The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (59 page)

The sun had sunk below the horizon before they stopped and lit fires. The warmth of the day remained as the darkness drew in, and the little group of travelers ate unhurriedly, then chatted amiably, their backs resting against tree-trunks, looking up at the comforting light of the stars and both moons.

When the soldiers started settling down for the night, Morghien stood and beckoned for Isak to follow him. The white-eye paused only to sling his swordbelt over his shoulder and indicate to Carel that he didn’t want an escort.

Within a minute or two he and Morghien were walking through the trees following the slope of the ground down until they reached a natural hollow of no great depth, no more than twenty yards across. At the bottom of the hollow was a stone lying half-buried in the earth, its surface worn flat by wind and rain and looking like a crudely carved table top. Isak glanced back and saw Mihn watching them from the tree line. The failed Harlequin’s face, framed by shadow, was strangely comforting. He gestured for the man to return to his bed, but felt curiously pleased when Mihn ignored the order and maintained his vigil.

This is ideal,’ Morghien commented, running a hand over the stone surface.

‘Ideal for what?’

‘A little magic. My skills have never been remarkable, but this is a simple thing if you have the right tools.’

He took out a small silver bladed knife, battered and worn by years of use. Isak could tell it had a simple charm on it, though not what sort. Morghien scored a faint cross about a foot long on the stone’s surface and connected the ends so that the cross was bound within a diamond. From the same pocket he pulled a golden chain on which was strung a set of fat, oversized coins, all made from different materials and set with gemstones.

‘Gods,’ Isak breathed, reaching out to touch one until Morghien jerked it away, ‘what are those?’

‘It’s called an augury chain; it’s used for divination. The way they fall and their position in relation to each other can reveal a surprising amount, if the caster has the experience to properly interpret what he sees.’ Morghien saw the skeptical look on Isak’s face. ‘Don’t look like that,’ he said sternly, ‘this isn’t the random drawing of cards. Each coin is aligned to a God of the Upper Circle, blessed by a high priest of that God and thus touched by a being outside of time or the laws governing the Land. When cast by a mage, there is a pattern spread over the board that guides the fall of the coins. Trust me, this is not mere chance.’

He held up a blank disc of gold, turning it over to show Isak its flip side, obsidian or polished jet. ‘There are two that aren’t aligned to the Upper Circle: this one, the Lady’s Coin, represents Chance, but in a very specific way, and the Mortal, which is usually the principal coin in a casting, since all events ultimately revolve around people.’

He carefully separated out another coin on the chain as he spoke and held it out to Isak, keeping the others well away. Isak realised it was lapis lazuli, deep blue with a thin speckled line of pyrite. ‘This is Nartis’ coin, as you can probably guess. I suggest you don’t touch any of the others, as you might upset the balance.’ He grinned. ‘And here’s a piece of advice for you: never trust a priest with one of these. Without the balance of alignment they’re useless - worse than useless because whatever is read that way will be horribly skewed.’

‘What about the cross?’ Isak asked as he ran the dead white fingers of his left hand over the disc’s polished surface. The snake symbol of Nartis was engraved in the centre and surrounded by an unfamiliar script Isak assumed was the huntsman’s prayer. As Morghien gave an approving nod, Isak realised his magic-marked hand would probably improve Nartis’ own coin.

‘The cross is our board, divided into quarters: the heavens and the land above, fire and water below. I have owned this augury chain for many years now, and I know its moods well enough. The position of each coin in relation to the board and each other once the blanks have been removed should provide an answer to the question in your mind when you cast the coins.’

‘The blanks? Ah, only one side is engraved,’ Isak said, turning the Nartis coin over. ‘What about the Lady’s Coin, though? That one’s blank on both sides.’

‘That one is rather special,’ Morghien agreed. ‘The obsidian side Indicates that a path is already taken and Fate herself cannot change a matter. Here, Fate acts as the idea of chance, or suggesting an opportunity to take. When the black side comes up on this particular chain, [MISSING] However, on my chain, I suspect it represents Azaer.’

