The Grave Thief: Book Three of The Twilight Reign (67 page)

As the order was given, Isak stayed in the saddle, watching the soldiers around him jump to Lahk’s command. He pulled the blue silk hood from his face and let the blustering breeze run its chilly fingers over his cropped scalp as he stared into the advancing evening. The supply wagons had men swarming all over them, seeking tents, food and firewood. The sight reminded him of army ants killing a praying mantis.

Isak had widened his eyes in disbelief when he’d seen how much baggage was to accompany the armies. Combined, they numbered more than fifteen thousand men, and the Quartermaster-General, a comical little man with stumpy arms and legs called Pelay Kervar, had another thousand under his command - as many in his charge as the colonels he screamed invective at on a daily basis. When the Farlan were at war, Kervar outranked both colonels and suzerains, and his bodyguard was nearly on a par with Lord Isak’s own.

Isak dismounted and spent a few minutes seeing to Toramin, his warhorse, before allowing a hovering groom to take over. It was still habit for him to attend to his own horses before making camp, but he knew there was another reason he had busied himself there. Each evening he had a promise to keep, one that left him feeling sullied and, even worse, had not yet proved as necessary as he had hoped. Commander Jachen loitered nearby, carrying a canvas sack and a few lengths of black wood in a manner that made it clear he preferred not to touch any of them.

‘Still no sign of more troops from Lomin?’ he asked Count Vesna, knowing he would have been told as soon as they were sighted.

‘No more, no. Looks like Suzerain Suil’s optimism was ill-founded; the Eastmen nobles will have been glad for any excuse to stay at home and watch the fanatics leave.’

In their armour, they were a striking pair: Isak in Siulents, all in silver and Vesna in black with his roaring lion’s head crest in bright gold - they drew looks even from troops used to their presence. The magic imbued in Siulents demanded attention and that effect was magnified in the fading light, while Vesna’s reputation made the hero almost as noticeable to the weary soldiers.

Isak had to agree with his friend. Duke Lomin had refused Isak’s summons to provide troops, not believing in Isak’s promise that the east would still be defended. That gave the suzerains of the east all the excuse they needed not to join a crusade they had no interest in.

‘They would have given us the superiority we need. It cannot go unanswered.’ Isak said, though the words felt hollow as he spoke them.

‘From what the scryers tell me, I believe we still have enough,’ Vesna assured him. ‘Lord Styrax brought only a small force: four legions of infantry, three of cavalry. It seems he is adept at taking cities without any large-scale engagement. He will not have had the time he needs to prepare for us. I doubt he is even looking this way.’

Isak gave him a sceptical look.

‘No, perhaps it won’t be that simple,’ Vesna said, back-tracking swiftly, ‘but just remember, Raland and Embere are his problem. How could he possibly expect a pre-emptive strike from the north? ’

‘So we stick to the plan?’

‘Certainly. The scryers have his troops outside Akell at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll retreat to the south of the Circle City so he’s not watching his back.’

Vesna retrieved a rolled map from his saddle-bag and opened it up for Isak to look at as they walked. They headed for an outcrop, little more than a rise of rocky ground held together by the roots of an ancient oak, but it afforded a little shelter from the prying eyes of soldiers.

‘The majority of the ground around the Circle City is pastureland, which favours us. A southern position offers good escape routes and to a degree constrains your attackers - they must come down the channel between the city and the fens, which means you can predict the route your enemy will take and most likely prepare a few surprises there. You can station archers and light cavalry to fight a running retreat and encourage pursuit, taking down the bridges over the rivers as you fall back. And you put mages on all sides to wear your attackers down further.’

‘Isn’t it a bit obvious?’

‘Yes - but we’re the ones looking for battle. Chalat wants the ground to manoeuvre in and bring our force of numbers to bear, and once past the two rivers he will have plenty of that. He has excessive confidence in the discipline of his troops. The enemy knows exactly what he’s facing; scryers are not easily fooled by an army on the march.’

Isak grimaced. ‘The more I hear, the more disastrous this all sounds. Talk to General Lahk, find me options.’ They reached the outcrop only a few paces behind Commander Jachen.

