Mihn sighed inwardly and hoped Morghien wouldn't infuriate Lady Xeliath as much as he did Lord Isak. Even the beautiful half of her face was presently twisted into a scowl.

'Are you going to follow him, or stand there looking like an idiot?' she muttered. 'Come on, move.'

Mihn sighed again. It was going be a long journey home.

'Now isn't that strange?' Isak said under his breath. Keeping a safe distance from the squads of Fysthrall soldiers that ringed the sunken theatre and the surrounding streets, Isak and two of his guards were crouched behind a parapet that edged the flat roof of a nearby build¬ing. It gave an excellent view of the crowd outside the theatre's gate, and Isak recognised several people. A rough wooden frame covered in

sailcloth above them kept them in shadow. The owners of the build¬ing cowered stayed safely indoors, content to leave Scree's madmen outside.

'Bloody mad, I'd call it,' Tiniq said beside him.

That was the longest sentence Isak had heard from General Lahk's brother all evening. For a ranger who was at least twenty years older than he looked, Tiniq was as jumpy as a raw recruit, and had been ever since they arrived in Scree, constantly looking over his shoulder and twitching fearfully, as though he could hear the mournful bell of Death's gates somewhere nearby.

'That they're putting on a play I can understand, if what Legana said about a spell is true, but for folk to walk these streets to see it is nothing more than madness.'

'It must be part of the spell,' Leshi replied from Isak's other side. The two unnatural men were Isak's only guards that evening, to help them go unnoticed, though the ranger, Jeil, was keeping watch in the street. Mayel, who was their guide, was huddled in the far corner of the rooftop, keen to see, but desperate not to be seen. After nightfall, his city was given over to flame and fury, and he had no wish to be drawn further into the madness.

'Look at the rioting, the meaningless violence; at least this place is protected. Coming here probably looks like the sensible option to them, even though they have to brave the streets to get here.'

'Forsaken!' howled a voice behind them. Tiniq was a blur as he jumped up, sword drawn and raised, ready to protect Isak. In the street behind them where Jeil lurked, an old man staggered down the street, dressed in rags, a bloody wound on his balding head leaking blood down his face. He appeared oblivious of the men watching him. His voice fell to a mutter, jumbled syllables that made no sense, then rose again to a roar as he proclaimed: 'Failing city bound to a failing heart! She brings ashes; words and ashes from the darkness underground.'

'Jeil,' Isak hissed, 'shut the old bastard up before he attracts atten-tion.'

Hearing a voice, the old man stopped and peered up at Isak. He brandished a rusty dagger in the white-eye's general direction. 'What Gods abandon, so fire shall purge!' he screamed. 'They have cursed us; their servants cast spells upon us and must be sacrificed to the flame!'

Jeil stepped out of a nearby doorway, a short crescent-headed axe in one hand. Tiniq scampered across the roof towards his comrade,

sensing trouble as Jeil said, 'Bugger off, old man, or I'll kill you and you can see what Lord Death thinks of your words.'

The old man stared at Jeil for a moment, incomprehension fad¬ing to fury in a heartbeat. 'Servant of the Gods!' the man yelled. He raised his battered dagger and lunged forward at Jeil, shrieking. The ranger fell back to give himself room, only to hit the wall behind him. He swung the axe up and caught the old man in the armpit, pulling his own knife from his belt to catch the old man's blade.

The wound didn't look like it had any effect on the man as he slashed down, his blade glancing off Jeil's dagger and into the ranger's arm. Jeil kicked out in desperation, and succeeded in driving the old man within reach of Tiniq's broadsword.

They watched his head tumble off and roll a little way down the street.

Isak and Leshi were close behind, their weapons at the ready, but the street beyond was empty.

'Well, wasn't he nice?' Isak commented grimly as Tiniq wiped his blade clean on the old man's rags and set about binding Jeil's arm.

The Shambles was strangely silent around them. Mayel said most people had barricaded themselves in their homes, those who weren't out trying to find food, to buy or steal. A crowd had built up at the Greengate, where all the city's supplies came in. A mob had already demolished and set alight a market to the west.

Mayel came to the top of the stair. 'How are we going to get out of this?' he whispered, his panic barely kept in check. 'Almost the whole city's like this – so we either burn with the madmen or get slaughtered by the armies outside the walls.'

Isak realised the boy was so terrified he was close to breaking down; he needed a little hope if he were to survive the next few hours. Isak unwrapped the leather covering that kept curious eyes from the spar¬kling hilt. He drew Eolis and held it up in front of Mayel's face to catch what light there was.

'You probably didn't notice when you saw it the first time,' he said, 'but this is no ordinary sword, and I am no ordinary mercenary.' Mayel stared at Eolis, wonder showing on his face, but still no understand¬ing. Isak continued, 'One of those armies out there is mine.'

'Oh Gods, you're-'

'Walking blindly in shadows,' interrupted a female voice in Isak's head, drowning out Mayel's words. He whirled to see a cowled figure

step into the open from an alley on the right. Isak's guards cursed and drew their weapons, but he raised his hand to stop them.

'And you are?' Isak said.

'As ever; a light in the darkness.'

Isak thought for a moment, her words forcing a memory to stir. 'Witch?'

She laughed, prompting his guards to exchange curious looks. 'I've been greeted in more friendly ways, but yes, you are correct.'1

'I don't know how else to address you.'

Ah, my Lord,' Tiniq began in an uncertain voice. Isak cut him off with a chopping motion. The ranger looked completely confused at the one-sided conversation – as Isak's guards had the first time he met the Witch of Llehden – but he didn't have time to explain.

And it is how you will continue. You already know that a witch should never reveal her name to anyone.'1

'Can you not give me some other name to use?' Isak said in his mind.

She advanced towards him, her face catching the moonlight. She looked more tired and worn than she had been in his dreams, as if the journey to Scree had aged her. Perhaps it was the effort of leaving Llehden?

'Call me Ehla, then; it is the Elvish rune for "light".'

'Well, Ehla, now you're here do you think you'll be able to stop the spell?'

'Unfortunately not; it will soon be completed. Events are out of our control, I saw armies marching on the city as I crossed the wall.'

'You crossed the wall tonight?'

'I would, be a poor witch if I could not fool a few city guards,' Ehla scoffed before gesturing towards the theatre. 'You were watching the audience?'

'It seems safer than watching the play itself.'

'Shall we, then?' She pointed up the stairs where Mayel was watch¬ing them. He misinterpreted her intent and shrank back, but Isak ignored him as he led the way back up to their vantage point, the witch close behind.

'Who can you see?' she asked as she sat on the low wall the men had been crouching behind, her back resting against the wooden roof support.

Isak pointed towards a group of women surrounded by city militia and said, 'Over there is Mistress Ostia, with her various agents and

mercenaries.' He said the words aloud, realising that his men would be more confused by no conversation than half of one, but he wasn't sure he wanted Mayel to know about the vampire, so in the privacy of his mind, he added, 'Ostia's the name Zhia Vukotic has taken within the White Circle.' He continued, 'One of them is also my agent. By the theatre's gate, Mistress Siala is doing the same as us, except I'm told she's more interested in the members of the White Circle, reasserting her control over them.'