Zhia sat and watched the candles burn slowly down. Outside, the city was strangely silent, but it remained as hot as ever. She'd hoped the destruction of the theatre would lessen that at least, but the sun had burned down as fiercely as it had the previous day. She sighed and reached for the wine, filling the goblets on the table. As she set the decanter down, the latch on the door clicked open again. The man who entered wore a studded leather surcoat and had crossed scimitars sheathed on his back. He was bloodied and bruised, but he hadn't bothered to clean the filth and gore from his skin or clothes; only the linen bandage around his neck was fresh.

Oh, honestly, Zhia thought to herself as she indicated the other seat. 'Is that bandage entirely necessary, Major? It will stand out a bit when you return to the Greengate.'

He grunted and walked behind the chair, resting his elbows on the back as he cast an unfriendly look over the food at her. She could see in his eyes that the gesture was intended exactly as she'd seen it. 'Not exactly my problem. You wanted to see me?'

'A little civility wouldn't hurt, Major. I doubt the rations for the garrison are quite so good, and you must be hungry.'

'True,' Amber growled, 'but I don't see you offering it to the rest of them as well. Let me make this clear for you; this is not my cause and it isn't my city, but I bleed in battle alongside the men still out there. I don't particularly enjoy abandoning them to go and have dinner with the woman who holds the purse strings.'

'Your sense of honour is admirable,' Zhia said, careful not to rise to his antagonistic tone, 'but I expect your sense of duty to your lord supercedes it.'

'Of course it does.'

'Then sit.'

When she didn't say any more, Amber's frustration eventually subsided. He slipped off his baldric and hung his scimitars on the back of the chair and slumped down at the table.

'Good boy. Now, your mission in Scree is over. The Skull you were sent here to find is doubtless out of your reach, your companions are dead or lost to you and the necromancer if he ever was a true ally of yours isn't going to be healthy company soon. Perhaps I can offer you an alternative to returning home empty-handed.'

'I'm not for sale.' Amber's fingers tightened into a fist.

'I'm not proposing you become a mercenary; merely that I help you get home.'

'I don't understand,' Amber said.

Zhia offered him one of the goblets of wine and he took it, his expression one of puzzlement. 'The White Circle is finished,' she said. 'The remnants of their power are in Scree, and soon Scree will be no more. I shall have to revise my position in the Land to be a little less obvious, perhaps, but I will certainly outlast the Circle and its members.'

'What's this got to do with me?'

'Well, Major, you might have a.s.sumed I've made an alliance with the King of Narkang, but I a.s.sure you it is nothing more than an understanding. I have enough enemies that I see no reason to make more. Their goals are not mine, but as long as their plans don't conflict with my own, there's no need for trouble and it's always sensible to be owed a favour when you're the enemy of the G.o.ds.'

'And you want to offer the same to Lord Styrax?'

'In a fashion. I have no plans for empire-building, so I see no reason to get in the way of his. I've spent many years among your people; I've seen them at their weakest and at their strongest. Right now, they are led by a man whose footsteps echo across the entire Land. I think he would be a good man to come to an understanding with before our paths cross.'

'You don't care that he invaded your homeland and killed your brother?' Amber asked incredulously.

'Did you expect a desire for revenge?' Zhia gave him an indulgent smile. 'My brother is immortal; as you've seen, he has recovered entirely from the incident and will bear no grudge. Do you know how many mortals have managed that throughout history?' She leaned across the table and held out her hand. 'Koezh was an exceptional warrior when he was mortal; from the age of sixteen he was bested in single combat only three times, the first time by a celebrated Elven duellist who had offered to train him.' She raised one finger. 'The second time, by Eperal, Hit's most violent Aspect, who took a wound that would have killed a man, in order to disarm Koezh.' The second finger went up, then the third. 'Lastly, of course, Karkarn, the G.o.d of War himself. Since then, only one mortal other than your lord has managed the feat and that was largely down to luck. Koezh tells me your lord was not lucky; he was astonishing.'

Amber nodded. 'I've seen Lord Styrax fight; you have good reason to be worried.'

