The Dusk Watchman: Book Five of The Twilight Reign (12 page)

‘Well, then, where’s your man Timonas?’ he muttered, returning to the window.

Down below they saw the man they asssumed to be Perforren stop at a corner and check around it before he secreted himself into the shadow of a doorway. All fell silent again, and it was five minutes or more before any other sound broke the night. Rather than a second set of footsteps, Shanatin heard more distant noises, distorted into nothing recognisable by the city streets.

He didn’t know what sort of disturbance had caused it, but Luerce, first disciple of Ruhen’s Children, had been very clear in his instructions. Shanatin glanced at Fynner and was relieved to see the chaplain wasn’t looking to be in any hurry to leave their vantage point. They needed a witness to report back, and with any luck Fynner’s testimony would heat up Garash’s hair-trigger temper and push this internal struggle over the edge.

It wasn’t long before Sergeant Timonas of the witchfinders appeared from the other direction, in time to play his small part in matters. Shanatin watched the man anxiously; he knew Timonas was innocent in this, but the bastard deserved everything he got. He found himself holding his breath as Timonas approached the corner with far more caution than Perforren had, looking in all directions as though bewildered he was there at all.

‘Well?’

Shanatin looked over and realised Fynner was staring expectantly at him. Timonas wasn’t wearing his black and white uniform, of course; the man had more sense than that, having received an anonymous note that his life was in danger.

He nodded and gestured at the newcomer. ‘It’s him, for certain.’

Fynner reached up and, checking neither of the men was looking his way, drew the curtain away from the shuttered window. The lieutenant in charge of the squads was watching for his signal and in the next moment a door burst open a short way down the street Timonas had just walked along. The two men panicked at the crash, but in the next instant a second clatter came from down the next street and then a third from somewhere below where Shanatin stood.

‘Drop your weapons!’ someone yelled as Shanatin hunkered down at the window and watched events. Timonas was standing like an idiot – Shanatin could see his stupid thick jaw hanging open in astonishment as he turned, first one way, then the other, to watch the onrushing troops. By contrast Perforren was already moving with purpose, drawing a pair of swords.

Shanatin jammed his knuckle in his mouth as he tried to suppress a gasp of surprise, but the sound was echoed by Fynner anyway as Perforren broke into a sprint from a standing start, covering the ground to the nearest squad before the last man had even made it out of the building. One slender sword slashed open the first soldier’s throat, even as the second was piercing the side of another. Perforren kept moving, slipping between the spears of the next two, hopping left and right, almost with the grace of a Harlequin.

Both soldiers reeled away, to be immediately replaced by a fifth and sixth, but those too were no match for Perforren’s speed. He deflected one thrust and darted right around the shield of the other, kicking high into the man’s shoulder and knocking him into his comrade even as he chopped up into the elbow of a third soldier.

Gods, a Harlequin – dressed up and made to look like Perforren?

The remaining men of the squad, thrown back by the force of his attack, now fanned out to surround him, but Perforren stood his ground. He stopped a moment and his voice cut through the confusion, but he was not speaking any words Shanatin could recognise. Abruptly he slashed through the air between himself and the last troops and a blinding white light tore in an arc after the tip of his sword. The light whipped across each of the men and ripped through their armour like paper. They fell without a sound, a gaping wound stretching across the chest of each from which Shanatin glimpsed the white stubs of ribs.

Shanatin felt a hand drop onto his shoulder and almost shrieked before he realised it was Fynner, stunned by what was happening.

‘Merciful Gods, it’s true and more,’ Fynner mumbled in shock. ‘He’s a trained battle-mage!’

Loud, angry voices came suddenly from a side-street, and in the next moment another squad of Devoted troops burst into view. Fynner gasped: these men weren’t under his command. In the moonlight their unit markings were clear on their shoulders. He could easily make out the designation: C11, Knight-Cardinal Certinse’s own élite troops, the Tildek mounted infantry. Most had been co-opted into service by the Menin, but Certinse had been allowed a regiment of personal guards to remain with him.

‘It’s an ambush,’ Fynner gasped, leaning heavily on Shanatin as though all the strength had gone out of him. ‘They’re here to kill us all.’

