The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (158 page)

The door was shut and a pair of penitents were on guard outside. She checked the rest of the courtyard: there were no other obvious guards, but there were men loitering. Legana frowned. As inexperienced in magic as she was, something told her this wasn’t a simple spell. She could feel raw energy in her veins, part of the very make-up of her Godhood, but what she felt now touched her even deeper inside.

‘So what’s going on in there?’ she wondered aloud. Without really intending to, she took a few paces towards the chamber. The penitents stiffened, hands reaching for the spears leaning casually in the dark recesses on either side of the chamber door. They were of a similar height to her, and they looked like they both had a fair amount to be penitent about, but she reckoned even as a mere mortal she’d have been able to take them both - men always underestimated a pretty face.

‘Temple’s closed for a private service,’ one of the guards called.

Legana hardly heard him, so intent was she on the curious prickle on her skin. The sensation got no stronger as she neared the chamber and she came to an abrupt stop, suddenly realising that it was not emanating from the building at all.

‘That’s curious,’ she said quietly to herself. Just looking at the chamber had caused something to resonate inside her, like the vibration of a plucked string.

‘What did you say?’ the guard asked, taking a step towards her. He held his spear loosely, at the ready.

‘Could it be luck?’ she wondered, not paying the penitent any attention at all. At the back of her mind, realisation began to flower.

The penitent glanced at his comrade. ‘You understandin’ her?’

‘Nope. Sounds like she’s talking Farlan. Looks Farlan too.’

Legana frowned at the two men for a moment before realising she hadn’t understood the actual words coming out of their mouths, but the meaning instead. Another divine gift, I assume. She thought for a moment and the local dialect came easily enough to her tongue.

‘Take a step back and keep quiet. There’s something bad going on in the temple.’ I’m touched by the Goddess of Luck, so I think it’s safe to assume my sense of timing is going to be, ah, divine, from now on.

The first penitent opened his mouth to argue, but the words died unsaid as Legana held a sword-tip to his throat, moving in the blink of an eye. A faint croak escaped his comrade’s lips, but they were too astonished for anything more. They had realised no normal woman could have moved so quickly.

‘I need to be in that temple right now, so take a step back,’ she repeated softly, ‘and get the fuck out of my way, or you’ll find your balls shoved down your throat.’

The penitents jerked back as if they were on strings. Legana lowered her sword and nodded at the door.

‘Shut it behind me, please.’ She stepped through the doorway without pausing to look inside first. The door was slammed shut after her. The chamber was dark, sparsely lit by candles set on an iron chandelier hanging from the roof. The crescent pews were set in circular tiers, descending from above head-height at the back to knee-high around the altar. The fretwork backs of the pews and roof-beams cast long shadows, but they didn’t obscure the scene.

Legana slid between two pews and peered at the altar.

There were well-dressed people kneeling, their heads bowed as though in prayer. No one showed any sign of having heard her entrance. A child lay supine on the altar, twitching feebly, and blood dripped over the edges. The Lady’s first thought was of a grand entrance, but Legana preferred to follow her own instinct, of caution.

A man’s voice echoed out from the darkness. ‘You shouldn’t have ignored the guards. That really was a mistake.’

Legana began to wind her way down between the rows towards the altar, scanning the room as she did so. Most of the space was occupied by the pews, but she quickly became aware of movement that mimicked her own, and caught sight of flashes of a dark figure walking in the shadows. She couldn’t place the accent - it was unlike any she’d heard before, and it sounded ancient in form. That wasn’t good, old meant dangerous - and he didn’t sound even apprehensive.

But they always underestimate a woman, Legana thought grimly to herself, so let’s make him walk into trouble.

‘Sorry to ruin your fun,’ she called out, flicking the clasp of her cloak open and letting it fall behind her. The pews were low enough now for her to vault up onto a seat with no obvious effort.

Looking down at the altar she saw there were markings on the ground, symbols written in chalk all the way around, linked by a sloppily drawn circle. They meant nothing to her, but the sight of her target, High Priest Lier, dead on the ground with his chest torn to ribbons gave her a clear idea of the intention. It was set up to look like a summoning gone wrong. The rich folk surrounding the altar had to be under some enchantment, kept alive until it was time for them to be slaughtered, providing the appropriate sound effects.