Zhia almost choked on her wine. 'Worried? My dear boy, your lord is a great warrior, but Koezh and I are not children. To take on both of us would show a severe lack of judgment, and I would think considerably less of Kastan Styrax if he tried it.'

Amber drained his cup and stood up again. 'So what is your message?'

'That if he speaks, I will listen. I know he has not crossed the Waste solely to conquer the Chetse, so don't even try to deny it.'

'You will listen? That's the entire message?' Amber pulled his scimitars back on and grabbed a handful of flatbread from the table.

'Small steps, Major, small steps. When the Menin armies move north and near wherever I decide to settle, I'm sure the Cheme Legion will be at the fore. When that happens, you might have a visitor in the night.'

'What about Mikiss?'

Zhia raised her eyebrows. 'Don't worry yourself about him; Mikiss is better off at my side. All I ask of you is to be at the Greengate when the city guard needs you; they're not soldiers and they'll need one to lead them. My intention is to destroy the Second Army and use the Greengate to evacuate those we can.'

'Evacuate them? Why do you care about the people of Scree?'

'That is not your concern,' Zhia snapped. 'Just be ready when I give the order. I walked the city last night; the mobs have been working themselves up into a frenzy, and they will boil over very soon, tonight maybe, or tomorrow at the latest. When that happens, even the soldiers in this city will be in great danger, and I would save anyone I can. Once we are away, you will be free to leave, understand?'

Amber stared for a while, trying to see in her face why the vampire had been stirred to compa.s.sion, but eventually he gave up and just nodded. 'I understand.'

'Good, now return to your post,' she ordered. 'I have murder to a.s.sist.'

CHAPTER 26.

'General, the scouts have returned,' Second Lieutenant Mehar reported.

General Jebehl Gort looked up from the map into the anxious face of his aide, hovering at a respectful distance. Behind the lieutenant, Gort could see the dark outline of Scree, crowned by torches that burned unhindered by any evening breeze. From all around him came the sounds of an army camp going about its business, but to his experienced ear it was worryingly quiet. Soldiers preparing for battle tended to act in certain ways, and this wasn't normal. His men were subdued and apprehensive; they gathered in small knots, talking quietly in shaky voices that betrayed their fear. They had heard what was happening in Scree, and now they were asking themselves how there could be any victory over a city of madmen.

There was another worrying detail: the absence of background noise in fields that should have some life most creatures fled before an army, but it was disconcerting to hear absolutely nothing, not even the wind. They were an island adrift in unearthly seas.

The shadows of twilight thickened steadily beyond the pickets, reminding Gort of a rhyme he'd heard as a child, spying on his father as he sat drinking with old comrades late into the night. Those powerful, proud men were the reason he'd followed in his father's footsteps and joined the Knights of the Temples, but that night there had been no drunken singing or horse-play; that night they'd behaved like they were in mourning. One of them, a bear of a man from Embere, had repeated again and again a sad little rhyme in his own language.

Gort's father had whispered a few lines: Shadows rise and faithful fall, The readers.sing and the lady comes With ashes in her hair and secrets in her hand...

Those words had echoed through Gort's dreams for many years, not just because of the strange atmosphere that night, but also because of the ghastly look on his father's face as he spoke. He had never seen that side of his father again.

He shook the mood from him; this wasn't the time to indulge in childish fears. He needed to look strong for his men, both n.o.ble and common-born alike. His aide had the right idea: despite the sweltering conditions, Lieutenant Mehar looked positively resplendent in his formal armour. As an aide to a general of the Knights of the Temples, he had to stand out among the soldiery, so his bra.s.s-plated cuira.s.s, vambraces and greaves were all spotless and shining.

Look at him, the general thought, another sign of how the order has lost its way. He must dress that exact same way every day he is on duty, while I go into battle wearing antiquated scale-mail because the Codex of Ordinance dictates it. He shook his head. And my second-in-command could order me flogged if I decided to wear a cuira.s.s. We really have lost our way in this Land; 1 hope Lord Isak can restore us to the true path. He sighed and turned back to the young man.

'What do the scouts say, Lieutenant?'

'The remaining mercenary armies are marching on the southern gate of the city, General.'

