Tom Lloyd: The Twilight herald

'He is more intelligent than that. He has taken precautions against assassination, and there are inherent dangers whenever a Skull is involved. They contain too much power for a novice to control. He already keeps his Aspect-Guide close at hand; it would be a simple thing for him to lose his grip on the magic and then we would be faced with a minor God of vast strength instead. Better to let someone else deal with the problem on our behalf. We will kill priests soon enough, that 1 promise you.'

From a pouch, the minstrel took a peach and raised it to his lips.

His companion sniffed and then looked away in disgust. 'How can you eat that? It's rotting.'

'Decay happens to everything,' replied the minstrel softly, eyes on the clouds above. 'Corruption is inevitable. I am but its servant.' He took another bite, then tossed the half-eaten fruit into the street. 'No one could want that Skull more than I do, but our master has a greater plan.'

'One that I am not to be party to?'

'If you have the courage to complain, do so.'

'I-' jackdaw faltered. Too late he remembered that Azaer was always close to the minstrel, lingering where the man's shadow had once been.

'You require something of me?'

Jackdaw jumped as Azaer's voice rang suddenly inside his head.

Beside him the minstrel inclined his head, as though giving a slight how.

'No, master,' the former monk spluttered. He felt a hand caress his cheek, then a sharp pain caused him to yelp involuntarily. The flesh just above his jaw-line felt raw and exposed and when he touched his face, Jackdaw found blood there. Raising his hand, he saw a black feather stuck to the blood on the back of his fingers. He didn't need a looking-glass to know that part of his tattoo had gone.

'Hush your throat, or I'll pluck more feathers out. We have a game to play here in Scree, friends to find and friends to lose. Lure them all here and let the drama unfold as it will. We take our bows when the performance is done.'

In the half-light of the long corridor a shadow moved. Only the list¬less swish of the thin white drapes covering the tall arched windows at one end disturbed the quiet. A wrought-iron railing decorated with vine leaves separated the corridor from the open hallway below, but the heavy afternoon heat had stifled all activity within the palace; that too seemed shrouded in silence. Even the servants had found cooler corners, where they dozed wearily.

The guard sighed inwardly. The heat was oppressive enough even without the heavy leather uniform. Rivulets of sweat ran down his arms and over his scalp and prickled hot in his crotch. His head sagged, eyelids drooping as the corridor before him blurred into grey emptiness.

The shadow drifted behind him, sliding smoothly over the wall but never actually touching the soldier. Despite the gloom of the corridor, the shadow seemed insubstantial. As it hovered against the white door next to where the guard stood, the profile of a blank face showed, imprisoned within the door's border, then the shadow eased into the dark crack between door and jamb and gently disappeared into the cool shade of the room beyond.

As outside, all was still within, except for the gentle movement of drapes at the open window, through which came no more than a wisp of a breeze. A huge four-poster bed to the right of the bolted door dominated the room. Curtains of green and gold were tied at each post. The shadow ignored the bed and its occupants, who lay across the linen sheets, barely covered. It ignored the ornate basket-hilt rapier hanging on a chair-back with an axe, the blade of which was perforated by glowing red-edged runes, and moved to the far cornet of the room, where a small spiral staircase look it up to a circular mezzanine no more than four yards across. A simple but elegant desk stood at the centre. Eight thin apertures cut into the stone gave a view of the room below. Hanging from the wall were eleven purple slate tablets, two feet high, each covered by a green velvet cloth embroidered with a bee with wings outspread and the name of a city. The shadow ignored the nearest and glided around the desk in the centre until it reached the cloth that bore the word 'Scree'. It raised a long finger that tapered into a cruel claw and began to trace through the air in front of the covered tablet. A faint scraping broke the quiet.

The shadow finished its writing and looked through a stone slit at the couple slumbering on the enormous bed. 'Come and join the per-formance, my friend. Yours is a starring role,' it murmured as it twitched the cloth slightly askew.

Then the shadow spread its insubstantial fingers like an eagle's talons. As it gave a sharp twist through the air a muted crack echoed around the room. The deed done, the shadow retraced its movements, pausing momentarily at the bed where the two figures still slept, legs fill angled despite the heat. One ethereal finger caressed the man's cheek before pausing over an eyelid that gave a tiny twitch.

'And what if I were to blind you now, o mighty king? Render you unable to behold this nation you love so? But I shall not; there are sights I would have you see before the end.'

The heavy summer silence returned to the room as the shadow slipped towards the door and out into the twilight of the corridor, then laded into nothing.

King Emin scowled at the tablet, pulling his shirt to order and tucking It Into his breeches.

Come back to bed,' purred Queen Oterness from the bed, strok¬ing the slight bump of her belly. One sharp-eyed old countess had noticed it already and there had been a sudden surge of speculation at courtl that an heir to the throne might at last be on the way. The royal couple were keeping quiet for now – the pregnancy was in its early stages and the queen feared her age might cause difficulties – but In the meantime that small swelling had restored her husband's pre-carious, affection.

Unfortunately, I cannot,' Emin muttered in reply. He didn't take his eyes off the tablet as he reached out a hand and tugged the bell-pull that hung above the desk,

'Oh, charming,' muttered his queen. 'My husband is too busy to entertain his wife, so he sends for his bodyguard to finish the job.'

Emin's glare stopped the queen short and she pulled the sheets to cover her naked body. It was too hot for a shift, even if Coran was joining them, and she was too comfortable to leave the indentation she had shared with Emin but a minute before.

'I'm sorry, Emin, you know I didn't mean that in spite – but what¬ever is wrong? I've not seen you so angry in years – what's the news?'

Coran jerked open the door and hurried in before the king had time to answer his wife. The white-eye glanced at the bed and bowed his head even as his eyes followed the linen-covered curves of the queen's body. The white-eye was barely dressed himself, wearing only a long shirt tied at the waist by the sword-belt he was still in the process of buckling.

Oterness looked at the livid scars on Coran's knee, he glowered at her and hurried up the spiral staircase. He had barely reached the top stair when Emin reached out a finger and pointed to the uncovered tablet.

'Summon the Brotherhood. We ride for Scree.'

Coran stared at the slate board, unspeaking, until Emin indicated they should go back downstairs. The white-eye slowly raised his knee and ran a finger over the ugly scarring there, his face darkening with fury, then followed his king.

Queen Oterness watched the two men, a shiver running down her spine as she wondered what was affecting them so.

Then Coran spoke, his voice trembling with hatred. 'Ilumene,' he sa.d.

The blood drained from Oterness's face. All was explained in that one word. Before King Emin reached for his clothes he took his queen's hand and squeezed her fingers. Her other hand fell protec¬tively to her belly, trembling. When she touched the skin below her navel Oterness could feel rough scars, and could trace a name with her fingers. The tattoo she'd put there only hid the name from sight. The scar remained.