The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (162 page)

Natai let the woman chatter on; it was preferable to lonely silence. Gripping her hand tight enough to turn her knuckles white, Natai looked down at the open gate where she could make out the solitary figure of Major Feilin, loitering uneasily.

‘They cannot believe the city will stand for it; the duke was a beloved and humble man,’ she went on. ‘The arrogance of the clerics has grown out of all proportion.’

‘They do not think,’ Natai said dully. ‘They have lost all reason. The temples are places of madness now; we must close them until sense returns. We will quarantine them so the people are not infected by this evil.’

‘A quarantine?’ Lady Kinna asked. ‘Yes, of course, I will see it is done. The infection must be purged. The people will be glad; they are unsettled by the fury and hatred being preached.’

‘Better they look to Ruhen than seek answers in the temples,’ Natai said with sudden vehemence. ‘In his eyes you will find peace, in the temples there is only madness.’ She stopped suddenly as she saw sudden activity in the street below.

‘Look, here they come.’

A column of dark shapes, men huddled against the rain, trotted with surprising speed towards the main gate. A number split off and went in different directions, forming up in neat lines across the alleys and avenues that adjoined the main street.

Lady Kinna gave a tiny gasp, then straightened her shoulders. She would be strong. The duchess focused on the gate. Yes, the penitents had reached it, and knocked Major Feilin down. They hadn’t waited but streamed past and over him. She couldn’t tell whether he lived or not; all she could do was hope that in their haste the flood of men surging into the courtyard had left him alive. Her servants, wearing the uniform of Ruby Tower Guardsmen, were gathered in a sullen, frightened clump on the right. The penitents did not hesitate but headed straight for the pretend soldiers, knocking many down and stripping their weapons with brutal efficiency. She could imagine the angry shouts and commands. They would be forced to their knees and one or two killed as an example perhaps…

Natai found herself holding her breath, waiting for Sergeant Kayel to appear. The mercenaries continued to stream into the courtyard, scores of men, a hundred, two hundred, all desperate to be off the rain-soaked street for fear of Ushull’s savage daughter, Kiyer of the Deluge. Finally knots of robed priests followed. Though she strained to see, the tower was too high for her to make out any of the faces.

‘How many of them do I know?’ she murmured softly, leaning forward. ‘How many have laid blessings on my head?’

‘Your Grace, don’t stand so close to the window,’ Lady Kinna said with alarm. ‘They must not be able to recognise you.’

‘It is too far, they will see nothing.’

‘What if they use magic?’

‘They don’t have the strength. Peness would be able to do so, but there is not one cleric in Byora who approaches his skill.’

As the soldiers continued to enter, a distant voice in Natai’s head told her she should be afraid, that there were so many her guards would not be able to hold them, but the emotion would not come.

‘Look,’ Lady Kinna said, pointing, ‘Materse Avenue!’

Natai followed the direction of Kinna’s finger and saw the first rush of water down one of the main avenues, around the left-hand side of the compound. The soldiers still on the street abandoned all pretence of discipline and ran sloshing away from the water. One tripped and had to struggle up on his own as none of his comrades stopped to help him. In less than a minute, Natai knew, the flood would crash down the streets on either side of her compound, channelled down the four long streets of Eight Towers that had been designed to carry away the worst of the floods. Kiyer would still claim victims, she always did, but the losses would be fewer now the city had been designed to allow her passage.

Somewhere down below the message was passed to the soldiers, and the rest piled inside the compound wall. They left a respectful gap around the priests who were standing in the centre of the compound, facing the grand entrance to the tower. For a moment she couldn’t see what they were looking at, until a figure lurched out towards them. Sergeant Kayel was walking none too steadily. He carried something in his hand. A club? No, a clay bottle.

Natai heard Lady Kinna gasp. He really has no fear of these priests, she realised. Neither fear - nor respect.

Kayel took a moment to return the stares he received, then lurched around and headed back inside. She knew they would follow him, and as he disappeared from view again, Natai turned for the door, throat dry and heart pounding. She ignored the urgent voice of Lady Kinna behind her. She could picture the ceiling collapsing down on their heads, snapping their withered bones like twigs, cutting off their cries like lambs in the slaughterhouse. The memory of Ganas falling, slowly, so slowly, made her stumble, but she caught herself in time and fought her way forward - down the corridor and the series of short staircases that would take her to the gallery where she could look down upon her vacant throne.

