The Twilight herald

'Well, that's strange,' Mayel muttered as he turned the book over to inspect it. Oddly, he could see nothing sharp – but when he gingerly ran a fingernail down the same spot, there was a flash of silver as if from nowhere and the same strange shape was cut into his fingernail.

'Magic,' he breathed in wonder. The abbot was a skilled mage, but Mayel had no talent himself. Even holding a book bearing some small enchantment gave him a thrill that took away the sting of his bleed¬ing finger entirely.

A scraping sound from upstairs made Mayel flinch: the kitchen door had been opened. Mayel had jammed a small stone under the door, and it was that scraping that had alerted him. He grabbed the lamp and blew out the flame and as he cast a last glance around the room, he finally spotted the box. It was open, a long red velvet scarf all that remained inside. Clearly the scarf had been protection, but whatever had been inside the lacquered box was gone now.

Mayel cursed softly, then muttered, 'Well, you don't need padding for gold.' With the extinguished lamp still in his hand he opened the door and started back up the stairs.

'Abbot Doren, you're back,' he exclaimed, startling the old man as he appeared silently behind him.

'Yes, yes, I had an idea that I needed to note down.' The abbot scowled suspiciously, but the novice had long since perfected his naive expression for the monastery elders.

'You really should have stayed out for longer than five minutes. You need some air. You ate hardly anything last night, and you worked the whole night again.' Mayel raised the extinguished lamp as though presenting evidence.

Ah, you were changing the oil?'

'Of course, Father.' His face creased into i

The abbot studied his young charge for a moment then scratched at his head in a distracted ma

Mayel smiled up at the sun. It was just two hours since dawn and still cool compared to the cruel afternoon sun. The street was deserted, despite the fine morning, though he could hear the city's constant grumble all around him. He jumped at a scurrying sound from the scorched shell of a shack off to his left, feeling suddenly isolated. He could see nothing behind the shack, where bare parches of earth were

interspersed with dark green clumps of grass, not even a rat or feral cat.

'Good mornin', cousin,' called a voice from behind him. Mayel whirled around, a look of panic on his face, only relaxing as he recog¬nised Shandek, who had appeared from nowhere with one of his thugs. His cousin was a burly man of thirty-three summers, with the hair and complexion of a Farlan. Mayel, who was half his age, had darker skin and fairer hair, although he'd shaved his head to get rid of the tonsure that marked him as a follower of Vellern. It felt curiously liberating to feel the breeze curl around his ears and down his nape. Shandek, however, was proud of his long, lank hair, which marked him out on the streets he ruled.

'A better morning than the previous ones that have welcomed us here,' Mayel replied with a smile. Six years in the monastery had left him with a cultured voice as well as an education. Despite Shandek's wealth and influence, Mayel knew his unschooled cousin held a secret regard for those who could read and write, and he was counting on that, because the ties of blood would go only so far.

'True enough. We'd begun to wonder whether your abbot brought the dark clouds with him.' Shandek stepped forward with a grin and slung his arm around Mayel's shoulder. 'How goes your abbot's experi¬ments? Have you yet learned what he's up to?'

Mayel shook his head. 'He still doesn't let me in to his labora¬tory. He tells me it's for my own safety, but I know he's worried about trusting anyone. If Jackdaw could turn on him after years of service, anyone could.'

'I still think we should just go and take it off him,' rumbled Shandek's companion, a man who was wide enough to appear squat despite being almost six feet tall. 'One old man won't cause me an' Shyn any problems.'

Shandek reached over and gave his comrade a friendly cuff on the shoulder. 'Shut it, Brohm. Even in hidin', the man's still a high priest. He'd turn you insides-out soon as you burst through the door.'

'I thought they had to brew up potion to use magic? Can't see that bein' quicker than the time it takes to shove a knife in his gut.'

'That just shows your ignorance, Brohm,' Mayel declared. 'He can draw energies out of the air – I've seen him light fires with a snap of his fingers, so unless your underclothes are made of steel, I doubt you'd get the chance to use that knife of yours. And if that didn't work, he

still has an Aspect of Vellern to call upon at a moment's notice, one that will certainly take exception to you trying to hurt the abbot. His Aspect-guide is called Erwillen the High Hunter, and he has claws large enough to rip off your head and a trident to place it upon after¬wards. You'd wet your drawers just to look at him in the flesh.'

The larger man took a step forward, fist bunched, but Shandek stepped between them with a chuckle. 'Peace, friend. Mayel, keep your bloody mouth in check until you have the muscle to back it up. Brohm in't the fool you think he is, but he is three times your size. Brohm, let me talk to my cousin alone. You keep an eye out for our dark man.'

Brohm grunted, glaring at Mayel, then walked the few yards to the corner of the street.

'Dark man?' Mayel asked as he watched Brohm go.

'Rumours we've been hearin'; nothin' to concern a man of letters such as you. Maybe somethin' to do with the disappearances round here. Normally I'd say it's folk being fanciful, but with all the bad sorts that've turned up since the turn of the year, I'm not so sure. It may be nothin', but best you keep an eye open. Strangers walkin' these parts alone, that sort a' thing.'

'I will. Thanks for the warning, cuz.'

'Good. Now, what do you have to tell me?'

'Little. He's researching some ancient history, the Great War, among other things. I didn't get much time in there. Do you know if Jackdaw has followed us into the city?'

'Not that I've heard, but my people ain't entirely welcome in some districts, so it's hard to be sure.'

'He's not hard to miss, not with his tattoos,' Mayel pointed out, earning a warning look from Shandek.

'Nor is your abbot, and keepin' his presence a secret was not easy. You cost me money, boy. I don't begrudge it, not to family in need, but this abbot means nothing' to me and I'm startin' to wonder why I'm puttin' meself out so.'

'It will be worthwhile, I promise. He has some sort of artefact – at the very least it will be a relic – and you can sell that to a collector without any difficulty.'

And at best?'

At best it's some magical item. Our libraries at the monastery were extensive, and had many locked cells. Some things I think they intentionally kept away from the rest of the Land, afraid men would attack the island if they knew what was kept there.' He looked at Shandek, who was still scowling. The man didn't like being kept in the dark, and Mayel could tell his patience wouldn't last long.

Finally, he nodded. 'Fine then, just you don't waste my time, you hear? We've not yet discussed a price for you when you do get it. Best we get that out of the way early, since you're family. Nothin' worse than bickerin' with your blood, eh?' There was something of a smirk creeping onto Shandek's face. His cousin always liked negotiating from a position of strength.

'Well, you'll have guessed that I don't want to go back, so if it's a relic, we split the proceeds of any sale and I come to work for you. I've got clerking skills that will be useful to you.'