'Scree? Why? What's happened there?'
'I intend to leave tonight to find out more. The message was short; there was no space for explanations. I have heard a rumour about a monk fleeing his monastery and hiding in Scree.'
'A monk? What could a monk have done to make Emin hunt him down personally?' Isak was genuinely confused. 'And in Scree, no less? I'd have thought a White Circle stronghold was the last place Emin would want to go.'
'Unless he considered it important enough,' Ilumene corrected him. 'I have the impression the king will not be the only one hunting the monk.'
'What could a monk have done to attract that sort of interest- no, wait, let me think: if a monk has done something wrong, he gets assas¬sins sent after him. If King Emin is going himself, the man would have to be a mortal enemy – or have something the king wants personally. An artefact of some kind, perhaps?'
'A reasonable assumption,' Ilumene conceded, 'but truly, I can tell you no more. And now, I must be on my way.'
'Wait,' Isak said as Ilumene turned to leave, 'why did he send the message? Because he wants me to not lay siege to Scree? Or does he want me to get involved?'
'The king did not give me a reason, but I'm sure he would appreciate you pursuing a more subtle revenge than the wholesale destruction of the city if he is inside it. I cannot say if he wants you involved; if the king required your presence, I'm sure he would have summoned you.'
Isak growled, disliking the implication that he was at Emin's beck and call. 'Then your king might have to be more careful about what he takes for granted,' he snapped.
Ilumene bowed in acquiescence and disappeared into the shadow of a laurel. Even with his remarkable hearing, Isak couldn't hear the man leave. It was as though he simply faded into the darkness.
Scree? What could possibly lure King Emin there? He looked to the south, where he fancied he saw the faintest of lights on the horizon. He had a sudden, desperate urge to know what the King of Narkang was up to.
'Home first,' he reminded himself. 'Everything else can wait.'
CHAPTER 6
Zhia hurried across into the shade of the high-pillared porch, her thick shawl pulled low over her face to hide her from the scorching afternoon sun. Her coachman, Panro – who doubled as guard and servant, and once, on a particularly dull day in Narkang, lover – closed the coach door and climbed back up on the seat. He wouldn't bother going far; it was unlikely the Red Palace would see any more visitors during the short time Zhia intended to stay. Scree waited drowsily for evening, when the sun's ferocity would lessen; shops and stalls were shut up and even the most diligent of tradesfolk sought some shady corner or dark hallway. Zhia couldn't help smiling; the unusual summer heat had proved an unexpected bonus. In Scree everyone would be sleeping during the day, so her nocturnal life was less likely to draw notice.
Zhia paused and savoured the light breeze that greeted her through the tall panelled doors, scented with sweet roses and orange trees from somewhere within. A man dressed in a dark brown livery stood wait¬ing for her, his head bowed. No member of the White Circle would come and greet Zhia; the custom was for visitors to be presented once they had made themselves presentable. This was particularly useful for Zhia, for any errant ray of sun would blacken and burn her skin.
'Mistress Siala has been informed of my arrival?' she asked, snapping her fingers at the liveried man. Her Fysthrall dialect and mannerisms were impeccable.
'Yes, Mistress Ostia.' The man kept his head bowed as he spoke. 'I am to escort you to her office immediately.'
But why? thought Zhia. She leads the White Circle now the rest of the leadership is dead, I made sure of that. Does she simply want an account of their failure? Or did she know that the Fysthrall queen carried the Skull of Paths with her? I think I was sensible to leave that in the carriage; she wouldn't think to search that, but she might well have a mage up there with her.
The servant was waiting patiently for a reply. When she did finally jab a finger towards the inside of the palace he bowed low and moved to lead the way. As she followed him down the hall, she saw the red theme continued inside as well. Outside, the painted pillars, window frames and doors were distinctive, even arresting, especially when seen from a distance. Within, the colours looked garish and crass, and incongruous with the elegant furnishings, which were far too sophisti¬cated for anyone local, especially the duke Siala had recently deposed. Siala was apparently from Tor Salan, but until she met the woman there was no way of telling if the sophistication was hers. Zhia hoped so; the rest of the Circle had hardly taxed her brain, and an intelligent adversary would make her stay in Scree infinitely more entertaining.
A large open staircase took her to the second floor and she looked carefully at the high windows. It wasn't often that she dared venture out during the day, but when it was necessary, she took every precau¬tion.
Siala's study faced the head of the stairs. The door itself, flanked by blank-faced Fysthrall soldiers before whom the servant cringed, hadn't been spared the scarlet ravages of Scree's previous ruler; the faces on the four carved panels had been stained red and detailed in gold leaf. To her right, Zhia noted a pair of male functionaries sagging when they caught sight of her, apparently aware that she would be admitted ahead of them.
'Mistress Siala is just concluding a meeting,' the servant at Zhia's side murmured, and at her curt nod, he fled.
The door did indeed open a heartbeat later, and to Zhia's complete astonishment a man dressed like a country minstrel strode out of the room with all the confidence of a king. Over a dirty green tunic he wore a gaudy gold chain with bejewelled coins laced through it hang¬ing down to his navel, and a feathered hat was caught under one arm. His tanned, pinched face and narrow nose suggested southern origins. His skin was as grubby as his clothes.
Tor Salan perhaps, or Embere? Now what would Siala be doing meeting with a dirty foreign minstrel? Her train of thought stopped dead as Zhia realised the most remarkable thing about the man was that the gold chain was not costume jewellery. Now I know all I need to about Siala, Zhia said to herself. The minstrel had a deeply satisfied look on his face, one that might not have been there if Siala had paid enough attention to the gem-encrusted coins hanging off that chain. But what does it tell me about this man, dressed like a vagrant musician, standing like a king and wearing a king's ransom around his neck?
'Lady,' the minstrel acknowledged, bowing with a flourish after he had taken the time to scrutinise her as carefully as she had him. The accent suggested something of the south as well, but no place she could identify.
Not 'Mistress', though; he almost seems to recognise me. Could that be possible, or has the heat just got me flustered? 'Have we met?' she snapped.
'Unfortunately not, for you are new to the city, no? But if you seek your entertainment under cover of night, I am sure your presence in Scree will be to my profit.' The minstrel bowed. 'Now if you will excuse me, gracious lady, I must away.'
He didn't wait for permission but trotted off down the stair without a backwards glance while Zhia frowned. Who was he? He said 'under cover of night' – but did he actually recognise her?
'You must be Ostia,' declared a voice from inside the study. Zhia re¬sumed an expression of placid innocence as she swept in to the room. Behind a desk stood a tall, slim, striking-looking woman dressed in white silk; some fifty summers of age, Zhia guessed, though her face had weathered the passing years well. To her right were two others, sitting together on a narrow chaise longue, but Zhia sensed neither was a mage and ignored them. It was the remorseless gleam in Siala's eye that had caught her attention. The woman stood perfectly still, taking in every detail of Zhia's appearance. You don't look like a fool, thought Zhia, a little scornfully. You know how to deal with minor sisters like Ostia, I'm sure, but that could simply mean you're a well-born bully. What lies behind the make'Up and fading beauty, anything of value?