The Dusk Watchman: Book Five of The Twilight Reign (4 page)

The captain’s fear fell away for a moment. ‘That scar-handed bastard? Gladly – the kid too. There’ somethin’ unnatural about the pair of ’em; the duchess is my liege, but when that Ruhen’s around she ain’t all there.’

Without warning a soldier leaped from the huddled mass, a short knife in his hand. For a moment Doranei didn’t react to the sudden movement, his exhausted body failing him, then he saw the knife-tip pass him by and something went
click
in his head as he saw the man reaching for the captain. Doranei launched into the slimmer man and knocked him sideways, then scrabbled to get his fingers around the man’s wrist. They crashed together into the injured captain, who cried out as they flattened him.

The Byoran twisted underneath Doranei, trying to kick him off, but the King’s Man hooked one leg under him and let his greater size do the work for him. Once he had a good grip on the man’s wrist he pushed forward, lying nose-to-nose on top of the attacker while stretching his arm up away from his body. The Byoran wrenched around and managed to turn onto his front, trying to bite Doranei’s arm until he smashed an elbow into the back of his head.

The blow seemed to drive the frenzy from the Byoran and gave Doranei time to bend his knife-hand back behind his shoulder. A quick twist and the man’s fingers opened, releasing the knife with a yelp that turned into an agonised howl as Doranei increased the pressure and felt the man’s shoulder pop out of its socket. That done, he pushed himself upright again, leaving the wailing man on the ground as he drew his black broadsword.

‘Anyone else fancy being a martyr to a false god?’ he demanded, raising the sword. His ragged voice was thick with hatred and the crowd of soldiers shrank further back, some falling over each other to get away. He saw the fight was gone out of them. Not even the brutal treatment of one of their own could make them raise a hand against him. Doranei turned and found Firrin right behind him, sword drawn, with Cedei two paces behind.

‘Take this one – I’m sure the king’ll be interested to meet a fanatic,’ he said, giving the prone Byoran soldier a nudge in the ribs. As Firrin hauled the man up Doranei saw the fear in the captain’s eyes. He realised the man was watching his own men, expecting another attack to follow as soon as he was left alone. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he announced, and grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him away until they were clear of the mob. There he released the Byoran officer and gestured for him to keep walking with him as he sheathed his sword again.

‘There’ll be more of them, waiting for me,’ the officer whimpered.

‘Don’t you worry about that. Tell me the truth and if it checks against our intelligence, you won’t be going back to them – not until we win this war.’

‘What? But—? I’d look like a traitor, selling out the whole Circle City!’

‘Bit late now,’ Doranei said, grabbing the man by the arm and stopping him short. ‘Your only other choice is me beating the fuck out of you ’til you tell me what I want to know. Don’t be surprised if I kill you, I ain’t in the best o’ moods and I can always ask the same of your major afterwards.’

The Byoran’s head drooped. ‘What is it you want to know?’

‘Like I said: Kayel and the child – how do they act, how do they speak, how old is the child now. And how did you mean “ain’t all there”?’

‘That’s it?’

Doranei laughed. ‘We just battered the best of your army and the Circle City ain’t got many special defences to speak of – got any secrets our spies don’t already know?’

The Byoran just looked blank at that and Doranei started walking again. ‘Exactly. Either you’re a better liar than I am, or you don’t know anything else of use. So tell me about Kayel.’

‘I don’t understand him myself,’ the Byoran said with a miserable shake of the head. ‘He’s mad, vicious to the bone, that one—’

‘I’ve met the bastard; tell me something I don’t know.’

‘Well that’s just it,’ he captain insisted, ‘it doesn’t make sense – Kayel’s not one to take orders; he’s not one to take shit or even leave alone anyone who looks at him in a way he doesn’t like. But he follows that weird brat’s every word like he really is the saviour they’re saying.’

Doranei stopped short. ‘Kayel’s taking
his
orders? You mean he’s taking the duchess’ orders when Ruhen’s near her?’

‘No, not just then; it’s whether or not the duchess is around. That’s what has half the quarter persuaded Ruhen’s everything those white-cloaks, Ruhen’s Children, claim he is. He’s growing faster than any normal child, could only be by magic, but Kayel don’t look ensorcelled. That man’d rather cut out his own eyes than think any man’s his better, but he jumps when that shadow-eyed bastard says, just as quick as any of the rest of us.’

Doranei gave a cough of surprise which turned into a painful wheeze as the aching muscles in his back reminded him of their presence. ‘“Shadow-eyed”?’

‘Aye, that child’s got shadows in his eyes, drifting like clouds on the breeze.’ The Byoran shivered at the memory.

‘Shadows in his eyes,’ Doranei whispered hoarsely, ‘and Ilumene’s his errand-boy. Fires of Ghenna, the boy’s no instrument—’

‘Nope,’ the Byoran agreed, puzzled by the name he didn’t know but eager to be helpful, ‘the little bastard’s in charge sure enough, and by now I’d guess half the Circle City’s willing to accept him as their saviour.’

Doranei had started running blindly until his brain caught up with him and he tried to work out where King Emin would be at this hour. The Byoran captain followed him like a lost puppy until they came upon a nobleman, who wisely decided not to object when Doranei left the Byoran in his charge. He directed the King’s Man to where he’d seen the king’s party last. Unnoticed by Doranei, more than a few Narkang soldiers had grabbed weapons in his wake, looking in vain for the danger as they followed him, but he jolted to a stop as he passed another Brother, the thief Tremal.