‘You’ve ruined nothing,’ said the man, stepping out from a shadow opposite her. He was hairless, gaunt and albino-white, and clad in black scale-armour of a style she didn’t recognise. It was the fat broadsword in his hand, its black surface prickled with elusive light like faint stars, that made her suddenly nervous. He leapt up onto a pew himself, cocked his head to one side and smiled like a lizard at her. ‘My, what pretty hair you have.’

Legana took a step down onto the pew in front. ‘You’re taking enough of a risk already, aren’t you?’ she asked softly. ‘Defiling Alterr’s temple and killing her high priest is dangerous enough. Do you really want to risk bringing the Lady into things too?’

His smile became a smirk. ‘I don’t fear your mistress,’ he replied, reaching out towards her with his empty hand.

Legana recoiled as she felt his cold fingers close around her neck. A surge of power welled up from inside her in reaction and she felt a crackle of energy over her entire body as the warring forces strained against each other. In the next instant, it was gone.

‘Strange,’ he said, looking puzzled but still far from worried. ‘Aren’t you the curiosity?’

Legana didn’t bother to reply. She kicked off from the pew and leapt through the air towards him, twin swords held out wide. As she flashed across the chamber, she felt the strength of a Goddess fill her -

Still a dozen feet from the murderer, she smashed into an invisible barrier, then those hands were about her throat again, only this time it was like a vice crushing down on every part of her body at once. She howled in pain as stars burst before her eyes. The swords fell from her grip as fire lanced through her veins.

‘Overconfident, pretty one,’ the stranger snarled. With a twitch of the hand he threw her across the room and she smashed into the pews. She found herself gasping for air while colours blurred in her vision. Again she felt power suffuse her and she found herself standing upright.

She dived to one side instinctively as a crash came from where she’d been standing a moment before. She kept moving, thoughts racing through her mind, too fast to be coherent. She needed her weapons back, and she needed to move fast. It felt like the Land around her slowed as she drew on her divine half. As she raced through the pews, she pictured her swords in her mind, and they lifted themselves from the ground and began to move towards her.

But before she could get close enough to grasp them, something smashed into her side, throwing her off her feet again. This time she hit the ground shoulder-first and rolled into position to kick off the pew ahead of her. She flipped up through the air, and as she landed she felt her swords slap against her palms. The Land appeared to hesitate again as she drove towards her attacker. He brought his sword up to meet hers, barely quick enough to parry her flurry of blows, but as they locked weapons and she kicked forward into his gut, Legana felt herself thrown backwards by some other force.

‘No more!’ called a voice that echoed around the room with such force the light from the candles shuddered and dimmed. Legana blinked. The Lady was standing in front of her, facing her attacker. She held a leaf-bladed spear in her hands, its golden shaft blazing in the weak light.

‘Aracnan, explain yourself!’

Legana staggered back, dazzled by the light of the spear and gasping as the jewels around her neck suddenly burned with the Lady’s fury.

‘Explain myself?’ spat Aracnan with sudden venom, sword still raised. ‘I don’t think so.’

He hand went to a pouch at his belt and he withdrew an object. White light cascaded over them all and Legana felt the walls shudder. The rumble of thunder assailed her ears as power poured from the object. She found herself screaming in fear and pain.

The air around Aracnan shuddered. ‘Enough of your meddling, Lady,’ he crowed. ‘Your fate awaits you.’

Legana tried to turn and run, but her body would not obey. A savage stream of power from the Crystal Skull in Aracnan’s hand lashed out at Fate. Legana was thrown backwards, writhing with agony as bloody slashes appeared on the Lady’s body. The roar of power was all around, hammering at her ears, ringing like a gigantic bell through her head. Her screams were drowned out by the brutal energy raging around her.

The Goddess struck back with fire and spear. The light became too intense to bear as the pair fought. The roar intensified and she felt her eardrums burst, but even then the sound refused to cease, it was inside her head, battering at her skull. Legana shuddered as she felt the Lady strike and be wounded in the same moment.

