The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (309 page)

‘Help?’

She inclined her head. ‘You managed to defeat a man created to be peerless, one who twice cut my brother down in single combat. If that does not indicate you are capable of ending this all, I don’t know what does. King Emin remains cautious, but he understands my argument.’

‘You will forgive me a few misgivings,’ Emin interjected, ‘when you have spent this long
not
helping our cause, whether or not you’ve hindered it.’

‘And they are forgiven,’ she replied with a sudden, dazzling smile that Isak felt like the heat of a fire on his skin. From their reactions, Doranei and Emin did too: the king drew back slightly while his agent had to fight to avoid taking a step towards her. ‘All the same, here I am at your disposal and, I suspect, still likely to be useful.’

‘What makes you so sure of that?’ Isak asked.

‘You have Vorizh’s journal. I assume by now you’ve translated it.’

King Emin glanced at Doranei. ‘I had heard you and Koezh didn’t know what was within it.’

‘That’s true enough,’ Zhia said with a snort, ‘but one doesn’t have to be seven millennia old and the brother of the author to guess what aspect of my utterly deranged sibling’s life you’re interested in. It could be his exploits during the Great War or his experiments on wyverns – or perhaps Doranei is looking for a living male relative of mine from whom to ask permission.’ She blew Doranei a kiss that only made his cheeks colour more.

Then she continued, ‘However, I’m guessing it’s because he stole the most terrible weapon in existence from the Chief of the Gods.’ Zhia shrugged. ‘It’s just a guess, mind.’

‘And you choose your side,’ Isak stated.

‘I knew the time was coming,’ Zhia said, ‘and now I’ve chosen. Any objections about the time I took to decide are really not of concern.’

From King Emin’s expression it was clear he had no intention of taking the debate any further. ‘On that note, I’ll take my leave. The Kingsguard and the bulk of the army will be travelling south with me, to negotiate the surrender of the last remaining Menin army group, and make ourselves obvious on the border so General Afasin down in Mustet doesn’t get any ideas. The Ghosts have their orders. Half of them are leaving with me, the rest will act as escort for you, Isak. I leave it up to you to decide how much of our plans you reveal, however much she’s guessed thus far.’

Emin reached for Isak’s arm again and grasped it tightly. ‘Look after yourself, my friend. I will see you soon.’

Isak nodded in response. Clearly the king’s farewells to the rest had already been made, for he wasted no time in leaving, soldiers and generals clustered at his heels. Doranei spared one final look in Zhia’s direction before following, despite the fact he would be travelling with Isak rather than his king. Isak saw her gaze soften for a moment, but in that look there was no hint whether she was a true ally or something less. A moment later the inscrutable expression she normally wore returned.

Isak sighed, gesturing for her to join the people sitting at the long table.

What assurances could we trust anyway? Logic and instinct are as good reasons as any to trust her, and we will certainly need the help.

‘So, are you planning a trip?’ Zhia asked brightly, sapphire eyes carefully noting all the faces of the group they were joining. ‘Somewhere nice, I hope?’

She made a particular point to embrace Legana, casting her eyes over the remarkable changes that had taken place since they last met. Though physical contact with the woman she’d taken under her wing in Scree discomforted Zhia now – Legana’s divine spirit was anathema to the vampire – it was not enough to stop her running tender fingers down Legana’s cheek. The fierce Mortal-Aspect seemed to soften at the gesture, the emerald glow of her eyes lessening as she smiled in welcome.

The Farlan men had all risen as Zhia joined them. ‘Does it sound likely?’ growled Vesna as he retook his seat. The Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn scratched the ruby teardrop on his cheek irritably, as though the War God objected to her presence. ‘We’re following a trail left by your mad monster of a younger brother; it’s a long way from nice.’

‘Which is to be expected really,’ Mihn said. ‘There is reasoning behind it, if you think like an insane heretic.’

Zhia turned to scrutinise the unassuming man. She had not realised his status among the Farlan nobles was high enough to permit him to freely join the conversation. She was a great politician, and she knew the Land’s customs well, especially those of the Farlan, for they had endured for centuries.

‘Vanach,’ Vesna said sourly, ‘that happy little hole of religious fanaticism and brutal tyranny. According to your brother’s journal, all that misery is his way of hiding Termin Mystt until the time comes for some saviour to claim it.’

