The Grave Thief: Book Three of The Twilight Reign (51 page)

‘Sod it, then,’ Isak replied, trying to look casual. ‘I’ve got enough enemies. Let’s hear your report.’

‘In brief, to begin with. You know the Lady is dead?’ Her voice was impassive.

He nodded, but said nothing.

‘It was Aracnan who killed her, and almost killed me too - I discovered him staging a situation to make it look like a high priest had been sacrificing to a daemon.’

She paused as Isak’s expression soured all of a sudden, his ever-ready glower appearing even as he motioned for her to continue. ‘I encountered two King’s Men from Narkang in Byora, and we have good reason to believe Aracnan is acting under the orders of Azaer, and that other disciples of the shadow have infiltrated the Duchess of Byora’s inner circle.’

‘High priests playing with daemons? The bastard will be pleased to hear whose tactics he’s borrowed,’ Isak muttered. ‘Do you have any clues as to what the shadow intends?’

‘No, and I am in no condition to find out more.’

‘How easily did you find all this out?’ Xeliath interrupted. ‘Isak, you said yourself that Scree was a set-up from the start - so why would this situation in Byora be any different?’

Legana hesitated before answering. ‘I was lucky to survive the attack - I barely did,’ she admitted in a quiet voice. ‘I had only been the Lady’s Mortal-Aspect for a few days before she sent me to the temple where I found Aracnan. She stepped in to save me, realising too late that he was too strong even for her.’

‘Too strong for a Goddess in a straight fight?’ Isak marvelled, disbelieving. ‘I hadn’t realised.’

Xeliath made an angry sound. ‘Is any mortal? Is any
immortal
- except for the Gods of the Upper Circle and the princes of the Dark Place?’

‘What are you saying?’

‘That you’re a slow-witted wagon-brat!’ she exclaimed fiercely. ‘Aracnan could not be so powerful by himself; he is only a Demi-God. If he was powerful enough to kill the Lady in a straight fight, then why has he not ascended to the Pantheon?’

‘Karkarn’s horn,’ breathed Legana as realisation struck her.

‘What?’ Isak looked at each of them, bewildered. ‘What the fuck are you both—? Ah. Oh.’

‘Exactly. We know one of Azaer’s disciples has a Crystal Skull in his possession,’ Xeliath said, flexing the fingers of her left hand.

‘Legana, you should leave the Circle City as swiftly as possible, ’ Isak said. ‘Your existence is a loose end he’ll be keen to tie up. But first tell me why you don’t think it’s a trap.’

‘In Scree they did not try to control events, but let them play out as they spiralled out of control. If the duchess is under Azaer’s control, then they are being more direct, building on Scree’s destruction. There’s no madness tearing the city apart this time, but a careful drawing of battle-lines between powers.’

‘But if that’s true, what’s to stop me marching the entire Farlan Army south and pounding Byora to dust? The road is clear, and Tor Milist would not dare hinder me - even united, the Circle City could not hope to win if I attacked. It could be a ruse,’ he insisted, ‘tempting me to act pre-emptively.’

Legana thought through what Isak was saying, then her eyes widened. ‘Because Azaer will not be alone! Byora is awash with rumours from Tor Salan; the Menin have taken the city and are preparing to move north. The Circle City is weaker than it has been in decades. Lord Styrax can pick the cities off at his leisure. They will be crucial if he is going to take Raland and Embere.’

Isak swore. ‘They’ll reach the Circle City long before we could ever hope to. Did the shadow engineer that, or just anticipate it?’

‘Whichever is true, you cannot attack Azaer without coming into conflict with the Menin.’

The white-eye lord gave an unexpected laugh, sounding world-weary and full of bitterness despite his youth.

‘And so my deeds come back to haunt me. Avoiding conflict may not be possible, I’m afraid - tomorrow morning I give an official farewell to an army under Suzerain Torl’s command!’ Isak looked away for a moment, his face grave. ‘At my urging, the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings and the newly militant cults of the Farlan have declared a crusade against Lord Styrax. No prizes for guessing where those armies will meet.’

Suzerain Torl and his troops left Tirah on the first fine morning of the year in Tirah. After weeks of winter misery, the citizens needed no more encouragement than a little sun to fill the streets, however uneasy they were at the sight of unfamiliar uniforms. Mihn stood at his lord’s side on a raised stone platform in Bloodletters Square, on the southern edge of the city, watching the troops assemble in the crisp early-morning air.

