There was a loud cheer as the King and his elite guards passed through the town towards the gates. Men went to fetch their horses or banded together to set off after the royal war party. Within half an hour, almost every warrior in Heartstone had departed to join the hunt. Those that remained behind began the task of clearing the streets of the dead and putting out the fires that had erupted in the wake of the demon’s plummet from the sky.
Yllandris counted over forty dead. Men, women and children — the fiend had not discriminated in its brief tour of destruction. One demon did all this, she thought. The spirits help us if more of those creatures emerge from the Devil’s Spine.
Shranree strode up to her as she was dragging the corpse of a teenage boy from the rubble of the tavern. The older sorceress was tired and covered in sweat but her eyes were bright. Revelling in your triumph, no doubt. Will you shed a tear for this family inadvertently killed by your hand, Shranree? I doubt it.
‘You did well, sister,’ said the rotund woman with a smile. ‘Perhaps you will indeed make a worthy sorceress one day.’
‘I can only hope.’
Shranree looked around at the blackened corpses and tutted. ‘If they had been out there helping during the attack, they would have avoided this unfortunate end. I believe there is a lesson to be learned here.’
Yllandris gritted her teeth. ‘I suppose so.’
‘This latest incident demonstrates the need for more sorceresses in the city.’
That was something Yllandris could agree with. ‘Yes, sister.’
‘Perhaps when the King returns you might speak with him? I suspect he would be most receptive to your counsel. After all, you share much, do you not?’ The woman’s expression was unreadable.
‘I do not understand.’
Shranree smiled sweetly. ‘Why, a young man’s desires are vast and often indiscriminate. And of course, one should always strive to please her king in every way possible.’
‘As… as you say, sister.’
‘Still,’ Shranree continued. ‘One must also respect tradition. A sorceress may not marry. It weakens the magic, you know.’ She went silent for a time. When she spoke again, her eyes were hard. ‘Put aside any girlish fantasies you may be harbouring about our handsome young king. You are mine until I deem you worthy, and quite frankly that may very well be never.’ She sighed suddenly. ‘Really, Yllandris. Do you seriously think Magnar would consider marrying you?’
Go jump off a cliff, you spiteful old hag. ‘He enjoys spending time with me. I listen to him. I provide him the comfort he needs.’
Shranree shook her head and sighed in exasperation. ‘So would a whore.’ She turned and waddled off, casting a distasteful glance at the bodies of the family that had run the tavern.
Yllandris watched her leave. When Magnar came back she would apologize for her earlier remarks. He would forgive her, she knew. He cherished her honesty. He had his faults, but Magnar was young, handsome, and above all he was the King. And for her that meant one thing.
I will be Queen.
Beneath Notice
The news had reached the city earlier that morning. Thelassa’s mercenary army was on the move. Over thirty ships had departed the City of Towers and would be docking somewhere to the west over the next day or two. The remnants of Dorminia’s naval force were even now spread out in a defensive arc about the harbour in case the enemy fleet tried to attack the city from the sea.
Eremul shifted uncomfortably again on his chair, silently cursing the numerous physical ailments that had assailed him of late. Grand Magistrate Timerus arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Is something troubling you?’
The hawk-nosed steward of the city’s affairs missed little. Of all the men seated around the huge table in the Grand Council Chamber, Eremul judged him to be the most dangerous — with the exception, of course, of the evil old bastard brooding on his obsidian throne.
‘Only the thought of our beloved city besieged by the White Lady’s mercenaries,’ replied the Halfmage. ‘Ah, that and the small matter of the lump protruding from my arse.’
The new Master of Information frowned. It was the ratty old physician he had seen tending to Salazar in the dungeons. What was his name? Remy? The man had apparently earned his position for some service he had performed for the Council in weeks past. Of the thirteen magistrates that had been present during the attempt on Salazar’s life, only four had survived. New magistrates had been sworn in to replace those killed, but three seats still remained empty. It would seem that men possessed of the qualities to serve the city in the highest capacity were difficult to find. Deceitfulness, cowardice, shameless arselickery. Why haven’t I been made a magistrate?
‘Warm water with lavender extract,’ said Remy. ‘Apply twice daily, before and after rest-’
‘The Halfmage is not here to discuss his well-being,’ said the Supreme Augmentor, interrupting the physician-turned-spymaster. ‘He is to help prepare the city’s defences against the three thousand Sumnians who will soon be at our gates.’
Marshal Halendorf adjusted his collar and wiped at his brow, which was soaked in sweat. The fleshy commander of Dorminia’s army looked pale and was obviously unwell, but the urgency of the situation had demanded his presence at this council meeting.
‘The Watch number a thousand strong,’ he said. ‘The camp east of the city holds seven thousand militia. My officers are doing the best they can to beat them into an army worth a damn, but they are proving obstinate.’
‘Obstinate?’ repeated Salazar. Eremul almost shuddered at the annoyance in the Magelord’s voice. Creator knew he wanted nothing more than to see Salazar dead, but the truth was that the Tyrant of Dorminia terrified him more than anything else in the world. ‘They are reluctant to defend their homes? Their families?’
Marshal Halendorf went even paler. ‘They… ah, that is to say…’
‘Yes, Marshal?’
‘My lord… It’s been said by some that the White Lady doesn’t intend to destroy the city. Rather, she wants to, ah, liberate it.’
‘Liberate it.’ The Magelord repeated the words slowly, as if every syllable was a thousand-ton hammer beating down on the men in the chamber.
Eremul could feel his heart thumping in his chest. He wished he were anywhere but here at this table. Even down in the dungeons, strapped to a cold slab. At least the men who had cut off his legs were, loosely speaking, human. They had probably felt something while mutilating him, even if it was only a sick pleasure. Salazar would snuff out his life as if he were an insect and not give it a second’s thought.
‘You will have any man who fails to show sufficient enthusiasm whipped,’ said the Magelord. ‘Any man who voices discontent about defending his own city will lose his tongue. Am I understood?’
Halendorf swallowed and nodded.
‘We have lost the mine at the Wailing Rift. The ships we sent to the Swell have not returned.’ Salazar’s eyes narrowed in anger. His oiled moustache twitched. Everyone seated at the table drew back a fraction. ‘I will tolerate no dissidence in this city. I want mindhawks on every corner. Anyone plotting against me will be put to death. Men and women, the young and the old. I care not.’
‘It will be done, my lord,’ said Timerus. The Grand Magistrate cleared his throat nervously. ‘I must confess that we found no signs of the Thelassan ship which attacked us last week.’
Eremul tried to feign a bemused expression. He had already learned of the confrontation between a group of Augmentor-led Watchmen and a lone vessel from the City of Towers.