‘The religious equivalent of pissing behind a tree,’ Isak sighed as Jachen pulled a square wooden panel from the sack and began fitting the wooden supports into it. On the panel was a painted icon of the Wither Queen, loaned with all possible grace from the Temple of Death, and hanging from it was a small iron incense burner. That Isak was praying to the Queen each evening was not a secret, but if he did so openly, he knew others would feel honour-bound to follow suit.

‘Better than nothing, my Lord,’ Vesna said as Jachen set down the makeshift shrine and retreated. ‘At least it’s clear you don’t expect every man in the army to pray to her; the note I found in my bedroll from Lesarl’s man, Soldier, made that clear enough.’

Isak wrinkled his nose at the thought. ‘She’d be the only one of the Gods growing in strength. I don’t want to imagine how she might use her power.’ He waved a hand at the shrine and almost immediately a dirty-coloured smoke began to leak from it.

‘Ah, my Lord?’ Vesna prompted as Isak knelt down before the shrine. He picked up a broken piece of branch from the floor and held it out. ‘If you want something hot ready when you’re finished . . .’

‘I’m not a performing monkey you know,’ Isak growled. All the same, he reached out a hand and strands of greenish light swirled briefly above his palm before erupting into foot-long flames.

‘I would never make money from you in that manner,’ Vesna said with a smile.

Isak gave a noncommittal grunt; he got the joke, but it wasn’t enough to lighten his mood.

The branch quickly caught and Vesna turned back towards the camp. As he walked away he caught the bitter scent of incense and heard Isak’s voice, murmuring. He picked up his pace as a woman’s purring laugh echoed distantly on the wind and a dead finger ran down his spine.

Not for the first time, Vesna pressed his fingers against his left forearm and traced the shape of the flat silver case that held Karkarn’s tear. The action reminded him of when his father had died and he had inherited the two gold earrings of rank; he had been forever checking the heirlooms were securely fastened, and that reminder brought a renewed ache to his heart. He had been count for six months before he grew used to their presence, and only then did the guilt of inheritance start to ebb.

When do mortals deal with Gods and come away from it well?
he asked himself for the hundredth time, looking back at Isak.
And still I keep Karkarn’s tear close at hand. Still I have not refused him
.

Nai paused at the entrance of the Fearen House and pulled his coat tighter around his body. He looked back the way he had come and saw Sergeant Kayel watching him in the distance. The other two soldiers the Duchess of Byora had brought with her were busy marvelling at their first sight of the valley. The sickly-looking blond man from the Byoran Guard couldn’t tear his eyes off the winged white-eye, Kiallas. The slim Ruby Tower major was more interested in the massive white buildings.

There was no respite from the icy wind, even in the portico of the Fearen House. It howled around the valley like a spiteful harpy. Nai worked the arm-thick brass latch and he found himself dragged in by the door as the gale caught it and pushed it open. He managed to stop it crashing against the wall, nearly pulling his arm out of its socket in the process, but still got a furious look from the guardian who’d had to jump out of the way.

The man watched Nai struggle for a moment to close the tall door before reaching to help.

‘Thank you,’ Nai growled in his native tongue as the guardian’s efforts made no appreciable difference. ‘Nice to have a useless streak of piss getting in the way.’

The guardian’s expression made it clear Nai’s tone had crossed the language barrier even if the words meant nothing. As the door clanged shut he gave the man an insincere grin and headed to the centre of the room where Lord Styrax had taken over the largest of the desks. Major Amber was there as well, sitting beside his lord and staring disconsolately down at a large book lying open in front of him.

Both men wore the formal grey uniforms of the Cheme Third Legion, and Lord Styrax’s massive shoulders sported the gold epaulettes of a general. Nai suspected it amused Lord Styrax to conform to the library’s rules one day and ignore them the next. Up above he could hear the wind rushing over the great dome. They had lit more lamps against the gloom of a day that had never properly brightened after dawn; midday approached and still heavy shadows lurked in every corner of the library.

‘My Lord,’ Nai murmured when he reached the U-shaped desk.

Lord Styrax held up a hand to stop him. ‘Unless you’re an expert in Elven cross-pentameter, I’m not interested.’

