The massive white-eye turned to look straight at her. 'I have eight elite legions close enough to deal with any pre-emptive attack on my person. They are all bored, and they are all hoping that they will at last get a fight.'
The young woman shrank back in her saddle, only too glad to jab her spurs into her horse's flanks and gallop ahead of the Menin.
'I think she'll remember the message well enough,' Styrax laughed. 'Major Amber? Messenger Karapin?'
'Yes, sir,' they replied in almost unison. Amber glanced at Karapin out of the corner of his eye and felt a pang of sympathy for him. He was a humourless man of forty-odd summers who'd been wearing the brass vambraces of the messenger corps for almost thirty. It was unclear whether Karapin realised why he, rather than a soldier of Major Amber's stature, had been chosen to delivery the message to Cardinal Sourl. Unfortunately for Karapin, the Devoted had a history of executing emissaries conveying a threat. Since Sourl was using his religious rather than military title these days, a considered reaction might be too much to hope for.
'The same message to Akell and Byora. I will see you tomorrow.'
The pair saluted and broke off from the small party. As they headed northwest, the clank of armour receded behind them. They rode together in silence.
Amber found he was having to make an effort to keep his eyes on the road. The closer they got, the more the mountain dominated the entire horizon, and the harder it became not to stop and stare at the monstrous blot on the landscape.
He could see why the mountain had got its name. Blackfang looked like a tooth of impossible size that had decayed and broken. It was an ugly stub, with a sliver of a peak, if you could even call it that, rising from behind the cliff-wall Ismess backed onto. The rest of the mountain was a wildly jagged surface that supported so little life a desert might appear abundant in comparison.
Only behind Ismess was there anything other than dead black rock to look at: the single slender peak that at first glance could have been a tower of astonishing size overlooked the valley housing the Library of Seasons. Amber didn't know much about the library itself, only that it was reputed to house a scholarly collection unrivalled throughout the Land, one assembled when the Litse were still the power in the region.
'Karapin?' Amber said suddenly, startling the army messenger. 'Did you see those troops with Lord Larim? Why do you think he ordered regiments from the Arohat Tenth to escort him?'
'I do not believe it is our place to question Lord Styrax's orders, Major,' Karapin replied solemnly. His heavy, accent was slightly reminiscent of Lord Styrax; they both came from the outer lands, outside the Ring of Fire that was the Menin heartland.
Mentally, Amber apologised to Karapin. The man wasn't an idiot — he most likely knew he was on a suicide mission, but he'd do his job cheerfully — or whatever passed for cheerful — because men from Lord Styrax's home region possessed a loyalty even the devoted Major Amber could barely comprehend.
'I didn't mean to question them,' he said, sounding conciliatory. 'I was just trying to understand what he'll require of us. The Cheme legions have been his elite for years; he's always trusted them to keep him safe. I hadn't heard that had changed.'
'Your point, Major?' Karapin's eyes were on the buildings ahead of them. They had passed the boundary marker that divided Ismess territory from Byora a few minutes before. There were farm houses now, clustered around a small square fort; no soldiers yet in sight, but they both knew they'd be challenged soon.
'My point is that our Lord does nothing without reason,' Amber went on, working it out in his mind. 'Not having his best regiment accompany him into an enemy city? There was a reason.' Amber paused as he saw movement around the gate of the fort. 'This trip into the Library of Seasons, he's not expecting it to go well. The Arohat Tenth are decent enough troops, but not so good that he'll lose sleep over their loss.'
If Karapin had anything to add on the subject he failed to voice it, and Amber didn't bother saying any more. He checked his weapons one last time, ensuring they would be ready at a moment's notice, and adjusted the black standard bearing Lord Styrax's insignia. After that there was nothing to do but ride and wait, so he started to whistle instead.
Karapin continued in silence, even when at last soldiers confronted them.
The soldiers sent to escort them looked young enough to be recruits. They travelled on a long curving road that appeared to skirt all the way around Byora, which was itself nestled between two jutting arms of what looked like impassable bare rock, riven with great crevasses.
As they marched over a wooden bridge crossing one small river, their escort split in half and Amber gave Karapin a comradely nod as the army messenger continued towards a second bridge.
The remainder turned right and led him down a busy road lined with large detached houses, on towards the city that rose in natural steps until it reached the base of Blackfang's jagged cliffs. Standing tall were vast towers that could have only been built with magic — anywhere else, Amber might have marvelled at the size of them, but the oppressive presence of Blackfang behind, at its lowest point still double the height of the tallest tower, rather diminished the effect.
The farms and smallholdings had given way to the large detached houses; these in turn were replaced by closely packed cottages. To Amber it looked like they were all cowering away from the mountain. It took him a moment to realise why. He turned to look over the wide expanse of marshland fed by the river that cut the district in two before branching out in a dozen directions in the fens. He remembered that Byora suffered worst of all the quarters from rain washing off the mountain after a storm.
Here the tight knots of houses faced away from the city. Their rear walls were banked up with earth — though no more than half of those had grass growing on the banks, Amber noted to his surprise. The city had been carefully laid out, that was obvious from his position, with the main highways acting as long channels to carry the water swiftly away, but out here there was no real planning. The poor were on their own.
He continued through a wide gate, copying his companions and dismounting so he could lead his horse up the steep hill. The gates were manned by older guards, soldiers in wine-coloured livery, and the youths escorting him fled eagerly once they'd handed him over to the sergeant on the gate. Amber just continued on, ignoring his new companions. He had to trust to his own brutal appearance and the fact that the army was so near to avoid any casual intimidation.
Two of the soldiers were sent with him. They led Amber up a long, slightly curved avenue that took them straight towards a big gate, leading to the Eight Towers district, one of his guides informed him taciturnly when he asked. He could see a unit of the red-clad soldiers, and disordered groups of what looked to be irregular troops dressed in brown and white.
Strange, the city is full of troops, Amber thought, noting knots of soldiers at every major junction on the avenue. The duchess looks to be more worried about her own citizens than the approaching army.
Amber realised it wasn't just the soldiers watching him; people were studying him from every alleyway and open door. He felt the suspicion and fear in their eyes, but what unnerved him most was the bubble of silence that accompanied him through the city, almost as though some sort of spell had been cast on him.
Just before he reached the gate a voice called out from one group of onlookers and the people all turned, then parted as a figure lurched forward. Amber slowed and stared at the figure dressed in rags heading towards him. One of the soldiers started towards it and the figure stopped, calling out again.