distinct domains, and until recently, four very different leaders. The White Circle leaders of Fortinn had fled and the quarter was now ruled by a triumvirate appointed by the three remaining leaders. It was a temporary solution suggested by the duchess herself.
The corpulent Chosen of Hit, Lord Celao, had taken a fair amount of persuading, but at least Cardinal Sourl had had the brains to realise she was right. With bad news coming from all directions, business would be disrupted enough. They would still play their games, of course, but they all had to recognise open war over control of Fortinn would be madness.
Either of them could be behind this, Natai realised. They both stand to benefit from religious insurrection here. Qods, they aren't working together, are they? No, that is too farfetched. Even with their renewed piety, 1 can't see any alliance lasting long enough for them to execute a plan together properly.
'Marshal, I want your full complement of troops out on the streets; concentrated on Coin, Wheel and Breakale for the moment. Make it clear to the population that business goes on unhindered.' Again the fork stabbed in his direction, emphasising her point.
The man bowed and scurried out, not trying to hide the relieved expression on his face. His two aides were on his heels. As they left, the duchess's principal minister strode in alongside the duke and she breathed a sigh of relief: at last she would hear something useful. Her husband wore a concerned expression, but Sir Arite Leyen was his usual picture of calm. He inspected the faces in the room, then bowed.
'Sir Arite, where have you been?' She raised a hand to cut off any reply. 'No, I don't actually care, just tell me what you know -and it had better be more than I've already heard from this sergeant or I'll damn well put him in charge of the Closed Council instead!'
A second bow was the only response to her threat; that in itself was ominous enough since Sir Arite generally managed a feeble joke in most situations. 'Your Grace, I was busy in the Vier Tower with Mage Peness.'
She pictured the thin-lipped mage whose round face seemed to distend when he smiled. 'Peness? What does that wheedling little toad want?'
'Merely to help his sovereign,' Sir Arite assured her before looking pointedly at the onlookers.
'Sergeant, help the children back to their rooms,' Natai ordered.
Kayel looked startled at the command, but he hesitated for just a moment before he started to move. The children and their nurses all took one look at the hulking, scar-faced soldier and fled, even Eliane, which provoked a spark of irritation in the duchess. She'd wanted to hold Ruhen a little longer this morning, letting the stresses of rule melt away in his shadowy little eyes.
Those hypnotic eyes.
Eliane's were grey, dull; they hardly compared to the rich swirl of shadow in Ruhen's. When Natai spoke soft, adoring words he seemed to drink them in, to revel in her love for him, even as young as he was. The baby would lie quite contentedly in her arms and look at her with incredible intensity, hardly ever blinking; his stare managed to revive her in a way sleep no longer could.
She shook herself back to the present; there would be time enough for Ruhen later. 'Sergeant, stay here; the rest of you leave us.' Seeing Sir Arite's surprise, she added, 'He was in the district last night. He's the only one who seems to know anything.'
'As you wish, but my news is rather alarming.'
'First of all, tell me if this was Sourl or Celao?' she said, forcing herself to regain the serene composure she was known for.
' I doubt it was either, I wish it was both,' Sir Arite said eventually. He gave the big soldier a suspicious look and Kayel stared back, unfazed. 'Your Grace, I really do think it would be better if-'
'Just tell me.'
At her expression he seemed to deflate a little. 'Peness says that there was a vast amount of magic expended last night – a terrifying level of raw energy.'
'Strong words.'
'The man was frightened.' He leaned forward, his voice dropping. 'Peness is one of the most powerful mages in the city, and he was Hightened by what he described.' The words seemed to hang in the air between them until Kayel sniffed, apparently unimpressed.
'Did he say why he was so afraid?' Natai asked, ignoring the soldier.
' I He couldn't be sure. He was being evasive, but I don't believe it was through ill-will. Mages tend to have their own allegiances and an entirely different range of concerns – I believe he was worried about interfering in the business of others.'
'Who would worry our most powerful mage.''
Sir Arite looked grave. 'He doesn't want to make an enemy of anyone who can wield the sort of power expended in Hale last night. Whoever it was, I gather they could have levelled the entire district.'
'Gods,' Natai breathed, feeling a chill run down her neck.
'And that's not the only news.' The knight's eyes narrowed and his voice fell to a whisper, as though his news was too terrible to be spoken in normal tones. 'Whoever wielded that power – it wasn't just against the high priest. It fought a being of near-equal strength – magic such as few mortals possess – and it killed them.'
A dull note of pain thrummed through her body. Every sensation was overlaid and muted by a heavy blanket of aching which weighed her down. There was a distant, unidentifiable sound ringing in her ears. As Legana drifted through the empty dream of near-wakefulness she felt something missing, a hole inside her that spoke of something too terrible to remember.
An involuntary twitch in her leg suddenly brought the pain in her side back into focus, sharp and hot. Her lips parted with a gluey jerk as she moaned. The ringing in her ears became more insistent; a spiky, wet feeling that reached all around her head and dug its claws into her neck. For a while Legana lay motionless, unable to hear her own whimpers, until the pain in her side subsided a little and she chanced a look at the Land.
It was difficult to open her eyes. It felt like a long-forgotten movement that required her full force of will to achieve, and when at last she succeeded, she saw little; just a shadowy blur of yellow, and the suggestion of lines that might indicate the shape of a room. Taking too deep a breath she moaned again and a spark of fear flared in her heart. The pain was an aside; what frightened her was the fact she could hear neither breath nor moan, though she could feel the air slide between her tender lips.
The blur ahead changed all of a sudden as a dark shape moved into her field of vision. It eventually resolved into the form of a man, a tonsured priest, standing over her, although the dimness remained and her head began to hurt when she tried to make out the details of his face. She saw a bearded jaw moving, but still heard nothing. In panic she tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness broke over her and she slumped back in agony, feeling tears fall freely
from her eyes in a way they had not since childhood.
The priest placed his hands on her shoulders to indicate she should keep still before gently lifting her head and putting a sodden cloth to her mouth. A few wonderfully sweet drops of water trickled into her mouth and Legana summoned all her remaining strength to swallow them. He squeezed the cloth and a little more appeared on her tongue – somehow she foughtthose down as well, but that was all she could manage. She sagged onto his cradling hand.
The priest nodded approvingly and put the cloth out of sight before placing a hand on her chest. His lips began to move and Legana's blurred vision swam as a warmth began to spread over her body. The sensation was alien and alarming, but something inside her recognised it as healing magic. The part of her that was touched by a Goddess screamed in fear at another God's magic, but the human side overruled it and as she sank back into unconsciousness, the pain faded far enough into the background for sleep to claim her. A few moments later she felt nothing at all.
A steady rain was falling on Byora's granite buildings, streaking walls with dark tears and filling the gutters with a swift stream of dirty water. The Duchess of Byora ignored the patter of water on her hood and watched the rain fall for ten minutes or more instead of touching her heels to the horse's flanks and setting off down the street.
'This rain will cool tempers, don't you think, Sir Arite?' she said at last.
The blond man only gave a perfunctory nod in response. He looked more concerned by the effect the rain was having on his boots than the state of the city beyond. The duke smiled amiably at his wife, doing a reasonable job of concealing his anxiety to everyone but Natai, the person he was trying most to encourage. She returned the
