As she passed, the items trembled and she stopped to look at them. The colours were faded and weak. Natai touched the nearest feather lightly and it crumbled under her finger. She stared at the ash-like remains that fell into her palm for a moment before grabbing one of the painted wooden icons and crushing it in one hand as easily as if it were paper.
'You're dead. This shrine is drained and empty. This is only the first of many in Byora,' Natai promised.
Looking down into the Duchess Chamber, all she saw was her vacant throne. The fixed stone seat, large enough for a child to sit comfortably beside Byora's ruler, was set on apedestal. There was a tall wooden frame behind, painted with the city's livery. The scene was as still as a painting – until Sergeant Kayel staggered into sight and began to follow a meandering path towards a door behind the throne. Two penitents in black-painted mail followed briskly behind. They caught him with ease, one dodging a drunkenly swung bottle as the other cracked a club over Kayel's head. The big soldier dropped to one knee with a grunt.
The Duchess of Byora felt her breath catch as the echo of footsteps came from somewhere below her. She could picture men hanging back, nervously watching the soldiers deal with Kayel before entering. The copper tang of blood appeared in her mouth and she realised she'd bitten her lip in anticipation, but before she could wipe it away a great creak rang out and the floor beneath her feet shuddered. Natai grabbed the windowsill to steady herself as the groan and crack of tortured brickwork intensified. She chanced another look down at the chamber. The two penitents were staring back in horror; even Kayel seemed momentarily frozen as the antechamber shuddered violently.
Natai froze. Kayel and the soldiers were not the only people in the chamber. She felt a scream bubble up in her throat, but fear drove the air from her lungs as a small figure toddled out from behind the throne, heading towards Kayel as something below her fell and shattered on the tiled antechamber floor. It was followed in the next moment by an almighty crash that reverberated through her body as the antechamber itself collapsed.
The violence of the shockwave drove Natai to her knees. A cloud of dust billowed out into the ducal chamber as she hauled herself forward to look out of the window again and through it she glimpsed Kayel lunging at one of the penitents. He kicked the back of the man's legs and punched him in the throat as he fell, but the second was quick and lashed out with his club, sending Kayel sprawling. Natai went white as Ruhen tottered in between them, but the penitent didn't follow up his attack.
Natai couldn't see the enigmatic smile on the child's face, but with arms held out wide for balance, Ruhen advanced towards the penitent with unsteady steps, perfectly unafraid. Natai couldn't see the" man's expression, but she felt the sudden warmth of Ruhen's beatific smile. He didn't move, not even when Sergeant Kayel pulled himself to his feet and threw his sword like a throwing knife. The tip caught the penitent in the neck and felled him.
Before the sergeant could retrieve his weapon, an invisible hand seemed to slap him backwards. Natai could just make out the astonishment on Kayel's face as a second blow threw him several yards back. Ruhen turned to follow his protector as two figures staggered into view from the ruin of the ante-chamber, shaking the dust from their robes and advancing unsteadily towards the child.
Fear lent strength to Natai's limbs and restored her voice. With a shriek the duchess ran for the stair, kicking off her slippers but still barely keeping from breaking her neck as she descended. When she reached the room she found the two priests standing over Ruhen. The little boy was staring up at them, completely unafraid.
One of the men saw her and took a step backwards, looking shocked. She recognised the young man, even with his face twisted in hate – he was normally to be found standing quietly in the background at the Temple of Ushull. He raised his hand and she heard a strange noise, as if something was sucking air in. A coiling stream of energy began to form around the mage.
Natai, oblivious to the danger to herself, raced towards them and threw herself in front of the child, shrieking, 'You will not hurt him!'
'Filthy heretics,' spat the other priest, a fat-cheeked man with white hair dressed in the distinctive scarlet robes of Karkarn. He was cradling his right arm but she could see sparks of red light dancing over his skin; he was still dangerous.
'You will all die for this crime,' he said.
'No,' said a quiet voice in her mind. She shivered, and looked at the priests. She saw in their faces that they had felt it too. She turned, but Kayel was still lying on the ground.
She felt as if she were frozen to the spot, unable to move any part of her body apart from her head – and it looked like the priests were similarly stricken. Only Ruhen appeared unaffected – and he was the only one not looking around for whoever had spoken.
With a calm smile on his face and a fistful of Natai's dress bunched in his plump little hand to support himself, the little boy slowly made his way around her. He looked up at the priest of Karkarn, whose face was illuminated by the weird light of magic as he muttered an incantation. He faltered for a moment, then the hatred reasserted itself and he drew in deeply, the light intensifying.
Natai tried to reach out to Ruhen, but her limbs would not respond and all she could do was watch as the child reached out a hand and waggled his stubby little fingers towards the priest – but his little wave seemed to strike the priest like a blow and the trails of magical lights vanished. He gave a strangled squawk of shock and dropped to his knees, clutching his heart, before collapsing onto the tiled floor.
The priest of Ushull's astonished expression turned just as swiftly into a paroxysm of pain. He fell just as quickly, one hand protectively around his throat, and twitched and shook on the ground, his mouth stretched wide in a silent scream.
Ruhen was silent as he watched the two men die, though Natai thought she could hear voices whispering all around them. She flinched when the little boy turned to face her, but instead of the horror she had been expecting, Ruhen's face was just the same as ever. His cheeks dimpled suddenly as he gave her a big beaming grin and spread his arms wide, demanding to be carried.
The duchess swept him up in her arms and turned in a circle, glaring at the faces watching them until they all fled, leaving her alone with the boy in her arms and the sergeant, now groggily lifting himself up off the ground and slurring his way through a stream of invective. Natai didn't wait to thank him but, holding Ruhen tight in her arms and breathing in the sweet scent of his hair, she headed back up the stairs, not stopping until she was at the top of the Ruby lower and the whispers were left far behind.
Venn felt his body jerk as a swirl of shadow raced past his eyes. His dry, cracked lips had stuck together, so his waking breath was more of a weak, tuneless whistle, though it was enough to attract the attention of the tall priestess sitting a few yards away. When she saw he was awake she picked up a bowl of soup that had been cooling nearby and walked over to him.
Her face had lost none of the strength he'd first noticed, before she had established herself as his nursemaid. She was a handsome woman, and her looks had not diminished under age's onslaught. She had not yet gone so far as to cast aside the half-mask set with obsidian shards, but he could sense she was close. She saw purpose in him, in every word he spoke. She would be Azaer's fiercest follower, the child's most pitiless defender.
'Even mountains fail in the course of time. Even glaciers melt away to nothing. A gradual decline is irresistible in all things.'