“On second thoughts,” he said. “Perhaps you have a p—”
A sudden whisper of disturbed air and the lamp shattered in his hand, flaming oil scattering onto the stone before blinking out, darkness descending with dreadful speed. Alucius heard Twenty-Seven’s sword scrape free of its scabbard then nothing, no clash of steel or grunt of pain. Just the darkness and the silence.
“I . . .” he began, swallowed and tried again. “I don’t suppose you have any wine.”
Something cold and hard pressed against his neck, positioned precisely above the vein he knew would see him dead in a few heartbeats should it suffer even a small puncture. “Aspect Elera!” Alucius said in a rapid exhalation. “She sent me.”
A pause then the blade disappeared from his neck. “Sister,” a female voice said, smooth and cultured but also hard and clipped. “Light the torches. Brother, don’t kill the other one just yet.”
• • •
“Alucius Al Hestian.” The young woman regarded him from across the table with a steady and not especially welcoming expression. “I’ve read your poems. My master thought them the finest works of modern Asraelin verse.”
“Clearly a man of some taste and education,” Alucius replied, casting a furtive glance at Twenty-Seven, crouched into a fighting stance, his sword moving back and forth in a slow parody of combat. On either side of him stood a man and a woman, both young like the woman seated at the table. The woman was plump and short with a large rat perched on her shoulder. The man was taller, well-built and wearing a heavily besmirched City Guard uniform. The plump woman regarded Alucius with a faint smile whilst the guardsman ignored him, staring fixedly at Twenty-Seven and his slothful sword play.
“Actually,” the young woman at the table said, “I found them cloyingly sentimental and overly florid.”
“Must have been my early work,” Alucius said, turning back to her. Her face was finely featured, a narrow aquiline nose and a softly pointed chin, her hair a pleasing shade of honey blond, and her eyes set in a cold stare of hostile appraisal.
“Your father’s a traitor, poet,” she stated.
“My father is forced to hateful duty by his love for me,” he returned. “Kill me if you would have him abandon it.”
“How noble.” The young woman spread her fingers on the table where a line of small steel darts were arranged in a neat arc. “And a wish easily granted, should I find you less than honest.”
The plump woman came forward, her rat running the length of her arm to jump onto the tabletop, scurrying over to Alucius, snout raised to sniff at his sleeve. “Don’t smell a lie on his sweat,” she advised the young woman in coarse, street-born tones.
“My sweat?” Alucius asked, feeling a fresh trickle of it trace down his back.
“Liar’s sweat’s gotta sting to it,” the plump woman advised. “Beyond us but Blacknose here smells it well enough.”
She extended her hand and the rat trotted over to her, jumping into her arms and settling into a contented huddle.
The Dark, Alucius thought. How delighted Lyrna would have been to see this. He forced the thought away; remembrance of Lyrna was painful and likely to provoke distracting grief at a time when he should be focused on continued survival. “Who are you people?” he asked the young woman.
She stared back in silence for a moment then raised her left hand, the fingers flat and level. She blinked and one of the darts rose from the table, hovering no more than an inch from her index finger. “Ask another question,” she said. “And this goes in your eye.”
“Can we move this along, sister?” the guardsman said in a strained voice. “This one’s mind is easily clouded but I can’t do it forever.”
The young woman blinked again and the dart slowly descended to the table. She clasped her hands together, her eyes unwavering from Alucius. “Aspect Elera sent you?”
“Yes.”
“What is her condition?”
“She resides in the Blackhold. Unharmed, save a raw ankle and sore need of a bath.”
“What did she tell you of us?”
“That you had wine.” Alucius risked a glance around the chamber. “I’m guessing she lied about that.”
“She did,” the young woman replied. “We also have scant food or water remaining and our forays into the city above yield us nothing.”
“I can bring food. Medicine too, should you need it. I assume that was her true purpose in sending me . . .” He paused to draw breath. “In sending me to the Seventh Order.”
The young woman angled her head, mouth twisting in a sardonic smile. “You speak of legends, poet.”
