The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (186 page)

Too much gambling for my liking, Isak thought as Certinse tucked the letter away from the keen eyes of his entourage, and not least because of my choice of heir. With the barest amount of formality, he made his goodbyes and ordered the army to continue.

The priests started off just as quickly, all pointedly ignoring the unman’s body lying in the dirt. Two penitents were left to dig a grave. As he rode away, Isak realised they weren’t even bothering to find a river to bury the priest of Vasle beside. In their anxiety to leave Scree behind, they contrived to forget all semblance of custom.

Scree: our memorial to forgetting who we are, he thought bitterly.

The wind roared past Styrax as he led his army towards the Circle City. Ahead, Ismess, the southern quarter, stood out against the Land’s winter livery of browns and greys. All that remained of the ancient city of the Litse was a dirty white half-circle of ancient buildings surrounded by squalid shantytowns, all huddled against Blackfang Mountain. In the centre he could just make out the only impressive part left: the enormous stepped walkway leading up to the Library of Seasons.

Lord Styrax was joined by his son and his general. They gazed upon the city as the Menin warhorses, bred huge to bear the weight of white-eye soldiers, cropped the sparse winter grass. After weeks of marching, only a few miles of windswept pastureland and the arc of a river that ran off the mountain now separated them from Ismess.

‘A perfect day for a battle,’ Kohrad commented. ‘Wind behind us, ground dry and firm.’

Lord Styrax nodded. ‘A fine day,’ he agreed. ‘Shame about the view, though Ismess’s glory was fading even in Deverk Grast’s day.’

‘Can manage a lot more fading over a thousand years,’ General Gaur added from his usual position on Lord Styrax’s right.

The Menin lord agreed. Ismess was a dump; the whole Land would benefit if he just rode in there and burned most of it to the ground, killing their incompetent rulers on the way. The last bastion of the Litse was crippled by religion and the rule of idiots, a miserable prison for Hit’s few remaining followers.

‘Do you remember the intelligence report?’ Styrax asked his bestial general.

Gaur gave a twitch of his shaggy head. ‘About conquering Ismess? Hah! Teach me for not believing someone when they’re the expert.’

Styrax smiled, causing tiny lines to appear around his eyes. Unlike most Menin white-eyes, he was a cultured man. Rather than the usual mess of wild curls prevalent in the Reavers, the white-eye regiment, his thick black hair was cut short. His face was cleanshaven and unblemished - when he had served in the regiment he had avoided the traditional facial scarring many of the Reavers sported, and his beard had always been neatly braided. His differences had sparked dozens of fights and it had taken eight deaths for them to accept his dominance.

‘ “Only distaste for slaughter and vague piety prevents any of the other quarters from conquering Ismess,’” he quoted. ‘“While preserving the balance of power is the reason given, it is an empty argument as the benefits to all quarters would be realised within a few seasons.”

‘“Ultimately, all that prevents this,”’ Gaur finished, ‘“is the sense that such an act would be pathetic to behold; that the rulers feel it is beneath them.”’

‘“Beneath them?”’ Kohrad echoed. ‘It’s a good idea, but they would be embarrassed!’

‘Exactly so,’ said Styrax. ‘Deverk Grast was not the first to identify the Litse’s endemic problems; he was just the first to try to solve them by genocide. Sometimes a helping hand isn’t so welcome.’

‘My Lord,’ called Major Amber from behind the three men. He spurred his horse closer so that he wouldn’t have to shout. ‘Lord Styrax, the messenger from Duke Vrill is here. The army is ready.’

‘Thank you. Signal the Arohat regiments and Lord Larim.’

‘Yes, my Lord,’ Amber replied, standing tall in his stirrups and gesturing to the three columns of soldiers behind him. Riding in the middle was a brightly coloured figure that could only be the Chosen of Larat. The soldiers broke into a trot to overtake their generals. The officers were at the front, also on foot, but unencumbered by packs or spears.

The Third Army had traveled at an unhurried pace from Tor Salan. Styrax had taken half the men with him as he went from town to town accepting surrenders and installing garrisons where necessary. The Second Army and the bulk of their Chetse allies had remained in Tor Salan, where they were enjoying the impounded wealth of the city’s slaughtered mages. Those few Chetse who had traveled north had joined the heavy infantry in the Third Army.

