The Twilight herald

'I was following your orders exactly – quick simple deaths, with no experimentation or creativity. A waste of perfect subjects, in my opinion, but I understood your reasoning. Consequently, I was sur¬prised to observe the following.'

He whipped a thin dagger from his belt and slammed it into the man's chest. The man gave a high-pitched shriek and convulsed in pain. Larim frowned at the sound and jolted the man, as though to admonish him. The man gasped, then went limp, passed out from the pain and died quickly.

'Normal thus far?' commented Larim, as though conducting an ex¬periment in front of a flock of acolytes. Styrax nodded, managing to contain his curiosity. The Chosen of Larat was doing nothing to the man. Styrax could sense no force, nor any charm that would prevent death, or even make that death notable. The only thing he suspected of Larat's Chosen was that he was enjoying the chance to provide Styrax with some instruction, and that wasn't exactly a surprise.

'But observe,' Larim continued, pulling the dagger back out of his victim. A gout of blood sprayed from the corpse over the base of the pillar Kohrad had been attacking. With a fastidious sniff, Larim released the body and stepped back. The dead mage swayed and his knees buckled, limbs and neck limp all falling limp, but somehow he remained upright.

'You're right,' said Styrax, 'that is curious.' He tasted the air. The Plain of Pillars was thick with the stench of death, but suddenly the odour had risen, heavy in his throat. Styrax recognised the sensation: this was necromancy, without doubt, but the source eluded him. He felt the rare sensation of being intrigued.

'Salen put some form of necromantic charm on his coterie? But no, I assume if that were the case you'd look a little less immaculate.'

'You would be correct in that assumption, my Lord.' Larim stepped back half a pace to give the corpse a little more room. His expression was one of calculating interest, rather than concern. Styrax again reached his senses out, to be certain this was no elaborate trap. He could feel nothing of the power that would be required normally, but there was something unusual. A presence of some kind? He didn't know of any daemon that could enter a corpse without some form of assistance.

'Larim?' rasped the dead mage. There was an echo to the voice, as well as the bubbling of air though a ruined windpipe.

'I'm here,' was the reply, laced with a vague amusement.

'I cannot see you.'

'That's because your head's hanging down at the ground.'

'You wish to gauge my strength? So be it, you are but a child after all.'

There was no emotion in the voice. Styrax couldn't tell whether the being was angry or amused at the game Larim was playing. Controlling the muscles was difficult for a daemon, and clearly the Chosen of Larat had broken the corpse's neck to find out how powerful a being they were dealing with.

With jerking movements the dead mage's head was forced to an upright angle, tongue lolling and eyes dead. 'You have found Lord Styrax as I asked. Good.'

'Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?' Styrax en¬quired.

Larim turned to face Styrax. 'I believe this is your friend, not mine.'

Styrax felt a chill on his skin. Was he being accused of something? Had Larim proof that Styrax had made a pact with a daemon? If so, why confront him here, surrounded by Styrax's troops?

He looked at the dead mage. 'Well, corpse, are you a friend of mine?'

'A friend? No. A loyal subject of course.'

'Loyal subject?' Styrax narrowed his eyes, thinking frantically, then cried, 'Amavoq's rage; Isherin Purn? I'd assumed you were dead – we've heard nothing from you in two years.'

'I am honoured you remember me.' The voice lacked any emotion, but Styrax could imagine it now, the mocking, wheedling lilt, Purn's thin lips over-forming each syllable in almost obscene pedantry. The necromancer was an unpleasant, rat-like figure, alternating wildly between ridiculous scheming and depraved experiments.

'You did your job well. I expected you to return and claim your reward. Lord Bahl would never have left himself vulnerable without your influence. I had hoped to hear just how you accomplished it.'

An artist cannot reveal too many secrets. All I will say is that it required a creative pen as much as spellcasting.' The corpse paused. 'I did not return because I have found myself many distractions in this part of the Land. There is so much fun to be had here.'

'And yet you seek me out?'

'Ever willing to be of service to my Lord.'

Styrax snorted. 'When you were in my grip, perhaps. You certainly had enough sense not to challenge me. Now that you are beyond my influence, I'm not so sure.' He cocked his head towards Larim. 'What was it Verliq said? "I hold no allegiance but to my art"?'

The white-eye's lip twitched in irritation. 'I would not know, my Lord. You have not let us read any of his works.'

Styrax gave him a bright little smile. 'Ah, no, of course not. A shame, you would find them most instructive. Well, Purn? I know necromancers care little for their rulers, so tell me why you have gone to all this trouble.'

'I am in Scree. It is a backward little city, typical of the Western states, caught between one powerful neighbour and another and spending all their time looking outwards for the next threat.'

'So they don't worry much about people disappearing off the street from time to time. I'm sure it is paradise for you. I do already have agents however; agents who provide better information that that. Either tell me something new, or 1 will dismiss you in a manner you will find most uncomfortable. My son is injured so I have little time for the babbling of deranged maniacs.'

'If your son is injured, then you had better be more courteous to the walkers in the dark,' the corpse retorted, its jaw snapping shut, an indication of Isherin Purn's anger.

'Why? What do you know about it?' Styrax stepped forward and grabbed the corpse by its slack neck. Without any apparent effort he lifted it up with one hand and brought the dead lolling eyes level with his own. 'Whatever allegiance you profess to hold, never forget my power. There is nowhere you could hide from me. There is no protec¬tor you could find to keep you safe if you made yourself my enemy. Now explain what you meant.'

Returning the corpse to the ground, he stepped back and watched it jerk and spasm as Purn fought to regain control over its muscles. That close, Styrax could smell the emptied bowels, adding to the stink of corrupt magic surrounding the cadaver. Purn had grown in power since being allowed to leave Salen's tutelage at the Hidden Tower and seek out Cordein Malich. Styrax guessed that the necromancer would be unable to repeat this trick with anyone but members of the coterie he had served in, yet even so, it was impressive. And it was an illustrative point of theory – he would have to send someone to read Larim's notes when he had time to investigate it further.

'I understand,' the corpse rasped eventually. 'I am no threat to your son, but he walks with one foot in the dark.'

'One foot in the dark? He is not as close to death as that.'

'Not close to death, but walking in the dark nonetheless. He is open to the creatures of the other place. They can feel the fire raging through him. I do not know the being that fuels his fire, but it is not one that would willingly share its possessions. I do not dare investigate further else I be scorched by its vengeance.'

'Kohrad is no toy to be shared,' Styrax snarled. 'Nor is he a posses¬sion of either God or daemon. If one seeks to claim him, it will have to fight my armies for him.'

'It already has staked its claim.'

Styrax hesitated. 'The armour? That is what gives it power over him?'