The Twilight herald

As if in answer, a figure leapt out behind Shandek and grabbed him by his shoulders in a blur of bone-white. Shandek yelped and tried to turn, but his attacker held him tight, pi

Brohm raised his massive fist as he charged, but the albino was quicker. Darting forward, he lunged low and crashed a fist into Brohm's stomach, stopping the larger man in his tracks. Brohm gasped and doubled over, sinking to his knees, only to be grabbed by the scruff of the neck and thrown down after his master. Mayel heard the thump of Brohm falling and rolling on the rough paved steps. Then there was silence.

Having despatched both men from his path, the albino paused, hairless head bright in the sunlight. He was dressed in cropped linen trousers and a laced shirt, sleeves cut well short of the wrist. As Mayel took in the albino's malformed face, he wondered whether this was a human at all. It looked as if some God had formed the albino from white clay, using a detailed description, but without actually seeing the real thing. The features were too smooth, the jaw protruding and thick. Its eyes were over-large, curling almonds of blackness. Meeting the albino's gaze drained the warmth from Mayel's heart, drawing him in to a cold and pitiless place.

He tore his eyes away as the albino continued to inspect him, look¬ing at him as if he were an insect, or a rabbit that had surprised a wolf

by not ru

'That's enough, I think,' called an unseen man. The albino's head snapped round, but soon dropped its glare. It pointed at Mayel, then retreated with alacrity.

'Please, come out into the light. My guard dog won't hurt you.'

Mayel stared out into the open auditorium, frozen with fear, until a burst of swearing rang out. He scrambled up the steps.

'Pissin' breath of Karkarn!' his cousin groaned. 'I'll shove that painter's brush so far up his arse he'll paint with his tongue from now on.'

'Now, now,' said the voice, and a man dressed as a minstrel came into sight, lounging in a box with his feet up on the barrier. Around his neck was a golden chain, with strange discs, like coins, decorated with jewels. A peacock feather sprouted from his hat. 'I am certain the painter will have told you no lies, so you can hardly blame him for the actions of others.'

Shandek hauled himself up. Brohm was sitting upright, clutching his gut. Neither looked badly hurt.

'We jus' came here to talk. Didn't hafta set your wolves on us,' Brohm muttered.

The minstrel gave a sniff. 'They're dogs, not wolves.'

'Look more like wolves to me,' Shandek replied, dusting himself down and walking up to Mayel's side. The albino retreated into the shadow of another box. Mayel sca

'There is a difference. Wolves do not take orders, wolves are not tamed.'

'You call these tame?' Shandek wondered, rubbing at his temple, where a bruise was starting to colour the skin.

'Certainly. They obey my commands without question and since I have given them instructions to dissuade trespassers, they are most enthusiastic in the execution of that order. I did not say they were less dangerous than wolves, quite the opposite. Shandek, you should understand that.' The minstrel's voice was low and mocking.

Mayel felt somehow sullied.

'Why should I understand that?' Shandek wondered. 'Never met one of these bastards before.'

'You should understand because you own dog-fighting pits,' the minstrel explained. 'The savagery in a dogfight surpasses anything a wolf would do. It is men that make them dangerous – men have corrupted the wolf and created a more dangerous creature in his own image.'

'You sound like you disapprove of the change,' Mayel interjected, 'yet you make use of these dogs and all their savagery.'

'I, disapprove?' The minstrel smiled, showing bright white teeth in his ta

'You mean silent?' Mayel found himself asking, almost hypnotised by the minstrel's voice.

'Drowned.'

Mayel felt himself being drawn into the minstrel's dark, piercing gaze. The minstrel was just a man, from the south somewhere, Mayel guessed, but like his albino, his eyes were devoid of humanity. 'But where did your dogs come from?'

'I have travelled far, even into the Waste. It's a stranger place than folk would like us to believe. Change there is a harsh master. Only the strong have survived.'

'Wait a moment,' Shandek interrupted, 'my name-?'

'How could one not have heard of you?' the minstrel broke in smoothly. 'You are the man who is lord of this manor.'

'Knowin' my name's one thing, recognisin' me's another. As for this bein' my district, that's close enough, and 1 don't like new folk in it who I don't know.'

'Yet you come with only one thug in tow. That young man doesn't look much of a threat.'

'Never mind him. Who're you?'

'I'm sure you know what reception we gave the last man who marched in here. You're being a little demanding, don't you think?' The minstrel slipped his feet off the barrier and stood as though to leave the box, but he remained in the shadows.

'I'm not here to break heads until we get tribute, that's the Spider's domain. I'm just lookin' to see that there's no trouble in my district – and per'aps to see whether there's business to be done here.'

'Ah, a man of enterprise. Excellent news. Someone who under¬stands the value of things, of people. In that case, this conversation might just be worth continuing.' The minstrel tipped his peaked hat. 'My name is Rojak. Join me in a drink.'

He produced a fired-clay bottle and set it on the barrier. Mayel noticed the paint was worn and cracked – clearly the painter had more menial work to come once he'd finished the magnificent gates. Three small cups, half a finger-length in size, followed the bottle.

Rojak pulled the cork and poured a clear liquid into each cup, then offered one each to Shandek and Mayel. Mayel sniffed: it smelled sharp, a rough-edged brandy laced with something, peach, maybe. The taste was sickly, but he swallowed it down as fast as he could and ignored the sting.

'Wonderful. Now we're friends.'

'It seems we are,' Shandek replied. He cast his eyes around the theatre. 'So, you the owner of the company?'

'The leader. Our owner is, well, here only in spirit.' Rojak gave a sly smile. 'I am the playwright. The actors are engaged in various pursuits in the city until we have prepared the theatre.'

'Commissioned by Siala?'

'Why do you think that?'

'She's just taken control o' the city. Don't sound like the White Circle is so popular as she'd like t'believe. Maybe she's tryin' to get the support of the city, in case the Farlan attack, or somethin'.'

Rojak raised an eyebrow. 'For a man some might describe as a "local criminal", you have an astute mind. We have not, in fact, been com¬missioned, no.'

'So why Scree?'

'It was felt that our talents could be well employed here.'