The Twilight herald

'We have a form of kinship, you and I,' Fernal said hesitantly, taking care over the words that fitted uneasily around his thick fleshy tongue and great incisors. The words were clear and easily recognisable, but Isak could see Fernal was determined to get them absolutely correct. He felt a pang of sympathy for the strange beast-man; Fernal must know better than Isak how appearance could be a hindrance to every other aspect of life. The care he took said very obviously 1 am not the beast 1 appear, in a way Isak had rarely bothered with. 'I ask you to keep her safe, as I promised back in Llehden.'

'I will,' Isak acknowledged with a respectful nod, ignoring Fernal's unspoken words of warning. Two large men in a cramped room, he thought, neither of us wanting to jostle the elbow of the other.

Fernal loped off after the soldiers with long strides, his thick mane billowing as he caught them up.

Isak turned back to Ehla and immediately felt uncomfortable as he saw he was being scrutinised. There was something about her poise that set Isak on edge, making him horribly aware of every idle move¬ment and pointless gesture, especially when compared to her disturb¬ingly still presence. She was a handsome woman – he guessed her at close to forty summers – but her aura of utter self-assurance unsettled him. It was a mask even more effective than his own, and it ensured he remained a shade off-balance around her.

'Well, shall we go, or continue to watch each other like the last couple left at the village dance?'

Isak sighed. 'For a village crone you sound an awful lot like King Emin,' he commented sourly, pointing the way.

Ehla cocked her head at him. 'Even isolated as we are, we're still reminded of the man's greatness from time to time, so I shall take that as a compliment.'

'He has his faults,' Isak said darkly, and walked on ahead, hand on the hilt of his sword. Behind him, Ehla breathed a word he couldn't recognise, though it sounded like a curse. Perhaps the crone comment had got past the mask after all; he smiled and filed that thought away for later.

After two corridors and another empty hall they found a small storeroom that had obviously not been used recently. It was only six foot square, with a roughly hewn hexagonal pillar rising from near its centre and piercing the ceiling. It looked like an architectural after¬thought, but it was perfect for Isak's needs and he said an awkward prayer in his mind to whichever of the Gods were looking down upon him. They were legendarily fickle creatures, the Gods, and he knew he'd be in greatest need of their help once the deed was done.

They only had to wait five minutes. Whatever Count Vesna had set ablaze, it had gone up like a sacrifice to Tsatach and Isak could smell the bitter scent of smoke faintly even before a unit of soldiers clattered past in the direction of the fire.

'How did you get into the palace?' Isak whispered as they waited to see whether any more men were coming from that direction.

'A witch can always find a way in; few have the strength of mind to deny us.'

'And in this case?' he replied testily at her elusive answer.

Ehla shrugged. 'I knocked on one of the doors. It took them a little by surprise because they hadn't seen us reach the door, but I persuaded them to let us in and then used a little spell to send them to sleep.'

'Sleep?' Isak said in surprise. A vision of Fernal's great talons and bough-like arms rose in his mind.

'Certainly. Death should always be a last resort,' Ehla chided. 'You would do well to remember that; it might come in useful one of these days.'

Isak suppressed a shiver; her tone had been just a little too pro¬phetic for his liking. He scowled and turned away. 'Come on, I can't hear anyone else nearby – unless you're about to complain about me killing Purn?'

'Not at all; necrornancers harm at the balance of the Land, so I have no sympathy for them Let him explain himself to Lord Death and whatever daemons he's made his bargains with. The Land will be better without him.'

Isak didn't reply. That the Chief of the Gods would be pleased had little to do with why he was here. The worm of guilt over Lord Bahl's death continued to gnaw at him. He'd tried to shake it off – he knew Bahl had been a driven man, not one to pay heed to incoherent dreams – but when you couldn't persuade yourself, what chance was there? The necromancer Isherin Purn was to blame; that was undeni¬able, and part of Isak clung to the hope that his own guilt would die with Purn's.

They left the storeroom and followed the corridor to a long hall, which was lined on both sides with large sculptures on plinths, some taller even than Isak. They represented the Gods in various poses: Death sitting in judgment over some prostrate si

The witch inspected one and made a face of disgust. 'They call this art! Dead things cut to resemble the living, while they sit in their lifeless cities.'

At the end of the hall they passed two enormous blood-red pillars, with grand wooden staircases leading off in both directions, curling around to meet up on the next floor. Isak eased his way onto the first of the polished mahogany steps, trying to gauge how much they would creak under his weight. When he was satisfied, he glanced at the witch, but she was already past him and heading to another doorway on the right, through which he could see a spiral staircase.

'You might want to let me go first,' Isak said softly.

'Feeling the hero at last!'

He smiled. 'No, but for all your tricks, I don't think you can match a necromancer's power.'

With his senses, Isak caressed the Crystal Skull fused to his cuirass. The ready power within sent a warm glow through his body, prickling on his skin under the armour and ru

Ehla's hand closed around his wrist. 'Won't he be expecting that!'

'What do you mean?'

'His wards are obvious to any mage, almost a challenge to a contest of power for anyone such as you. Would it not be safer to be circumspect, in case this is a trap?'

Isak almost laughed. 'Circumspect? I'm a white-eye who knew nothing about magic a year ago. How in the name of the Dark Place do you expect me to out-think a mage of his experience? If you have any suggestions, please don't hold back.'

'I do.'

Isak froze. That wasn't Ehla's voice; he realised after a moment that it was Aryn Bwr who spoke. Gone was the usual sour note of regret and loss in the dead Elf's voice. There was a sudden clarity, and for once Isak was eager to hear what he had to say.

'The spells are simple and direct,' Aryn Bwr continued after a pause, as though having taken a moment to study the problem. 'They are set to detect anyone walking up the staircase; such a thing can be easily circumvented.'

'How?' Isak said hesitantly. He looked within himself to check his hold over Aryn Bwr was absolute, but nothing had changed; his cap¬tive appeared honestly willing to help. Could the last king have found a way around his bonds? Isak's mind raced, but he couldn't think of anything Aryn Bwr could do. His hold was too complete, too funda¬mental to be subverted.

'A spell that will turn them in on each other, allow them to negate each other. My tutor called it the grave-robber's spell. It will take more skill to cast than you have. 1 will have to do it myself.'

Isak didn't answer. The witch just stared at him, her expression indecipherable. He assumed Ehla must have heard Aryn Bwr's words, but she gave no sign of it, nor any further advice. The white-eye checked again his hold over the dead king, mistrust and fear delaying any decision. The spirit sensed his indecision, and the familiar sour taste of contempt appeared at the back of Isak's throat, but Aryn Bwr said nothing, nor did he retract his offer.