Once the Circle City had surrendered he would summon what was left of the Ten Thousand and unleash them on Embere: conquering other cities under his standard would tie them to it. Once they had seen friends die in Styrax’s name they wouldn’t rebel without good cause, and he had no intention of giving them that.

The Menin advance party covered the remaining distance to the city quickly, barely slowing when they encountered an emissary sent to greet them from Lord Celao. She was a young woman with pale skin and hair so fair it was almost white, riding a dappled grey horse and looking suitably terrified by the Menin force. On her tunic was the device of the Lords of the Air, the snow-white wings that were the notable difference between Litse white-eyes and those of other tribes.

Kohrad moved out of the way so she could ride alongside Styrax, but it was a few minutes before she managed a coherent sentence, despite being herself proficient in the Menin dialect. Once she had presented Lord Celao’s formal greetings Lord Styrax cut her speech short.

‘I thank your lord for his greetings. Please offer him my compliments and inform him I am going to visit the Library of Seasons. I believe it is traditional to obstruct no one’s passage to the library -I expect this gesture of respect to be extended to me irrespective of past crimes committed by members of our tribes.’

Amber could see by the woman’s face that she had grasped the full import of Lord Styrax’s words: both distancing himself from the spectre of Deverk Grast that would loom over any conversation between Litse and Menin, and the none-too-veiled threat.

‘Yes, your Grace,’ she managed to gurgle in reply. ‘Lord Celao has invited you to be his guest tonight, however. It would be reassuring for the city to have you enjoy our hospitality, to prove to the people that your army poses them no risk.’

‘I’m quite sure that would be nice for them,’ Styrax said firmly, ‘but it’s not going to happen. I would not enjoy Lord Celao’s hospitality; the contrast between his half-starved subjects and that bloated warthog would interfere with my appetite.’

If such a thing were possible, the woman’s face became whiter.

‘Furthermore,’ Styrax continued, his voice hardening, ‘I couldn’t give a damn whether your citizens are reassured or not. The three regiments under the command of Lord Larim will encamp in the Garden of Lilies, at the foot of Hit’s Stair. My companions, bar two, will accompany me up into the mountain while the remaining two will deliver messages to Cardinal Sourl and Natai Escral, the Duchess of Byora.

‘I have a message for Lord Celao as well, of course. He will attend me in the library tomorrow at noon to negotiate the surrender of the Circle City.’

‘Surrender?’ the woman coughed, nearly falling off her horse in surprise.

‘Your scryers and scouts must have told you that the rest of my army is close behind. If he fails to attend, I will take Ismess by force. I prefer not to have to do that, but if Lord Celao honestly believes he has a chance against my army he is free to test the theory.’

The massive white-eye turned to look straight at her. ‘I have eight elite legions close enough to deal with any pre-emptive attack on my person. They are all bored, and they are all hoping that they will at last get a fight.’

The young woman shrank back in her saddle, only too glad to jab her spurs into her horse’s flanks and gallop ahead of the Menin.

‘I think she’ll remember the message well enough,’ Styrax laughed. ‘Major Amber? Messenger Karapin?’

‘Yes, sir,’ they replied in almost unison. Amber glanced at Karapin out of the corner of his eye and felt a pang of sympathy for him. He was a humourless man of forty-odd summers who’d been wearing the brass vambraces of the messenger corps for almost thirty. It was unclear whether Karapin realised why he, rather than a soldier of Major Amber’s stature, had been chosen to deliver the message to Cardinal Sourl. Unfortunately for Karapin, the Devoted had a history of executing emissaries conveying a threat. Since Sourl was using his religious rather than military title these days, a considered reaction might be too much to hope for.

‘The same message to Akell and Byora. I will see you tomorrow.’

The pair saluted and broke off from the small party. As they headed northwest, the clank of armour receded behind them. They rode together in silence.

Amber found he was having to make an effort to keep his eyes on the road. The closer they got, the more the mountain dominated the entire horizon, and the harder it became not to stop and stare at the monstrous blot on the landscape.

