The Grave thief

CHAPTER 25

As evening fell over Byora a gusty wind brought stinging sheets of rain. Two men crouched in the lee of a chimney stack, their waxed-cloth coats held protectively over their heads, and peered over the edge of the rooftop at the street below.

'What do you think?' Sebe said, his voice almost drowned out by the falling rain. He nudged Doranei forward, making room for him next to the warm side of the chimney, but Doranei ignored him. His focus was solely on the man he was watching through the ground-floor window of the house opposite. Despite the rain the shutter was open enough for anyone to have a good view of the street.

'He ain't there for his health,' Doranei said eventually. 'They're taking shifts at that window, not so obvious about it that you'd notice if you weren't really looking.'

'But there's no doubt, is there? Shit. So what do we do about it?'

'Our job.' Doranei looked his fellow King's Man in the face and Sebe nodded reluctantly. 'They're not innocents sent to watch a door. They're the enemy. Those boys might not be great at surveillance, but they're not complete amateurs either.'

Sebe led the way back, crouching until they reached the rear of the building. They dropped down into the small back yard and were heading for the alley that ran behind it when they were startled by a cough.

Doranei turned to see a man standing under an awning outside the next-door house, a filleting knife in one hand, a half-skinned rabbit in the other. The man was grey-haired but far from decrepit and he showed no fear as the two men turned towards him. He raised his knife as he reached for a second, but Doranei shook his head at the movement.

'Just passing through,' he said firmly, opening his coat enough to show the man his weapons — a pair of slim long-knives, as well as his sword and axe. They were not the weapons of a thief.

'There'll be trouble?' the man asked in a thick accent, setting his knife down to acknowledge it wasn't a fight he wanted any part of.

'No,' said Doranei, 'we're gone.'

The man looked relieved as Doranei headed out of the yard. The rain was keeping most people off the streets and they were clear to find a safe route to the back of the watchers' house. It took them a while before they were satisfied they would be able to get in without any fuss, but Doranei was feeling increasingly apprehensive. The house being watched was the base for the Narkang agent in Byora, a contact used only by a very select group. King Emin's intelligence network was small, and everyone knew not to take any risks unless directly ordered to; that anyone knew about this safe house was a worrying development.

The house backed onto another, and a path ran down the side of each to the gardens. The gate to the first didn't budge but the second opened without a problem. With rain and the dark keeping folk inside, they thought it a reasonable risk to walk in, hop one fence and then the next. Once in the watchers' yard Doranei and Sebe didn't need to break stride; the rear door was unlocked and Doranei, a long-knife in one hand, pushed it open to find a blond man leaning over a stove. Before he'd finished turning at the sound of the door opening, Doranei had lunged at the man and sliced his throat open. The man flailed about, knocking a pan off the stove which crashed to the tiled floor before Doranei could stop it. Doranei caught the man and lowered him to the floor, wiped his knife and followed Sebe, who had nipped past him.

'What'd ya drop now?' called a voice from the front room as Sebe reached the doorway. Sebe exploded forward, and Doranei, waiting at the door, heard the loud rap of steel on skull, followed swiftly by some rapid thumps and the sound of a man falling.

He peered in and saw Sebe astride a prone man, his blade positioned under the man's throat, and moved on to check the other rooms on that floor. As expected, they were empty, as were the upstairs rooms when he checked them. In seconds he was back down the stairs.

In the front room he found Sebe had arranged the man's hands behind his back so he could kneel on them, pinning him face down. Sebe wasn't a heavy man but it was an awkward position, and the prisoner would have no hope of stopping Sebe from cutting his throat. Doranei stabbed his own long-knife into the wooden floor right by the prisoner's head and squatted down next to him.

'Your friend's dead,' he said in a matter-of-fact way, 'so you want to avoid going the same way, you answer quick and true and you don't bullshit me, right?'

There was a slight grunt from the man, who was more concerned about keeping his head up.