“Oh, what difference do it make now?” the plump woman said, moving to stand behind her sister. “You’ve got the right of it, y’lordship. I’m Sister Inehla, she’s Sister Cresia, and that over there is Brother Rhelkin. All that remains of the Seventh Order in this fair city.”
Alucius gestured at their surroundings. “And this place?”
“Once a temple to the Orders,” Sister Cresia replied. “Built before such frippery was expunged from the Faith. Our brothers in the Sixth Order found it some years ago, a hide for criminals, subsequently put to better purpose.”
Alucius turned to obtain a better view of Twenty-Seven and Brother Rhelkin, noting the strain on the guardsman’s face as the slave continued to move his sword as if through treacle. “What is he doing to him?”
“Making him see what he needs him to see,” Cresia said. “We’ve found it’s their principal weakness, those like him and his less deadly cousins. Minds so empty are easily clouded. He thinks he’s fighting a horde of assassins, come to spill your blood. Brother Rhelkin can also control the speed of the vision, making it last an hour or a second.”
“But not,” Rhelkin added through gritted teeth, “forever.”
Alucius turned back to Cresia. “Food and water,” he said. “What else do you need?”
“News of the war would be welcome.”
“The Volarian fleet sent to the Meldenean Isles suffered some form of calamitous defeat. Tokrev is poised to take Alltor and Darnel has ridden out with his knights to hunt down the Red Brother.”
“Lord Al Sorna?”
Alucius shook his head. “No word as yet.”
Cresia sighed and rose from the table. “When will you return?”
“Two days, if you can wait that long. Gathering extra provisions without raising suspicion takes time.”
She nodded at Twenty-Seven. “Should we kill this one?”
“His only task is to protect me or kill me should I step outside the city. In all other regards he is blind and dumb.”
She nodded. “I’m trusting you because Aspect Elera would not have sent you without reason.” She opened a pouch at her belt and the darts on the table rose to balance on their blunt ends before arching into the pouch in a precise sequence, making Alucius smile at the elegant impossibility of it.
“The night the city fell,” Cresia added. “I lost count of the men I killed with these, and other things besides. I bled myself white with killing and would have died if my sister hadn’t found me and brought me here. Know well, poet, if you abuse our trust, I’ll drain every drop of blood in my body to kill you.”
• • •
He found his father at the gate to the North Road, deep in counsel with the Volarian Division Commander as a battalion of Free Swords laboured to dig a deep ditch behind the wall.
“Lamp oil?” the Volarian was asking as Alucius approached, halting at a respectful distance, though still close enough to hear their discussion.
“As much as you can gather,” Lakrhil Al Hestian replied. “Enough to fill this ditch from end to end.”
The Volarian looked at the map spread out before them, scanning the lines depicting the walls and the country beyond. Alucius indulged some faint hope the man had enough arrogance to disregard his father’s counsel, but sadly, he again proved himself no fool. “Very well,” he said. “Have you chosen where to site the engines?”
Alucius’s father pointed to several points on the map as the Volarian nodded approval. “However,” Lakrhil said, “I will of course need engines to site.”
“They will be here in thirty days,” the Division Commander assured him. “Together with a thousand Varitai and three hundred more Kuritai. The Council has not abandoned us.”
If Lakrhil Al Hestian took any comfort from the man’s words, he failed to show it. “An army can travel far in thirty days,” he said. “Especially an army fuelled by love of a resurrected queen.”
Alucius stifled his gasp lest it draw the Volarian’s anger, his heart hammering worse than in the darkness below the ruined inn. She lives?
Mirvek straightened, fixing his father with a hard glare. “A lie told by cowards seeking to excuse failure,” he stated in unequivocal tones. “And that’s what you’ll tell your king when he returns. Whoever leads this rabble is not your queen.”
His father replied only with the slightest of nods. Alucius had yet to see him bow to any Volarian. The Division Commander gave him a final glare and turned to march away, his aides scurrying to keep up. Alucius approached his father with his heart still pounding. “Queen?” he asked.