She could hear the tramp of boots starting on the stairs further down, but she went on regardless. The floors in between were the largest, with dozens of rooms each; they wouldn’t reach her before the roof fell in and they raced back to find their leaders dead. With Lady Kinna following close behind, the Duchess of Byora ran through the deserted corridors to Erwillen’s Landing, named by one of her ancestors out of misplaced piety for the shrine to the High Hunter, an Aspect of Vellern, he had built there - he stationed archers in it to pick off supposed assassins.

The landing, painted with garish murals, was positioned immediately above the main entrance to the Ruby Tower. Tall windows looked over the entrance and down into the Duchess Chamber. The hanging shrine was suspended from the ceiling: a wrought-iron frame from which dangled a mass of feathers, brightly coloured ribbons and small icons bearing Erwillen’s image.

As she passed, the items trembled and she stopped to look at them. The colours were faded and weak. Natai touched the nearest feather lightly and it crumbled under her finger. She stared at the ash-like remains that fell into her palm for a moment before grabbing one of the painted wooden icons and crushing it in one hand as easily as if it were paper.

‘You’re dead. This shrine is drained and empty. This is only the first of many in Byora,’ Natai promised.

Looking down into the Duchess Chamber, all she saw was her vacant throne. The fixed stone seat, large enough for a child to sit comfortably beside Byora’s ruler, was set on a pedestal. There was a tall wooden frame behind, painted with the city’s livery. The scene was as still as a painting - until Sergeant Kayel staggered into sight and began to follow a meandering path towards a door behind the throne. Two penitents in black-painted mail followed briskly behind. They caught him with ease, one dodging a drunkenly swung bottle as the other cracked a club over Kayel’s head. The big soldier dropped to one knee with a grunt.

The Duchess of Byora felt her breath catch as the echo of footsteps came from somewhere below her. She could picture men hanging back, nervously watching the soldiers deal with Kayel before entering. The copper tang of blood appeared in her mouth and she realised she’d bitten her lip in anticipation, but before she could wipe it away a great creak rang out and the floor beneath her feet shuddered. Natai grabbed the windowsill to steady herself as the groan and crack of tortured brickwork intensified. She chanced another look down at the chamber. The two penitents were staring back in horror; even Kayel seemed momentarily frozen as the antechamber shuddered violently.

Natai froze. Kayel and the soldiers were not the only people in the chamber. She felt a scream bubble up in her throat, but fear drove the air from her lungs as a small figure toddled out from behind the throne, heading towards Kayel as something below her fell and shattered on the tiled antechamber floor. It was followed in the next moment by an almighty crash that reverberated through her body as the antechamber itself collapsed.

The violence of the shockwave drove Natai to her knees. A cloud of dust billowed out into the ducal chamber as she hauled herself forward to look out of the window again and through it she glimpsed Kayel lunging at one of the penitents. He kicked the back of the man’s legs and punched him in the throat as he fell, but the second was quick and lashed out with his club, sending Kayel sprawling. Natai went white as Ruhen tottered in between them, but the penitent didn’t follow up his attack.

Natai couldn’t see the enigmatic smile on the child’s face, but with arms held out wide for balance, Ruhen advanced towards the penitent with unsteady steps, perfectly unafraid. Natai couldn’t see the man’s expression, but she felt the sudden warmth of Ruhen’s beatific smile. He didn’t move, not even when Sergeant Kayel pulled himself to his feet and threw his sword like a throwing knife. The tip caught the penitent in the neck and felled him.

Before the sergeant could retrieve his weapon, an invisible hand seemed to slap him backwards. Natai could just make out the astonishment on Kayel’s face as a second blow threw him several yards back. Ruhen turned to follow his protector as two figures staggered into view from the ruin of the antechamber, shaking the dust from their robes and advancing unsteadily towards the child.

