The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (164 page)

Zhia nodded gravely. ‘It sounds like an object lesson to the rest of us, whatever the truth might be. He identified their strength and attacked it. The man’s arrogance is matched only by his ability.’ She leaned forward, elbows on the table and stared fixedly at Harys. ‘This is not a trick question, although it might be a strange one, but you will indulge me.’

‘Of course, Mistress,’ the brothel madam said quickly, shrinking buck in her seat. She looked terrified.

‘Have you heard any stories recently, from whatever source, about a child?’

Koezh could hear the thump of her heartbeat quicken as she opened her mouth to reply. ‘A child? I don’t really - ‘ She stopped, and frowned. ‘The only thing I can think of is the duchess’s new Ward.’

‘She is noted for taking in orphans, no?’ Zhia said, trying to encourage Harys.

‘She is. I haven’t paid much attention, I’m afraid, for it’s talk among the young maids and my girls rather than the men who come in here. It’s foolishness, for the main part; something about his cries inspiring a coward to take on the duchess’s entire guard - and the Gods themselves striking down two priests during the clerics’ revolt when they tried to hurt the child.’

Koezh looked at his sister. ‘You were right.’

‘It was a reasonable guess,’ Zhia replied, looking pleased. ‘What we saw in Scree was the shadow at the heart of events, letting chaos unfold around it. Whatever is to come next, it will likely be centred on the Circle City or Tor Salan.’

She gave an elegant shrug and flicked an errant curl of black hair away from her face. ‘We came here first because it was closer, not because of the duchess’s habit of adopting strays.’

‘Mistress, are you saying what happened in Scree could happen here next?’ Harys asked with mounting alarm.

‘I doubt it,’ Zhia replied carelessly. She began to tap her perfectly manicured nails on the table surface, as if following a tune in her head.

Koezh waited. His sister had always tried to test his patience; her way was one of teasing people to exasperation. He pitied the poor foolish boys, like that soldier from Narkang, Doranei. Even if her affection for him was true, it would not stop the immortal from playing games with him.

And love only goes so far, Koezh thought as he pictured Doranei’s face. The young man was an exceptional soldier; he’d have to be to hold the position he did, but ever since Scree, Koezh couldn’t think of him as anything other than a lost puppy trailing after Zhia. Don’t think love will protect you, my boy. If this shadow can give us what want, Zhia will not even hesitate.

‘A con artist does not perform the same trick to a crowd twice,’ Zhia pronounced at last. ‘Misdirection is the name of the game here; the shadow may be so weak either of us could swat it like a fly.’

‘So if the trick is repeated, King Emin would know exactly where to stick in the knife,’ Koezh finished for her. ‘So what then is the new trick? This child?’

‘Presumably - we just need to work out what role it has to play. Our clues to the riddle will be in the stories folk are telling: the inspired coward, the priests struck down.’

‘Both stories a Harlequin might tell,’ Koezh added pointedly, ‘but I’ll bet this is no quick con, not after what we saw in the north. It’s too subtle, and slow.’

Harys gave a hesitant cough to interrupt them. ‘I’ve remembered something else. One of the servant girls said she’d seen a leper at the gates of the Ruby Tower. The guards had driven him off, but he kept coming back every day, even though he just got driven away again. He kept saying something about begging for intercession with the Gods.’

Zhia raised an eyebrow. ‘Accelerating the loss of faith? It cannot turn everyone against the Gods as it did in Scree, so instead it provides an alternative?’

‘And then do what?’ Koezh argued, ‘kill the child to leave them bereft of a figure of worship? That won’t happen quickly, and while the Gods can be notoriously slow to react, I doubt their servants will be tardy in cutting off such a threat at source.’

‘It makes a martyr of the child; that’s a powerful figure when used properly.’ Zhia sounded far from convinced of her argument, but after watching Scree collapse in flames she had resolved she would not be out-thought by anyone again.

‘A martyrdom that could have all four quarters of this city-state behind it and still come to nothing. The Circle City is an important trade centre, nothing more. It isn’t a power here, and it would take a decade of being led by a genius before that would substantially change. If the child had been adopted by King Emin or Knight-Cardinal Certinse, then you might have me convinced, but here there is nothing to win down that road.’

