again and he toddled over to her, allowing her to wrap her arms around him. A few kisses, a brush of her fingers through his soft brown hair, and Natai Escral, the Duchess of Byora, was soothed again.
'Ah, you're playing with your book again,' she cooed at him. 'Almost as much of a puzzle as my beautiful little boy! And what did you see out the window, little Ruhen?'
'Soldiers, Mother,' Ruhen replied in a voice full of innocence.
His words caused a beaming smile to spread over her face, then she glanced over at Haipar – but the tribeswoman from the Waste appeared not to have noticed that her position had been usurped.
Haipar would not have cared, even if she had realised; she was barely aware of anyone, for she was lost in her own sickness and misery, forever twitching and peering into corners. When she did notice Ruhen's presence, she always looked like a mouse startled by a cat.
'Yes, my sweet, the city is full of soldiers, but they are all under control. We would never let any of them hurt you.'
'Not here, out there.' He pointed towards the horizon and at last he felt the duchess tense. 'Horsemen,' he added, just to make sure.
She carried him to the window, but could see nothing beyond the city. Ruhen pointed northwest, but all she could see was mist and smoke. 'They frighten me,' he added for sport.
She put a protective arm around his shoulders. 'No one could possibly hurt you,' she said before turning to Ilumene. 'Sergeant, have a servant run to the Vier Tower – Tell Mage Peness I wish him to scry to the northwest.'
Ilumene grimaced and managed to heave himself to his feet.
The duchess smiled down at Ruhen. 'Perhaps our prince is even more special than we had already thought?'
Ruhen returned to the window, his back to the duchess so she could not see the shadows dance in his eyes. Down below, a crowd was gathering – beggars and other vagrants mainly. They had been encamped outside the gates for a few hours now, fleeing briefly when Kiyer of the Deluge swept the streets clean, creeping back when the water cleared. As he watched, more joined the throng, loitering in the shadow of the Ruby Tower.
Word was spreading, helped by Luerce and his little troupe of disciples. Empty temples and fighting on the streets meant many were searching for something – anything – to believe in. Only the most desperate were waiting outside the compound gate, hoping for a glimpse of Ruhen, but it was a start. Ruhen's patience was vast, and once word spread beyond the Circle City, it would meet those lost folk who had heard some new stories from the Harlequins.
'Can we go back to the valley?' Ruhen asked.
'Do you want to see the men with wings again?'
His solemn nod provoked another smile. 'Very well, we will. Lord Styrax will be glad to see us; he wants us all to be friends – would you like that?'
Ruhen paused to think. 'Friends are good.'
'That they are, my dear.' The duchess hugged him close again and he could hear the quick beat of her heart, quite unlike his own.
He took her hand and looked her directly in the eye. For a moment she froze, lost in the shadows, before the moment passed. 'Allying ourselves with the Menin may prove the best course, but let us wait for what Mage Peness has to say. Becoming friends can always wait a day or so, and it is always preferable to bring a gift.'
That evening Doranei and Sebe were eating in a small tavern on the outskirts of Breakale, just a short walk from the Beristole. Lell Derager, who continued to be their host, had suggested this as a good place to hear the gossip.
Wheel and Burn were increasingly unsafe these days, as the bartender had been quick to mention. She hadn't specified where the danger came from and the two men from Narkang were too experienced to show too much interest. They took their time over bowls of greasy mutton stew, alert to the chatter around them.
'-'eard she was going to sell the whole of Hale to the Menin-'
'-Devoted got what was comin' to 'em, just a bunch of priests with swords-'
'-mad enough ta think they can use daemons in battle!' broke his curse just with a touch, I tell you -we all felt it!'
Doranei paused and cocked an ear. The room was full of quiet conversations overlaying each other, but that last had sounded different. It took him a moment to place it, but when he did, it was all he could do not to turn around and stare at the speaker. Something in the tone of voice reminded him of Parim, the demagogue King Emin had pressganged into the Brotherhood: it had that urgent honesty that Parim used so successfully to convince his listeners to shower him in gifts.
'Going for a piss,' he muttered to Sebe, putting his drink down and tapping the bar twice with a spice-yellowed finger. He caught Sebe's arm as he was easing himself off his seat, so Sebe could turn a little and not draw attention to himself as he checked the room to see who noticed Doranei's departure. By the time he returned to his food he was sure there was no unwelcome notice being paid, just the usual raising of eyes as a big man with weapons approached, then passed. No one followed, no one stopped talking, so Sebe cheerfully finished his drink and waved for another.
When Doranei returned, he slapped Sebe on the shoulder, thanking him for getting the drinks in, and whispered as he sat down, 'Back corner, wearing white.'
Sebe wiped up the last of his mutton with some gritty bread. 'Looks out of place, doesn't he? Not a priest's robes, but no tradesman wears white like that.'
Across the room came another snippet of conversation: '-no God ever did that for me, but you look into his eyes and it changes you. As noble as a prince and just a child-'
Doranei leaned over to Sebe. His friend smelled of damp wool and sweat, but Doranei didn't imagine he was any better. 'Doesn't sound like he's talking about any friend of ours,' he muttered. 'What do you reckon?'
Sebe shrugged. 'Dressed like that I'd say he's no innocent bystander. Don't think we'll get much out of him.'
'Not the first one like that I've seen round these parts,' Doranei agreed. 'Looks like this is the next step, they're recruiting to spread the word. There's talk of beggars gathering at the gates of the Ruby Tower, of writing prayers to the Gods and fixing them to the wall. The desperate folk have given up on the cults, they're looking for something else to believe in – and the shadow's message is ready and waiting.'
Sebe's expression mirrored Doranei's own. 'It's your turn then.' Doranei sighed. 'True, and it won't be the last either,' he said
grimly. 'Let's hope he gives us something useful.'
The pair finished their drinks and exited, quickly finding a dark
corner of the street where they could wait unmolested for the hour
until the man in white left the tavern and headed off alone through
the night.
By the time General Lahk had asked him for permission to call a halt on the following day, Isak was already searching his memory for a secluded spot to carry out his unsavoury business. The route was one he knew well; past the Twins the road wound through rolling hills and across great stretches of grassland where once he would have stalked splay-toed geese and set traps for hares. Most of the game would have been frightened away by the approaching army, but the region itself was unchanged from the days when he'd crossed it in the wagon- train.
As the order was given, Isak stayed in the saddle, watching the soldiers around him jump to Lahk's command. He pulled the blue silk hood from his face and let the blustering breeze run its chilly fingers over his cropped scalp as he stared into the advancing evening. The supply wagons had men swarming all over them, seeking tents, food and firewood. The sight reminded him of army ants killing a praying mantis.
Isak had widened his eyes in disbelief when he'd seen how much baggage was to accompany the armies. Combined, they numbered more than fifteen thousand men, and the Quartermaster-General, a comical little man with stumpy arms and legs called Pelay Kervar, had another thousand under his command – as many in his charge as the colonels he screamed invective at on a daily basis. When the Farlan were at war, Kervar outranked both colonels and suzerains, and his bodyguard was nearly on a par with Lord Isak's own. Isak dismounted and spent a few minutes seeing to Toramin, his warhorse, before allowing a hovering groom to take over. It was still habit for