Gort caught the attention of his second-in-command, General Chotech, and beckoned. The Chetse dismissed the men he'd been talking to and hurried over.

'General, you should hear this; the mercenaries are on their way to the Foxport. Lieutenant, what was their order?'

'I'm not sure, sir.' The lieutenant coughed nervously. 'The scouts were vague; they said the mercenaries had no order. I presume they meant both armies were attacking.'

'They're attacking?' General Chotech spluttered. 'Has everyone in this d.a.m.ned place gone insane?'

it appears that way,' Gort said levelly, 'but I would remind you, Lieutenant, not to interpret what you expect men of the line to mean from what they say; soldiers may be an excitable breed, but scouts (end to be veterans and most of 'em have a modic.u.m of sense.' He sighed as the chastised aide nodded dumbly. 'However, you could be correct; i(they were marching as reinforcements for the city garrisons, one would expect a little more order. What the locals have told us appears to be true; the people of Scree have forsaken sanity and the G.o.ds. They turn on each other like animals.'

'What are we going to do about it?' General Chotech asked.

Gort turned to his aide. 'Lieutenant, you are dismissed. If Major Ortof-Greyl has returned, please send him to us.'

The lieutenant gave a curt bow and left, looking unhappy at being ordered away.

Gort leaned closer to the Chetse. 'I believe we must also march on the city.'

'If we become embroiled in that mess there'll be no escaping until it's finished,' Chotech hissed.

'I know.' He scratched at his armpit as best he could though his scale-mail. Campaigning and an unremitting summer sun were not the best combination for an old man's hygiene, but the bath he yearned for would be a disgraceful waste of water. 'I don't believe we have a choice. We are the Knights of the Temples and we have a clear duty.'

'General, I understand your point,' Chotech insisted, 'but we have only six thousand soldiers here; Siala must have at least fifteen thousand to defend the walls, while we do not even know who's commanding those two armies marching on the south. They might not be taking their orders from anyone!'

'I agree. Whoever is leading them and no matter what we've heard, I can't believe the White Circle would be quite so foolish as to put Raylin in charge of whole legions they must have decided it is time to salvage what booty they can, while something of Scree still remains. I can't believe any mercenary would agree to march into a burning city to defend it.'

'A move driven by desperation, then. Their supplies must have run out and their commander has realised to keep them together he must give a reason.'

'Exactly, a move that could prove disastrous once they're inside the city.' General Gort broke off as he saw a man labouring through the gloom towards them: Major Ortof-Greyl was struggling to reach them with the aid of a crutch under his right shoulder. As he neared, they could see that his face was bloodied and his mail torn.

'G.o.ds, what happened, man?' Gort exclaimed. 'Did you speak to Lord Isak?'

'No, sir,' Ortof-Greyl replied, panting heavily. Lieutenant Mehar trailed behind the major, plainly confused. The aide, not privy to the secrets of their group, had no idea why the major had been sent to the Farlan Army camp in the first place. 'I only got as far as the outriders.'

'And they did this to you?' Gort said, gesturing to the younger man's head wound.

'They did. I asked for an audience with Lord Isak and they refused outright; they wouldn't even take me to their commanding officer. I'd gone ahead of my two guards and before they could make up the ground, the scouts had given me a kicking and ridden off.'

'Do you know why?'

'No sir, but I suspect Lord Isak is not with them,' the major said, casting an uncomfortable glance at the lieutenant. 'Their bl.u.s.ter was hiding something, I'm certain of it.'

'Major, the scouts say the full complement of Palace Guard is with that army, and a large number of n.o.bles and hurscals; surely the core of the Farlan Army would not be here without their lord? No, it must be a miscommunication; Lord Isak would not want his n.o.bles to think that any sort of agreement had been made until he understands our motivations.' He gave a dry laugh. And it's not as though any Farlan n.o.ble would believe what had really taken place was a selfless act; they probably wouldn't even understand the concept.'

'Yes sir,' the major replied with a short bow. The man clearly disagreed, but he knew when not to argue. 'What are your orders?'