The Tildek infantry charged straight for the witchfinders, howling furiously and giving them no time to steady themselves. The squad of witchfinders were not front-line troops and they quickly collapsed under the assault, half of them dropping in the initial rush. The élite troops swamped their foes, battering through them with rare savagery so that in seconds they were all on the ground, dead or dying.

‘Sergeant!’ yelled Perforren, striding towards them with blood trailing from his swords, ‘those men too!’ He pointed to the remaining squad who’d surrounded the terrified Sergeant Timonas and then found themselves frozen to the spot as they watched the unexpected onslaught. ‘They’re murdering officers loyal to the Knight-Cardinal!’

Invoking their commander’s name seemed to be enough and with a roar they charged at the last remaining men who fled, only to be run down before they’d gone twenty yards. They were butchered to a man.

Shanatin grabbed Fynner and pulled the chaplain slowly to the ground, frantically gesturing for the man to be silent, but though Fynner didn’t seem to notice he was too aghast to make a sound. Shanatin tried to control the panic surging through his own heart. At least thirty men had been killed in less than a minute. He felt his hands start to shake at the idea that the loyalist troops might start to check the surrounding buildings, but he knew he couldn’t risk the slightest noise, not yet.

He took a slow breath and the musty smell of the floorboards calmed him: it contained a faint old strain of decay that put him in mind of Rojak, first of Azaer’s disciples. Luerce had said he was dead, but at that moment Shanatin knew the malevolent minstrel’s spirit was with him there, and if anyone could hide him in the shadows, it was Rojak. He tightened his grip on Chaplain Fynner, clutching the man as close as a lover as he listened to the soldiers in the street below and waited for his chance to escape.

Knight-Cardinal Certinse opened the door to his study and stopped dead. Despite the guards posted all round the house the study wasn’t empty. He sighed and closed the door behind him. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any point asking how you got in here?’

Ilumene smiled. ‘Not a whole lot,’ he agreed, ‘but we’ve got rather more pressing concerns today.’

Certinse grunted in agreement. He was wearing battle armour, a rare occurrence when most of the last few decades had been spent in a formal uniform. He wore a broadsword and thick-hilted dagger on his belt, with gauntlets stuffed untidily in behind the dagger. ‘You heard the news then?’

‘About your aide? Aye, strange that.’ The big soldier, looking quite comfortable in Certinse’s favourite armchair, was also dressed for a fight, in a white brigandine and breeches, with his big bastard sword nestled in the crook of his arm. The man Certinse knew as Hener Kayel couldn’t have stood out more on the streets of Akell. White was now the colour of Ruhen’s Children, so if any cleric had seen him they would have arrested him on sight – or tried to, at least. That he was ready for a fight was good news to Certinse though; a small ray of light amidst the deluge.

‘Strange?’ Certinse sat at his desk and pulled out a sheaf of paper. ‘Not the word I’d use.’

He knew his guest didn’t stand on ceremony and he had orders to write after the crimes of the previous night. He gave Ilumene a hard look before picking up his pen and starting the first letter.

‘Strange, because I’d heard Perforren was going to be arrested – as an unregistered mage,’ Ilumene explained. ‘If you’ve got that planned, why go and murder him instead?’

Certinse abandoned his letter. ‘You heard what? A
mage?
That’s bloody ridiculous!’ He hesitated. ‘Even Garash must have realised how stupid and contrived that would look. Must be he changed his mind, but still wanted Perforren out of the way. I’d thought the murders of the last few days had been building up to an assassination attempt on me, not this. But Perforren’s the man I trusted most to carry my orders, so by killing him they limit the speed I can react to whatever they’re up to.’

‘Aye, today’s the day,’ Ilumene agreed. ‘I heard there was a fire at a barracks too?’

Certinse nodded briefly. ‘Fifteen dead, all good and loyal men. From the report it looks like it was a botched job – the bastard was trying to fire the officers’ quarters next door, but the thatch in the barracks caught first. It’s worked against them now; the men are ready to storm the armoury and march on the temple district.’

‘Well, you can’t trust a fanatic to think before he acts.’ Ilumene declared as he stood and straightened his weapons. ‘Which is why I’m here.’

‘Your vague promises to me shall finally bear fruit? And speaking of such – Harlequins? Gods, man, remarkable followers of Ruhen, I think you described them as!’

