before the battle and couldn't be moved safely. Lord Salen wanted to make sure the general was alive for execution.'
'I'm sure he did. Take us there.'
'Father-' Kohrad started before Styrax raised a hand.
'No questions – have faith.'
'Yes, Father.'
Styrax couldn't see his son's face, which was obscured by the red-stained steel helm. It was impossible to tell if Kohrad was seething underneath; his reply had been crisp and level, but meant little. The boy was learning to hide his emotions even as his grip on sanity ap¬peared to be weakening.
'Thank you,' Styrax said. 'Mikiss, is the stonedun guarded by Salen's men?'
'I believe so, my Lord.'
'Right, you lead the way. We'll follow, like troops under your orders. If any of the guards work out we're hostile, you will break left and get clear. If any run once we reveal ourselves, you and your elegant horse are responsible for chasing them down. Gaur, we do this quietly and efficiently.' He was watching Kohrad as he spoke and fancied he saw a slight twitch of the shoulder as his son recognised who exactly needed to be reminded.
'Now if any of you can actually remember how to ride in formation: close order, two columns, weapons hidden.' The veterans accompany¬ing Styrax all chuckled. They might be elite troops, they might not have travelled in close rank for years, but no soldier forgot their first drills. Quickly they opened up for Mikiss to reach the front, then lined up behind Styrax and Kohrad. The slither of steel indicated they were ready for the trouble to come.
'Creeping like a thief through the night,' Styrax commented abruptly, 'in a city I control, hiding from troops from my own army. I'd forgotten how much I enjoy this.' His words faded on the light breeze. A bat darted over their heads, startling Mikiss, who shrank down in his saddle.
Styrax clapped a hand on Kohrad's armoured shoulder and smiled at the night.
Fifteen minutes later, General Dev's family stonedun came into view. It was a tall, roughly cylindrical block of granite eighty feet high, pocked wirb squares that indicated window holes. Lights flickered in the windows on the upper levels, but the lowest two were dark. There was a blazing fire at the gate that illuminated the guards nicely.
'Idiots,' growled Gaur. 'Weeks of trouble in the city and yet still they make themselves easy targets for anyone with a bow.'
'Salen's best troops are waiting for us at the Gate of the Three Suns. With so many troops scattered around the city, I guess they'll have expected a quiet night here.'
Kohrad's reply elicited only a curt nod; General Gaur was rigorous in his duty and would naturally expect every Menin soldier to follow the regulations, whether they were troops of the line or quartermaster clerks, on duty or off.
The gate, an oval aperture ten feet high, served as the mouth for the lion's head carved into the rock. It stood half open. A few sol¬diers squatted by the fire, one slowly turning a spit with the carcass of a goat speared on it. As the horsemen approached, another soldier came through the open side of the gate. He paused and peered out into the gloom, then barked at the men around the fire. They jumped up, scrambling for their weapons. Sparks scattered as someone kicked one of the logs and spread a tongue of fiery shards over the stone steps. Styrax grimaced as he heard a sound escape Kohrad's lips.
Mikiss responded by pulling back his sleeve once again and holding his arm up high. Whether they could see the brass vambrace glinting in the firelight was hard to judge, but they all recognised the gesture. None of the soldiers drew a bow or nocked an arrow, but they did shuffle into some semblance of order, in case Mikiss turned out to be someone important.
'Who are you? What do you want?' called the man who'd spotted them first. His voice was rough, his accent Menin.
'You have a message for General Dev,' murmured Styrax. Mikiss repeated the words.
'Piss on your message,' the man shouted back, his hand creeping to his sword as the party continued closer. Styrax guessed he was the company lieutenant. 'Lord Salen said we were to admit no one, not even Lord Styrax himself, without word from the Adepts of Larat in advance.'
They were less than forty yards away. The soldiers began to drift forward instinctively; one swung an axe up onto his shoulder. Styrax could make out their uniforms now; the white tunics with multi¬coloured stripes on each sleeve identified them as Guards of the Hidden Tower, Salen's personal legions. They were rightly feared: they were loyal enough to carry out any orders without question, and the Adepts of Larat put less value on human life than a troll would. Even if they were the dregs of the legion, trusted only to stand guard here while the rest fought elsewhere, they would be tough enough – for most soldiers, that was.
'I have permission. Lord Salen himself sent me with a message. I have it here in my bag.' Mikiss' voice sounded uncertain, but as the horsemen closed, the guards could see clearly that he was a real army messenger.
'Leave your guards and approach.'
'Leave my guards?'
'That's what I said. Stop where you are and dismount. Approach on foot.'
'That's enough, I think,' muttered Styrax. 'Mikiss, break off.'
The messenger wheeled his horse sharply to the left. For a moment the soldiers followed him with their eyes. Styrax kicked his spurs into the flanks of his horse and as he drew Kobra, startled faces flashed back to him. He saw recognition blossom in the eyes of the lieuten¬ant. Kohrad howled at his side as they raced together into the group of men. The first man to die didn't even raise his weapon as Styrax's wide fanged blade cut down. His men were the best of the Cheme Legion; they were close on his heels, their long-handled axes hacking down at the lightly armoured infantry, moving in perfect harmony as they had a hundred times in the past.
Those with more sense fled into the stonedun, desperately trying to pull the heavy door closed behind them, but Kohrad slipped from his saddle and ran for the entrance himself. He threw his sword at the man trying to pull it shut, spearing him in a burst of yellow light, then leapt into the gap to stop the massive door on its inward swing. One man, seeing the white-eye had no sword, turned back and attacked him, but Kohrad dodged out of the way of the falling axe, then twisted back to grab the weapon, pulling the soldier off balance.
Kohrad shoved the door open again to disentangle his foot, then snapped a kick into the man's ribs, knocking him over. A second soldier ran forward as Kohrad tugged the axe blade free and spun it upwards with a flourish to catch his attacker under the chin.
In a matter of seconds it was over and stillness returned. Styrax surveyed his troops and gave an approving nod. The Reavers were
unparalleled throughout the Land, but most of them were white-eyes and they were actively encouraged to be wild. These Cheme troops were normal men – albeit many were far from normal – but discipline was as valuable as strength. He could trust these men to be swift and neat. Without an order spoken, they had dropped from their horses and started to drag the bodies inside. Styrax looked around and realised that Kohrad had disappeared. He opened his mouth to ask Gaur to fetch the unpredictable youth when the boy appeared again, sword drawn and dripping with blood.
'The guardroom is clear,' Kohrad announced in a low, level tone. Styrax nodded briskly. His son was making a great effort to remain in control, and he wouldn't insult him by remarking on it.
'Good. Major, stay here with the men. I doubt anyone will come; if they do, deal with the matter or pull back. Gaur, Kohrad, with me.'
The major nodded and unsheathed his dagger to cut the colourful robes from one of the dead men: they might as well look the part. Styrax left the man to it and swept through the door. Speed was of the essence now. The Third Army was waiting outside the city for the signal to attack. The longer they waited, the greater the likelihood that Salen's troops would discover them, losing them the element of surprise. As he moved silently up the stone steps, he heard frightened wbispers. Ahead of him was a sharp turn – anyone hearing the fight outside would no doubt be waiting there to see who came up the stairs. They would be expecting an assassination, a quick death in the night for the talismanic general instead of an execution that would likely spark a riot.