'The knife stays there,' Doranei said, 'and the longer you take over your answers the harder you're going to find it to stay in that position.'

A second grunt: Doranei took that as understanding and continued, 'Good boy. Who do you work for?'

'Duchess,' the man wheezed. There was a cut on his temple where Sebe had hit him, not hard enough to crack his skull but enough to put a man off-balance. A steady trickle of blood was coming from the cut but Doranei guessed he couldn't even feel the sting yet. His blue eyes were wide with fear and Doranei saw he wasn't anyone special, certainly not part of Doranei's own violent world. That was good news; he might think he had a chance at survival if Doranei looked happy enough with his answers.

'You're watching Forty-Two, door with the eagle's head knocker?'

Another grunt.

'Why?'

'Don't know,' was the hoarse reply. The man's face was white now; Doranei could see his jaw trembling with the effort of keeping it up. 'Not told.'

'Free his left hand,' he said to Sebe, and their prisoner gave a gasp of relief as he wedged an elbow under his body. 'If any like us entered you were to send a message? You Ruby Tower Guards?'

'Byoran Guard, special corps. Anyone goes in, we send a message to the tower.'

'Who gave you the orders?'

'My captain, but message was to go to the new sergeant at the tower.'

'Name?'

'Kayel, big foreign bastard, they say, never met him.'

'Big bastard?' Doranei wondered, sharing a look with Sebe, who was clearly thinking the same thing. There were few people who'd know who the Narkang agent was in any given city, and how to put a watch on him, but the traitorous golden boy of the unit was certainly one.

'This sergeant, what's his full name? What's he look like?'

'Hener Kayel, I think. Never met him but I heard he boasts a lion mauled him — took half his ear as he killed it. They're all scared of him, kill you soon as look at you they says.'

Doranei didn't speak for a moment, casting back in his mind to the day Coran, King Emin's white'eye bodyguard, had staggered back to the palace, his knee ruined and Ilumene's dagger still lodged in his ribs. Coran had managed only a glancing blow; Ilumene had done more damage himself when he'd sliced off the bit of his ear that was tattooed with the Brotherhood's mark. He sent it to the palace two days later so King Emin would be certain that he still lived.

'There's no doubt then,' Doranei said at last, sheathing his dagger as he rose. 'Time to call for help.'

Without looking down he stepped over the man's legs and headed back the way they'd come. After one quick jerk, Sebe followed him.

Legana woke with a start as her narrow bed shuddered. She looked around for a moment, the memory of a sound lingering in her ears, until she realised it had been made by the heavy front door below her room slamming shut. It was dark, and no light crept around the curtain, so she must have slept past nightfall. Legana felt for the chair beside her bed and found her clothes. She dressed as quickly as she could, and finished off by wrapping herself in a long shawl of coppery silk that the wine merchant's wife had gifted her with. Legana couldn't appreciate its colour now, but everyone in the room had gone silent when she put it on, and that told her enough.

Collecting her slate and chalk, Legana unbolted the door and went out into the darkened corridor. She barely needed the support of the walking stick the wine merchant had lent her. It had been old and blackened his father had used it for thirty years — yet when she touched it, the tarnish had disappeared, revealing the stick's beautifully patterned silver head.

Legana paused to tuck the slate under one arm and allow her eyes to get used to the light coming up the stairs. They were still sensitive, colours washed out to grey, but much of the fuzziness had gone and now she could see the corridor almost as clearly as anyone else. It was for comfort that she ran her fingers along the wall as she headed for the stairway that led downstairs.

She still felt fragile, but instinct told her that her healing was done. Her hearing was diminished and her voice remained a ruin, but she was far stronger than a man now, and vastly more resilient — the occasional bouts of poor balance and her tendency to move slowly and carefully were ingrained, and she would have to learn to live around them.

