The Twilight herald

CHAPTER 27

Isak kept his eyes on the ground to avoid the shattered bricks that littered the road as he ran to the street corner where Major Jachen and the ranger Jeil were crouching. Above them the end wall on the first floor of the building had been smashed through and he glanced up into the black tear in the wall. The building had been converted into a barracks for the Fysthrall soldiers, which must have pleased the rich folk living all around. This part of the city was still dark, for the moment protected from the conflagration they could see consuming south Scree.

'How does it look?' he asked softly.

Jachen looked up. Only his eyes were visible through the helm, but they were enough to betray the man's anxiety. 'It looks quiet, my Lord. The scouts have not seen any mobs following the decoy troops.'

'They're there,' Isak said with certainty. He shone in the darkness with an intensity that made him feel all the more vulnerable. The moons were high and bright, free from the cloud that hung in a wreath around the horizon, and casting their light down to catch the exposed armour of the Farlan soldiers. 'They're probably keeping clear of the Fysthrall soldiers and whatever mages they have left.'

'The good news is that one of the scouts saw troops leaving the Red Palace compound for the Princess Gate, presumably to secure it for when they escape the city.'

Isak nodded. 'Pride; without Scree the Circle is finished. Siala won't abandon the city until the last moment; she won't want to leave un¬less she has to, and she certainly won't want to walk out into the welcoming arms of the Devoted, or the Farlan. No doubt the news that we'd entered the city put a smile on the woman's face.'

'We've sent the decoy troops to the south side of the palace, close enough to dissuade Siala from trying to escape.'

The advance troops consisted of a division of light cavalry led by Suzerain Torl. The clattering of hooves on cobbles was sure to attract attention from the mobs, which was the intention, and Isak was confident the soldiers would be able to ride through all but the most crowded streets.

He looked back at the troops behind him. Those who'd been with him from the begi

'How far to the palace?' he asked.

'Five hundred yards, my Lord,' Jeil said softly. 'I counted ten guards on the nearest stretch of wall; the rest moved off when they saw the Ghosts to the south. There are no foot patrols beyond the wall.'

'Good.' He beckoned and a handful of figures started to converge upon him. 'I'm taking Leshi, Tiniq, Shinir and Vesna; that's all. Jachen, watch our backs, and get ready to wade in if we get into trouble.'

'Only five of you?'

'It has to be quiet. I don't know how many Fysthrall are still in the palace, but probably more than we can handle. Vesna, are you ready?'

The count gave a curt nod. He looked strange in full armour, especially when on foot and standing next the more lightly armoured rangers. He had the face-plate of his helm up, the lion mask staring up into the sky. His face was tight, fixed in an expression of concentra-i ion, as though he could will his doubts away.

'Let's seek our revenge,' Isak said softly.

They kept to the shadows as best they could, but they were still pain-fully obvious on Scree's dead streets. The silence was disturbing. A city without people was a body without a beating heart. The stench of corruption filled the air. Soon the conflagration in the south would burn everything away, leaving only ash in its wake.

When the wall was almost upon them, Isak pulled off his silver helm and edged his head around the corner of the building, his blue hood blending into the shadows.

What if they did see it? Isak wondered privately. In this place the Gods have abandoned, would they be glad to see the face of Nartis?

There were half a dozen torches burning on the wall, just enough to illuminate the oil-coloured scale pattern of Fysthrall helms, and the white scarves around the soldiers' necks. Every one was shifting uncomfortably or pacing the wall. The ground before the wall was a stretch of formal gardens, with lines of low bushes that might act as shallow trenches for the attack party. Dotted around the gardens were several dozen crumpled shapes. After a few moments Isak could see there were arrows sticking up from some of the bodies.

'Now we need a diversion,' he whispered, 'something to get us close enough to kill them all quickly.'

'And your plan?' Vesna asked.

Isak could hear a strain of hope in the man's voice. 'Worried that I might be making it up as I go along, my devoted bondsman?'

'I'm not your bondsman any more,' the count reminded him, 'but I remain a loyal servant of the tribe, so obviously I'm eager to find out what you want me to do.'

'Excellent.' Isak smiled. 'Now I need to find some bats.'

'Bats?' Vesna and Jachen spluttered together.

'Bats. Night's heralds, Death's winged attendants. Look at the men on the wall; they're all shuffling about, or pacing, or twitching: no one's standing still. That tells me they're nervous. I think we should borrow the majesty of the Gods as we're going to punish a heretic; there's symbolism and everything there.'

Isak gri

Isak reached over and patted the man on the slight peak of his helm. 'That's what I thought. Now shut up and let me concentrate.'

He pulled off one of his gauntlets and closed his eyes as he ran his fingertips over the Crystal Skull fused to his cuirass. It was unusu¬ally warm to the touch, as ever, but now the Skull felt as slippery and elusive as a wet icicle. His lingers slid almost without resistance over its surface as he reached out with his senses to the Land beyond.

The air was thick and heavy in his throat; he could almost taste the putrefying wounds of the dying city. Scree was expiring, almost on its last breath. He felt the empty streets all around him, the stony dust of its broken bones and the hot stink of its bloating flesh.

In his mind Isak kicked away from the ground and surged up into the cooling night sky, letting the oppressive street-level air drop away like a shed skin. He sensed the reviving kiss of the wind high above and felt a gasp of pleasure escape his body as the gusts lovingly wrapped him in their chill arms. The cold bright moons prickled his skin and drove the remaining vestiges of Scree's choking oppression from his body, purging the poison from his veins.

Isak sighed. He hadn't realised how much he'd missed using magic, feeling the energies thrumming through his bones, but he'd had no choice – with the vast power available through his two Skulls, one small lapse of concentration would have a

The witch said to accept what was inside me, he thought with a smile, so why should that not include magic? It's been with me my whole life, shaped me from womb to throne. Either I embrace it and keep control over it, or 1 risk letting it control me.