‘It is urgent.’

Styrax opened his mouth, then shut it again in a rare moment of indecision. It was another few heartbeats before he spoke again. ‘Very well - but quickly.’

Nai noticed a curious face that had also broken off from its work. Quickly the woman looked back down again, but still Nai walked around the desk and bent down so he could whisper directly into Styrax’s ear.

‘My Lord, I do not know what your intelligence tells you, so I will repeat everything. A Farlan army approaches from the north; it will reach the city within three days. The Duchess of Byora offers her troops to support your own men in battle.’

‘She said this to you herself?’

‘Her man, Kayel, told me.’

Lord Styrax was silent for a long while. Unable to read the man’s expression, Nai had no idea if this was news to him or not.

‘That was unexpected of them,’ he said at last, with the hint of a smile. ‘It’s been a while since anyone surprised me.’ He pointed in the direction of the gate with his damaged left hand - the dark stain of blood underneath each fingernail looked almost glassy compared with the swirls of white scar tissue covering the rest of his hand. ‘Find General Gaur and repeat what you told me, then tell him I want the Third Army pulled back to the Ismess-Byora border.’

Nai turned to leave when Lord Styrax grabbed his arm. ‘Once you have done that, go to Sergeant Kayel and tell him I accept his offer, then accompany him back to Byora. Larim knows your mind well enough to speak into it?’

The necromancer wavered a moment before saying, ‘I have probably spent enough time in his company, yes; I assume his technique will be very similar to Isherin Purn’s.’

‘Go then.’

Nai gave a short bow and hurried off.

Amber watched as the bare-footed man struggled to control the southern door, then turned to Styrax. ‘My Lord, do you have orders for me?’ he asked, still wondering what it was Nai had revealed.

‘That I do.’ Styrax smiled and pointed at the book in front of the major. ‘What have you learned so far?’

Amber glanced down. ‘Not a whole lot, my Lord. I’m afraid I don’t understand a word - magical theory has never made any sense to me.’ He was beginning to fear he was going to be set another intellectual task.

‘Time for a lesson on codes then,’ Styrax said, not appearing to care that Amber hadn’t understood.

Amber suddenly remembered something he’d heard from Colonel Uresh, his commanding officer: he’d said that Lord Styrax was an unusual sort of genius and his preferred way to work things out was a willing pupil rather than a quiet study. It was in the explanation to another that Lord Styrax found insight.

‘My Lord, I am all yours,’ he said with a slight smile. If this was what it took . . .

Styrax looked at him quizzically, then began, ‘First of all, this is not a code - it is a hidden message. A code is something we would use in a dispatch to prevent it being read by anyone intercepting it - though our preferred method is to ensure the enemy doesn’t get it in the first place. This tells us something about the message before we have even read the first line.’

‘That someone wants it to be read?’ Amber said uncertainly. ‘Why put it in plain sight if you don’t want people to try and read it?’

Lord Styrax nodded. ‘Exactly, and if someone wants it to be read, then the key must be available. Making it hard to read simply means they have some choice over who does so.’

‘A message for scholars only?’

‘Of a fashion.’ Styrax said cryptically and pulled over the long sheet of parchment onto which he had painstakingly transcribed the entire text of the puzzle. ‘Here it is in full. I have copied it down so I can work on sections. I think in Menin, of course, but the more I work on this, the easier it becomes to use the original Elven.’

‘How does the magical theory fit in?’ Amber interjected before Lord Styrax could get into full flow.

‘Problems are best solved from a variety of directions. “In warfare all approaches should be considered in the light of dawn, midday and dusk”.’

Amber nodded, recognising the quote from a treatise on combat called
Principles of Warfare
. Every Menin officer read it, and the Mystics of Karkarn devoted years to its study, despite its heretical author.

‘I believe I know what I am looking for,’ Styrax continued, ‘and have done ever since studying the Library of Seasons as I planned this campaign. The hunt becomes easier if one knows what one is looking for.’

‘But no magic works here,’ Amber said, ‘so what use is the study of—’ He paused to check the book again and read, ‘field rigidity and the period petrification effect?’