The building was split into three parts. Business was conducted in the large hallway at the front. It looked more like a storeroom than a shop front. Legana headed there first, knowing Lell Derager, the wine merchant who was Byora's Farlan agent, didn't conduct business after dark. The slamming of the door was almost certain to have been those fools from Narkang returning.

As she reached the bottom of the stair Legana found Derager and his wife, Gavai, standing at the entrance to his cramped office. At the sound of her feet the rotund man turned and spread his arms in a welcoming gesture, remembering that Legana found the nuance of facial expressions difficult to make out.

'Legana, do you feel better after your nap?' he said in a booming voice.

She nodded, not bothering to write on the slate. Lell wasn't the sort of man to mind. He was courteous to the point of sparking Legana's suspicious nature, and did everything for her himself, rather than call for a servant. He wasn't old — less than forty summers — but his mutton-chops and beard made it hard to judge his age. He was far more ebullient than his wife, who was ten years his senior, but they were both considerate, caring hosts — and the least likely spies Legana could imagine, which had presumably been the former Whisper's logic.

'Your friends have returned,' Gavai advised her. 'They're just drying off. Let us go into the family room and wait for them.' She offered her arm to Legana. After a moment's hesitation she took it

and allowed herself to be led to the second largest room in the house. She had precious little actual experience of how a daughter should be treated, but Legana was beginning to imagine it was something like this.

An inordinately wide bog-oak dining table dominated the room, but large though it was, there was at least ten foot clearance on either side. A candelabrum hung from the main beam of the low ceiling above the table. On the left, a mismatched assortment of chairs were arranged almost at random around the fire. Gavai directed Legana to one facing away from the flickering flames and placed herself beside the former Farlan assassin. Lell followed them in and ushered his teenage son towards the kitchen, saying something Legana didn't catch.

By the time Lell returned, goblets of wine in each hand, Doranei and Sebe had joined them and gratefully accepted the offer of a drink. Doranei tossed back the wine in one gulp, which didn't surprise Legana until Sebe followed suit swiftly.

As Lell picked up the brass wine jug to refill their glasses, Legana scribbled on her slate, — Bad news? She thought she detected a scowl on Doranei's face, and that was confirmed by the grim tone of his voice.

'Looks like you were right,' he said reluctantly. 'Azaer's disciples are here.'

'You're certain?' Lell said, before adding, 'well, of course you are. No one wears that face unless they're sure. How did you find out?'

'Our agent here is being watched by men reporting to the Ruby Tower,' Sebe answered for Doranei as he made headway on the drink. 'It's a tighter network than yours, and almost certain not to be casually picked up. We interrogated one of the watchers. They're to report any visitors to a new sergeant in the Ruby Tower Guard.'

Duchess and Azaer? asked Legana.

Doranei shook his head. 'I doubt it, but the description of the sergeant was easy enough to recognise. If he's here, then the rest of Azaer's disciples probably are too. I don't think they have the strength to divide their forces now; Scree, especially the loss of Rojak, will have drained their resources considerably.'

'Which means either Aracnan's murder of High Priest Lier is coincidence, or it's a sign that he's under Azaer's command,' Lell said, glancing at his wife. 'Getting Lier out of the way makes the duchess more easily influenced, as well as fuelling the conflict between Eight Towers and Hale.'

'And this is not a business of coincidences,' Gavai finished for her husband. The pair might not have ever been at the sharp end of spycraft where Legana and the King's Men lived, but they were under no illusions about what they were involved with.

'I know enough to report to my king,' Doranei said, staring straight at Legana, 'but what are you going to do?'

Legana didn't respond immediately. As everyone turned to look at her, she kept her eyes on Doranei. He didn't understand what had happened to her — she didn't understand it herself yet — but he himself, perhaps without knowing it, was not just a pawn in the game; he was a man who could call Lord Isak friend and Zhia Vukotic something more. Of all of them, he was the only one who could understand the twilight world she now inhabited. Her hand went to the line of bumps around her neck, a regular curve just above the collar-bones. She couldn't feel the shadow mark that overlaid half of the emeralds under her skin. She couldn't see her own eyes, though she knew they were different. And the changes didn't stop there. There was a fire in her blood, like she'd always imagined magic to be like: a tiny prickle that could erupt into the fury of a furnace at a moment's notice.