Only now did Mihn appreciate how sapping to the spirit the weeks of constant rain and gales had been. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he felt the morning sun on his skin. People filled the massive square, pressing against each other and against the buildings, to watch the army marching out of the city, and Mihn could see his own smile reflected on everyone’s face. The appearance of Tsatach’s eye appeared to have done more to diffuse tensions in the city than all of Chief Steward Lesarl’s efforts. Even the buildings themselves looked more cheerful as the sun lightened the grey stone and glittered on window-panes.

‘How much longer?’ growled Lord Isak. He shifted his feet impatiently and his eyes roved over the bustle before him.

‘Not long, my Lord,’ Mihn replied with excessive cheerfulness. ‘Just try to enjoy the sun while it’s here.’

‘Do I look like I’m enjoying the fucking sun?’

‘Not really, but it never hurts to try.’

Mihn’s broad smile only made Isak’s frown deepen. He’d been unable to sleep further after the meeting in Xeliath’s dreamscape and he’d been in a foul mood from the moment he left the Tower. It was only because Mihn knew how volatile Isak’s temper was that he was sure the three palace servants would not really be dismissed for this morning’s transgressions, and nor would Count Vesna’s title be stripped from him because of an argument over a spoon.

‘Never hurts to try?’ growled Isak. ‘It feels like a badger’s nesting in my head and this sun really isn’t helping.’ Isak looked past Mihn to the edge of the large square pedestal they were standing on to watch the troops assembling. ‘I could backhand you right off this thing, you know?’ he added.

Mihn shrugged and turned back to the sun. ‘Perhaps. I’m not sure you’re that much quicker than I am, though, not at the moment.’

Isak leaned down so his head was nearly level with Mihn’s. ‘Think you’re so clever? After what you did last night, I don’t have to catch you, do I?’ The massive white-eye slipped his right hand inside his tunic and smirked coldly. Before Mihn worked out what his lord was talking about, Isak jabbed his thumbnail into the scar on his chest hard enough to break the skin and the smaller man yelped as he felt the same pain.

‘Ah, Gods on high!’ Mihn gasped as Isak, teeth bared, twisted his thumb in the cut.

‘Like that, do you?’

‘Shit, ow! No!’ Mihn clamped his hand over his own chest, feeling the echo of Isak’s scratch magnified by the fact his burn was still blackened and raw.

‘Take back what you just said about enjoying the sun?’

‘Gods, you’re spiteful!’ Mihn hissed, moaning as Isak gave another twist of the thumb. ‘Ow! Yes, yes, I take it back!’

Isak bared his teeth in a mockery of a grin and lowered his hand. ‘Good, now shut up and enjoy the view.’

Mihn winced as the pressure was lifted from his burn and the pain subsided to a hot throbbing. He straightened up, ignoring the puzzled faces of Isak’s personal guard who were surrounding the stone block.

‘At least I managed to put a smile on your face before you have to speak to the priests,’ he muttered, turning away from the irritable thug and to the troop formations ahead.

On the north side of Bloodletters Square was the shrine to Nartis, the only part of the square still serving the purpose for which it had been built. All the grand buildings surrounding it had been extensively converted over the years, and most now housed workers’ families. Four thirty-foot-square platforms the height of a white-eye dominated the square itself. They occupied most of the north-eastern corner, leaving space for several thousand men to be formed up on the remaining ground.

During the reign of Lord Atro, Lord Bahl’s predecessor, a wealthy nobleman had planned a grand temple complex to overlook the southern gate to the city. The nobleman had died before his plan had come to fruition, and his son had immediately put a stop to the project which would have ruined his family, but the land had already been cleared around the gate and work on the largest of the temples had started. Because space within the city walls was at a premium, Lord Atro’s Chief Steward had bought the square soon after, laughingly dubbed it Bloodletters Square and installed the city’s principal cattle market there.

As Mihn watched, officers began to give orders and the masses coalesced into discrete blocks of troops. He could see Isak’s personal guard were nervous - and with good reason; a significant portion of the religious troops in the city were assembling just ahead of them. Whilst there had been no signs of hostility from the mercenaries, Mihn was well aware how quickly such situations could turn. Soldiers were trained to fight, and one of the first lessons was this: the slowest man to respond was usually the one who died. It was a small step from that to anticipating the enemy and drawing first blood yourself.