She opened her eyes a fraction to see a frozen moment of violence, with blood streaming in all directions. The white light shone like a savage halo around them. The Lady turned towards her, mouth open, words forming even as she cried out. Legana felt a flame of white fire slice her face and the pain intensified throughout her body even as she was jerked backwards.

She crashed through the outer wall of the chamber, feeling nothing of it, and the blessed blackness of night swallowed her. Legana, wrapped in agony, realised she was screaming with two voices; a mortal’s shriek of pain and a Goddess’s death-cry. Her body spasmed as it crashed through something else and rolled to an abrupt halt. Three words flashed across Legana’s mind: Fate help me. Then she realised that Fate was dead, and unconsciousness claimed her.

‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’ Natai Escral, Duchess of Byora, shouted across her breakfast table. The object of her ire, a sallow-faced marshal called Harin Dyar, shrank back under the force of her demand. Natai was sitting bolt upright, a laden fork pointed at the unusually scruffy officer.

‘What use is “I don’t know”?’ She was alone at the table; although a place had been laid for her husband, matters of state had got her up early, as usual.

Behind her a child started to cry: Minnay, an orphaned toddler, one of her dozen wards. She saw the haggard woman she’d named Eliane standing nearby, Ruhen content in her arms after half an hour of crawling around on the floor under Natai’s supervision.

Qood, I didn’t disturb him, she thought with a smile. I wouldn’t want him to cry - that sound breaks my heart.

‘Ah, your Grace, Hale is effectively locked down,’ Dyar stammered after a few moments. ‘I cannot get any of my troops in to investigate.’

‘Locked down?’ she hissed, still angry, but mindful of Ruhen’s presence. ‘You mean you’ve allowed a handful of crippled old men to keep my soldiers from my own damn city?’

‘Your Grace, we will need to use force to get into the quarter,’ Dyar protested, ‘and I do not have enough men - Hale’s penitents outnumber those under my command.’

‘Marshal, how is it you cannot even brief me on what has happened? Why does the Byoran Guard not hold these streets?’ She looked around, as if her wards - or the four nurses tending them -could provide answers where Dyar could not. The room, one of the largest in the palace, had once been a communal chamber for her grandfather’s harem. It was both opulent and elegant, and Natai spent much of her leisure time there, surrounded by children.

No one spoke. The nurses all looked away, trying not to catch her eye. Eliane stared at the floor - but she rarely did much else. Since she had been saved from being trampled in Criers Square, Eliane had managed to frustrate all attempts to build up her painfully thin frame. Nor had anyone been able to coax any word of her past out of her. She claimed to have no memory of what had happened before she reached Byora, but Natai didn’t believe it. Something in Eliane’s eyes betrayed a damaged soul, a fear so deep it had become part of her. Despite her apparent ill-health, her production of milk remained healthy and Ruhen was thriving, even while his mother wasted away. All she did was to clutch that damn book, and she wailed like a daemon if anyone tried to take it from her.

‘Your Grace?’ called a voice.

Natai jerked her head up, looking at Dyar, before realising he and his aides were staring, astonished, at one of the soldiers at the door.

What in the name of the Gods? Who’s that impudent - ? Natai’s thought went unfinished, for the face was familiar. He wore the crimson tunic and black trousers of her guard, but he had added what appeared to be long armoured gloves. The uniform was pristine, but the gloves, blue-sheened metal bound by a random crisscross of twine, were battered. They triggered the memory.

Ah, Ruhen’s protector, of course, Natai told herself. ‘Sergeant Kayel, isn’t it?’ she asked.

He saluted awkwardly. ‘Honoured you remember, ma’am.’

Ma’am? I’m not some damned merchant’s wife, she thought, but before she could chastise the man she found herself turning towards Eliane and the child. Ruhen was smiling up at the painted birds wheeling around the various aspects of Hit and Vellern. The whole chamber was decorated in such a way - a lot more wholesome for innocent young children than the original paintings. She hesitated, snared by Ruhen’s shining smile, and by the time she remembered herself, her anger had disappeared.

She turned back to the soldier. ‘You have something to add, Sergeant?’

‘Yes, your Grace. I was in Hale last night. Can’t tell you exactly what’s going on, but I caught sight of a right mess in Alterr’s temple and some young novice was chatterin’ that the high priest had died.’