— Do I call myself Farlan any longer? Can I? 1 accepted the Lady's kinship but she's dead now — I feel the part of her inside me is dead — but what about the other Gods? Are they my kin now, or am 1 just Raylin, a being of power but with no allegiance?

Finally she wrote hesitantly, — I do not know to whom 1 now kneel.

Gavai whispered the words aloud as Legana wrote. She placed a sympathetic hand on Legana's arm, but withdrew it when she flinched.

— The only place I've ever belonged is the Temple of the Lady, Legana realised as she wiped the slate clean. — Whatever spark of divinity that remains, is that enough to sustain the temples, or will they just end up as killers for hire? We were halfway there already.

'I understand your problem,' Doranei said, interrupting her thoughts, 'but we could use your help. You once called us allies; could that not continue? Even if only out of a common enemy?'

— He is too strong for me, she wrote.

'Gods! I'm not asking you to take Aracnan down.' Doranei shook his head firmly to emphasise the point though he was speaking loudly enough for her to hear him. 'Information will be our greatest weapon; information provided by someone with insight we cannot get elsewhere.'

— They would sense me if I spied on the duchess.

'Then let us find another way.' He paused. 'You do want revenge, don't you?'

Legana didn't reply. For herself she felt nothing, just the emptiness in her gut that had once been the divine touch of the Lady. But then she remembered that night in the temple; the brutality that had broken her body, and the sight of the Lady, skin flayed and scorched as she turned away from Aracnan.

— Why did she save me and not herself? Even if she couldn't save herself, why save me? Who gives up in a fight even if they're outmatched? Legana felt her hand tense at the memory of Fate's dying expression. The Goddess didn't think like that. The creed says we are her daughters, and a mother does not abandon her daughters.

— I want revenge. The image of Fate was clear and painful in her memory, the emerald green of the Lady's eyes shining out from the darkness of the grave.

— But not enough to abandon my sisters, she added, holding the slate out to Doranei for emphasis.

'Of course. I understand,' he told her. 'King Emin always spoke in fond terms of the Lady. If there is help Narkang can provide you, just ask.'

'Before all that,' Lell interrupted, 'I need to send a bird to Tirah. Lord Isak needs this information.'

— I will tell him.

'Can you reach him directly?'

She shrugged. Her divinity was so new to her that she hadn't had much chance to explore its potential; she'd been sleeping mostly, recovering her strength, not testing its limits. It was also risky — Lord Isak was also new to power, and he might react without thinking. The prospect made Legana's hands tremble, but she had made up her mind: her loyalty was to her cult and her sisters, but she had spent years fighting for the Lord of the Farlan, and she had respected Lord Bahl, and that meant she had to extend that to Bahl's heir. That in turn meant telling him to his face that she was no longer in his employ.

— I will find him, she wrote with crisp, certain strokes.

King Emin looked up at the massive man at his side: Coran, his bodyguard, was staring silently down at him, his face grave. Behind them Emin could hear the shutters rattle and shudder under a storm's assault.

'Well?' Emin turned in his seat to look at the white-eye. There were only two other men in the gentlemen's club, a retired captain of the Watch who was snoring softly in a corner, and Count Antern, who stood at the back of the room frowning down at a stack of reports. The king used the club as a front for various activities, and many of the members had been involved in those activities at one time or another. Coran would normally be happy to speak in front of either of those present.

Coran pushed up the left sleeve of his tunic. 'I'm going to cut that damn mage's balls off,' he said fiercely, and turned so King Emin could see the inner forearm.

