The Twilight herald

Gort paused. 'Not a comforting thought, Mehar. Not comforting HI all.'

Neither man spoke again until they reached the far end of the Bearwalk.

Parties of light infantrymen flanked the main column, half carrying torches, the other half with weapons at the ready. The wavering light illuminated the rubble of an old marketplace, the remnants of broken stalls and shattered awnings.

Gort started at a dark shape that flitted behind the furthest stalls, tall and flowing, with a bone-white face – but in a blink it was gone, and the soldiers marched on unhindered. The light from the torches, the general assured himself, the moon catching a pane of glass. To the flicker of doubt in his heart he said nothing.

At the end of the Bearwalk stood a large, ornate fountain, and beyond that six smaller streets fa

Gort rode closer to the fountain as his troops spread around it and locked shields, waiting lor the light infantry to regroup. His height afforded him a good view: I heir were not only smashed limbs of stone, but human remains too. The people of this thirsty city had refused whatever succour this Aspect of Vasle might have offered, fouling both fountain and water so no one could drink from it.

Gort lowered his eyes and whispered a short prayer, a lament for the passing. Aspects might be nothing more than local spirits subsumed by a God of the Pantheon, but they remained part of the divine. The waters no longer ran here, so this part of the divine had died.

Mehar appeared at his side, looked inside the fountain then care¬fully stepped away. He swallowed, and said, 'Your fears were justified then, sir.'

'Thank you for your approval,' Gort snapped, irritated by the young man's tone. 'I will be sure to check every other decision I make with you.'

Mehar's mouth dropped open. For a moment Gort thought he was going to retort, then he shut it again with a snap of teeth.

The general looked away; he didn't have to explain himself to his aide, and certainly not when they were in the field, surrounded by enlisted men. He waited in brooding silence for the ranks to form up into companies, tight blocks of fifty soldiers ringed by smaller knots of flickering torches held high in the gloom. He shifted in his saddle. The hot night air was responsible for an infuriating itch that had worked its way under his skin, even to the back of his throat, while the stink of rot from the fountain grew heavier.

The clatter of hooves preceded Major Deri as he led his lancers into the plaza and joined General Gort at the fountain.

'Blood and piss,' the major growled as he looked over the lip, 'let's hope they've treated the temples with more reverence.'

'There's no reason to suppose they have,' Gort said. He gestured at the roads leading off the plaza, all dark bar one, where a burning building had collapsed halfway down the street. 'Which of these takes us to Six Temples?'

Deri looked up at the pedestal where the statue of the Aspect had been. 'We were told the fountain pointed directly towards Six Temples. Could they have torn it down intentionally?'

'They tore it down because they're godless wretches who have for¬saken their sanity,' Gort growled. 'They are animals, not men. They act as their instincts tell them – they do not have the forethought to lead us into a trap.'

'Animals can still possess cu

Mehar jumped. 'I will summon them at once, sir.'

'Don't bother,' Major Deri said dismissively. 'I wouldn't trust them anyway.' He stood up in his stirrups and turned to look back up the Bearwalk. Gort did likewise. Halfway up they could see the torches of the cavalry company he'd ordered to follow behind, to protect

I heir line of retreat. They would hold there, with another positioned

here, within eyeshot: no great defence, but enough to summon help

if required.

One lancer broke off and made his way over, offering a sloppy salute to the general. Gort glared at the insolent cavalryman, but said nothing. The man was so pale, his face drained of energy and slack with fatigue that he looked about ready to fall from his saddle. The dark rings around his eyes were a strange contrast to the feverish glow within.

'Woren, which road takes us to Six Temples?' Deri asked.

The lancer looked around at his surroundings as though astonished at being there. Slowly, he raised a finger and indicated two of the streets, wavering between the two. He opened his mouth to speak, but managed nothing more than an exhausted sigh.

Strange, thought Gort, the man must be a native of Scree, but is he the only one we could find? He looks touched by fever, or madness, maybe – is this what has happened to the rest of the city?

'Well?' Deri demanded.

'That way curves round to the east,' Woren said dully, indicating the Ieft-hand road. 'The other goes straight, leave it at the Corn House and past that to the north edge.'

'Right.' Deri turned to his commander. 'Sir, I suggest we head for the east, since the road is better; we don't want to be confined if we are attacked.'

Gort nodded. 'Send the skirmishers off, lancers behind.' He leaned lorward in his saddle, staring intently at the street they were about to take. Did he see a movement in the darkness there, a flash of skin even whiter than Woren's? Or was that just his own fear?

'Mehar, as soon as we're within the outer ring of Six Temples, block as much oi the south and west as you can so our hacks aren't exposed; use everything you can find, unless it's been blessed, and everything we've brought in the carts.' He didn't notice his left hand going to the hilt of his sword and tightening around the grip.

He spoke up so all the men nearby could hear, hoping conviction would swell into courage. 'This whole city may have turned against the Gods, but while there are still temples here, our oath to defend them binds us.'

Isak took the lead as they ran back through the corridors of the palace. The handful of soldiers they met were dispatched without breaking stride. The sounds of destruction echoed in their wake: men dying, the distant crashes of the fire Vesna had set raging out of control. Isak didn't care how much noise they made now.

When they reached the postern gate there were no guards waiting, and when they checked, they could see the remaining guards on the wall were leaving their posts and fleeing for the far side of the palace. They could hear the roar of flames echoing through the passageways they had run through. Outside, orange shards were leaping higher and higher into the night sky.

Without further delay, Isak charged through the open gate and down the stepped gardens until he was once again in the lee of the building where he'd left Major Jachen and the ranger, Jeil.

The troops he'd left behind were already mounted and formed up, ready to leave at a moment's notice. Only Jachen, Jeil and Suzerain Saroc were on foot, and as soon as Isak rounded the corner they ran forward, leading their horses.

'My Lord, we have to hurry,' Saroc said, his voice muffled by a black'iron helm with a red chalice painted on the left cheek. The plate armour accentuated his short stature; he would have appeared comical had it not been for the massive axe resting easily in the crook of his arm.