The word hung in the air between them as Isak stared down at the tiny reflection of Alterr, the greater moon, on the coin’s polished surface. Though he knew little about Azaer - or the shadow, as King Emin called it - he was certain it had been watching him over the last few months. The night normally held no terrors for Isak, who had been walking the Land with only the moons for company all his life, but several times recently he’d felt an unaccountable fear, and found himself fleeing to the light. Even King Emin had been unable to tell him why the shadow did what it did. Isak did not want to be caught up in Azaer’s plans.

Without wasting any further time, Morghien unhooked the clasp holding the chain closed and held the stack of coins above the board. The Mortal was on the bottom. They fell with a clatter onto the stone as the hunter’s moon came out from behind a cloud to cast its tinted light over the stone board.

As Morghien leaned close over them, his hand poised to remove the blanks, a hiss escaped his lips.

Isak looked down himself, and realised that even he could read what the board was saying only too well: just inside the quarter Morghien had called the heavens lay the Mortal, almost entirely covered by the obsidian side of the Lady’s Coin.

‘Azaer did not want you to meet Fedei again, and so I lose another dear friend,’ whispered Morghien to the night, and he bowed his head in grief.

The next day was cooler and overcast, with wide furrowed clouds that darkened towards the horizon and threatened rain. They made for the forest road, riding mostly in silence as every member of the party listened hard for the crash of branches and drum of following hooves. Having abandoned the river, they headed directly north, skirting the borderland between Tor Milist and the lands claimed by the Farlan. Their destination now was the suzerainty of Saroc, a longer journey, but one that avoided the most obvious route home.

One glance at a map made it abundantly clear where the danger lay: on the river that took them up the border between Nerlos and the suzerainty of Tildek, seat of the inordinately powerful Certinse family. Suzerain Tildek and his nephew, the Duke of Lomin, would be overjoyed to catch Lord Isak with only a small force of guards before the young heir could reach Tirah and assert his claim. Their only dilemma would be deciding between themselves as to which of them should become king.

Riding on the fringe of the group, Morghien sat awkwardly atop one of the spare horses, his eyes fixed on the lead Ghost. As there was nothing he could do for Wisten Fedei, Morghien had agreed to Isak’s suggestion that he accompany them to Tirah instead. He wasn’t a natural horseman, and his discomfort added to his misery as the hours crawled past.

Isak had worried that the forest was too quiet, but early in the afternoon, when the forest thinned to the familiar sight of groves and thickets encircled by pasture land that characterised much of Farlan territory, the Land remained deserted. Where they would expect sheep and cattle to be grazing, thus far they hadn’t seen even a rabbit, and the air was empty of birdsong. Isak had spent enough time alone in the wilds to know what a quiet day sounded like; this was the silence that followed a hunting predator.

‘We crossed the Longbow River two hours ago now,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘We should have seen someone by now.’ Like his soldiers, Isak was riding in full armour, his helm upturned in his lap. Jeil and Borl, the rangers, were scouting ahead with Mihn; Isak didn’t believe anyone could catch all three of them unawares, but still he felt better when his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword. There was something nagging at the back of his mind. He looked around again; there were few enough hiding places nearby - and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

‘Do you think we’re walking into a trap?’ Tila asked from behind him. Isak turned in his saddle and gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile. It didn’t seem to have the desired effect; Tila twitched her nose at him and looked away.

‘I hope not,’ he said. ‘I just keep getting the feeling someone’s spying on us.’ A tremor ran down his spine like a ghostly finger and he flinched, unable to stop himself from checking around again. ‘Ignore me, Tila. I’m just being foolish. I’d trust our scouts over anyone else.’

‘Some things they can’t see,’ Morghien said in a distant voice. He closed his eyes for the moment, an inquisitive look on his face. ‘Is it ‘magic you feel?’

‘I-‘ Isak stopped. His inexperience counted against him once more ‘I don’t really know enough about it to be sure.’

‘Isak,’ Carel said, an intent look on his face, ‘what do your instincts say? No, don’t think about it - don’t try magic or anything you’re not so familiar with. I know you, and I trust your instincts; tell me right now do you think we’re being watched?’

Isak nodded. ‘I think we are.’