'We can't blame Endine for his successes, can we?' Emin replied in a slightly forced way. It was clear to all that a weight had been lifted from him after his sundering, but the process had taken its toll.

Coran gave him an old-fashioned look as a trickle of blood ran down his fingers and dripped onto the carpet. T think I'll find a way.'

Emin peered at the bloodied skin. 'Just be glad he used the Brotherhood's shorthand, my friend! "Enemy sighted, Ilumene and others, purpose unknown, request orders",' he read aloud. 'Curious he doesn't specify what others — important enough to mention but not name.'

'Ilumene will be in charge, whoever else is there,' Coran growled, the reason for his dark mood now apparent. Ilumene had escaped him twice now, and Coran took such things to heart.

'No doubt, but I think it more likely Doranei has identified a new disciple, one we've yet to assign a shorthand symbol to.' Emin stood and looked at Count Antern on the other side of the room, who had looked up when Coran started speaking. He had heard the message.

'Antern, please fetch Sir Creyl and Morghien,' the king asked, and his first minister hurried away. Emin walked over and nudged the dozing man.

'Captain, time for you to go home to your wife,' Emin said gently.

The white-whiskered man twitched a few times before he opened one eye. 'Eh?'

'Bugger off home,' Coran said.

'Bugger off yourself,' the captain replied in a gravely voice. 'She don't want me there, not since Brandt died defending your palace.' His skin was creased like old, worn leather, and his white beard had grown rather patchily where there were scars. He was past sixty now, and losing the bulk that had kept him alive in many a street fight. When Coran didn't reply he gave a sigh and began to heave himself upright. The white-eye reached forward and took most of his weight until he was standing.

'I dreamed I was young again,' the captain complained to Emin, 'chasing a man through Queen's Square with all the gladness of youth.'

The king smiled. 'You were a growling old bear when we first met and I doubt it was any different twenty years before that.'

The captain laughed and began to walk stiffly towards the door. 'Hah — and you were the most arrogant man I ever met,' he said. He added softly, 'Still haven't come good on your promise though. I'll never forgive you if I don't live long enough to hear the shadow's dead.'

'I'll do my best, my friend,' Emin said as he watched him hobble out.

As the old officer passed them, Morghien and Sir Creyl, Commander of the Brotherhood, nodded respectfully. Once the door was shut, all was business again.

'Gentlemen, Doranei has sighted Ilumene in the Circle City,' King Emin announced. 'Suggestions?'

'Don't let anger get the better of you,' Sir Creyl said. He was a heavyset man dressed in the functional clothes of a hurscal. His arresting pale blue eyes had more than once been mistaken for white, though Creyl was a calm man who was entirely out of place on a battlefield.

'Thank you, the point has already been made.'

'What was the message?' Morghien asked, walking past Emin and settling himself into the chair just vacated by the captain. He stared at the fire, watching the flames dance in the occasional gusts of wind down the chimney.

Emin repeated it.

Since the ritual in the tower they had barely spoken. The wan-derer looked even more strung-out than usual. He had moved into one of the club's guestrooms and spent as much time in the Light Fingers as Doranei had before his latest mission. 'Another ruse?' Morghien said eventually.

'Bit close to playing the same trick twice, isn't it?'

'Double bluff, then. I wouldn't expect the shadow to be so stupid, and the bastard knows it.'

'We need to know how the information was come by,' Sir Creyl said. 'Last time it was thrown in our faces for their purposes. What if they have allowed Doranei to discover this?'

'The point stands either way,' Emin sighed. 'Come on; you've all thought about our next step; what are your suggestions?'

'Watch your own back yard,' Morghien said before the others could speak. 'If it's drawing your attention to the Circle City, then maybe it's got something planned for Narkang again.'

'Pah! The city's locked tighter than even the Brotherhood knows,' Count Antern said dismissively. 'The shadow wouldn't bother trying.'

