping the Aspect will only notice if Xeliath is being taken against her will; she’s determined to leave on her own two feet. Her father wants her present at the feast, but she’s sure if she misbehaves she’ll be taken back to her room and given something to make her sleep.’

  ‘So we’ll have to carry her out?’ Mihn said.

  ‘No, Xeliath’s a cunning little minx, even touched by the Gods as she is in the waking world. She’s been behaving herself of late and they’ve been letting her take her own medicine. She says they know now she’s not a prophet, so they’re not afraid she’ll get loose and hurt someone. Tonight she’ll be awake enough for our purposes. She says the festival’s important to the Yeetatchen, so security should be lax, and that’s good for us.’

  ‘Assuming we even get there.’

  ‘Have faith, my friend,’ Morghien said with a snort of amusement. ‘As long as I keep out of that sacred grove I doubt we’ll be noticed.’

  Mihn peered down, eyebrows raised. ‘No complaint? Well in that case, let us join in the festivities.’

  The compound occupied a small hill, the highest ground in the area. It stood at the southern end of the Silent Wood, the expanse of forest that belted the island, and a sheer-edged gorge made it virtually impenetrable for potential invaders from the east. It had been hard enough for Mihn and Morghien, and they had neither horses to lead nor an army to feed, and they had Xeliath to give them the lie of the land. All Yeetatchen, noble-born or not, were taught to scout, so her description had been far better than Mihn had expected.

  The Yeetatchen compound was not defended by walls, but by earthen channels. There was little stone; the buildings set into the hillside were built of wood, and several had trees jutting through their roofs.

  The only problem they encountered making their way down the ditches was the eight inches of water at the bottom, which constantly threatened to betray them to the patrolling guards, no matter how adept they were at travelling quietly.

  At the end of the first of the long, dark ditches, Morghien touched his companion on the arm, stopping him from starting on the ten yards of open ground between them and the next bit of cover.

  ‘I have a better idea,’ Morghien whispered. He mouthed something Mihn didn’t catch and, as he finished speaking, he gave a deep sigh and closed his eyes, quietly expelling the air from his lungs. Mihn watched as a tiny wisp of fog escaped Morghien’s pursed lips and quested out a little, as though tasting the wind - then a figure stepped out from Morghien’s body and turned its head to Mihn, who gasped in shock and backed up to the side of the ditch.

  The figure was female; he could see that in the smoky lines of her face and the long, flowing hair that merged with the curve of her back. From her waist down she was less distinct, though the tendrils of fog that connected her to Morghien were almost tangible. Mihn felt the colour rise to his face as he realised the figure was entirely naked, but she appeared not to notice his embarrassment. He recognised her now: Seliasei, an Aspect of Vasle, the first and strongest of Morghien’s spirits.

  Seliasei scrutinised Mihn for a few moments, her expression blank, then stepped forward and bent down to place her hand in the ditch water.

  ‘Vasle is God of Rivers,’ Mihn murmured to himself. He began to see Morghien’s plan. These ditches are connected, he thought, and if they all have water in, Seliasei will be able to lead us safely past any guards.

  Morghien was still standing with his eyes closed, as if in a trance. Mihn hoped he’d be able to wake Morghien if anyone did come.

  Apparently satisfied with whatever she felt in the water, Seliasei straightened and drifted forward. Mihn saw the hint of legs walking, but her movement was too graceful and ethereal to be human. As Seliasei moved out from the darkness and into the faint light, she dissipated until she was little more than a suggestion in the air. Mihn thought the guards, whose night sight had probably been ruined by the lanterns that adorned the whole compound -and who would probably have sneaked a drink or two to celebrate Meqao’s Day -would dismiss anything they saw as fancy. Even if
they didn’t, were they really going to run to their commander claiming they had seen a ghost?

  Mihn watched Seliasei as the Aspect, followed closely by Morghien, made her way around the earthwork and disappeared from view, then he shook himself and followed them until they reached a corner of the compound that was, according to Xeliath’s description, in easy reach of her bedroom.

  Less than a hundred yards away stood a great circle of tents where the household were celebrating Meqao’s Day. Mihn could hear voices raised, haunting and beautiful in the cool summer air. He smiled slightly, remembering how much he had enjoyed feast days as a child. Without thinking, his lips began to move and silently join in. The song the Yeetatchen were singing was one of the oldest known, written before the Great War, when Amavoq and her Aspects regularly walked among the Yeetatchen people. The rapturous silence that greeted the singers at its close tugged at his heart.

  ‘Well, lad,’ Morghien said at last, ‘up you climb.’ He gestured to the fat creeper entwined around the oak-bough wall.

  Mihn gave the creeper an experimental tug. It seemed sound. ‘I hope she’s right about being able to make it out of here by herself,’ he whispered. ‘I don’t fancy having to lower a white-eye down on my rope.’ He checked again for servants or guards, then began to climb. There were plenty of handholds and within half a minute he’d slipped a knife up between the shutters and opened the catch.

  He looked down at Morghien, barely seen in the shadow of the wall, who nodded. Mihn pushed open the window and slid over the window sill onto a large rug. He looked around, cataloguing the spartan room. There was an ornately carved bed, with posts carved like bent branches, leading up to a canopy of leaves above, and a massive chest along the wall opposite the bed.

  The only personal details Mihn could see were a silver-backed hairbrush on the chest and a stuffed horse, a child’s toy, on the foot of the bed. Mihn took a step towards it; the small horse looked old and well loved. No doubt Xeliath kept it still because she could no longer ride in real life, something any Yeetatchen would mourn.