‘Right.’ Carel raised a hand to signal the halt. ‘Helms on, lances out, spare mounts behind us; Tila, Mistress Daran, stay in the middle, and, Morghien, stay with them, no matter what happens. The bastards must have a mage scrying for us, which means we are going to be hit, and when that happens I want you getting the women away. You’re not a knight, trained in battle, so you’re the one we can spare in a straight fight.’ he stopped for a moment, suddenly remembering control, and looked at Isak, gesturing at his helm. ‘My Lord?’

The white eye smiled as he remembered a saying he’d heard once: tradition rules the Farlan, the lord just tells everyone what to do. He pulled the blue hood from his belt and slipped it over his head, then raised the distorting mirror helm over his head. Even on a nondescript day like this the light reflected strangely off it. Isak was glad his enemies were the ones who had to look at that soulless face. ‘Gentlemen, your helms.’

Isak’s party was already diminished, with eight dead and three seriously wounded who had remained in Narkang, so the absence of the scouts was pronounced. Mihn in particular had become a comforting presence, always in Isak’s shadow; in his absence Isak felt unaccountably vulnerable.

Looking around, his eyes came to rest on Carel, organising the spare horses into a train they could abandon if necessary. The old soldier wouldn’t thank him for pointing it out, but it was high time he retired. Isak thought he looked too small for plate-armour now, as if the loss of youth had drained inches and more from the man. The battle in Narkang had been evidence enough; Carel was still undeniably good with a sword, but hours of combat in heavy plate was exhausting for anyone; this time the effort had nearly killed Carel. When we get to Tirah I’ll speak to Lesarl about widows with manor houses and grandchildren he could grumble about, he thought to himself.

‘Lord Isak’s right; the woods are too quiet,’ commented Morghien as Vesna and Carel helped Tila and her chaperone pull shields onto their backs. Neither had armour, of course, but the chances were high that any ambush would be by light cavalry, and while the shields would be useless against a longbow, anything smaller might not penetrate.

‘The quiet could be good for us,’ said the count. ‘There’s no wind, sound will travel well, and any ambush will require more than one regiment having seen Lord Isak in battle, any force of fewer than a hundred men would be taking quite a risk.’

‘Vesna, find us somewhere to defend,’ Isak snapped, scanning the trees ahead. He could feel movement out there somewhere, movement, and eyes on them. There was magic involved, but this was a predator and the animals of the forest had recognised it.

They broke through a line of high ash trees and moved on to clearer ground. A gentle slope ran down towards a stream which disappeared from view behind higher ground off to the left, but it was steep and thick with tangling hawthorns. Isak didn’t need to be told that that was the wrong direction; they could find themselves cornered fifty yards in.

‘There should be rocky ground there, where the stream comes out,’ Vesna said, pointing to the right. ‘Look at the lie of the ground: those bushes are probably hiding a sharp drop where the stream comes out. We aim for that rocky ground, and if there’s no threat when we get there we move in to the trees behind and find our scouts. We must move fast. If we’re caught in open ground by cavalry we don’t stand it chance.’

As one, the horses moved forward at a brisk trot. Isak sat high and tense in his saddle, straining to detect anything over the rattle of armour and the thud of hoofs on the hard ground. He snapped at the reins irritably, trying to hold in Toramin’s impatient steps, and as he did so his arm brushed the Skull fixed in his breastplate, reminding him of the power the objects gave him. Forged by the last king of the elves for use in the Great War, the Skulls gave access to more Magic than any mortal could naturally summon. With a Crystal Skull, even the Gods of the Pantheon’s Upper Circle could be killed - so he should be able to open his senses to the Land around him while he was running for cover.

Isak touched his mailed fingers to the Skull and through the enchanted silver encasing his body he felt an immediate rush of exhilaration flow through him. The power he could access now was simply terrifying - he’d been nervous about experimenting with the Skulls until he was safe in Tirah Palace, but now he didn’t have a choice. He was careful to allow only a trickle of energy to leak out of the artefact and into his body, but that tiny fraction was enough. A sense of the terrain around them settled over his mind, like a silk cloak descending the wind rippling through the fat blades of grass on the open slope made him shiver and the chill trickle of water cut sharp through his soul. He focused on the trees ahead and a noise suddenly filled his ears hoof heats, and the clatter of metal.