Gort looked at Chotech. As I was saying, we must not forget we are Knights of the Temples. Whether we succeed in bringing order to Scree or not, we cannot stand back and do nothing; you took the same oath as I did: "Defenders of the faith, a bond greater than blood or nation." It is our duty to the G.o.ds, and whether the citizens of Scree have abandoned the G.o.ds or not, I will die before I do so.'

His second-in-command gave a heavy sigh and leaned over the map laid out in front of them. 'You're right, of course. Priests murdered on stage for the entertainment of the mob, and hunted down on the streets like dogs? We cannot allow this to continue. It's only a matter of time before the Six Temples District is razed. Whatever evil is fuelling this madness, we cannot stand aside.'

'Good; prepare the men. We will secure a section of the city and hold it. The New Barbican, I think that's the closest, according to our intelligence, and we don't want to be moving any further through that city than we have to. Then a second area surrounding and protecting the Six Temples District. General Chotech, I doubt the garrison of the New Barbican is large, but it's the strongest gate. I need you to prepare an a.s.sault that can take it before reinforcements arrive-'

Gort broke off suddenly as a dull clang rang out. The three men looked up as a second sonorous peal echoed through the camp.

'Call to stations?' he wondered aloud as nearby groups of soldiers split up and marched off to their a.s.sembly grounds. From either side of his tent, half a dozen soldiers dressed in white-lacquered heavy armour rushed up with their swords drawn and fanned out around the general. They were his bodyguards, and they were reacting to the ponderous ringing of call to stations exactly as specified in the Codex of Ordinance. If it had been the furious clatter of the attack alarm, everyone in the camp would be reaching for their weapons.

'Lieutenant, find out what's going on,' Gort called.

The lieutenant bobbed his head in acknowledgement and marched away, but before he could reach the line of tents ringing the command tent, a young soldier scarcely more than a boy, swamped in his studded jerkin burst through.

'General Gort, message from the advance scouts!' the soldier yelled at the top of his voice. 'The Farlan are advancing!'

Gort instinctively turned towards where the Farlan had been camped, but the fall of night concealed any dust trail or movement he might be able to see. He motioned for his bodyguards to let the boy through and forced himself to stand straight and calm while the youth fought to regain his breath.

'Sir, the Farlan are moving towards the city in advance formation.'

'Not towards us?' Chotech blurted in surprise.

'No, sir, towards the Autumn's Arch gate.' Once the young soldier had regained his composure he seemed to remember who he was now talking to. 'The foot legion of the Ghosts are in front, ready to a.s.sault the gate, but the remainder are lined up in columns.'

'Columns? They're not expecting serious resistance then,' Gort said. 'But why are they attacking at all?' He paused, then suddenly slammed his fist down onto the map-table. 'd.a.m.n it, of course! Ortof-Greyl, you were absolutely right; Lord Isak isn't with his troops, he's already in the city. That's why they're not worried about a.s.saulting the city, Lord Isak is waiting inside with a few elite squads to take them by surprise; it's the only explanation.'

'Your orders, sir?' Chotech asked.

Gort was silent for a while, his face twisted into a scowl. 'It makes no difference. We have no choice; we must march on the New Barbican and try once again to make it clear we are not Lord Isak's enemies. General Chotech, take a party and the major, if you're up to riding, young man and approach the Farlan. They won't dare beat up a general. If they won't take you to their commander, send them back with a message and return.'

'And the message?'

'That we are Knights of the Temples, sworn to protect holy ground from desecration. That we intend to march on the city and protect the temples. Our men will have orders to consider the Farlan allies against the common foe unless attacked and I ask that they send a deputation to us at their convenience.'

'Yes sir.' Chotech strode off towards his own tent where his horse was waiting, already saddled. Major Ortof-Greyl struggled along behind.

'Lieutenant Mehar,' General Gort snapped. The lieutenant jumped, wary of further rebuke, but the general was looking out over the heads of his army, towards the walls of Scree. 'Get the men ready to attack.'

Set apart from the clank of steel and the urgent calling of men, he sat in the dark peace of an empty room, alone with thoughts that echoed the chaos outside. His head throbbed with the surging energies in the air: magic and the voices of the dying, the shrieks of the mad and their brutal desire to kill. He could smell it all; that desire he knew as well as the rage coursing through his body that left his hands quivering. He'd sought this place out in desperation, fleeing from the animal stirring inside as the badgering questions broke in a tidal wave over him. As the army had marched in through the gate, the n.o.bles and officers had all crowded around him as soon as they could with a thousand questions and requests, all completely unaware of the effect Scree had had on him, or the news he'd just received.