'I trust Doranei,' Sir Creyl said slowly. 'He's watching for ruses; he's learned the lessons of Scree.'

'Your man's burned out,' Antern countered. 'There's no mention of Zhia Vukotic at all — and that's why he was sent there in the first place.'

'I trust him,' Creyl repeated, 'he knows what he's doing and he's not burned out. If Doranei has passed that message on, he came to this properly and this isn't a trap — unless the ruse is so fantastically clever every one of us would have been taken in.'

'So?' King Emin enquired, pulling a cigar from his tunic and lighting it with a taper. He offered the leather case to Morghien, but the man of many spirits waved it away.

'So we act,' Creyl said firmly. 'If Doranei's looking for orders, that means he can't manage it himself. I suggest I put together a kill team, mages and Brothers, and send it to the Circle City. We don't worry about the condition of the city or relations with them; we make a big mess and leave it for someone else to clear it up.'

Antern gave a sharp nod. 'Grossly unsubtle, something I doubt will be either expected or anticipated. I've had intel that envoys from Mustet and Sautin have travelled to Thotel. If they agree a treaty with Lord Styrax, he'll be free to move north towards Tor Salan, the Circle City, then Embere. Everything south of the Farlan sphere of influence will be open to him, so we have no need to protect our good relations with the Circle City: we'll tear a hole in the city and get out quickly. It's our last chance to act there before we find ourselves looking over the border at the Menin Army.'

'And then we have a whole new set of problems,' Coran added.

'Surely we must try to discover what Ilumene is doing there?' Morghien asked, 'or are we just going to throw away years of covert surveillance in favour of revenge?'

King Emin was quiet for a moment, watching the thin trail of smoke from his cigar. 'This is not about revenge, my friend. I've made that mistake already. We'll take this chance to damage Azaer's disciples and prepare for the next stage, for we all know there will be one.' He tossed the barely started cigar into the fire, his lips pursed as though the taste had suddenly revolted him. 'It will hide behind the Menin conquest so we must ensure that, when it does act, we are there waiting.'

The last few rain drops hissed into the fires Ehla had set around Mihn. He sat cross-legged, trying to ignore the creeping damp soaking up from the ground, and despite the fires he shivered. It was relatively mild for winter, but under the cloak he wore no shirt and his lean frame had no fat to keep him warm.

'The spells are working well,' Fernal said from his position under a tree. His midnight-blue fur merged seamlessly with the shadows and Mihn could barely see anything of the Demi-God beyond his yellow-tinted eyes and fangs. 'They masked your approach — unless you were overshadowed by Xeliath's presence.'

'What did it say?' Xeliath demanded from her seat just inside Ehla's tent, bristling at the sound of her name in a language she couldn't understand.

'He,' Mihn replied calmly, 'said he could not sense me as we came, but that mighl have been down to your presence'.'

'Hah,' the girl scoffed in Farlan so Fernal could understand, 'got eyes only for me, have you, Hairy? Too blue for my tastes, so keep yourself under control.'

Fernal growled softly at Xeliath, prompting laughter.

'Xeliath,' the witch said, speaking into everyone's minds, 'you are here as a guest; behave like one. Someone of your strength should know better.'

The young woman scowled, but said nothing. She wrapped her hands as best she could around the tea Fernal had given her a few minutes before. From beyond the ring of firelight the monstrous son of Nartis fixed his unblinking stare on Xeliath: she might be a fraction of his size, but with the Crystal Skull fused to her palm she had the advantage.

The witch stepped out from her tent and stood at Xeliath's side. 'Mihn ab Netren ab Felith, a third request you would have of me. It is said that to ask of a witch a third time is to give away a piece of your soul.'

'So it is said,' Mihn replied solemnly. He had spent the day fasting and preparing for what was to come. Hours meditating in the small Temple of Nartis at the palace had brushed aside the clutter of everyday thoughts and deepened his certainty that this path was the right one. 'The price of power is to wield it,' he said in a level tone, 'I cannot turn away from a path that must be taken, not when I am the one best suited to walk it.'