‘Weren’t lying now, was I?’ Ilumene said with a grin.

‘Far from it – indeed, I hadn’t expected the term to be so accurate. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me how you persuaded the Harlequin clans to join you?’

‘Nope.’

Certinse watched Ilumene as the man scratched the ragged edge of his left ear. A small part of the lobe was missing, no doubt bitten off in some squalid bar fight. They had yet to set the terms of their agreement, if agreement was in fact the term for the flirtation of suggestion and vague assertion each had made. Now the crucial time had come, and there was bargaining to be done.

‘I can’t help but wonder if I need your help now. My greatest problem was the piety and obedience of my men, and High Priest Garash seems to have solved that for me.’

‘Far from your only problem though,’ the other commented with a yawn, ‘and no one likes a tease. In case you’ve forgotten, the Menin dragooned most of your troops. Garash might still be outnumbered, but not by armed soldiers, and he still controls the armoury.’

‘So you offer me the armoury today?’

Ilumene gestured expansively. ‘If that’s your heart’s desire, certainly. I’ll even throw in a little confusion within the enemy’s ranks too. If we come to an agreement you’ll have full military control of Akell by the end of the day, with the clerics of the Knights of the Temples more than aware you’re no longer their bitch.’

The Knight-Cardinal sat back, puzzled at Ilumene’s bluntness. He’d expected more dancing around than that, whether or not time was of the essence.

‘And the price?’ he enquired, noting his guest’s complete lack of reaction at the question. It boded well; Ilumene might be more than the simple thug he appeared, but he was still a bully and a brawler. Once he had the advantage of a man he’d want to lord it over them.

‘Friendship.’

‘Perhaps you should define that a little more clearly for me.’

Ilumene shrugged. ‘He asks for stricter terms. Some people, eh?’

As he spoke, Certinse felt the faintest breath of wind and saw Ilumene’s eyes flick briefly to the dark corner of the room beside his desk, but which happened first he couldn’t be certain of. For a moment though, he had the sense that Ilumene wasn’t just being theatrical.

‘I want clearer terms, not more severe,’ Certinse said carefully, trying to shake off the impression he was negotiating with two people rather than just one.

Ilumene didn’t help that impression by cocking his head to one side as he thought, almost as though listening to a whispered voice, but Certinse could hear nothing during the short pause that followed his words.

‘Clarity then,’ Ilumene said with a flourish of the hands, ‘a throwing back of the shadows we shall have. Ruhen wants the right to take his message to all corners of the Land, but he’s not looking to build an army. We’ll leave any recruiting up to you, but I’m sure if you do so in Byora there’ll be no complaints from our corner. If the Knights of the Temples would be so generous as to provide escorts for Ruhen’s preachers where necessary, the problem of security would be solved.’

‘Easily granted, so long as you recognise the Order is in no fit state to invade any city-state.’

Ilumene inclined his head to accept the point. ‘Both of us also need greater ties between Ruhen’s Children and the Order – I’m not suggesting you cut the holy orders out of your structure, but some recognition of Ruhen’s message would serve us both.’

‘Certainly,’ Certinse said thoughtfully, ‘a message of peace is a complicated one to sell to a martial order, but until the fanaticism in the Land runs its course, Ruhen remains a better guiding light.’

The big soldier leaned abruptly forward. ‘Tell me, Knight-Cardinal: do you believe in the Order’s central tenet these days?’

‘The Army of the Devoted?’ Certinse asked, unable to conceal his surprise at the question. ‘I – we were founded to protect the majesty of the Gods. Certainly I believe in this charge.’

‘And providing an army for the saviour, when he comes?’ There was a slight smile on Ilumene’s face.

Certinse couldn’t tell whether the man found the entire subject ridiculous or was setting himself up for some sort of rehearsed argument or joke.

‘I fail to see how the two would be exclusive of each other,’ he said carefully, ‘but I am told by the Serian that many mages, scholars and other heretics consider the point moot. They say that destiny has been twisted awry and the question of whether the Order will have a saviour to follow is now moot.’

‘So that’s a no,’ Ilumene said, looking satisfied. ‘You’re a politician and a man of power after all. You can’t spend your time dreaming about such things – most likely you reckon if it does turn out that way the best thing you could’ve done was build the Order’s strength anyway.’