Tom Lloyd - The Grave thief

'The air was not fresh in your room?' Today Lord Styrax had selected the clothes of an officer at leisure: thick black linen tunic with no braids or badges of rank, black breeches, and tall riding boots polished to a high shine. The white-eye may not have been particularly handsome — indeed, people barely noticed his features, and few would be able to describe them. All folk remembered was the power he wore like a mantle.

'A little ripe, if you'll forgive the observation, my Lord.'

'It was the pork — even my stomach thought it a trifle overspiced.'

Even here in the library grounds where no magic could exist, Lord Styrax's presence was nearly overwhelming. He may have been one of the largest men in the Land, but he carried his size with ease, moving as deftly and neatly as a dancer. Amber believed the inscrutable giant to be something more than human: as if the Gods had finally perfected the model. Even Aryn Bwr could not have inspired more worship than Kastan Styrax.

Lord Styrax walked the few yards to stand beside the major. The Library of Seasons had only one exit, through an enormous gate. The gatehouse was set into the rock and jutted into the road, looking down the entire length of Hit's Stair. The arch exploited a natural fissure in the cliff face and square blocks the height of a man shored up the rock. Without gates the library looked remarkably vulnerable, but Hit's Stair was two hundred yards of stepped slope

more than twenty yards wide, offering no cover whatsoever to those ascending.

The guardians of the library had ensured it was no secret that there were enormous storerooms where, in addition to the weapons belonging to their current guests, there were whole rooms full of arrows — one for every man Deverk Grast had led into Ismess. Whether that was true or not, there were certainly a dozen or more ballistae kept for a similar purpose.

'Longing for freedom?' Lord Styrax said, gesturing towards the archway, through which they could see the sparsely wooded hills on the other side of the city and a clear, pale blue sky. It was still early; the sun had risen no more than half an hour ago and the valley remained in shadow. The air was cold and crisp.

It reminded Amber of winter mornings when he had gone hunting with his father and brothers.

'Just appreciating the view,' he said eventually. 'I get a little restless in these gentle surrounds, especially with my men out there without me.'

'I will keep you busy then. I'll be in the Fearen House all day, and I shall need someone to attend me.'

'Of course, my Lord.' Amber hesitated for a moment, then asked, 'My Lord, surely Nai would be a better aide? I'll only be able to contribute by carrying books.'

Lord Styrax nodded. 'Doubtless true — but never trust a necromancer. Folk might hate my kind for good reason, but we have nothing on the walkers in the dark.' Styrax's words immediately reminded Amber of the conversation he'd overheard in Thotel, between the necromancer Isherin Purn, Nai's master, and Lord Styrax. Without understanding it, Amber had nevertheless recognised there was a subtext to each man's words, hinting at tensions and allegiances he knew nothing of.

They watched the heads of the guards at the gate turn their way: nervous Litse faces looking like deer that had sensed wolves. The white-eyes were slowest to react. Three of them were facing out towards Ismess, feeling the wind that rose up Hit's Stair. One had his wings fully outstretched, though he would have to walk another ten yards or more to be able to fly. As large as they were, those wings would not be capable of lifting a man without magic.

'Caged birds,' Styrax said, nodding towards the white-eyes as they finally turned towards them. He appeared to be enjoying their discomfort. 'They're bound to this place; conditioned to stare past the bars but never slip through them.'

Amber admitted, 'I don't understand these people. Even their white-eyes seem alien to me, and I thought your kind at least would be the same the Land over.'

'They are a broken tribe, unaware even of their past glories. Without a man or woman of vision, they will wallow another thousand years in this festering place, until inbreeding or war destroys them.'

But which solution will we provide? Amber wondered as Styrax turned abruptly away, motioning for Amber to accompany him.

It had rained during the night and the ground was muddy, so they headed for the nearest gravel path. Gesh followed behind. The white-eye was dressed as he had been the day before, in formal white robes underneath ceremonial armour. It was strange to see so little colour in a man; with his pale skin, creamy yellow hair and white eyes, Amber thought Gesh hardly looked alive. His slim build and ethereal appearance put Amber in mind of tales of Elves, and the contrasting bright red and green javelins held in an oversized quiver at his hip only added to that unreal image.

'He's got some spirit, that one,' Lord Styrax commented, having followed Amber's line of sight. They continued down the gravel path as it meandered to follow a stream, then swung back towards the looming Fearen House.

'Give me some time and I'll find a way to get to him.' At Amber's puzzled expression Styrax gave a laugh. 'No, not like that! Lord Celao is an embarrassment and a fool; better he chokes on a fishbone and Gesh takes command of Ismess. I will not allow any vassal state to remain so weak.'

'They'll never love you,' Amber said, thinking aloud.

'True, but neither will they hate me, and their children will grow up knowing who restored their future to them. No, Ismess is a problem I need only time to solve — it is Byora that will require proper thought.'

'The duchess, Natai Escral, or that bodyguard of hers?'

'Both of them. Your information reaffirms my belief that Byora is the Circle City's tipping point, and we're clearly not the only ones to think that.'

'This is all beyond my comprehension,' Amber sighed. 'How do you second-guess immortals?'

'In some ways they are simpler to understand; their desires and fears are magnified to a far greater scale. I suspect Zhia is merely keeping herself in the game for the time being. She senses great things are afoot and she knows she must remain on the board if it is ever to be of use to her.' Styrax clapped a massive hand onto Amber's shoulder. 'You did much good in Scree, Major; you played the hand you were given well. Until then Azaer was nothing more than an obscure reference for me; now I see where its schemes have directly involved me. Zhia's legend also obscured the person behind it, but before the great traitor, before the monster, she remains a person, someone to be known, just like any other.'

Amber nodded. The debriefing when he rejoined the army had been exhaustive and exhausting, at times verging on interrogation as Lord Styrax and General Gaur hungrily deliberated and debated over every conversation and action he could remember.

'All I heard of Azaer was its legend.'

'One carefully fostered, but yes, it is Azaer I need to know better before I can understand it. The shadow warned me before I killed Lord Bahl that I would be facing rebellion when I returned. Why? Did it require my conquest to continue apace? Did it want me here as a witness, or had Salen betrayed it? What is it doing in Byora that may require a diversion? That will be your job in the months to come, to run a low-level observation of Byora and tell me what is happening there.'

'I'm honoured, my Lord.'

'I doubt you'll find much honour in it,' Styrax said with a smile, 'but you survived Scree and you know what you're looking for. Don't worry about your men; you'll be leading them next time they go into battle.'

'Thank you, my Lord,' Amber said, touched that his master understood his need to be with his men when they faced the enemy.