The witch took a step closer, peering down at him like a hunting hawk. 'And the price you will pay?' Her voice was dry and harsh, as remorseless as the north wind.

'I will pay what I must.'

'Brave words for now.'

Another step forward. Behind her, Xeliath pulled herself upright and fell in behind the witch. She looked like more of a white-eye now, with that same intent, predatory expression Mihn had seen on Isak's face so many times.

'Two services I have performed for you, grave thief; the third permits me to name a terrible price. Silence I have given you, the unseen glide of a ghost-owl. Protection I have given you, the leaves of rowan and hazel on your skin.'

'Grave thief,' whispered Xeliath from beside the witch, her face alight with savage delight, her eyes gleaming.

'More you have asked from me,' the witch continued, her voice growing in strength. Mihn felt the sound all around him, shaking through his bones. 'And a claim on your soul is mine, to do with as I wish. That claim I offer to another; to the grave, to the wild wind, to the called storm.'

The words struck Mihn like hammer blows, the force of each one echoing through his mind with the finality of nails in a coffin.

'It is given,' he whispered, feeling an empty pit open up in his stomach. 'Whatever is asked shall be done. Whatever cannot be asked of another will be done. Whatever should not be asked of another, it will be done.'

The witch took one more step to come within arm's reach of the sitting man. She bent down to look him in the eye. Her pale, proud face had never before looked so terrible.

'To be led through darkness one needs more than light.' She reached behind herself and took Xeliath's hand as she grabbed Mihn's throat. He made no move to resist the witch as her nails dug in deep and drew blood.

With his blood on her hand the witch lowered it and placed her palm on Mihn's chest. He felt it warm to the touch as the wind suddenly whipped up and began to swirl all around them, tearing through the trees as Xeliath drew hard on the torrent of energy at her disposal.

'In darkness you will find my price,' the witch cried. 'In darkness you will weep for master and mistress as cruel as the ice of their eyes. In darkness you will find both a path, and a leash on your soul.'

The warmth of her hand intensified and Mihn gasped as leaves tore past his face and the ground shuddered. Distantly he heard a sound, a moan from the son of Nartis, but he had no mind for anything but the pain as a lance of flame seemed to run through his chest and a white-hot light filled his eyes. He screamed, and his cry mingled on the wind with the witch's animal shriek.

The Land fell away, only to abruptly return as Xeliath broke the flow of magic. Mihn was thrown backwards to sprawl on the ground, curling into a foetal ball as his howls became whimpers.

'It is done,' Xeliath said, uncaring of the writhing man on the floor, 'and it has attracted someone's attention; I sense them closing on the wind.'

Mihn gave a cough which shook his whole body and sent a final burning tingle racing down his limbs. Fernal raced from the shadows and helped Mihn to sit upright. Mihn groaned, the echo of pain still strong. Once he was upright he once more noticed the smell of burnt flesh rising from his chest. He squinted down, his eyes blurred with rain and tears.

'It is done,' Fernal repeated.

Mihn frowned, unable to see properly. With an unsteady finger he poked at his chest until he found the right spot and was rewarded with a hot stinging from the red patch of skin on his sternum. Bright against his painfully white skin was a circle containing a rune, one he knew well.

'Is it finished?' he asked drunkenly, looking up at the witch.

There was sorrow in her eyes, so profound it frightened Mihn as much as the pitiless expression she had worn only moments before. 'No, grave thief, it is far from over.'

'Shit.' He sank back into Fernal's arms and unconsciousness embraced him.

The grey sky surged and roiled with distant fury. On top of a small hill stood the broken stub of a tower, just one storey high, rising from a sea of gorse. Xeliath occupied a grand throne on what was now the roof, the shattered walls affording her an unhindered view. The gale that lashed around the edges of the tower failed to ruffle her silk shirt or riding breeches as it whistled ferociously over the scarred stone.

