A light flared inside the cave, illuminating its cramped interior. Koezh sat upon one bedroll looking at the glass sphere which emitted the light. A small hamper and a few thick leather-bound books were piled beside it. Zhia's bedding was piled against the opposite wall.

The vampire looked grave. 'So all we can do is wait.' He gestured to the few belongings beside him. 'It's been a long time since we played camp like this.'

He was ready for battle, dressed in a full suit of ancient black armour, except for the helm and gauntlets, which lay on the rock floor next to him. His hate-filled sword was suspended on a pair of thick iron pins that he'd driven into the rock above his bedroll. Without the ward surrounding her, even Zhia would have found it uncomfortable to look at the weapon Aryn Bwr had instilled with the fury and grief of his heir's murder.

'It has been millennia,' Zhia replied with a slight edge to her voice, 'and I for one see no reason to repeat it now. It will take him days of research before he can make his move. If you wish to camp out, Prince Koezh, that is entirely your prerogative.'

'We cannot know how long it will take,' Koezh replied with a tone of infinite, infuriating patience. 'You don't know how far along he starts, and we cannot lake any risk. He is not a man we can buy off or threaten as we did Deverk Grast; even if he knew the whole story he would still go through with it. We cannot risk anyone taking possession and we cannot trust the guardian to stop him – quite aside from the destruction it would unleash upon the innocents of Ismess.' He gestured towards her bedroll. 'All this you know, so come and sit with me.'

Zhia scowled, falling into long-abandoned habits of the younger sister but well aware that her brother was right.

'Even if we hand it to him later, we must be sure first,' she admitted, joining him inside the cave. The icy gusts tore at her clothes for a brief moment while she exchanged one ward for the other. 'I reserve the right to blame you for a poor night's sleep, however.'

Koezh inclined his head. 'Mother always said one must always accept a lady's blame. I believe the principle holds true even if one suspects it is misplaced anger.'

'Your meaning?' Zhia asked coldly.

Her brother smiled. 'Avoiding a certain young man seems to have put you on edge. It's all very sweet. Shall I sing to you to help you sleep?'

'If you do I'll cut my throat and you can wait by your damn self,' she snapped, turning away from the laughter on his face.

'Suicide by petulance; a lesser-know joy of immortality.'

CHAPTER 32

'Enjoying the morning air?'

Amber turned quickly at the sound of Lord Styrax's voice.

Gods, I didn't hear a thing, he thought, before replying, 'Just so, my Lord. A night in Nai's company is enough to make a man appreciate a bracing breeze.'

'The air was not fresh in your room?' Today Lord Styrax had selected the clothes of an officer at leisure: thick black linen tunic with no braids or badges of rank, black breeches, and tall riding boots polished to a high shine. The white-eye may not have been particularly handsome – indeed, people barely noticed his features, and few would be able to describe them. All folk remembered was the power he wore like a mantle.

'A little ripe, if you'll forgive the observation, my Lord.'

'It was the pork – even my stomach thought it a trifle overspiced.'

Even here in the library grounds where no magic could exist, Lord Styrax's presence was nearly overwhelming. He may have been one of the largest men in the Land, but he carried his size with ease, moving as deftly and neatly as a dancer. Amber believed the inscrutable giant to be something more than human: as if the Gods had finally perfected the model. Even Aryn Bwr could not have inspired more worship than Kastan Styrax.

Lord Styrax walked the few yards to stand beside the major. The Library of Seasons had only one exit, through an enormous gate. The gatehouse was set into the rock and jutted into the road, looking down the entire length of Hit's Stair. The arch exploited a natural fissure in the cliff face and square blocks the height of a man shored up the rock. Without gates the library looked remarkably vulnerable, but Hit's Stair was two hundred yards of stepped slope

more than twenty yards wide, offering no cover whatsoever to those ascending.

The guardians of the library had ensured it was no secret that there were enormous storerooms where, in addition to the weapons belonging to their current guests, there were whole rooms full of arrows – one for every man Deverk Grast had led into Ismess. Whether that was true or not, there were certainly a dozen or more ballistae kept for a similar purpose.

'Longing for freedom?' Lord Styrax said, gesturing towards the archway, through which they could see the sparsely wooded hills on the other side of the city and a clear, pale blue sky. It was still early; the sun had risen no more than half an hour ago and the valley remained in shadow. The air was cold and crisp.

It reminded Amber of winter mornings when he had gone hunting with his father and brothers.

'Just appreciating the view,' he said eventually. 'I get a little restless in these gentle surrounds, especially with my men out there without me.'

'I will keep you busy then. I'll be in the Fearen House all day, and I shall need someone to attend me.'

'Of course, my Lord.' Amber hesitated for a moment, then asked, 'My Lord, surely Nai would be a better aide? I'll only be able to contribute by carrying books.'

Lord Styrax nodded. 'Doubtless true – but never trust a necromancer. Folk might hate my kind for good reason, but we have nothing on the walkers in the dark.' Styrax's words immediately reminded Amber of the conversation he'd overheard in Thotel, between the necromancer Isherin Purn, Nai's master, and Lord Styrax. Without understanding it, Amber had nevertheless recognised there was a subtext to each man's words, hinting at tensions and allegiances he knew nothing of.

They watched the heads of the guards at the gate turn their way: nervous Litse faces looking like deer that had sensed wolves. The white-eyes were slowest to react. Three of them were facing out towards Ismess, feeling the wind that rose up Hit's Stair. One had his wings fully outstretched, though he would have to walk another ten yards or more to be able to fly. As large as they were, those wings would not be capable of lifting a man without magic.

'Caged birds,' Styrax said, nodding towards the white-eyes as they finally turned towards them. He appeared to be enjoying their discomfort. 'They're bound to this place; conditioned to stare past the bars but never slip through them.'

Amber admitted, 'I don't understand these people. Even their white-eyes seem alien to me, and I thought your kind at least would be the same the Land over.'

'They are a broken tribe, unaware even of their past glories. Without a man or woman of vision, they will wallow another thousand years in this festering place, until inbreeding or war destroys them.'

But which solution will we provide? Amber wondered as Styrax turned abruptly away, motioning for Amber to accompany him.

It had rained during the night and the ground was muddy, so they headed for the nearest gravel path. Gesh followed behind. The white-eye was dressed as he had been the day before, in formal white robes underneath ceremonial armour. It was strange to see so little colour in a man; with his pale skin, creamy yellow hair and white eyes, Amber thought Gesh hardly looked alive. His slim build and ethereal appearance put Amber in mind of tales of Elves, and the contrasting bright red and green javelins held in an oversized quiver at his hip only added to that unreal image.