'In what way?'

'The style dictates a certain rhythm to the lines, repeated in a pattern of fives, but here the pattern is not adhered to in every line.'

Amber thought for a moment, but his expression of confusion only lifted when Lord Styrax reminded him gently, 'Remember, the message is intended to be read.'

'The mistakes are intentional?'

Styrax nodded and pointed to the first line. 'The first mistake is an obvious one. The sentence is a mess structurally, but to read it in Menin would give you "In combat a mirror to the heavens is raised, in struggle life flourishes.'"

'That sounds familiar,' Amber mused. 'Oh – it's an adapted version of the first line of Principles of Warfare.' His eyes lit up. 'The message uses a reference code! I know about those, where two men have identical copies of a book and then can use numbers to refer to pages and words. Even if the coded message is intercepted, it's useless without knowing what book is to be used.'

'Exactly, and this message is written in reference to a work that was originally a collection of fifty-five scrolls – and that is exactly the number of lines written in correct cross-pentameter. But it's not a scholarly work, Principles of Warfare, not in the usual sense. The author wants a warrior to recognise Eraliave's great work, and a scholar to know how to use cross-pentameter.'

'And the incorrect lines?'

'Dummies to throw off those who might guess the source work but do not understand cross-pentameter.'

'Oh,' Amber said, feeling a little deflated. 'I'd have expected more to it than that. Whoever devised this was a genius and clearly wanted everyone to know it. I wouldn't expect them to be wasteful.'

Styrax frowned down at the poem for a moment, then reached for one of the pieces of parchment he had been working on. It was covered in tiny rows of precise handwriting. 'Perhaps…' he said softly, failing to finish the sentence. '"The longest reach requires a second step." Could it-?'

'Is there a problem?'

Styrax looked up distractedly. 'Problem? No, not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact: I think you might have saved me from making a complete fool of myself.'

Amber was too astonished even to look pleased. He had never in his life expected to hear those words from the Lord of the Menin. Styrax had returned to his page by the time Amber remembered to shut his mouth again.

'Ah, glad to have helped then, sir,' he muttered in a daze, getting no response. 'I'll go back to my book, shall I?'

*

Darkness fell and Byora was quiet. A lingering fear haunted its streets, keeping most people inside. Word of the Farlan Army's approach had spread through the city like a plague; those praying it was nothing more than fancy saw their hopes disappear as every soldier in the city was called to readiness. Companies of Byoran Guard stomped their way through every district, a warning to troublemakers, while mercenaries and household guards from Coin were drafted into the regiments. Any remaining penitents in Hale were disarmed on sight.

'Do you really think he's come for Ilumene?' Sebe whispered. He and Doranei were lurking in the deep portico of the Derager Wine Store, making sure the street beyond was clear before they risked leaving.

Doranei shrugged and continued squinting through the slit-window. 'What else? Can't say whether he's sent an envoy on ahead to deal with Lord Styrax, but his timing's good. Whoever's calling the shots at the Ruby Tower, they can't afford to flee right now, it'll all go to shit so fast…' Doranei tailed off for a moment. When he spoke again his voice was harder, fiercer. 'The game's too far advanced now, there's nothing more they can do about it, and I hope it's eating them up inside. They have to wait and watch how it plays out, or tear up their plan.'

'What can we do, then?'

'Shame that demagogue Parim isn't here,' Doranei said. 'I'd get the bastard to start the whisper that Sergeant Kayel is the reason the Farlan are here – that he's the one who killed Lord Bahl, or something. You never know, people might hang him for us.'

'So what's Plan B then?' Sebe muttered, trying to conceal as much as possible of his weaponry, including the crossbows hanging under each arm.

'That was Plan B,' Doranei said sourly. 'Plan A was asking Zhia to help us get in and kill them ourselves, but she's dropped out of sight and that scares me all by itself. Nothing we can do about it now, though, so we're down to second-guessing what might happen next.'

'So if the Farlan attack?'

Doranei shrugged. 'They defend the wall. Ilumene knows what he's about; it's got to be worth trying to keep what they've got, especially with Aracnan to back you up and no reason to give a damn about your losses. You'd hold as long as you could.'

'That Harlequin in the deck has already been uncovered,' Sebe pointed out. 'Legana's still alive, so they've got to assume Lord Isak knows all about Aracnan by now.'

'Don't matter, the bastard's had too long to practise his art – as long as he avoids a direct confrontation, he'll survive the battle.'

'So what're we about then?'

'We fall back on what we are,' Doranei said. 'We revert to type. First duty of a King's Man is to poke a stick in the spokes every chance we get, whatever the risk.'

Sebe nodded, fully aware that any action they took would effectively make them hostiles in a besieged city. 'Stories about Aracnan often have him turning up in the hour of need, so it's fair to assume he'll stick with his usual routine.'

'Exactly, so when the Farlan attack the city there's a good chance we'll end up recognising someone heading for the outer wall -either Aracnan or Ilumene.' He paused. 'We'll be noticed in Eight Towers, though, so we can't risk going in there, and once you're out the gate there's a couple of roads you could take.'

'I reckon we spread our bets and take a fork each, find a room we can each hole up in. First target is Aracnan, next best is Ilumene, but chances are you only get one shot so take whichever looks best.'

'See you when the killing's done,' Sebe said in a gruff voice. Sir Creyl, the commander of the Brotherhood, had come up with the phrase; now it was their standard sign-off.

The Brothers looked grim as they set off in silence through the streets, their minds fixed on the task ahead. When the time came to part, they embraced tightly before going their separate ways. Above them, the clouds rumbled with the distant promise of violence.

CHAPTER 34

He felt the darkness all around him, crawling over his skin, choking every breath he took. The air tasted of hot ash and tears. Every droplet of stinking, greasy sweat seemed to be scalding hot on his skin, but he could not move to wipe them away. His strength had been sapped by the heat radiating out from the rock and the searing chains that bound him. The pitted, ancient iron cut grooves in his flesh, tracing a pattern of bondage across his arms, neck and waist.

In the distance there was sound. He tried to concentrate on the noise to block out the pain, but it was not enough. Sometimes he could hear faint screams, sometimes laughter. Often there was only the slither of scales and skin over stone, or a distant booming that he felt through the rock more than heard. Whatever the sound, it was always dull and indistinct, even when the claws clicked close enough to touch his body. Hot huffs of foetid breath came accompanied by guttural snorts. Their whispers produced images in his mind, horrors he had no name for, and the words themselves were unintelligible.

It was too dark to see, but on occasion flashes of vermilion-tinted light burst in his eyes. His prison was a forgotten fissure. His blood was a feast for his monstrous attendants who crawled up walls and along the roof; sometimes they fought desperate battles, tearing shreds from their enemies; greedily gulping down chunks of hard-won flesh before the battle was even over, or they got cast into the jagged pits and yawning chasms below.