'Have you received no orders from your lord?' Mihn asked.
'I have.'
'So stop arguing and take Lord Isak's guest up to him. Then take the lady to the Chief Steward and get her the gold crown she's been promised.' Mihn jabbed his thumb towards the driver, who had remained hunched in her seat. Before the soldier had a chance to speak again the door of the coach opened and a man leaned out to look at them.
'What's the hold-up, soldier?'
The white-eye looked at the pair of them for a moment and decided discretion was the better part of valour. He stepped aside and waved the coach forward. The driver gave a click of the tongue and set the horses walking forward again, down into the tunnel that led underneath the barbican and into Tirah Palace. As it reached them, both men stepped up onto the coach to let it carry them through, Mihn hopping back up to the driver's seat like a mountain goat. The white-eye gave a short whistle once they'd entered the tunnel and the gate immediately started to close behind them.
Instead of stopping outside the Great Hall they took the coach around to the rear of the main wing, where there was another way up to the state apartments, a rear door that was normally kept locked and guarded. While the stretcher was being fetched the white-eye watched as Mihn and Morghien helped the last passenger out of the coach. It was obvious they didn't want his help, and they took great care to keep her face in shadow. Their precautions made no difference; as soon as he got within a few yards of her, the white-eye felt every nerve in his body quiver.
Instinctively he found his nostrils flaring, seeking her scent: she was the same as him, and more. When he lifted the stretcher the white-eye found himself taking great pains not to touch her in any way. As strong as he was, his hands trembled and his throat tightened at the power humming through her body. They started up the dark stairway and he kept his eyes on the stairs underneath him, not trusting himself to look at the hooded head inches away from him. All the way up he felt her attention on him, and a threat hanging in the air.
Isak was up and on his feet long before they reached the door to his private chambers. Vesna and Tila hovered in his wake, broad smiles on their faces at the sight of Mihn hovering beside the stretcher.
'Take her into my bedroom, then leave,' Isak commanded before grabbing Mihn in a bearhug.
'It's good to see you again, my friend – but why the stretcher? Does she need a doctor?'
The smaller man smiled up at his lord and shook his head. 'She's well enough, merely exhausted. The journey took a great toll, but I wouldn't want to be the one to force a doctor on her!' He looked a little thinner than the day they'd parted, but that was the only indication that the failed Harlequin had just returned from a long and gruelling journey.
Mihn embraced Tila and Vesna before following the soldiers into Isak's bedroom. The young lord gripped Morghien by the wrist as he followed them in, but the ragged-looking wanderer cut short the pleasantries. 'That can wait; right now you must go and introduce yourself. We can talk while she sleeps.' It looked like the journey had taken its toll on Morghien, who was tired and drawn, but his grip was as strong as ever. Isak had to remind himself that Morghien, known as the man of many spirits, was far older than he appeared – he should be permitted some trace of fatigue.
Isak patted his shoulder and went to his bedroom. The soldiers had put the stretcher onto the bed and were about to slide it from under her when Isak bustled past.
'Leave that,' he said, 'we can manage. The kitchen should be sending up food for my guests; check it's ready, then return to your posts.'
He didn't even wait to see they'd left the room before he was leaning over the bed. He gently pushed back Xeliath's hood. The young woman blinked up at him and Isak barely managed to hide his shock. Gone was the healthy, radiant girl he'd seen in his dreams. Instead, he saw a near-parody of that beaming beauty.
Trails of sweat ran down her twitching cheek and the crumpled skin of eyebrow and eyelid drooped limp over her left eye. As well as the permanent damage done to her body, her soft brown cheeks were flushed with spots of colour that made him think she was feverish.
'Isak,' Xeliath whispered. Her lips curled on one side and trembled on the other. She was trying to smile. His name on her lips was tinted by the heavy rolling sounds of the Yeetatchen dialect.
'Xeliath,' he replied softly, smiling down at the wan face below him. He eased her legs onto the bed and slid a hand under her body so he could pull the stretcher away. Her thin limbs reminded him of a pigeon he'd shot; lying dead in his hands, the bird had felt far too light, as though something was missing now it lacked life.
Xeliath looked tiny, even bundled in her heavy woollen cloak. He raised her hand and placed a courtly kiss in her palm. He folded her fingers around it and said, 'Sleep now, you need to rest. I'll bring you some soup later.'
'Wait, listen,' Xeliath whispered, straining to form the unfamiliar words. Isak remembered his first meeting with her, on a featureless, rolling field in his dreams, where she'd told him she couldn't even speak his language. That night, and every other time they'd met, she'd spoken directly into his mind. Now, as he strained to make out each syllable from her ravaged throat, he realised Mihn must have been teaching her FarIan as they travelled.
Her right arm fought its way free of the folds of the blanket, and Mihn had taken a half-pace forward even before she beckoned him over. Isak, shifting slightly so that Mihn could take her hand, sensed a sudden flicker of power from her left hand which was obscured by the cloak. He pushed it back, and gasped when he saw the Crystal Skull fused into the palm of her hand, her long, thin fingers clawed around it, drawn a little way into the body of the Skull. Isak ran his finger down the side of her thumb: the skin was fused to the Skull, so perfectly bonded there was no seam between the two but a complete melding of materials.
'Take it, cut it from her flesh', hissed a voice at the back of his mind.
Isak bit back a growl and drove the spirit of Aryn Bwr from his thoughts. That was one blessing over the last few months: the voice had become quieter of late, cowed almost, and Aryn Bwr had been more willing to withdraw when pushed. It was a mixed blessing, though, for it served only to increase Isak's suspicions that it was the Reapers lurking on the edges of reality.
Again he felt a flicker of power from within the Skull. Isak withdrew his hand, an apologetic look on his face until he realised that it was not anger he felt. Xeliath was staring into space, her good eye looking past him, while erratic spark's of magic started to dance from one finger to another over the surface of the Skull. He sensed pulses of energy flowing up her arm.
'What- what's happening?' he asked softly.
'She's drifting,' Mihn replied quickly. 'This has happened a few times – usually after she's contacted you in her dreams. There's nothing to worry about, it's just the effect of being tied to your destiny.'
'I remember,' Isak said. 'Her mind was almost broken when she was Chosen, when she was tied to a thousand destinies and to none, or something like that.'
Mihn stroked her hand. 'She still doesn't understand it fully, but it has had some sort of prophetic effect on her, perhaps like the Seer of Ghorendt – not true foresight, but glimpses of the future, though they don't make much sense. She doesn't go into a trance, or anything like that – and sometimes she hasn't even remembered it happening.'
'Has she said anything that made sense to you.7'
The small man shrugged. 'Once she said she saw you walking around a statue of a man holding a sword to his chest, made of obsidian. A man with two shadows, one tinted with blood and one with white eyes, was watching you. Her description put me in mind of the ranger, Tiniq.'
'General Lahk's brother?' Isak said in surprise. 'Well, I suppose he does rather live in the shadow of his white-eye twin.'
'Isak,' Xeliath croaked suddenly.
The two men looked down, Mihn still with his hand wrapped around the young woman's.
'Thank you,' she managed.
'For what?' Isak asked.
'For bringing me to safety, you fool,' she managed, again forcing her lips into her semblance of a smile. Disengaging her hand from Mihn's, she gave the small northerner an affectionate pat on the cheek. 'You are lucky to have such a loyal friend; I believe he would follow you anywhere.'
Isak's face fell. 'Don't say that – it might be the Dark Place he ends up visiting.' He looked at Mihn, whose face