Isak grinned at the group in general, the broken lines of his face serving only to enhance his dark humour. ‘So you’ve got to pick your saviour then: me or Ruhen?’ He shared a look with Mihn, but the man didn’t join his mirth. ‘I’ve said it before: you lot need to be more careful when you hand out jobs.’

When no one responded, the witch of Llehden took that as her cue and rose. She was swiftly followed by all the Farlan men but Isak, though she ignored them as she made her way around the table. She gave Legana’s hand a squeeze in passing before beckoning to Isak. The white-eye left his seat without a word and fell in beside her, with Mihn and Hulf close behind. They went into the next room, the lord of Moorview’s study in more peaceful times.

The air was redolent with the scents of old, polished wood and leather and pipe smoke. Over a small fireplace was a tall gilt-framed mirror that dominated the room, and for a while the witch faced it, as if subjecting herself to the same exacting scrutiny everyone else received.

‘I must leave too,’ the witch said once the door was closed behind them. ‘Llehden needs me, now more than ever, and Zhia’s presence is not one I relish.’

Isak ducked his head in acknowledgement. ‘Someone has to clear up after me,’ he said, apologetically. ‘Will you— Will you be safe?’

Her face was unreadable. From somewhere she had found an old silk shawl of faded green and brown. He guessed it was a cast-off of Countess Derenin’s, but suited her: autumnal colours on a cool summer’s day.

Isak suspected he knew the woman as well as any man now, but still she remained a mystery to him. Even on the journey to Moorview she had shared little of her opinions and nothing of her history. Mihn said that was the way of witches; part of their power was in being apart from the rest of humanity. Isak didn’t envy her having to make that effort. Having had it thrust upon him, he knew how heavy a burden that could be.

‘There is no way of knowing,’ she said eventually. ‘Daima will be well clear of the lake; only the gentry will go near it now. They know he is dangerous, but I suspect they have much in common with each other now, the Ragged Man and the gentry.’

He lowered his head, both an acknowledgement of her point and a pang of shame that she was handling the fallout of his actions. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

‘For what? I share in the responsibility for what we did to him, Isak. And my task will be easier than yours.’

Isak leaned heavily on the back of a chair, drained by the memory of what they had done. ‘Not just for this, for all you’ve done. My home is Llehden, but I give it up to another. I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, and I’ve much to thank you for.’

She put a small hand on the twisted scars of his arm. ‘I am a witch of the Land; it is my place to do what I must, what is right, so there is no need for thanks – but I’ll take it gladly, all the same.’

Before he could say anything more the door burst open. Mihn and Hulf were already moving towards the intruder before he was even in the room, and he yelped with fear at the sight of both of them. Isak watched with a slight smile as Endine hopped backwards and collided with the wall, ending up in a small heap with Hulf standing over him barking defiantly.

Realising the little mage was no threat, Mihn dropped down and hooked his arm around Hulf’s chest in one practised movement. The powerful dog squirmed to get out of his grip, but Mihn managed to manoeuvre him back far enough for Isak to take Hulf by the scruff of the neck, at which he finally quietened.

‘My— Ah, my Lord, my apologies!’ Endine gabbled, hands still protectively over his head. ‘I didn’t realise the room was in use.’

‘I was just leaving,’ the witch said. She inclined her head to both Isak and Mihn and stepped neatly over the floundering mage, taking the opportunity to leave before anything more could be said. Isak watched her go with a strange sense of loss, but he suppressed the feeling and reminded himself of everything he still had to do that day.

‘Come in, Master Endine,’ Mihn said, helping the man up.

‘You are recovered then?’

It was rare that Mihn physically overshadowed any man, but he looked large and powerful compared to Tomal Endine. Though they were of a similar height, Endine was as frail as a decrepit old man. He reminded Isak of someone back in Tirah, but as the thought struck it was accompanied by a sharp pain in his head and he lurched sideways against the armchair, bandaged arm flailing wildly as the chair scraped across the parquet floor before catching on something.

Mihn grabbed his good hand and hauled on it as hard as he could, fighting to keep the huge white-eye on his feet until he had steadied himself.