He could see why the mountain had got its name. Blackfang looked like a tooth of impossible size that had decayed and broken. It was an ugly stub, with a sliver of a peak, if you could even call it that, rising from behind the cliff-wall Ismess backed onto. The rest of the mountain was a wildly jagged surface that supported so little life a desert might appear abundant in comparison.

Only behind Ismess was there anything other than dead black rock to look at: the single slender peak that at first glance could have been a tower of astonishing size overlooked the valley housing the Library of Seasons. Amber didn’t know much about the library itself, only that it was reputed to house a scholarly collection unrivalled throughout the Land, one assembled when the Litse were still the power in the region.

‘Karapin?’ Amber said suddenly, startling the army messenger. ‘Did you see those troops with Lord Larim? Why do you think he ordered regiments from the Arohat Tenth to escort him?’

‘I do not believe it is our place to question Lord Styrax’s orders, Major,’ Karapin replied solemnly. His heavy accent was slightly reminiscent of Lord Styrax; they both came from the outer lands, outside the Ring of Fire that was the Menin heartland.

Mentally, Amber apologised to Karapin. The man wasn’t an idiot - he most likely knew he was on a suicide mission, but he’d do his job cheerfully - or whatever passed for cheerful - because men from Lord Styrax’s home region possessed a loyalty even the devoted Major Amber could barely comprehend.

‘I didn’t mean to question them,’ he said, sounding conciliatory. ‘I was just trying to understand what he’ll require of us. The Cheme legions have been his elite for years; he’s always trusted them to keep him safe. I hadn’t heard that had changed.’

‘Your point, Major?’ Karapin’s eyes were on the buildings ahead of them. They had passed the boundary marker that divided Ismess territory from Byora a few minutes before. There were farm houses now, clustered around a small square fort; no soldiers yet in sight, but they both knew they’d be challenged soon.

‘My point is that our Lord does nothing without reason,’ Amber went on, working it out in his mind. ‘Not having his best regiment accompany him into an enemy city? There was a reason.’ Amber paused as he saw movement around the gate of the fort. ‘This trip into the Library of Seasons, he’s not expecting it to go well. The Arohat Tenth are decent enough troops, but not so good that he’ll lose sleep over their loss.’

If Karapin had anything to add on the subject he failed to voice it, and Amber didn’t bother saying any more. He checked his weapons one last time, ensuring they would be ready at a moment’s notice, and adjusted the black standard bearing Lord Styrax’s insignia. After that there was nothing to do but ride and wait, so he started to whistle instead.

Karapin continued in silence, even when at last soldiers confronted them.

The soldiers sent to escort them looked young enough to be recruits. They traveled on a long curving road that appeared to skirt all the way around Byora, which was itself nestled between two jutting arms of what looked like impassable bare rock, riven with great crevasses.

As they marched over a wooden bridge crossing one small river, their escort split in half and Amber gave Karapin a comradely nod as the army messenger continued towards a second bridge.

The remainder turned right and led him down a busy road lined with large detached houses, on towards the city that rose in natural steps until it reached the base of Blackfang’s jagged cliffs. Standing tall were vast towers that could have only been built with magic -anywhere else, Amber might have marvelled at the size of them, but the oppressive presence of Blackfang behind, at its lowest point still double the height of the tallest tower, rather diminished the effect.

The farms and smallholdings had given way to the large detached houses; these in turn were replaced by closely packed cottages. To Amber it looked like they were all cowering away from the mountain. It took him a moment to realise why. He turned to look over the wide expanse of marshland fed by the river that cut the district in two before branching out in a dozen directions in the fens. He remembered that Byora suffered worst of all the quarters from rain washing off the mountain after a storm.

Here the tight knots of houses faced away from the city. Their rear walls were banked up with earth - though no more than half of those had grass growing on the banks, Amber noted to his surprise. The city had been carefully laid out, that was obvious from his position, with the main highways acting as long channels to carry the water swiftly away, but out here there was no real planning. The poor were on their own.

He continued through a wide gate, copying his companions and dismounting so he could lead his horse up the steep hill. The gates were manned by older guards, soldiers in wine-coloured livery, and the youths escorting him fled eagerly once they’d handed him over to the sergeant on the gate. Amber just continued on, ignoring his new companions. He had to trust to his own brutal appearance and the fact that the army was so near to avoid any casual intimidation.