there was nothing unusual about his face at all. It was unremarkably in every way; it was the face of a typical Menin.
‘Your true face please,’ Gaur growled.
The man’s mouth curled into a slight smile. He peeled his gloves off to reveal long, delicate fingers and unfastened his cloak. Underneath he wore a black tunic patterned with sinuous green dragons, overlaid by crossed baldrics. A bronze gorget at his neck was engraved with what looked like writing and studded with small gems.
He unhooked it, and Amber gave a start that sent a fresh twinge of pain around his ribcage.
The man’s face seemed to fall away from his head and vanish for a fraction of a second. As Amber’s eyes refocused he saw no man’s face at all: a sharper, curved jaw line, a thinner skull and more prominent cheekbones. Though Amber had been expecting it, he could not quite stop a moment of shock.
As beautiful as a woman, with an unknowable air and a cruel glitter in his eyes, the true Elf slipped back his hood and gave a mocking half-bow. By some freak of birth he had been untouched by the curse and was one of only a handful of true Elves born to each generation. In that instant their eyes met, Amber realised Arlal Poisonblade knew exactly how rare he was.
‘Drink?’ Gaur asked, indicating a tall silver jug to Arlal’s left.
‘No,’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper. With fastidious care the Elf tucked his gloves into his belt and slipped the weapons-bag from his shoulder. The only adornment he wore other than the gorget was a silver belt-buckle in the shape of a dragon’s head. Everything else was as plain and practical as one might expect of an assassin in the land of his ancient enemies.
‘Will you sit?’
‘No.’
‘To business then.’ If Gaur took offence at the Elf’s demeanour he gave no sign of it. He patted the sheathed sword meaningfully. ‘We have another job for you. More difficult this time.’
‘Who?’
‘A Farlan general. By now we assume he will have returned to Tirah.’
‘A general more difficult than the Krann of the Chetse?’ Arlal said contemptuously. His Menin was imperfect, as though he was reluctant to sully his mouth with a human dialect, but it was understandable.
Amber was careful not to react. He’d known a Raylin mercenary had wounded Krann Charr with a magical arrow, but he hadn’t been part of Lord Styrax’s inner circle before the invasion and the name of the assassin had remained a secret. Even with the heretical direction their plans were now going in it was a shock to hear a true Elf had struck the first blow of their conquest — the arrow had allowed Charr to be possessed by a daemon, which had then usurped Lord Chalat’s position.
Without Arlal’s first blow the Menin advance force would never have been able to defeat the Chetse in one sudden strike, and Amber himself would never have had the opportunity to meet the Chosen of Tsatach in battle barely a month past, let alone kill him; more likely he’d have died assaulting Thotel.
‘He is no longer just a general; he is also the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn,’ the general said.
The Elf laughed. ‘Your Gods are so weak now they need mortals?’
Gaur didn’t respond. No good could come from discussing the Gods with an Elf, one cursed or not.
‘The spirits are stirred up. I hear their whispers in the dark,’ Arlal continued, a sudden intensity crossing his face. ‘They tell me the Farlan thief is dead.’ The Elf’s eyes glittered with avarice and Amber realised the thievery he meant was Lord Isak’s possession of Siulents and Eolis — the greatest of Elven weapons.
‘That is true,’ Gaur confirmed. ‘He was foolish enough to face Lord Styrax in battle.’
‘Then my price is what is rightfully mine,’ the Elf spat.
Gaur cocked his head and Amber realised he had been expecting that. ‘His gifts? We do not have them to offer; all but his helm were sent to the Dark Place with him.’
As Arlal hesitated, Amber understood: they knew almost nothing of the Elven race, or its prophecies, with the exception of the prophet, Shalstik, who foretold Aryn Bwr’s rebirth, but Eolis and Siulents would be more than just weapons to them. They were symbols of their greatest king — it might be that possession of them alone would be enough to confer the authority to rule, even without using them to claim he was Aryn Bwr reborn.