The Twilight herald

Mikiss responded by pulling back his sleeve once again and holding his arm up high. Whether they could see the brass vambrace glinting in the firelight was hard to judge, but they all recognised the gesture. None of the soldiers drew a bow or nocked an arrow, but they did shuffle into some semblance of order, in case Mikiss turned out to be someone important.

'Who are you? What do you want?' called the man who'd spotted them first. His voice was rough, his accent Menin.

'You have a message for General Dev,' murmured Styrax. Mikiss repeated the words.

'Piss on your message,' the man shouted back, his hand creeping to his sword as the party continued closer. Styrax guessed he was the company lieutenant. 'Lord Salen said we were to admit no one, not even Lord Styrax himself, without word from the Adepts of Larat in advance.'

They were less than forty yards away. The soldiers began to drift forward instinctively; one swung an axe up onto his shoulder. Styrax could make out their uniforms now; the white tunics with multi¬coloured stripes on each sleeve identified them as Guards of the Hidden Tower, Salen's personal legions. They were rightly feared: they were loyal enough to carry out any orders without question, and the Adepts of Larat put less value on human life than a troll would. Even if they were the dregs of the legion, trusted only to stand guard here while the rest fought elsewhere, they would be tough enough – for most soldiers, that was.

'I have permission. Lord Salen himself sent me with a message. I have it here in my bag.' Mikiss' voice sounded uncertain, but as the horsemen closed, the guards could see clearly that he was a real army messenger.

'Leave your guards and approach.'

'Leave my guards?'

'That's what I said. Stop where you are and dismount. Approach on foot.'

'That's enough, I think,' muttered Styrax. 'Mikiss, break off.'

The messenger wheeled his horse sharply to the left. For a moment the soldiers followed him with their eyes. Styrax kicked his spurs into the flanks of his horse and as he drew Kobra, startled faces flashed back to him. He saw recognition blossom in the eyes of the lieuten¬ant. Kohrad howled at his side as they raced together into the group of men. The first man to die didn't even raise his weapon as Styrax's wide fanged blade cut down. His men were the best of the Cheme Legion; they were close on his heels, their long-handled axes hacking down at the lightly armoured infantry, moving in perfect harmony as they had a hundred times in the past.

Those with more sense fled into the stonedun, desperately trying to pull the heavy door closed behind them, but Kohrad slipped from his saddle and ran for the entrance himself. He threw his sword at the man trying to pull it shut, spearing him in a burst of yellow light, then leapt into the gap to stop the massive door on its inward swing. One man, seeing the white-eye had no sword, turned back and attacked him, but Kohrad dodged out of the way of the falling axe, then twisted back to grab the weapon, pulling the soldier off balance.

Kohrad shoved the door open again to disentangle his foot, then snapped a kick into the man's ribs, knocking him over. A second soldier ran forward as Kohrad tugged the axe blade free and spun it upwards with a flourish to catch his attacker under the chin.

In a matter of seconds it was over and stillness returned. Styrax surveyed his troops and gave an approving nod. The Reavers were

unparalleled throughout the Land, but most of them were white-eyes and they were actively encouraged to be wild. These Cheme troops were normal men – albeit many were far from normal – but discipline was as valuable as strength. He could trust these men to be swift and neat. Without an order spoken, they had dropped from their horses and started to drag the bodies inside. Styrax looked around and realised that Kohrad had disappeared. He opened his mouth to ask Gaur to fetch the unpredictable youth when the boy appeared again, sword drawn and dripping with blood.

'The guardroom is clear,' Kohrad a

'Good. Major, stay here with the men. I doubt anyone will come; if they do, deal with the matter or pull back. Gaur, Kohrad, with me.'

The major nodded and unsheathed his dagger to cut the colourful robes from one of the dead men: they might as well look the part. Styrax left the man to it and swept through the door. Speed was of the essence now. The Third Army was waiting outside the city for the signal to attack. The longer they waited, the greater the likelihood that Salen's troops would discover them, losing them the element of surprise. As he moved silently up the stone steps, he heard frightened wbispers. Ahead of him was a sharp turn – anyone hearing the fight outside would no doubt be waiting there to see who came up the stairs. They would be expecting an assassination, a quick death in the night for the talismanic general instead of an execution that would likely spark a riot.

Styrax checked his pace as he reached the corner, in case an axe was going to be swung blind, then shot round it. A grunt of surprise preceded a heavy spear being thrust forward. Styrax, ready, grabbed the shaft and tugged hard, pulling the youth from the shadows. Gaur, close behind as always, slammed a hairy fist into the unprotected fore¬arm holding the spear. The youth yelped and dropped the weapon, t rying to scramble back until he realised the bestial general had him by the scruff of the neck.

'You'll do,' muttered Styrax. He took the boy from Gaur and gave him a shake. Startled, fearful eyes stared up at the huge white-eye as the boy froze. 'You understand me?' Styrax demanded in Chetse.

The youth flinched then opened his mouth to speak. Unable to find words, he nodded hurriedly.

'That was a foolish thing to do. Lord Salen would have used it as an excuse. Lucky for you that you just tried to run me through instead of one of his men, wouldn't you say?' Styrax smelled an acrid smell rise up from the boy, who looked to be less than thirteen sum¬mers – too young to join the army, too young to have developed the muscle a Chetse warrior needed. He smiled and put the boy down, then removed his helm and let the boy see his face, instead of the u

'I want you to do something for me, boy,' he said. 'Did you hear what happened at the gate?'

The boy managed a nod.

'That was us killing the men who've been guarding you. They were going to wait until dawn, and then kill the general. Are you related to General Dev?'

Again, he got a nod. In a dry rasp, the boy said, 'He's my great-uncle, sir.'

Styrax thought it sounded strange to hear the Chetse tongue in a high girlish voice. It sounded lighter, more poetic than he'd suspected – until now, he'd only heard it spoken by soldiers. 'I thought as much. What's your name, boy?'

'Esech, sir.'

'And you know who I am?'

The boy nodded, unable to say the words.

'Esech, I gave no orders for the general to be killed, nor for many of the other things Lord Salen has done in the city since I've been gone. Do you know what I do to men who don't follow orders?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Now tell me whether there are any more Menin in the stonedun.'

'Only four, sir; two in Uncl- in the general's chamber and two at the door.'

'Thank you, Esech. We're going to go and free your great-uncle now. I want to talk to him a while.'

'You're- Are you going to kill him?'

'No, I'm not. You believe me, don't you?'

The boy froze, unsure, incapable of saying to this huge white-eye's face that he disbelieved the Menin lord. After a moment he lowered his eyes and nodded.