They rode past the crossroad where Aracnan had been nearly killed. One beam protruded up from the blackened mess that was all that remained of the shattered buildings, and people had braved the rickety remains to nail scraps of white cloth prayers to it.
As soon as they were out of the city all eyes turned to the churned ground where the Menin and Farlan armies had fought, where lords and commoners alike had fallen to Karkarn’s hands. The Menin had dug great pits and burned Farlan corpses in their hundreds, and even now the unmistakable smell lingered. As the delegation turned north, not even Kayel’s vicious reputation stopped most of the soldiers ignoring unit discipline and looking behind them at the battlefield, playground of the God of War, where one patch of ground remained burning hot, blistered and scourged of all life. Next to it stood the gruesome memorial to Scion Kohrad Styrax: thousands of skulls boiled clean and bound within a circle of spears. There were already rumours running wild throughout the city of a ghostly figure seen in the torchlight, and of people disappearing nearby.
Before long the group rounded the black spur of rock that marked the boundary between Akell quarter and Byora. Blackfang, the vast broken stub of a mountain onto which both cities backed, was wreathed in low, sullen clouds. The approach to Akell was uncomfortable as the road twisted past deep dykes intended to channel attackers down the single central road, allowing the defenders to take them out more easily.
At last they found themselves picking their way through the stinking army encampment that surrounded the Fist, Akell’s huge forward defence. The square fortress could house thousands of soldiers, and there were still three legion flags flying over the rows of tents outside it. Positioned on top of the Fist’s jutting gatehouse was Lord Styrax’s enormous personal standard: a stylised, blood-red fanged skull on a black field.
The Byoran delegation rode uneasily up to the gatehouse between rows of grim-faced Menin. Shaven-headed foot soldiers stood side-by-side with cavalrymen sporting wild black curls, and all stared with undisguised curiosity. No one moved, however, until they reached the gatehouse itself, when a grey-clad official emerged and bowed low to the duchess.
‘I beg an audience with Lord Styrax,’ the duchess announced loudly as Ruhen turned his hypnotic gaze on the Menin official.
‘I — Ah, your Grace,’ the man started in hesitant Byoran, trying not to be thrown by Ruhen’s stare, ‘your request is not possible. I apologise.’
Sergeant Kayel slipped from his horse and gave the man an inadvisable look, considering the watching soldiers. He lifted Ruhen gently from the duchess’ lap and dropped to one knee to allow the duchess to dismount easily.
The official, a rake-thin man of around sixty summers with the heavy brow and prominent jaw so common among the Menin, waited patiently while Natai Escral arranged her dress and took Ruhen’s hand. Then he said, ‘Your Grace, I apologise, but Lord Styrax is not receiving visitors and General Gaur is occupied in Fortinn quarter. If you have a written petition for him, you may give it to me - or I would be happy to summon a lord to hear you.’
‘I will speak to Lord Styrax,’ the duchess declared firmly.
The official frowned, his eyes flitting down to the little boy at her side. ‘Your Grace, he is not receiving visitors. My lord is in mourning; he is in no mood for civil affairs.’
‘Then we will talk of uncivil things,’ she insisted, ‘of the beloved lost and the dangers that remain in this Land.’
The official could not help but glance up into the sky, watching for the black shape that had been inflicting devastation on the Circle City ever since being awakened. ‘Your Grace, madam, I am sorry, but he will not see you.’
‘Then I will wait here until he changes his mind. If I am to be his vassal I must be permitted his audience.’ She turned to her bodyguard. ‘Kayel, perhaps you would fetch me a stool?’ She gestured at the ground where she stood, on the centre of the road leading out of the Fist’s main gate.
‘Your Grace,’ the official urged, a slight note of panic entering his voice, ‘my instructions were most specific: no one is to be permitted into Lord Styrax’s presence. I dare not disturb him.’
‘Have courage,’ came a small voice that sent an electric twitch down the official’s spine. Ruhen looked at him.