Moaning, he sank to his knees, one arm draped over the chair’s armrest, as sparks of pain flashed through his head and a cold, empty void opened up in his mind. ‘It’s not there,’ he gasped, blinking back tears. ‘His name’s darkness, just darkness—!’

‘Darkness?’ squawked Endine. ‘What do you mean my name is darkness?’

‘Quiet,’ Mihn ordered before crouching at Isak’s side. ‘Isak,
breathe
, just look at me and breathe. His name is Tomal Endine, you remember?’

Isak shook his head. ‘Not him, another man, looks like him.’ He shuddered and screwed up his eyes until he found the strength to take a long heaving breath, then a second. ‘The holes in my mind – it’s not like forgetting,’ he whispered.

‘I know – I wish it were; but some of your memories could not be forgotten – we had to cut them out,’ Mihn said compassionately.

‘Who’s the man? The man in Tirah?’

Mihn turned to the bemused Endine. ‘Who looks like him?’

‘A priest? I see his face, a man in robes, and Death’s hand on his shoulder.’

‘A dead priest? High Cardinal Echer, perhaps?’

Isak looked blank at the suggestion, and Mihn decided that was probably correct, if Isak couldn’t remember the name of the man who’d performed his investiture as Lord of the Farlan.

‘The High Cardinal, yes – there is a superficial similarity between them, though Echer was an older man.’

‘Ruggedly handsome, I presume?’ Endine asked with tentative humour.

Isak shook his head drunkenly and allowed Mihn to help him up into the chair. ‘A worm,’ he gasped as he recovered himself, ‘a madman we had to kill.’

‘Well, honestly!’ Endine bristled, his attempt at wit eclipsed by the white-eye’s antagonism.

‘Calm yourself, Master Endine,’ Mihn interrupted, ‘he was killed by his own. It was the High Priest of Death I murdered, so you are quite safe. Now, you came in here for a reason?’

Endine opened his mouth, then shut it again with a snap. He had been unconscious for days after the battle, drained by his exertions, and then spent another two in complete silence as he mourned his friend, Shile Cetarn, who had died during the battle. The two had been constant companions, colleagues and magical sparring partners for more than a decade, and without the oversized Cetarn beside him, Endine looked even less substantial.

Isak found it hard to believe this man was one of the finest battle-mages in Narkang. He’d grown used to using physical strength to contain and channel terrifying levels of magic, and he equated that to power, but it wasn’t necessarily so; a mage’s mental control and skill was at least as important as his physical capacity. While Endine was a weak man, he was brilliant and deft, almost the opposite to Isak’s own raw talent.

‘I came to use the mirror,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘The king ordered me to fetch a man who’s travelling here from Narkang.’

‘Help yourself,’ Isak said. ‘I’ll just sit here if you don’t mind. Is it a magic mirror?’

‘No – well, yes, sort of. Judging by the quality of workmanship it was clearly made using magic, but I’ll be the one performing the spell.’ He scuttled over to the fireplace and after a wary glance back at Isak, reached into the pocket of his robe. It showed signs of careful repair after the battle; he might not be strong enough to wield a sword effectively, but Endine had been in the fort with King Emin as the Menin infantry launched their final frenzied assault, and without his desperate efforts it was very possible there would have been no survivors of that final stand. In the whole Narkang Army, probably only Cetarn had killed more men.

From his robe Endine reverently withdrew a Crystal Skull. It was too large for him to hold comfortably in one hand so he pressed the artefact to his chest while he drew chalk symbols on the edge of the mantelpiece.

‘Snap,’ Isak muttered, and when Endine turned and looked at him with puzzled irritation he held up the bag containing the Skull of Ruling.

‘So you are one of those chosen?’ Mihn said gravely.

Endine stopped working a moment and visibly stiffened. ‘Of course I was chosen,’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘Who else is more qualified? And besides, I refuse to allow that fat oaf Cetarn to have all the glory – I cannot have history remember me as some sort of apprentice of his.’

Isak saw Mihn smile at that. The squabbling pair of mages had fitted into the Brotherhood perfectly; the competition and abuse between them had matched anything Doranei and his fellows came out with, and it had masked the same fierce loyalty and friendship.

‘It will be dangerous,’ Mihn said quietly.

‘I have learned a little of duty in my years, young man,’ Endine snapped, ‘and I’m better able than most to deal with the danger.’