and his head rested heavily on one hand. It was an unnerving sight: a tired king on his throne. To the Swordmaster, Bahl had always been a man of boundless strength and energy, impervious to the burdens imposed by power.
Bahl's eyes jerked wide open and he was already upright as a blinding crash of light and noise burst through the antechamber door. Kerin
flinched away from the explosion, arms held protectively over his face as pieces of shattered door flew across the room.
In the silence that followed, they saw the broken corpse of High Priest Wetlen, and Isak, still sitting on the cushion, his face a rictus of terror as a golden nimbus glittered and surged above his shorn head.
CHAPTER 9
'Well, will it work?'
The engineer mopped his heavy brow with an oil-stained cloth and chanced a look at his lord. The huge white-eye was standing perfectly still, looking out through the cloud to the city walls beyond. Either Lord Styrax was moving swiftly, albeit with economical purpose, or he was as motionless as the many statues of Karkarn, God of War and patron of the Menin tribe, that adorned their home city; there was no middle ground, and it was disconcerting to behold. There was no wasted effort on personal quirks: it was as if the Gods had perfected their design for the white-eye, and Kastan Styrax was the fruit of their efforts. Since their first meeting two months back, the engineer had remained in utter awe, and even now, as he looked at Lord Styrax's emotionless face, he found it hard to imagine the man was a mere mortal, made of flesh and blood.
'I believe so, my Lord,' he said after taking a moment to smother the nervous hiccoughs that threatened to interrupt. 'The wood is sound and my men have done a good job; I could expect nothing better, given the circumstances. I would prefer to test-fire it first, but without that option, all I can say is that I believe it will serve as you asked. If you were using a cut stone I could estimate-' His voice broke off as Styrax raised his hand. Apart from his head, it was the only par of the white-eye's body not encased in forbidding black armour, but the hand, like the armour, was the result of his greatest victory. Bone-white from wrist to fingertip, it had twisting swirls of scar tissue covering the skin and deep bloody stains forever caught under the fingernails. Rumour said Kastan Styrax had allowed it to be burned to achieve this great triumph: cutting down Koezh Vukotic in battle. No lone warrior had managed such a feat since the vampire had risen from the grave for the first time; he considered the price minor.
'The sinew is still strong?' asked a rasping voice from behind them. The engineer turned as General Gaur advanced on them, his lord's helm clasped reverentially in his black-furred hands. Few would interrupt Lord Styrax's conversations, but despite his monstrous appearance and hybrid nature, General Gaur was the closest thing to a friend the white-eye had.
'We brought two sets just in case, and one survived completely intact,' confirmed the engineer. 'I've checked the catapult and it's still in firing order.'
'Excellent. You have done everything I need you for.' The engineer paled as his eyes were drawn to Lord Styrax's huge broadsword.
'Gaur, accompany our skilled friend to the horses and get them ready to move. And send Kohrad to me.'
The engineer sagged with relief as General Gaur began to walk away, pausing for a moment to allow him to pick up his tools and catch up. Clearly they weren't going to kill him now his task was over, as he had begun to fear. As the tension flooded away, he began to hiccough again, trying desperately to smother them with his hands, but the general prodded his shoulder with one taloned finger and beckoned him on.
Lord Styrax hadn't moved an inch, despite the odd noises, and the trails of unnatural cloud made him appear almost ethereal in the morning light. The engineer shivered at the sight and scuttled away, hiccoughing madly, as fast as he could. He was careful not to look back again.
Styrax tasted the air. The bittersweet flavour of magic hung thick around him. The fog that surrounded his small army made it difficult to see anything more of the city than an outline of stone against the morning sky. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Larim, one of Larat's Chosen, currently engaged in making them invisible from the city walls. The strain was only just beginning to show on the young white-eye's face. ‘Father, Larim seems to be a match for the test you set him. I think that old crow Lord Salen will have to be more careful of his position in future. There’s quite a gleam of ambition in Larim’s eye.’ ‘I think you’re right, Kohrad,’ Styrax replied, not taking his eyes off the wall. He raised his arm straight out for his son to duck underneath; steel clanked against steel. ‘Don’t underestimate the cunning of crows though. Lord Salen has been busy himself recently, I think the contest will be most entertaining to watch.' Styrax paused. 'Kohrad, my arm feels unseasonably warm.'
That's because it's on fire, Father.'
'Stop it then.'
'Yes, Father – I was just frightening away Gaur's fleas.'
'Don't. You shouldn't make fun of him when there are nobles around. General Gaur has no allies among them, only enemies, and he's as devoted to you as he is to me.'
'I hardly think that's possible.'
Kohrad looked around for his father's friend. The bulky general was on his way over, his massive jaw working away as it always did when he was thinking. His fangs moved up and down through the rough bristles of his face.
'And still it is true, whether you let yourself see it or not.' Styrax turned to face his son, letting none of his sadness at Kohrad's glazed expression show on his face. Small flames still ghosted over the red-stained steel of his son's armour. Kohrad enjoyed wielding flame and destruction rather more than his father was comfortable with; Styrax thought it was beginning to cloud the young man's mind. However he'd found that armour, the only secret he kept from his father, it hadn't been the blessing Kohrad considered it.
'Despite his looks, I still don't think Gaur really suits being a soldier,' Kohrad said, in a rare moment of reflection. 'He's too serene, too at peace with the Land. He never lost his temper with me when I was growing up. Now I realise that must have been hard.' Styrax gave a snort of amusement but didn't interrupt. 'I suppose that makes him the best man to trust your army to, but it still seems perverse.'
'As is much in life,' the white-eye Lord agreed. 'Battle is all he's ever known, and you would wound him gravely if you suggested he gave up furthering my cause.'
Kohrad gestured towards the walls of Raland up ahead. 'Speaking or your cause and the perversity of life; all those years of research to find the damn thing and this fat fool digs it up just a few months before we arrive…'
'I know,' Styrax said with an ironic smile, 'but I cannot decide whether it is merely a lesson in the unpredictability of life, or a dire portent for this Age. However, whatever the reason, I think it is time
we
'Of course – but I'm curious to know why you are certain there will be a soft landing waiting for me.'
'The first rule of warfare.' He waited for his son to fill in the words.
'Know your enemy,' Kohrad confirmed, 'although some might say that knowing yourself is the first rule.'
'That is necessary long before a man leads an army to battle.' Styrax could sense his son's reluctance to cede the point, but the boy was a white-eye too, and filial loyalty could only go so far, after all.
'I still think that having a vastly larger army would be a better rule to start with.'
Styrax gave his son an affectionate thump on the shoulder. 'Perhaps, but it lacks elegance, and there is not much to take from that into the rest of life. If there is a lesson to be learned, no man should ignore the opportunity. If there isn't, open a jar of wine and find wisdom there.'
'For someone with such insight, you're still taking a gamble, however educated your guess might be. You can't know everything about a man's character. For instance, this duke could enjoy waking up to the dawn just as I do now – remember our hunting trips? Since then I've always preferred a west-facing window. The duke might also, despite the impressive view from this window.'
‘True enough,' Styrax agreed, 'but do not overestimate men either: most remain slaves to their weaknesses,