I lore there were only bare floorboards, split and warped with age. A shutter clung grimly to the window frame by one last rusty hinge. A curtain hanging over the doorway was the same grey as the walls in the weak light. There was nothing to disturb or distract as he sat on the floor with his silver blade across his lap, listening to the ragged movement of breath through his tight throat. He closed his eyes and listened to his own heart beating, counting out the pauses between inhaling and exhaling, bringing the wild gasping once more under control, just as Carel had taught him all those years ago.

Slowly his hand began to uncurl from a fist and the great hammering of his heart calmed to a steady thump. The pressure behind his eyes subsided a little and he felt a flush of relief. For all the monstrous side of his soul raged and bl.u.s.tered, it could still be reigned in by the human side. The comfort was meagre, but in darkness, any tiny thread of light was to be embraced.

Isak opened his eyes and ran a finger down the smooth blade of the sword in his lap. The whispery echo of magic tingled on his fingertips as he brushed the invisible runes that had been beaten into the silver, but he hardly noticed. His thoughts were fixed on the events of the last half-hour.

Grave news, my Lord. The voice echoed through his head like an accusation. Had he known that it would come one day? Had he been wilfully negligent?

It had been a simple enough thing to cow the defenders of the Autumn's Arch gate into surrendering; half were nothing more than frightened city guard, suddenly facing a straight a.s.sault from the Ghosts of Tirah. The poorly trained men from Scree had grown up with the threat of the Farlan on their border, and they'd all heard stories of the prowess of the Ghosts, a professional legion the city could not hope to match. When Isak had appeared in the street behind them with a spitting corona of raw magic blazing about him, Mariq adding to the display before being joined by King Emin's pair of mages, most had simply broken and run. Those who surrendered he'd sent south to the Greengate to join Zhia Vukotic's motley army by the time General Lahk had ridden up to the gate, it had been clear of defenders and unbarred.

Isak gritted his teeth and took another moment to will his hand to unclench from around Eolis' hilt. It had been a strange meeting, that one: General Lahk at the head of a column of soldiers who roared a greeting to their lord, while a small party of liveried suzerains followed on the general's heels, all looking buoyed and elated at the taste of battle in the air. By contrast, the witch's companion, Fernal, had been disturbingly silent. Fernal's monstrous bulk made the mounted men beside him look small, fragile, even, and even the Ghosts greeting their comrades in Isak's guard had fallen silent when Isak and Fernal stood face to face. The contrasts and parallels made every man present catch his breath and wonder what would happen.

Fernal was of a size with Isak but, unlike Isak, he looked far from human it wasn't just the deep blue of his skin, which faded into the evening gloom; the thick mane of hair that fell from his head and neck, framed a fierce lupine face with blackness and highlighted the white gleam of his eyes and curved fangs. Where Isak was clad in his armour and long white cape, Fernal wore no clothes, save for the tattered cloak that hung loose on his shoulders and served as a reminder to anyone watching or perhaps to himself that he was not some mindless creature from the Waste. He carried no weapons, and kept his taloned fingers turned inward, away from Isak.

For a few precious moments the two had regarded each other as proud equals, then they had exchanged a respectful nod. Fernal had bowed low and introduced himself in a smooth, deep voice that had sent a wave of relief rippling out through the watching rank and file. The sound had clearly unnerved Fernal; he straightened quickly with a hunted look in his eye that made the nearest soldiers freeze, as though they had heard the hiss of an ice cobra.

Isak stepping forward to clasp Fernal by the arm had broken the tense moment, but the son of Nartis had been clearly relieved when Isak turned to the other men and he was able to slip back into a dark i irner where the witch awaited him.

It had been with relief and a welcome smile that Isak had finally taken General Lahk by the wrist after the strange formalities with Fernal. Only then had he seen the troubled look in Lahk's eye, anxiety in the face of a man legendary for his lack of emotion.