The Twilight herald

'An escape plan?' Isak asked. The witch nodded, cradling the object in both hands as she inspected it.

'A useful little toy, I think I'll keep this for myself.' 'Try anything else like that and I'll pull your arms off,' he said conversationally.

'You're going to kill me anyway,' Purn pointed out. There was no panic in the Menin mage's voice; he sounded as calm as a monk after prayers.

'But I had intended to do it cleanly,' Isak said. 'I promise you, it can hurt a lot more if you a

'A fair observation,' Purn said with infuriating acceptance. 'I've recently learned not to underestimate a white-eye's determination.'

'Explain,' Isak commanded, causing the strands of magic to tighten by way of encouragement.

'You're here to kill me; at any other time I'd be fighting tooth and nail to stay alive. Today, however, the sun dawned with a blessing for me.'

'I asked you to explain,' Isak warned.

Purn gave a thin smile that grew wider as he spoke. 'Men of my profession often find themselves party to bargains with the creatures of the dark. Upon my death a number of debts were set to be col¬lected, but the Lord of the Menin has done me a great service. My slate is wiped clean.'

You still have Death to answer to,' Isak said.

The necromancer dismissed the comment with a wave of the hand, Every man must answer to Death; that I am in a position to worry about it is more than satisfactory, a boon I could not have hoped for.' Since his hands were restrained, he dipped his head towards Isak. ' Lord Styrax faced down one of the greatest of daemons this day – I advise you to remember that when he reaches your lands.'

'Is he all they say.'' Isak asked, trying to control the trepidation in his voice. Kastan Styrax had defeated a daemon? First Lord Bahl, then

a creature of the Dark Place; was there anything that could stop the man? Images from his dreams filled Isak's mind: a fanged blade driving into his gut, a black-armoured knight who would mean his death. I know I can't stop him, I've always known that.

Purn laughed. 'All they say? I have heard soldiers and courtiers sing his praises, but how could they really understand? There is a proph¬ecy that says his standard will fly above every city in the Land, but that does not interest me, and I suspect neither does it interest Lord Styrax. Empty men strive for glory or power, for flags and gold and nations on bended knee. The great care only for the stars and the heavens above.'

Isak glanced at his left hand. Encased in silver, the skin underneath remained a perfect snow-white, unchanged since he'd called the storm down onto him on the palace walls in Narkang. The memory of soldiers fighting on the wall reminded him that time was not on his side.

He stepped forward with grim resolve, Eolis raised. 'Then when I see your lord, I'll warn him that those who reach too high end up burned. Give my compliments to Lord Death.'

CHAPTER 28

At General Gort's signal, the columns of light infantry advanced with flaming torches held high against the darkness, marching down the Bearwalk, the wide avenue that ran almost directly south from the New Barbican. It would take them most of the way to Six Temples. They were exposed and vulnerable on that wide avenue, but Gort was determined to keep a tight grip on his growing fears. That he wasn't exactly sure what was frightening him was making his imagination run riot.

The Knights of the Temples had taken the New Barbican with a minimum of fuss, and since then they had seen none of the mobs the New Barbican's defenders had spoken of with such terror – in fact, they hadn't seen anyone at all. They marched through abandoned streets, watching the shadows nervously and feeling increasingly dis¬concerted.

General Gort felt horribly alone, the only man on horseback at the head of the column and a prime target for even a mediocre archer. Behind him rumbled a dozen carts, guarded by sappers, then General Chotech, his long, curved axe resting on his shoulder, led his ranks of heavy infantry. His men were armed with heavy shields and thrusting spears: at the first sign of the mobs roving the city, they would lock shields and present a spiked wall that even disciplined troops found hard to break through.

The general turned and inspected the troops with him. A legion ol infantry and two hundred lancers stretched out along the Bearwalk. The major of the lancers saw him and gave a theatrical salute, prompt ing a smile. Major Derl was an excellent officer, from Canar Thrit, a city well known for producing line soldiers. He was experienced enough to know any idle gesture would be noticed by the nervous troops, so Gort suppressed his own fears and gave a cheery wave in return, noting a few smiles before he turned his attention back to the road ahead.

'What have I got us into?' he muttered to himself. 'Will a legion be enough?'

His horse twitched its ears at the sound of his voice and he tight ened his grip on the reins. The horses were as skittish as the men. Perhaps they too sensed that this was not a place for the living. It was obvious, and not just in the smashed windows of abandoned buildings, or the shadows lurking at the base of every shattered wall, or even the brutalised corpses strewn across the city. He couldn't decide which was worse, the hellish sight of fire raging unchecked through entire streets and consuming everything in its path, or the broken ruins wrapped in u

General Gort caught Lieutenant Mehar's eye and the aide obedi-ently stepped closer.

'What do you make of this place, Mehar?' he asked. 'It's so hot at night you can hardly bear to wear a shirt, let alone armour. You're a scholar, what are your thoughts?'

Relief flushed Mehar's face for a moment. Gort suppressed a smile, the young man had been worrying that he was being punished for some failure; unusually, he'd been excluded from most of the general's meetings over the last few weeks. Mehar was a good aide, and he had a fine intellect, but his devotion to the order made it hard to tell what he would make of discussions about a deal with the Farlan, or the developing quarrel with the Knight-Cardinal. Right now they couldn't risk finding out.

'It feels like the Land has been turned on its head,' Mehar said hesitantly. He was a shy young man of twenty-five winters whose tem-perament didn't fit with his large, athletic frame. His father had been barely bright enough to swing an axe, but he had been keen to eii.iin his eldest son spent as much time studying as trying to fill his latinVi over-sized shoes. It had paid off: Mehar loved his books.

'A natural order has been upset here, sir. I think that's why the horses were reluctant to pass through the New Barbican gales. What we need to know is whether this discord is the result, or the pur-pose.'

'And we'd need a mage to work that one out?'

Mehar nodded unhappily. Their order vehemently disapproved of magic, of any description. It was their greatest weakness in battle, but it was a belief they all held to: magic was an u

'I just hope we don't find it out the hard way, sir.' He took a breath and looked around at the gutted shells of building that lined the avenue. 'The natural order of things is that of the Gods on high and mankind, their servants. If that has been reversed, what are we going to find at Six Temples?'