Part 13 (2/2)

Not trusting that to be the killing blow he struck again and again while the golden tether held it, but still somehow the beast strained and burst through the restraint. Styrax grabbed a handful of empty air and pulled himself higher off the ground to chop again at the dragon's long neck. He was forced to twist in midair and barely avoided the lunging jaws.

He grabbed the dragon's horns for leverage and somehow hauled himself up so he could slam Kobra's double-tip into its throat, thrusting up with the huge broadsword as he dragged down on the horn. Surrounded by a glittering corona of magic Styrax forced the head down below his body and hacked into the wound as hard as he could.

Dragon head and white-eye fell to the ground together. Styrax was up in a flash to cut again at the beast, but Ilumene could see it was unnecessary. The dragon's huge body convulsed and spasmed briefly, then slumped still.

It was dead, but Styrax didn't stop, slas.h.i.+ng at the corpse with all the fury of an enraged white-eye, with all the pa.s.sion of a man grieving. When finally he realised it was over the beast's head was attached only by a few sinews. He let his sword fall from his hands, forgotten, and slumped to his knees. The echoes faded and a sudden silence fell over the scene.

Ilumene looked around. Even the Jesters looked stunned by the battle they had witnessed. It had been mere moments since Styrax had leaped into the battle. Neither of the surviving Demi-G.o.ds had managed to take a step closer. Their sword-tips rested on the gra.s.s. The dispa.s.sionate Ilumene had to remind himself to breathe again as he stared at the figure in black armour.

Styrax knelt with his head bowed, a foot away from a horn almost as long as his own body, staring at the corpse but not making a sound. Slowly, carefully, he got to his feet and retrieved his sword, wiping it and sheathing the weapon before he turned his back on them all.

And you thought to fight him, Lord Isak? Ilumene thought with wonder and scorn. Ilumene thought with wonder and scorn. As a p.a.w.n of Azaer's machinations you were a fool. As a boy trying to choose his own destiny, you were even worse. It's a shame you were so keen to run towards your own death. I'd have enjoyed that moment when you realised you never stood a chance against us. As a p.a.w.n of Azaer's machinations you were a fool. As a boy trying to choose his own destiny, you were even worse. It's a shame you were so keen to run towards your own death. I'd have enjoyed that moment when you realised you never stood a chance against us.

CHAPTER 10.

For once King Emin slept late, only waking mid-morning at the hysterical chatter of a blackbird somewhere close to his bedroom window. Camatayl Castle was quiet despite the hour. He got out of bed and pulled on the nearest clothes before pus.h.i.+ng open the shutters to look out of the window.

The fields beyond were largely empty, just a few dozen s.h.a.ggy goats and a herder perched on a drystone wall. The tower walls were so thick that he had to lean right out before he could see the nearest of Kamfer's Ford's buildings. A gust of cold air chased him back inside the room and he pulled the shutter with him. He'd need another layer before he headed outside.

In the next room he found Sir Creyl, Commander of the Brotherhood, and one of their newer recruits, Kap Daratin. Sir Creyl, a former gangster, sat in the furthest corner so he could watch both entrances to the room. Despite there not being enough room at the small table, Daratin was trying to do the same, his bowl of rice porridge perched on the corner of the table. The room itself was plain, whitewashed plaster adorned only by a trio of tiny gold-inlaid icons and a simple woven rug on the floor.

The young man flinched when King Emin entered, new enough as a King's Man to have to fight the urge to stand when his monarch entered the room. He came a hair's breadth from tipping the whole bowl into his lap, but like all members of the Brotherhood he had lightning reactions.

'Your Majesty,' the two men said together, with Daratin continuing, 'Shall I fetch you some breakfast?'

Emin nodded. There were servants in the tower, but this wasn't an official trip. Away from the eyes of polite society the Brotherhood usually waited on him; it avoided the requirements of ceremony and protocol. When Daratin had left King Emin took his seat at the table. Sir Creyl gestured towards a clay bottle but Emin shook his head.

'Even watered down I've never had a taste for beer at breakfast.'

Sir Creyl smiled, his ice-blue eyes sparkling. 'It's so weak you can hardly call it beer; best way to start a day.'

'I think I'll start with red tea, thank you. My head feels heavy enough this morning without help.'

'That's not like you; you're usually insufferable from dawn onwards. Why do you think I drink?'

Emin ignored the quip. 'I know, but I don't even feel like I slept. Must have though, I remember dreaming of my son as a toddler, trying to run from a Menin Army.'

'Ah, a new father's fears; I remember them well!' Creyl laughed. 'Why do you think I started started drinking?' drinking?'

'It's guilt at leaving so soon. Once things are set up here maybe I'll be able to return to Narkang for a while.'

'Once that old b.a.s.t.a.r.d Aladorn is signed on, you'll be well covered here,' Sir Creyl declared. 'He won't refuse you, no matter how old he's got.'