Zhia nodded. ‘Let us hope we have time to find out what we need to know before the time comes for us to choose our side. Kastan Styrax will head this way soon, I’m certain of it.’ She turned back to the woman and, switching back into the local dialect, asked, ‘Harys, tell me how I get close to the duchess.’

The woman shook her head. ‘I can’t help you there, Mistress. I’ve no influence there, not at those levels.’

‘Who does?’

‘Very few since the duke was killed. The duchess hasn’t left Eight Towers this last week; some clerics have started fighting back against her measures to control them. They say warrior-priests of Karkarn have ambushed patrols all over the city for the last two weeks, and a government minister, Garan Dast, he was murdered by a Mystic of Karkarn at the Mule Gate. Even when the penitents fail, the guards are killing indiscriminately, and arresting people all over the place. They’re winning no friends - there have been riots, and they’re getting worse.’

‘Who has her ear? Is it still that mincing fool Leyen?’

‘No, he died in the Prayerday assassination. Perhaps Lady Kinna?’

‘Lady Kinna?’ Zhia repeated. I don’t recognise the name. How do I get to her?’

‘I don’t know, Mistress. I know nothing of the woman, other than she’s apparently giving the orders on the duchess’s council. They say she’s pushing the others to pass an order to close the Temple of Death.’

‘She intends to bar the gates of Death?’ Zhia said with an appreciative laugh. I like her already. Can you get someone in her household to provide us with a lock of her hair?’

Harys frowned for a moment, then smiled a little. ‘Yes, I would have thought so.’

‘Why not just drop in and see this child yourself?’ Koezh asked.

‘Little steps, dear brother, always little steps when you’re negotiating. We don’t want to frighten the poor mite, do we?’ Zhia said. Her smile showed her teeth.

Doranei leaned nearer the little fire that was struggling fitfully against the breeze. The chill had begun to bite in the last half hour and he realised he was shivering even while patting out the occasional spark that hopped onto his clothes. Caution still ruled, even though they were a mile or two inside the Narkang border, hence the small fire. He risked a couple more branches, then checked around to see if they had company yet.

‘Cheer up; at least it’s not raining,’ said someone from the darkness.

Beyn’s voice was unmistakable and Doranei kept on with his task of chopping up firewood as his comrade walked into view. The tall blond man hobbled his horse near Doranei’s before joining him and squatting down to warm his hands. He didn’t even glance at the dark shapes that had followed him but were lingering outside the circle of light. Doranei ignored them too, He knew why they were hanging back.

He grimaced. Thank the Gods for Beyn’s arrogance.

He slipped on a glove and gingerly retrieved a lidded clay pot from the edge of the fire-pit. Opening it up, he sniffed at the contents. Good enough, he decided; if the rest of them want some they can damn well ask. There was a larger pot hanging over the fire, barely bubbling yet - tomorrow night’s meal, courtesy of Sebe’s skill with a slingshot.

Doranei could feel Beyn’s eyes on him as he bent over the pot he’d secured between his outstretched legs. The warmth of the pot itself and the first few cautious bites improved his mood no end, but even the smile on his face didn’t draw the watchers closer until Sebe trotted in from his sentry shift and squatted at Doranei’s side.

The wiry man pushed back his hood to reveal a lopsided grin at the prospect of hot food.

‘What’re you lot waiting for?’ Sebe called as he retrieved a similar pot. ‘Want a written invitation?’ He elbowed Doranei. ‘All the more for us, then.’

Sebe’s jocular familiarity seemed to decide it and five people emerged to join them around the fire. Three were members of the Brotherhood, which annoyed Doranei even more. How could his own comrades be wary around him? Why was it so hard for them to get a handle on the strange relationship he had with Zhia Vukotic?

Mind you, I’ve no bloody idea what’s going on there myself. But they should have worked out by now that nothing’s really changed. I thought we were supposed to be able to adapt to anything.

Tremal was the oldest of the three. The wiry little man had proved himself a useful addition to the Brotherhood over the last few years. He was, most obviously of all the Brotherhood, an Ascetite, and the life of a thief had honed that latent magical potential into a skill that couldn’t be taught - but his cat-like reactions and thieving instincts had made him permanently wary, so perhaps his reticence was just normal. Janna, Sebe’s lover, always said Tremal was a few meals short of being handsome, but she’d never managed to feed the man up enough to make him worth the effort, or so she maintained.

