‘They’re terrified of you, my lord,’ Wellem said. ‘They must have heard the stories about you being merciful, but somehow they don’t think it applies to them. All they take on board is that you’re a conqueror. We’ve seen it before.’

‘Or they have a greater fear of their masters than of me. Another case of better the devil you know.’

‘Professional fighting men don’t easily abandon their posts, sir. And rarely on the word of a warlord they know little about. It’s not to be wondered at that they’d make a stand.’

‘The contrary thing,’ Sephor commented, ‘is that inside a week I’ll wager half of them will be riding with us. Empire soldiers or not.’

‘Another irony I’m not blind to,’ Zerreiss came back. ‘If there was one thing it was in my power to alter, it would be the human cost of our campaign.’

‘How do we proceed, sir?’ Wellem asked.

‘Bring the army into plain sight, and let the siege engines be seen. Show them what they’re up against. Then we’ll give them a final opportunity to surrender with honour. Failing that…’

‘We fight.’

‘Not before I’ve tilted the odds in our favour. There’s still a chance we can avoid a slaughter.’

‘You’ll do it now, sir?’

‘There’s no point in waiting.’

Experience had taught Wellem and Sephor that there was no need to leave their master’s side when he performed the deed. Nevertheless, they did. It seemed prudent to stand well away in the face of such awe-inspiring power.

As word spread from the hilltop and down through the ranks of Zerreiss’s army, they fell silent, too. The drums were stilled. Even the horses and oxen grew quiet, if restive.

Standing on the hill’s summit, focused on the besieged settlement, the warlord raised his arms.

And the change began.

Winters were slightly more temperate in the west, but that didn’t mean Merakasa, the sprawling capital of Gath Tampoor’s empire, escaped being touched by cheerless weather. Indeed, the city was suffering a harsh winter in Gath Tampoorian terms, with acerbic winds and unremitting snowfall.

But it took more than low temperatures and driving sleet to dampen the populace’s enthusiasm for displaying their status. In Merakasa, as in most of the supposedly civilised world, status equated to wealth. And for those who possessed it, the flaunting of riches meant the conspicuous expenditure of magic.

As in many other things, an element of fashion dictated what was considered stylish in sorcery, and one way this showed itself was in seasonal magic. The glamours conjured for winter reflected that season, or at least the rituals and folklore associated with it, so that at any given time dozens of likenesses of Jex Rime could be seen flying above the city. Jex Rime was a mythical spirit who dispensed gifts during the solstice festivities. He rode an open sky carriage, pulled by twelve pure white lizards, all of whom had names every child knew by heart. Now and then a set of lizards, carriage and benign occupant would flare into nothingness as their magic expired, or their owners grew bored with them.

At street level, bulky animate men, supposedly made of snow, lumbered along the pavements, beaming kindly smiles with lips of coal. Depending on the spell, they could be made to melt at a fixed rate. It wasn’t unusual to see them wading on stumpy legs, delivering cheery waves with handless arms. Critics of the empire’s increasing decadence pointed to the fact that most people found this very amusing.

On chic lawns, small armies of doll-sized ice pixies waged war with icicle swords for well-wrapped dinner party guests. When struck a mortal blow, the pixies shattered into a thousand crystalline fragments-the wounded merely shed icy pearl tears.

Smart landaus passed, drawn by purple reindeer. Frostbarbs, hardy mountain cousins of the more familiar barbcats, appeared on leafy avenues, their usually white fur striped or polka-dotted. Patinas of unseasonable flowers broke out on the walls of mansions. Glamour archers loosed ghostly arrows that winged harmlessly through living targets. Geese sang, giants walked cobbled lanes, hoary stardust fell on heaving pavements.

But gaiety and hedonism didn’t hold sway in every part of the city. In the rundown quarters, elaborate magic was most often used as an instrument of control, or as state weaponry. Recent unrest added to the air of repression. Alive to the reality of a resistance movement previously thought negligible, and following the example set in the Bhealfan colony, the authorities were bent on rooting it out. This made swathes of Merakasa dangerous places to be.

At the centre of the city was an extensive enclave, sanctuary of the empire’s rulers. Flags bearing Gath Tampoor’s fire-breathing dragon emblem flew from its tallest towers. Its gates and lofty ramparts were heavily guarded by conventional forces and glamoured defences. It was a place outsiders were seldom invited to enter, and a summons to do so was rarely welcomed.

A woman stood on a high balcony. Her age would be hard to guess, beyond the fact that she was evidently very old. She tried to hide the fact with face paints, hair dyes and other artificial aids, but only succeeded in giving herself an appearance verging on the grotesque.

Empress Bethmilno, the twenty-fifth of her ancient line so named, wielded more power than anyone else in the whole of Gath Tampoor.

She shivered and came back into the stateroom. ‘I’m cold,’ she complained, moving towards a massive ornamented fireplace. ‘I remember a time when variations in temperature meant nothing to us, no matter how great.’

‘Things change, grandmother,’ her companion said. Like all members of her inner circle, he was a blood relation, though an impartial observer might think he looked curiously old to be one of her grandchildren.

‘Not always for the better,’ she replied tetchily, warming her hands at the blaze. ‘Look at the disorder that’s sweeping through our streets.’

‘Isn’t that simply the current expression of grievances that have always been with us?’

‘It’s change,’ the Empress insisted, ‘and for the worse. Not that long ago our subjects wouldn’t have dared bear arms against us.’

‘We can deal with it. Look at the success Laffon’s CIS and the paladins have had against these people on Bhealfa.’

‘How successful was it if a pack of them got away to that damned pleasure island? We’ve allowed them a stronghold from which to spread their contagion.’

‘Or neatly concentrated them. All the better to eradicate them.’

‘The sooner we do that, the happier I’ll be. We’ve allowed the rebels too much latitude as it is. It sets a bad example.’ She came away from the fireplace and seated herself. ‘But that’s not all that’s changed. Disruptions to the energy grid are growing more frequent and stronger. That really does worry me. Rebels we can put to the sword. What’s happening in the matrix isn’t so easily corrected, even if we knew what the defect was.’

‘I admit that’s a problem of a different order, grandmother. But surely with the expertise we’ve built up over so long-’

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But there are few precedents. This isn’t the first time the matrix has been prone to disturbance, though the last was many years ago and we had some idea then of what caused it. There are no indications this time. I can’t help feeling that the current upheaval portends something.’

There was a knock on the door, followed by the entrance of a retainer who announced a guest. The Empress waved the servant away.

‘That will be Talgorian. You may set the timer, then leave us.’

A large hourglass sat on the mantelpiece. Her grandson upended it. The fine golden sand began to flow.

As he went out, a younger man was ushered in.

Andar Talgorian was of middle years. He was lean and vigorous, wore a stylishly barbered beard and dressed in the latest courtly attire. In keeping with his role as the Imperial Envoy to Bhealfa, he sported his air of diplomatic calm like a second skin. In truth, it wasn’t how he felt. He found it irksome to have been recalled to the capital so frequently in recent months, and his annoyance was heightened by the prospect of an audience with Bethmilno. Being in her presence always made him anxious.