The Twilight herald

'Tell me if it gets any closer,' King Emin said. 'We don't want to get caught up in someone else's problem.'

'What is it?' Endine whispered, unable to keep quiet.

Doranei looked at his king, who looked perturbed by the news, however calm he sounded.

'Scree's end is near, then,' he said quietly, sadly. 'When the Saljin Man ventures inside a city's boundary, it's because it is no longer a city.'

'The Saljin Man?' Now Endine sounded afraid. 'The curse of the Vukotic?'

'The very same. The daemon can follow any member of that tribe. No doubt it can sense the death hanging around Zhia. We should move faster.'

They picked up their pace, no one needing to be told twice. They'd all heard about the daemon that plagued the Vukotic tribe, and not even Coran wanted to try his arm against it.

The ground by the barricade was littered with corpses, most un¬armed and many painfully thin, and those arrows the defenders had not bothered to recover after beating off however many assaults they'd endured. Doranei tried not to look at any of the bodies too closely as he carefully stabbed every one within range, in case one of the rabid creatures was only injured. They'd been lucky so far, encountering no more than a dozen stragglers between Autumn's Arch, where they'd left the Farlan Army, and the Greengate.

Lord Isak hadn't bothered trying to talk King Emin out of the expe¬dition – he was busy organising his own fool's errand, though Lord Isak had more soldiers to accompany him to the Red Palace, where they believed the necromancer was holed up. The white-eye had grasped the king's wrist in friendship and saluted the rest of the small band, just as any Farlan soldier would, kissing his bow-fingers and touch¬ing them to his forehead. The other Farlan had followed suit, and Doranei felt a flush of foolish pride that Lord Isak had spared them the moment of respect, before the Brotherhood had dropped over the barricade and marched south, heading for the spot where their mages, Endine and Cetarn, had sensed a Crystal Skull being used.

'That's far enough,' called a voice from the barricade. Doranei froze as he tried to see who'd spoken; it was the local dialect, but not spoken by a local. As if bidden, a man clambered up the barricade and removed his steel helm to reveal a cropped mess of black hair and a mass of cuts and bruises.

Doranei had seen that battered head watching him from the floor of Zhia's study: the Menin soldier who had so reminded him of Ilumene for a moment, though there was hardly a passing likeness. Amber? he thought Zhia had called him when they'd attended the theatre with Koezh. Was it a proper nickname or one she'd bestowed that night on a whim? In the flickering firelight, the Menin hooked the spike of his axe into his belt, though Doranei could clearly see the crossbow in the man's other hand.

'I wish to speak to your mistress; does she still live?' Doranei called after hurriedly clearly his throat. He told himself it was the heat and dust in the air that had dried his throat, nothing more, and certainly not the fear of attracting attention to himself when they were so exposed out on the street.

'Does she still live?' The Menin gave a cough that Doranei realised was a surprised laugh. 'Aye, she lives,' Amber said in a wry tone, 'and I'm sure she'll be glad to see another of her pets is still alive. Is that the whole of your company?'

Doranei looked back at his companions. All but five were men of the Brotherhood. With King Emin were his white-eye bodyguard Coran, the mages, Endine and Cetarn, and the Jester acolyte Zhia had given them to guide them to where Rojak and Ilumene were hiding. They didn't need the masked man now, but Zhia had assured the king that the acolyte would remain loyal, and an extra sword was always welcome, even if Coran kept between the king and the acolyte at all times. They were less than a full company, though every man there was too valuable for the regiments. 'This is all,' Doranei called.

Amber waved them over. 'Shift yourselves, then; our friends are coming back for another try.'

Doranei didn't even bother to look back. He and his Brothers raced for the rough barricade surrounding the Greengate and scrambled up it, Amber helping by grabbing the scruff of Doranei's collar and hauling him up while the raggedly armoured mercenaries beside him reached out hands to help the others. The Menin officer turned to do the same for the next man, and hesitated when he looked King Emin in the eyes and was caught by his icy-blue glittery stare.

'Gods, if your eyes were darker I'd have thought you one of her brothers,' Amber said gruffly to cover his hesitation.

'There would be worse companions to have this night,' Emin replied as he climbed the barricade of overturned carts, barrels and broken furniture as nimbly as a goat.

'Bloody hope so,' Amber said with a slight grin, wrapping his thick fingers around Torl Endine's arm and lifting the scrawny mage up onto the top of the barricade. 'Otherwise my night's only going to get worse.'

Endine gave a small squawk, but the constant state of terror and the effort of ru

Endine started to riposte, but all that came out was a weak wheeze.

'You'll have to excuse my feeble colleague,' Cetarn declaimed. He didn't look hampered by his paunch as he set about clambering up the barricade with all the gusto of a schoolboy. None of Scree's dangers seemed to have affected the oversized mage in the slightest, something Doranei put down to a noble upbringing, and the blind determination of the noble-born that every danger was nothing more than a game to be enjoyed with almost childish enthusiasm. What really a

'Endine ca

Doranei could tell that the Menin soldier got a surprise when he realised the mage was both taller and wider than he was. There you go, bet you've not seen that from a normal so often, he thought in a moment of petulance.

'I have grown used to carrying him under my wing. Once he's recovered his breath, Endine will find some clever way to prove his worth.'

Amber looked from one mage to the other as the rest of the Brotherhood slipped past him. 'It's not a wing, it's a paw, if you ask me,' he muttered under his breath, then, louder, 'If that's how you want it, then fine; just do something about that lot.' He pointed to¬wards a small crowd behind them, skirting the edges of the buildings as they approached, as though the light from the fires further down the street might burn them.

'Certainly, what would you like?' Cetarn replied brightly, point-lessly pushing the wide sleeves of his robe up to reveal pale skin marked with delicate tattoos and neat scars. Any high-ranking soldier would recognise the summary of Cetarn's skill and experience; the Menin battle-mages would have something similar. Major Amber looked sharp enough to understand what the scars and tattoos signified.

'Makes no difference to me,' Amber said, reaching down to retrieve his crossbow. 'Zhia says there's no chance for them, their minds are broken. Best you can do is make it quick.'

He ignored the windlass mechanism and cocked it in Chetse fash¬ion, leather pads protecting his fingers as he pulled the string back by hand; a crude attempt to impress, but no doubt worthwhile if Major Amber was trying to keep a disparate band of militiamen, city guards and mercenaries together.