‘Sometimes I wonder if I’m Farlan at all,’ Isak said abruptly. ‘Their capacity for hypocrisy knows no limits.’

Mihn turned to him, his eyebrows raised.

Isak pressed fingers into the bridge of his nose to ease his headache and began to explain. ‘After weeks of what was virtually civil war, during which the laws of civil, military and cult domains were infringed so comprehensively it’s impossible to pick out each individual violation, the clerics still have the gall to pretend their penitents are new to all this.’ He pointed at the orderly ranks. ‘That they can pretend to have reorganised thousands of men into coherent military units overnight - well, it amazes me, and not least because there’s been not a word of objection. Suddenly everything’s back to normal, all traditions are scrupulously adhered to, and the cults formally request my blessing on their crusade, acting as meek as lambs now they think they’ve got what they want.’

‘Did you expect anything different?’

Isak sighed. ‘You’re an actor, and I can understand you being able to adopt a role easily, but to see it on such a mass scale - these rabid zealots, all suddenly smiling and polite - it disturbs me. Folk shouldn’t be able to change so easily.’

He pointed to the fringes, where the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings divisions were already assembled and waiting to salute their lord before they left. There were two horsemen not in rank; the functional uniform of the Dark Monks disguised their identity, but Mihn knew the knights were Suzerain Torl and Brother-Captain Sheln.

‘Those two are talking to Legion Chaplain Darc, and have been for the last twenty minutes. That bastard’s personally hanged six of their comrades in the last few weeks, and yet there they are, making small-talk. I’d have cut him in half by now, but I’m a white-eye - we don’t civilise easily.’

Mihn looked at him. ‘You don’t react in the same way to crisis the way normal folk do either. For everyone else, custom and protocol cushion the blow. It gives them time to accept and rationalise what has happened, and the greater the upheaval, the more easily they accept the established structure. It may not last for long, but it doesn’t have to. What sets men apart from beasts is the ability to learn, to adapt.’

‘And so they suddenly accept my blessing on their crusade?’ Isak said, nonplussed.

‘Tradition papers over the cracks in society. When an army leaves Tirah, it should do so under the flag or blessing of the Chosen. The zealots are too delighted with the growing size of their army to care about challenging tradition right now.’

Isak glared in disgust. ‘Why should they care? They get to tyrannise those they think aren’t sufficiently godly.’ He pointed again, this time to the opposite corner of the square. ‘Look: men in the uniform of the bloody Knights of the Temples, at least a division of them, and under a runesword standard big enough for a legion. The law hasn’t changed overnight, Lord Bahl’s edicts on the Devoted haven’t disappeared, but today they’re allowed to gather under arms because we’re all dressed in our finest for a parade. It would be considered . . .’ Isak hesitated, groping for the right word for a moment, ‘it would be
impolite
to arrest them right now.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ll never understand rich people.’

Before Mihn could reply, loud voices rang out over the hubbub and they looked up to see a procession of carriages clattering into the square. Six heralds dressed in a livery of white, blue and red rode ahead, standing in their stirrups and bellowing at the soldiers to clear a path. Each held a fluttering banner, like a suzerain’s hurscal.

‘Those banners have the snake of Nartis on,’ Isak said, narrowing his eyes, ‘but those knights don’t look like penitents to me.’

‘The Cardinal Paladins,’ Mihn supplied, almost without thinking. ‘I remember Chief Steward Lesarl talking about them; he was amused that the Synod had resurrected the regiment that once protected them. It’s made up of devout knights, and the cream of the mercenaries they employ.’

He hesitated and lowered his voice. ‘My Lord? Speaking of Lesarl - My Lord, where are your advisors? This is a ceremonial occasion, however false the sentiments, and—’

‘They’re busy,’ Isak said abruptly, shutting his jaw with a snap. He stared off into the distance for a few heartbeats, then turned back. There was a rare look of concern on his face. ‘I ordered them to stay away. The reason we came early was because I needed to think.’

‘Do you wish me to—?’ Mihn began before Isak waved the suggestion away.