He smiled and entered the temple, spitting on the fresco of Death's cowled image that faced the open doorway as he passed. 'Run away and hide, you festering relic,' he said out loud. 'Your time is over. Scree is a pyre to your failed glory and from its ashes will be born something greater than you could ever comprehend.'

CHAPTER 25

Doranei stared at the speaking-hole set into the door, which shud¬dered with the force of being slammed shut. He resisted the urge to turn around. It was bad enough that he was standing flat up against a closed door, like an errant child made to stand in the corner and unable to see the mocking eyes on his back; it was worse that those eyes belonged to the Brotherhood. He'd been the butt of every joke since first going to the theatre, when Zhia Vukotic had treated him like a favourite plaything. Now, though his command of the local dialect was not perfect, he was pretty sure that the stream of invective that had come through the speaking-hole before it had been slammed hadn't included her best wishes and a warm welcome.

'Maybe she's eating,' said a helpful voice behind him. Doranei tried to resist the urge to turn and clout Sebe around his scarred ears; it would only start the others off again. Instead, he continued to stare at the door as though force of will alone could open it.

'Don't say that,' rumbled Coran, 'you might make him jealous.'

'Ah, neck envy,' Sebe snickered. 'Don't worry, my friend, I'm sure you're the only one to her taste!'

He endured it in silence, eyes fixed on the polished grain in front of him. Dusk was drawing in and a lull had fallen over the city. The streets had been largely deserted on the brief journey here, with only a few pockets of private militia protecting the houses of those rich folk still in the city, but he couldn't have risked coming alone. Zhia's men guarded the end of the street and they'd only been let through because the officer in charge had recognised Doranei from the theatre.

'Try knocking again,' Sebe suggested. 'You got such a warm welcome the first time.'

A spark of childish antagonism flared in him and he felt words rise in his throat. The king had warned them to keep their tempers in check; whatever magic was being done in the city, it was designed to turn folk against each other. Instead of replying, he reached out with his right hand and rapped smartly.

'At least he takes direction well nowadays,' Beyn said from a little further away. 'She's had a good effect there.'

Doranei's three companions had found places of concealment to watch the street in both directions; they had to assume the streets would not stay deserted for long. The officer Doranei had spoken to had made it clear he was getting his men indoors before nightfall, to avoid attracting trouble. Outside the city, armies waited like restless storm clouds, gathering in an ever-tightening funnel. The fighting at the Greengate was only a minor squall, but it heralded something far worse.

'He's a polite boy,' Sebe answered, 'always had a lot of respect for his elders.'

'True, but I hadn't realised he went for women that much older than he is.'

'You don't meet many that are so old; let's face it they're somewhat scarce.'

'My money's on him getting a crossbow bolt in the face,' Beyn contributed in a chirpy tone. Doranei almost smiled; the Brotherhood would bet on anything amongst themselves and once the subject had been brought up there was nothing that could distract them from their ridiculous wagers.

'I'll take him being ignored no matter how long he knocks,' said Sebe quickly.

'Nah; spat in the face and told to piss off,' said Coran.

'What's the wager then?' Doranei asked.

'You're joining in?'

'Absolutely.' Doranei did smile this time, confident he knew better than they how Zhia or her companions were likely to react. At any rate, he'd not have to pay the bet if it did turn out to be a crossbow bolt in the face. 'What's the wager? Anyone got one in mind?'

'I hear,' Sebe began, 'there's a Raylin called Mistress leading one of the mercenary armies, and that she's got two pet wyverns. A claw or a tooth of one of them from anyone who loses; that's the wager.'

'Agreed. Well then, I say I'll be dragged inside by a beautiful woman,' Doranei said.

Beyn spluttered. 'The boy's confident, I'll give him that.'

'Don't think it's confidence,' Coran said, 'I reckon he's just got good ears.'

On cue, the speaking-hole popped open again. Instead of the un¬shaven face of the man who'd answered it last, Doranei found himself beaming at Legana, though from the Farlan woman's expression, he could have been a cockroach crawling on the doorstep. Touching him didn't appear to be on her current list of options, let alone dragging him inside.

'Can't keep away?' she said, turning her head to see who else was standing out in the street. 'Or did you think today was a good day to take in the evening air?'

'Men from Narkang laugh in the face of danger,' Doranei replied, his Brothers chuckling in the background.

Legana gave him an unfriendly grin. 'Well then, you'll enjoy your journey home. It's after sunset that the lunatics come out, in case you hadn't noticed.'

With that, she slammed the speaking-hole in his face. Doranei's mouth hung open, frozen in the act of replying. After a few moments he shut it again. Nothing happened on the other side of the door. He turned to look at Sebe, who was crouched two yards away on his right, behind an iron railing that was choked by withered brown weeds.

The man gave a noncommittal shrug and scratched at his newly shorn scalp. Sebe, like many in Scree, had decided his long black hair was too great a nuisance in this oppressive heat. The King's Man had seen a lot of violence in his years of service and the jagged scars on his face and scalp attested to that. Without his ragged curls he looked like a battered, grinning monkey – which hadn't escaped mention.

Doranei was about to step back from the door when he heard the bolts slam back and it jerked open to reveal a scowling Legana, her sword drawn. Four burly guards waited a respectful distance down the dim corridor. Legana wore a thin white cape over her clothes; the trappings of the White Circle still had a powerful hold over many of Scree's citizens.

'What do you want? We don't exactly have time for social calls right now.'

'Intelligence, Legana. We've business to finish before we leave the city.'

Legana gaped. 'Have you not been paying attention to what's hap¬pening in Scree? There's not going to be a city left in three days; it's

a miracle that the fires haven't already levelled it. The Second Army has turned on us and is killing anyone they find, and your king is running around with less than a company of men as his only guards. I think you should forget about your business and start worrying about how you're going to survive. Whether you men from Narkang fear danger or not, you're fools if you have any goal now beyond saving your own skins.'

Doranei bristled at the comment. 'We understand the situation per¬fectly well.' He paused and lowered his voice so the guards wouldn't hear. 'Your lord has promised us help.'

'The Farlan are going to march on the city?' Legana whispered furi¬ously. 'Does he really want to get embroiled in this mess?'

'That's not our decision to make, but I do know he wants you to report for orders as soon as you can.'

'Damn, how does he expect me to serve a master and a mistress at the same time?' she muttered with a scowl. 'I can't keep running off for orders if he wants me to remain as Zhia's aide.'

Doranei let her fume for a little longer before coughing obviously. 'Could you let us in? As you pointed out, the lunatics will be on the streets again soon.'