Emin pictured the man who'd helped mastermind his conquest of the kingdom, twenty years previously. General Dall Aladorn had been a cantankerous and belligerent drunk of fifty summers then. Sir Creyl was right that he'd be keen to prove he still had what it took to win a war. Emin's only concern was that the general had pickled his brain out of sheer boredom; he wanted to see the man himself before asking him to prepare for invasion.

'We'll find out when he gets here,' Emin said eventually. 'For the moment, could you give me a moment's peace? Perhaps go and see to our guests' needs?'

Sir Creyl left without a word, recognising the order easily enough. When Daratin returned with a stack of honeyed flat-breads he set the plate on the table and exited quickly himself. Emin picked at the food, his appet.i.te pretty nonexistent. He was just about to give up and ring for his tea when there was a knock at the door.

'What now?' he sighed before calling for the person to enter.

He frowned, not immediately recognising the woman in the long dress with a green scarf half-covering her face. When he did he almost fell off his chair as he scrambled up, reaching for a sword he'd forgotten to buckle to his hip.

'Oh, that's not very friendly,' said the young woman, pointing a slender finger at him and making a sharp downward motion. 'Sit.'

Emin felt an irresistible weight appear on his shoulders and drive him back down into his seat. She stepped forward and gave him a fond smile, one he recognised all too well.

'This can't be,' he muttered. 'It's impossible! What sort of trick is this?'

'Aren't you pleased to see me?' she asked, shutting the door behind her and walking to the centre of the room. Her dress was elegant but old-fas.h.i.+oned, twenty years out of date. She was no more than twenty-five summers old, with bright yellow eyes and auburn hair hanging in a plait over her left shoulder.

'If you really were my sister,' Emin growled with mounting anger, 'then yes, I would be delighted. But she's dead. If you're looking to make an enemy of me you're going about it in the right way.'

The woman sat at the table, still smiling. 'You have a life-size painting of her in your throne room and one of the finest buildings in Narkang bears her name, yet you're not glad to see her in all her beauty before you. You humans are fickle.'

Emin didn't reply. His mind was racing, frantically trying to work out who or what would be so casually callous as to wear Gennay's face. After a moment he realised the impersonation was not perfect; Gennay Thonal's eyes had been a glittering ice-blue, like her younger brother's.

It's a G.o.d, it must be - - and if my guess is right, one not usually clothed in female flesh. and if my guess is right, one not usually clothed in female flesh.

'Another wager won,' Emin said grimly. 'Morghien told me I was being arrogant when I suggested one of you would make me an offer.'

'But did you expect me?' asked the yellow-eyed G.o.d, unperturbed that its guessing game was already over.

'The list of suspects wasn't long. Few of the Pantheon would deign to visit me nowadays.' Emin took a breath to regain his composure. 'If you want a Mortal-Aspect, your best bet is the man who was here a few nights past.'

'Daken?' she said, laughing. 'Oh please; the man is useful for getting rid of inconveniences, but you insult me by suggesting it.' She tilted her head in thought. 'At any rate the man bears something of a grudge. I don't believe he's suitably grateful for the gifts bestowed upon him.'

Emin gaped. 'He's aligned to your Trickster Aspect, Larat! I can't believe Litania has an agreeable influence on anyone's life, but to be her plaything . . . ?'

The G.o.d of Magic and Manipulation shrugged. 'He thrives, what more does a white-eye wish for? It smacks of ingrat.i.tude. Nevertheless, to link myself to that oaf? I would prefer a Mortal-Aspect to complement my intellect, not muddy the waters.'

'He's no fool,' Emin countered, 'and if you think to win me by flattering my intelligence - '

Larat raised a hand to cut him off. 'Your intelligence is what it is; your ego equally so. Concerning Mortal-Aspects, let us say I remain unconvinced. A bold move, perhaps, but as I see it, one yet to bear fruit.'

'Then why are you here?' asked Emin, mystified. 'Your Lord has made His feelings towards me most clear. You could find few breakfast companions more out of favour with Lord Death. I am barred from His temples; I will not receive any aid from Him or His followers . . .'

'How you must be weeping into your pillow,' Larat broke in. 'Are your feelings stung? Let me offer this salve; Death is lord of us all and as we are a.s.sailed, so He bears the brunt of it. He has lost many followers and Aspects - one of whom has bloomed in the meantime - so do not imagine you are so special in His treatment of you.'

'Why are you here?' Emin repeated. He didn't really expect a straight answer - that was not in Larat's nature - but he'd had an uneasy night and his patience was worn thin.

'Can I not enjoy the company of mortals? As you can imagine, Lord Tsatach's sense of humour is somewhat limited. After a few centuries one has heard them all.'

Despite his ill temper Emin pictured the few Chetse he'd known in his life and almost smiled at the image. Then he caught himself and realised it was the G.o.d's attempt to manipulate his mood. He dug his thumbnail into his finger as hard as he could, something Morghien had taught him. Pain sharpened the mind, just as the glamour of the G.o.ds dulled it.

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