The Twilight herald

Mayel peered through the crowd of people. 'How can you tell? Her face is covered by a shawl.'

'See the one next to her, wear in' a sword with her dress?'

'I've seen a dozen different women from the Circle wear swords like that,' Mayel objected, still unable to make out the faces.

'Aye, but you catch that one's face, you won't forget her in a hurry. You'll be dreamin' about kissin' her for a month!' Shandek gri

'What about that Ostia then? Folk say she's a mage, and getting ready to depose Siala. How about her for a buyer?'

Sbandek nodded thoughtfully. 'Ostia could be the one; I've heard that loo, but for the moment it's Siala givin' all the orders. First I'll watch'em a bit. You need to find out what your abbot's playin' around Willi now – no more waitin'. Tellin' me you think it's some ancient magical artefact ain't enough – can't negotiate if we don't know what we've got to sell!'

'It's difficult,' Mayel insisted. 'If he gets suspicious, he'll leave, and take his chances somewhere else.'

'You're ru

Mayel turned back to see the priest becoming increasingly ani¬mated, shaking his fist at the women, his voice loud enough to make the whole street stop and stare.

'If that's being bold, I think I'll pass on it,' he said. 'The man's going to get himself thrown into a cell if he carries on that way. If he touches any of them, he'll be in trouble- Oh, there he goes!'

A mutter ran through the crowd as a scuffle broke out. Two guards had stepped in, one receiving a flailing elbow in the face for his troubles. The other grabbed the priest by the scruff of the neck, not even seeing the fist of a young nobleman as it arced towards his face. After that, there were only thrashing limbs and angry shouts for half a minute before the rasp of steel being unsheathed stopped everything dead.

'These nobles,' Shandek said under his breath and he began to lever himself upright. 'None of the bastards 'ave a sense of humour. Time for another jug.'

Zhia stared down at the figure on the floor in distaste. The priest was a large man, but Legana had laid him out with one crisp punch. He was spread-eagled on his back, legs splayed out, one hand groggily reaching for his bruised cheek. Legana stood over him, sword drawn and levelled, holding off the men who had joined in the brawl.

'My dear, my respect for you just continues to grow,' Zhia said out of the corner of her mouth, her eyes fixed on Mistress Siala as the ruler of Scree stormed over. The woman was flanked by rusty-ski

'Mistress Ostia, what is the meaning of this disturbance?' The ruler of Scree looked drawn and weary. The constant politicking amongst Scree's nobles was clearly taking its toll. Zhia knew Siala was working night and day to maintain her support in the city and keep the op¬position from uniting behind anyone else.

'A complaining priest, Mistress Siala, nothing of great consequence,' she said soothingly.

'And his complaint?'

'The granting of permission to execute criminals on stage.' She kept her tone conciliatory, her eyes low.

'And what do you propose to do about it?'

Zhia shrugged. 'He was raving, and you yourself gave the minstrel permission. I have decided to assume he had been drinking, though that ca

Siala gave a brusque nod. 'See to it. I doubt he'll try it again. Legana, whilst I commend your swift action, do remember that as a Sister of the Circle you should try to conduct yourself with a little more grace. We keep dogs for a reason.' She waved a dismissive hand at the guards beside her and Legana bowed in acknowledgement, sheathing her sword.

And now, Legana, you will accompany me to the play. I've hardly seen you since Mistress Ostia took you under her wing, and I think it is time we caught up.'

She caught Zhia's eye and the vampire gave a miniscule nod. It was to be expected that Siala would interrogate Legana, so her story was ready prepared. With the briefest of bows to her companions, Legana followed as instructed.

As soon as Siala had moved on, Zhia beckoned Haipar over. 'Have him put in a cell, give him a day or so alone to calm down.'

'Yes, Mistress,' Haipar said with mock solemnity. Zhia guessed Haipar was resenting being forced into respectable clothes to visit the theatre. Once the two battered guardsmen had hoisted the priest up and taken him away, the onlookers, realising this stage of the enter¬tainment was over, began to drift inside. Zhia felt the pull herself, some force gently urging her in.

She stopped and turned to Haipar to see whether the Deneli had noticed the same, but Haipar seemed oblivious. She couldn't be sure the broad-faced woman from the Waste was even registering that people were walking past her. Haipar stared towards the gate, lost in thought, her face blank and empty.

The smell from the food'Carts, burnt fat, tamarind and honey, suddenly washed over them. Zhia felt her mouth begin to water at the scent of honeyed meat on the wind, but her attention was focused on Haipar. The effect of the breeze was like someone shaking the shapeshifter awake; startled, Haipar looked around with a confused expression before finally setting off for the theatre entrance, faltering after a few paces when she realised Zhia was not beside her.

Zhia looked up at the roof of the theatre and the clouds beyond. Her nerves were alive with strange sensations, a prickling under her fingernails that she couldn't place: something familiar, yet curiously alien – rare enough in itself for an immortal, but a blend of contradic¬tory strains that had Zhia confused.

There's something I've missed here, but what is it? I can feel magic sur-rounding this building but its nature eludes me. She stopped; through the gloom of night she suddenly made out a face on the roof of the theatre, looking down at her, apparently gri

'Perhaps I should be a little more direct in my snooping around here,' she said out loud.

'What are you expecting to find?' Haipar asked, returning to Zhia's side.

'Answers, my dear.' Before Zhia could say anything else, someone discreetly cleared their throat behind her.

'Your pet is back,' Haipar said acidly, 'and this time he's got ribbons in his hair.'

Zhia turned and beamed at the men now standing before her. King Emin, in the centre, sported a magnificent broad-brimmed hat that kept his face in shadow. Doranei, at his side, looking considerably less at ease than his king, wore a high-collared formal tunic. He stood with eyes lowered and lips pursed, unable – or unwilling – to meet her smile.

Zhia inclined her head; the White Circle ruled here, and that was all the respect any man was offered. 'It is delightful to see you again, sir,' she said, careful of his title in such a public place.