Fear lent strength to Natai’s limbs and restored her voice. With a shriek the duchess ran for the stair, kicking off her slippers but still barely keeping from breaking her neck as she descended. When she reached the room she found the two priests standing over Ruhen. The little boy was staring up at them, completely unafraid.

One of the men saw her and took a step backwards, looking shocked. She recognised the young man, even with his face twisted in hate - he was normally to be found standing quietly in the background at the Temple of Ushull. He raised his hand and she heard a strange noise, as if something was sucking air in. A coiling stream of energy began to form around the mage.

Natai, oblivious to the danger to herself, raced towards them and threw herself in front of the child, shrieking, ‘You will not hurt him!’

‘Filthy heretics,’ spat the other priest, a fat-cheeked man with white hair dressed in the distinctive scarlet robes of Karkarn. He was cradling his right arm but she could see sparks of red light dancing over his skin; he was still dangerous.

‘You will all die for this crime,’ he said.

‘No,’ said a quiet voice in her mind. She shivered, and looked at the priests. She saw in their faces that they had felt it too. She turned, but Kayel was still lying on the ground.

She felt as if she were frozen to the spot, unable to move any part of her body apart from her head - and it looked like the priests were similarly stricken. Only Ruhen appeared unaffected - and he was the only one not looking around for whoever had spoken.

With a calm smile on his face and a fistful of Natai’s dress bunched in his plump little hand to support himself, the little boy slowly made his way around her. He looked up at the priest of Karkarn, whose face was illuminated by the weird light of magic as he muttered an incantation. He faltered for a moment, then the hatred reasserted itself and he drew in deeply, the light intensifying.

Natai tried to reach out to Ruhen, but her limbs would not respond and all she could do was watch as the child reached out a hand and waggled his stubby little fingers towards the priest - but his little wave seemed to strike the priest like a blow and the trails of magical lights vanished. He gave a strangled squawk of shock and dropped to his knees, clutching his heart, before collapsing onto the tiled floor.

The priest of Ushull’s astonished expression turned just as swiftly into a paroxysm of pain. He fell just as quickly, one hand protectively around his throat, and twitched and shook on the ground, his mouth stretched wide in a silent scream.

Ruhen was silent as he watched the two men die, though Natai thought she could hear voices whispering all around them. She flinched when the little boy turned to face her, but instead of the horror she had been expecting, Ruhen’s face was just the same as ever. His cheeks dimpled suddenly as he gave her a big beaming grin and spread his arms wide, demanding to be carried.

The duchess swept him up in her arms and turned in a circle, glaring at the faces watching them until they all fled, leaving her alone with the boy in her arms and the sergeant, now groggily lifting himself up off the ground and slurring his way through a stream of invective. Natai didn’t wait to thank him but, holding Ruhen tight in her arms and breathing in the sweet scent of his hair, she headed back up the stairs, not stopping until she was at the top of the Ruby lower and the whispers were left far behind.

Venn felt his body jerk as a swirl of shadow raced past his eyes. His dry, cracked lips had stuck together, so his waking breath was more of a weak, tuneless whistle, though it was enough to attract the attention of the tall priestess sitting a few yards away. When she saw he was awake she picked up a bowl of soup that had been cooling nearby and walked over to him.

Her face had lost none of the strength he’d first noticed, before she had established herself as his nursemaid. She was a handsome woman, and her looks had not diminished under age’s onslaught. She had not yet gone so far as to cast aside the half-mask set with obsidian shards, but he could sense she was close. She saw purpose in him, in every word he spoke. She would be Azaer’s fiercest follower, the child’s most pitiless defender.

‘Even mountains fail in the course of time. Even glaciers melt away to nothing. A gradual decline is irresistible in all things.’

He had abandoned the forms of instruction used by the Harlequins, for they were no longer necessary. He spoke little these days, constantly drained by the effort of keeping two hearts beating, two minds working. Jackdaw was entirely dependent on him to stay alive so Venn could not afford to waste his strength on idle talk.

The priestess knew well how hard speaking had become for him. She crouched at his side, eyes bright as she realised she would be the one to pass on this latest pronouncement. The others would have to sit at her feet and wait for her to speak, for the narcotic tingle of truth rushing through their minds.