The Yeetatchen girl was lost in thought as she scowled at the gorse. She wasn't afraid, just puzzled. This was her Land, the dream-scape shaped by her mind, and she feared no one here — but she had never before been approached so tentatively here.

She flexed the fingers of her left hand, feeling the dual sensation of a palm both unencumbered and still fused to the Crystal Skull. With a thought she clothed her body in glittering armour of crystal and a short-handled glaive appeared in her hand, like those carried by the Ghosts, but carved from ivory.

'You will have no need of that,' called a woman from behind her.

Xeliath blinked, and the entire Land seemed to spin around her while she remained still. The woman, a copper-haired Farlan, staggered and almost fell before she found her balance once more.

She was putting her weight on a silver-headed walking stick, moving as if she was injured; even in this dream-state she looked not entirely whole.

Is this a ruse, or does she lack the strength to appear as she wishes? The Yeetatchen could not help but glance at her own left arm, now perfect and straight. Vanity perhaps, but the Land owes me that at the very least.

'Who are you?' Xeliath said, her voice cutting the wind like a sword through smoke. 'What do you want with me?'

'You are Xeliath?' the woman asked. She pushed her hair away from her face and Xeliath saw a black hand-print on her throat. 'My name is Legana.' The wind tore at her long emerald cloak.

The white-eye reached out with her senses and her puzzlement increased. 'What are you?' she wondered. 'Your face says Farlan and your hair says a devotee of the Lady — so why do you smell of Godhood?'

Legana took a step forward. The wind assailing her abruptly stopped. 'I am the Mortal-Aspect of the Lady, but once I was an agent of the Farlan. I wish to speak to Lord Isak, to give my final report before I leave his service.'

'Why should I believe you?' Xeliath asked.

'I am in your power,' Legana said simply. 'Here, I am at your mercy. Lord Isak knows me, he will recognise me, but I am not strong enough to reach him directly.'

'Do you wear your true face?' Xeliath mused. An unexpected gust of wind slapped past Legana, making her flinch. When she looked up again her face was unchanged, but Xeliath could now see a curved line of bumps running around her neck.

'This is my true face. I lack the strength to hide it from you,' Legana said, before adding in a bitter voice, 'if I could, I would certainly remove from my neck the mark of the man who broke me and killed my Goddess.'

Xeliath let go of her glaive. The weapon fell slowly and disappeared just before it hit the ground. In its place a small table appeared, bearing a crystal decanter and two glasses. 'I have summoned him,' Xeliath announced. 'A drink while we wait? It's not real, of course, but who cares?'

The two women spent the next few minutes in silence, carefully scrutinising each other. In this dreamscape Xeliath was unaffected by the paralysis of the real world, and while Legana's beauty was undiminished, her sinuous athleticism had been replaced by that ethereal quality possessed by all Gods.

When Isak arrived, his peevish expression at the rags he found himself wearing vanished quickly, and he looked both women up and down, not trying to hide his appreciative grin. Only when Xeliath gave him a distinctly unfriendly look, accompanied by a distant rumble of thunder, did the Lord of the Farlan step forward, his palms upturned in greeting.

'Legana,' he acknowledged as she returned the gesture, 'you're changed since last I saw you.'

'There have been many changes, Lord Isak.' She inclined her head, to concede the point rather than show deference. 'I come to give you my final report.'

'Final?' He shot a look at Xeliath, who was now lying on her side on a green upholstered sofa, watching the pair of them like a cat. 'You wish to leave my service?'

'I have left your service,' she corrected. 'My allegiance is no longer to the Farlan.'

'Are we enemies instead?' His voice was cautious rather than hostile, but, apparently unbidden, Eolis appeared in his hand.

'Not unless you wish it, my Lord,' she said carefully. 'I am not so changed that I have forgotten my past.'

'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 -1 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.'