The other two Brothers, Firrin and Horle, were both young enough to make Doranei wonder if he was getting old. They were dressed in identical brigandines. Have to have a word about that, it’s looking too much like a uniform, he thought.

He looked at the woman with them, Hirta, who stared straight back at him. As prickly as a hedgehog, that one - although she’ll have to be if she does end up staying and joining the Brotherhood.

Hirta was even smaller than Tremal, but she looked like she had Chetse blood in her, for she was powerful with it. She wasn’t quite twenty summers, but she was already older than most when they joined up - although the commander wouldn’t send a woman out with them until he was sure she could cope. Most men weren’t tough enough, so it was rare a woman was even put up for membership.

‘Get yourselves some food,’ Doranei growled at last. ‘We’ll be leaving at dawn.’

‘Where to?’ Beyn asked.

‘You’re taking him to Sautin first, then Mustet,’ Doranei said with a nod towards the fifth member of Beyn’s troupe. Eyl Parim flinched at the movement and kept his face low. The demagogue was doubtless hating life out on the open road; winter was never fun, and the Brotherhood traveled harder than most, no matter what the conditions.

Parim was something Doranei couldn’t classify, somewhere between an Ascetite and a minor mage. He could use his voice to be preternaturally persuasive, and as a result was more used to enjoying the hospitality of rich benefactors than traveling with a band of rough-living men. Beyn had tracked him down two years ago and reminded the man of past infractions; they had been waiting since then for a real challenge for Parim’s rare skills.

Never mind how little you enjoy Sautin and its enthusiastic approach to crowd control, I’d trade in a heartbeat, Doranei though sourly. His own mission was to start looking for Zhia Vukotic in the Circle City, which was presumably her nearest bolt-hole to Scree.

‘Keep it quiet and keep it subtle,’ Doranei continued. ‘Sautin is the priority, so get there and start stirring up ill-feeling against the Menin-and any appeasers. Once established, Beyn, you take Hirta to Mustet to lay the ground there. Once Beyn’s gone on, Horle, you’re calling the shots in Sautin, understand?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Doranei’s face darkened. ‘Cut that out,’ he snapped, ‘we’re not bloody soldiers. You answer to one man alone, remember?’

‘Right, yes, sorry.’ Horle managed not to flush at his mistake, but his embarrassment was plain to see and Sebe chuckled merrily. Doranei glowered at his Brother, but that was ignored. Sebe too had been cautious around Doranei for a bit, but now he’d taken on the role of ensuring his best friend looked like any other Brother. Doranei might be first among equals now, but he wasn’t going to get the respect Ilumene had been granted - something he was profoundly grateful for.

‘And you - until you stop looking like a kitten you shouldn’t be laughing at anyone,’ Doranei said, earning himself an idle cuff around the head. Sebe’d shaved his long black hair off the previous summer and it had only just started growing back.

‘Beyn, take this with you and only to be used when absolutely necessary.’ He handed over a small wrapped object.

Beyn frowned at it for a moment before taking it. He disliked surprises. Inside the leather wrapping he found a large hooked claw.

Doranei felt a flicker of pleasure at the confusion on his supercilious comrade’s face. ‘Something Endine prepared for us,’ he said by way of explanation.

Tomal Endine was one of King Emin’s most trusted mages; while his magic wasn’t particularly powerful, his knowledge and skill had few rivals in the whole of Narkang and the Three Cities.

‘Is that supposed to fill me with confidence?’ Beyn muttered, turning the claw over to see the sigils that had been scratched into its surface and filled with silver, the substance best suited for magic. ‘Are these the wyvern’s claws?’

Doranei nodded. ‘One for you, one for me. If you’re desperate to send me a message, trace it out on your arm - or any piece of bare flesh. As long as I’m carrying the other claw it’ll scratch out the message on my skin.’

‘Sounds painful,’ Beyn said before a dark grin crept across his face.

‘Don’t even think about that,’ Doranei warned. The same thought had crossed his mind too. ‘Anything that’s not urgent, you’ll be getting a nice long reply, I promise.’

Sebe sniffed disapprovingly. ‘Sounds dangerous. What if this ends up in the wrong hands - Ilumene’s, for example? If tracing over the skin is enough to scratch, what happened if he pushes it into the flesh? How far would he need to go before he hits your artery? Remember the state of his hands? Bastard wouldn’t even hesitate.’