behest of Xeliath. 'I remember. The spirits inside Morghien attacked Isak's mind, to prepare him for what Aryn Bwr would do.'
'Exactly, Morghien prepared him. When one can see what is coming, there are only two real choices: to try and avoid it, or to accept it and be prepared.'
'My vote's for avoiding death; that would be preferable here, don't you think?' Vesna's laugh sounded a little forced.
'Of course. But he has said nothing of the manner of his death. All we have is his past certainty that Kastan Styrax would kill him. To avoid death means killing Kastan Styrax first, and from all we've heard, that is not so simple a task.'
''The Gods made their Saviour the greatest of all men',' Vesna said, recalling what Isak had related of his conversation with Aryn Bwr. 'They made him too perfect, too strong and skilled.'
'And thus, presumably, a difficult man to kill.' Mihn raised his head a little and Vesna followed his gaze to the boundary of torches forced into the hard-packed earth.
'What are you saying?'
'Merely that putting the enemy off-balance, doing what they do not or cannot expect, is half of the duel.' He was watching a figure flanked by Palace Guards draw closer. Lesarl stepped into the path to intercept the person – a woman, or maybe a short man, Vesna guessed. The person was wearing a thick winter cloak with the hood pulled up to shadow the face.
'You expect him to embrace his own death?' Vesna asked. 'What possible preparation can there be for that? Or do you expect Isak to be able to cheat Death himself?' He sensed rather than saw Mihn tense beside him. For a moment he thought he'd taken offence at Vesna's words – until he saw the diamond-patterned clothes of the new arrival: a Harlequin, no doubt here to entertain the assembled dignitaries.
'I make no such suggestion,' Mihn said in a carefully calm voice, 'only that such a thing might free him from the tangled web of his destiny. It had been said of Death's throne room that no obligation or contract can follow you through those doors. What if he is tempted by such an offer? What if that is the only way to free him from those bindings?'
'That's not much in the way of freedom, is it? There's no coming back from the grave, so let's push him in the other direction, right?'
Mihn ignored Vesna's attempt to lighten the tone of the conversation. 'Will we get the choice? You know as well as I do that he is going to announce a march south so he can create a buffer-state to encompass Tor Milist, Helrect and Scree; there is little else he can do if the alternative is inviting chaos and bloodshed on his own border. The Menin have taken Thotel and conquered the Chetse.' He cocked his head towards Vesna as the Harlequin passed Lesarl and started up the staircase. 'If you were Lord Styrax and intent on conquest, would you look west to the relatively minor states there, or north to Tor Salan and the Circle City?'
'Gods,' breathed Vesna with sudden realisation. He pictured the map of the Land painted on Lesarl's office wall. 'They're being drawn together?'
The Harlequin ascended the stair with a light, fluid step that Vesna recognised as very similar to Mihn's. The notion sent a slight childish thrill down his spine. He knew Mihn had been trained as a Harlequin, that greatness had been expected of him, but the air of mystery around those masked performers reached out from his childhood to enthral him once again.
The Harlequin stopped dead when it saw them and stared at Mihn for a few moments. '1 will not perform while that pollutes my presence,' it said in a neutral tone.
The Harlequins' sex was a closely guarded secret. Vesna recalled a story he'd heard once, of a drunkard who'd been determined to find out if the Harlequin entertaining his lord was female. It was probably nothing more than a tale spread to warn people off, but the story had described the loss of the drunk's head and limbs in what the young Vesna had thought deliciously gory detail.
'I will leave,' Mihn replied after a long pause. 'I would not shame my lord by driving off the entertainment.'
The comment brought a slight intake of breath from behind the Harlequin's mask, but before it could reply Vesna stepped between them.
'Come on then. Both our moods need improving.'
Mihn gave him a wary look, his nostrils twitching slightly, and Vesna realised the man was quivering with restrained energy. He didn't want to find out how long either could hold it before they went for their weapons.
'Some friends of mine are spending the evening in a tavern. Come on; let's join them.'
Vesna directed Mihn down the other side of the staircase, away from the watching Harlequin, carefully not touching him. He'd seen Mihn fight; his reactions were almost preternaturally swift and destructive.
It was only at the bottom of the stair that Mihn breathed again. He turned his back on the watching Harlequin. 'When you say tavern-?' he began.
Vesna chuckled and dared to clap the man on the shoulder. 'Yes, I mean brothel, but they serve damn fine wine, and the other'd probably do you good anyway.'
He dragged Mihn towards the barbican and away from the motionless Harlequin.
'Come on, my friend,' Vesna continued cheerfully, 'one of the girls is rumoured to be as much of an athlete as you; it should be quite a meeting.'
CHAPTER 12
Mihn and Count Vesna looked a strange pair as they rode eastwards through the near-deserted streets of Tirah. The temperature had plummeted since nightfall and the cold glitter of starlight illuminated the frost on every stone and roof-tile. It didn't take them long to reach Hamble Lanes, where many of Tirah's smaller merchants lived and worked. It was a far cry from the mansions of the truly wealthy, bustling during the day and pleasantly peaceful in the evening, except during the depths of winter, when, like the rest of the city, it took on a ghostly mien. It might have lacked the grandeur of the Old District south of the palace, but the shops and small workshops occupying every yard did good trade, so the buildings were large and the stone gargoyles plentiful.
Through the chimney-smoke Vesna could see the coloured lights of the College of Magic shining from its five slender towers – the college eschewed the shutters and heavy curtains most used to keep the cold at bay. The chill night air had driven most people indoors already, and those few still out had hurried on by, not wanting to attract the attention of anyone on horseback.
'Do you mind if I ask you a question? A personal one, I mean?' Vesna's voice sounded unusually loud, but it elicited only a considered nod from Mihn. 'I mean this out of curiosity rather than condemnation, but why stick to your vow when you're trying to find a way to serve Isak's needs? You're exceptional with that staff, hut it's not the best weapon for your skills. You've served a long penance already, isn't that enough? You shouldn't suffer for the rest of your life.'
'1 feel it is the right thing to do.'
'You say you failed your people,' Vesna persisted, 'and I won't presume to argue the point because I don't know your customs, but I would say the punishment is done.' He reached for his tobacco pouch and began to stuff the bowl of his pipe. 'I'm right in thinking you'd be able to take me if you had a sword?'
Mihn pushed back the hood of his cloak and turned to face his companion. His face looked otherworldly in the pale moonlight, his dark eyes unreadable. 'It would be closer than you think; you underestimate your own skills.'
'But you'd expect to win, if we fought?'
'Barring luck, yes. You are a soldier first and foremost, while I trained as a classical duellist. If it were a formal duel my chances would be better.'
'And with Eolis?'
Mihn turned back and looked down the empty street ahead of them. 'Are you asking if I could kill Lord Styrax and deny Isak's dreams that way?'
'Could you?'
