The Twilight herald

'By someone who'd never been here?' snorted Shandek. 'I don't mean to be rude, Master Rojak, but I don't think Scree was the best choice. This city ain't rich or cultured, not compared to some. I hear you're taking the theatre for the rest of the year, but few folk'll pay to see your plays. If it does come to war, things will be even harder for you.'

'Your concern warms my heart. I, however, keep my faith. We have a number of plays to show. Our work will be tested out and refined as the weeks pass. Once this summer is over, we shall be ready to move on to the rest of the Land.' Rojak's eyes gleamed. He stared straight at Mayel, who recognised that look of contained savagery; he'd seen it in the eyes of one of the brothers at the monastery, a man who'd preyed on the youngest novices. But he thought this was worse: this minstrel was no slobbering coward, and his avarice was for the whole Land. His pleasure would be in the pain of nations. Amidst the wreckage of civilisation and cowed peoples, that soft smile would grow ever broader. Mayel tried not to shudder visibly.

'A strange time for showin' plays at all,' Shandek said. 'These are dark times, accordin' to what I've been hearin' on the street.'

'Then they will need diversion from the cares of life.'

'Can't see many goin' to the expense. If we war with the Farlan, as I've been hearin', folk'll need every pe

'My dogs are as devoted to our art as I am.' Rojak inclined his head towards the albino, hovering in the shadows like a ghost. 'The petty squabbles of the powerful are not our concern. Our place is here, and here we will stay, to spread our message to every man, woman and child of Scree. We will witness the changes that are to come, changes I have foreseen in the fall of coins, when the storm comes to Scree, commissioned by a calling greater than the White Circle.'

Mayel took a tentative step back. The minstrel's voice had risen above a whisper for the first time and his hands, once piously clasped, now flew about, gesticulating sharply. He slipped over the rail.

Rojak's words echoed inside Mayel's head, trembling his bones like the crash of falling tombstones. Alarmed by the minstrel's sudden animation, he cast a look at his cousin, who was equally startled.

And then it was over. Suddenly still once more, fingers again inter¬locked, Rojak peered down at the ground, as though saying a silent prayer, not blinking, hardly breathing. He appeared oblivious to their presence.

Shandek was as confused as Mayel. Had those last few moments been a piece of drama, an indulgence by a playwright, or was it some¬thing more? Mayel bit his lip, worried.

Twenty heartbeats passed. Still Rojak didn't move, though his head and shoulders were now bathed in sunlight too bright for Mayel's eyes.

Finally: 'Power has come to this city,' he murmured abruptly.

Mayel recoiled at the sound of his cruel, velvety lilt.

'Slipping furtive and fearful, it comes in the night. There are games being played here – plots to be acted out, blood to be shed. There will be a spring torrent of cleansing, and those born will emerge in the blood of others.' Rojak's head snapped up, the black irises burning like acid into Mayel's skin.

Mayel felt a twist of terror in his bowels, as though that corrosive gaze had seared his gut.

'Take care what games you play, young sparrow. Eagles soar above these streets and vultures watch from the trees. They will prey on you and your like.'

Mayel staggered back as though he'd been struck. His mouth opened, but all sound was stolen from him. In the corner of his eye he caught a movement, a dark flutter in the deep wings of the stage. The memory of Prior Corci's tattoos rose unbidden, the stain of feathers on Jackdaw's cheeks and forehead like a painted helm.

Mayel turned to flee. Shandek called his name and reached out, but Mayel, filled with the fear that had been his constant companion for the last few weeks, slipped through his cousin's fingers. Despite the ghastly spectre of pursuit, he couldn't help but look back. There was nothing in the pit beyond empty shadows. The deep steps leading down to it were all in sun, except the very top, which was cut through by the straight line of the roof's shadow.

Something caused Mayel to hesitate. The worn step with a chipped edge. The unbroken line of shadow. The shadow of the building be¬hind Rojak. He looked up again. The minstrel had not moved. His head was still bathed in the clear morning sun that rose behind his head and left his face in shadow.

Seeing Mayel's aghast expression, Rojak smiled coldly, lips parting to show his small, sharp teeth.

'Where's- Where's his shadow?' Mayel whispered, uncomprehend¬ing. He looked again at the straight line of shadow cast by the rooftop behind Rojak and felt a chill steal down his spine. He bit back a scream, flapped an arm towards his cousin, then fled as though the denizens of Ghe

CHAPTER 11

'I think 1 could grow rather used to being the lord of all I survey.'

Tda, riding at Isak's side, chuckled. With the summer sun begi

'I think you're already rather used to it, my Lord,' Tila replied, flick¬ing her loose hair over her left shoulder, enjoying the touch of the sun on her skin. 'You don't look embarrassed when a regiment salutes you any more. I would say you are already more comfortable in your title than Lord Bahl ever was. He commanded a room as few could, but at heart he was too humble a man to want to rule a nation.'

'Humble?' Isak mused. 'Not the first word I'd use for him, but I suppose you're right. Ruling is a chore. I think he'd have been hap¬pier as a general of the armies, one who didn't have to bother with the rest of society. It might not have been my dream, but it's a fair alternative.'

'Alternative to what?' Tila laughed.

'Oh, I don't know. I never really dared think about the future. Father would sneer whenever I even mentioned joining the Ghosts, and I suppose I grew up not expecting to amount to anything. I soon learned to keep quiet; a future was for other folk, not me.'

'And now you are lord of all you survey.' Tila hesitated.

Isak could see there was something on her mind. 'What is it?' he asked softly.

'It's been the best part of a year since you last saw your father. I know you didn't part on good terms, but he is your kin, and you are now the greater. Is it not time for you to see him again, to set things right between you?'

Isak sighed, his anger, normally quick to rise, softened by the lovely day. '"You're dead to me", that's what he said the day I arrived at the palace. If he doesn't want to see me, there's not much I can do and I don't intend to mourn it.'

'But it was said in haste, after an evening of drinking. How often in your life have you regretted something you've said?'

'Never,' Isak insisted.

Tila arched a pretty eyebrow. 'Two weeks ago you told me to shift my fat – well, let's not repeat it? But I think we both agree you regret¬ted that pretty quickly.'

Isak broke into a grin as he remembered her incandescent reaction. 'Well, perhaps once or twice.'

'Then wipe that smirk off your face and admit you're wrong,' Tila said coldly.