‘The king, you seen him?’

Tremal nodded, his mouth full of the honey-cake he’d procured from somewhere. ‘Heading to the Farlan camp with most o’ the remaining Brotherhood – I just been sent to round up the last few.’

Doranei had to walk to the Farlan camp. It was on the other side of the battlefield, half a mile away and beyond the long defensive ditch now half-filled with corpses. Long before he got there his body was protesting violently. Tremal and the remaining two members of the Brotherhood caught up, but none of them bothered with questions; they recognised Doranei’s expression well enough.

At the Farlan camp it was easy to find King Emin amidst the duller liveries of the Tirah Palace Guard and Suzerain Torl’s Dark Monks. Doranei was so focused on the king that he almost barged the suzerain out of the way, checking himself just in time as he glimpsed a hurscal’s sword leaving its scabbard. The white-haired Farlan was one of a crowd around a large fire and as he made space for Doranei to pass, the King’s Man realised they were all watching a small group sitting inside the circle.

The figure closest was Isak Stormcaller; still clad in his tattered cloak. The white-eye was looking into the flames, paying no regard to those around him. The heat would have been uncomfortable, save, perhaps, for those who’d felt the flames of Ghenna. Close behind him, the Witch of Llehden had one hand tight on the cord around the neck of Hulf, Isak’s dog. She was staring at Mihn and the Mortal-Aspect Legana. The witch noted his presence with a flicker of the eyes, but clearly she wouldn’t be distracted from whatever she was watching between Legana and Mihn.

He didn’t even bother trying to work out what she was seeing around those two; they could have been wearing Harlequin’s masks for all he could make out in their faces. Legana had a shawl shading her eyes from the morning sun as usual, while Mihn was shirtless, for reasons Doranei couldn’t fathom, with a blanket loosely draped around him to cover the leaf-pattern tattoos running from wrist to shoulder. The pair sat silent and still, as close as young lovers.

‘Doranei,’ the king said from the other side of the fire, ‘I’ve not seen you look so glum since you told me you were in love.’

The King’s Man tried to smile at the gentle needling, but he failed as completely as those around him. Their losses had been too great. Instead he ducked his head in acknowledgement and looked around at their allies to check he could speak freely.

‘News, your Majesty,’ he started, ‘from the Byoran prisoners.’

‘Speak it then.’

Doranei hesitated, in case he’d misheard or misunderstood, but he knew it wasn’t so. ‘You’ll want to hear it yourself, but I think we judged it wrong in Byora,’ he said. ‘The child, Ruhen, isn’t a vessel or tool; he’s the one giving orders. Ilumene jumps on his command – the command of a child with shadows in his eyes.’

There was a cold silence, every remaining member of the Brotherhood digesting the information as they remembered their failed assault on Byora’s Ruby Tower.

‘Azaer has taken mortal form,’ King Emin said at last. ‘A mortal body, an immortal soul – but why?’

‘The greatest magic always involves sacrifice,’ Isak said abruptly, looking up from the fire at last, ‘the change from life to death.’

‘And the potential for catastrophe,’ the witch added. ‘Azaer does not intend some basic working of magic, but something to unpick the fabric of the Land so it can weave the tapestry anew. Even the Gods are weakened by grand undertakings; whatever power the shadow can bring to bear, it must risk everything in the act.’

She pointed to Isak who flinched slightly at the gesture. ‘Isak knew he would die at the Menin’s hands, their destinies had been entwined long before he was Chosen by Nartis. He would never have managed what he did yesterday without first gambling all he had.’

‘And now Azaer gambles,’ Emin finished, an edge of hunger in his voice. ‘Now the shadow has allowed itself to be vulnerable. If
we
can choose the time of its passing rather than allowing it to do so, we might yet win this war.’

‘Speaking of gambles,’ broke in a young devotee of the Lady called Shanas standing nearby, a woman barely old enough to be part of this fight, ‘Legana says it’s time to raise the stakes in Vesna’s own effort.’

All eyes turned to Shanas, then to Legana who beamed unexpectedly at the assembled men. With a surprised cough Shanas continued, ‘Ahem, she also wants to say you all look fucking stupid with your mouths open – she’s part-Goddess! Are you surprised she can speak into a devotee’s mind?’

Emin’s laugh broke the hush. ‘A fair comment. But what’s this about Vesna?’

The big Farlan soldier stepped forward. He matched the strangeness of emerald-eyed Legana with a ruby teardrop on his cheek and his left arm permanently encased in black-iron armour.

‘I think she’s talking about the Ghosts,’ he explained. ‘Life back home in Tirah remains fraught, but I knew there was a greater fight coming. Lord Fernal was forced by his nobles to sign a peace treaty with the Menin, so to pursue the war further, the officers of the Ghosts took holy orders so that they would have to be released from their military positions or prosecuted. Following the assassination of Karkarn’s priests in the city, presumably to weaken the God’s powerbase in advance of a challenge by the Menin lord, the soldiers of the Ghosts were only too willing to join us.’

‘You have an army of ordained priests?’ Emin replied, doing his best not to look surprised. ‘All dedicated to the God of War?’

‘A third of the Ghosts,’ Vesna said quickly. ‘The rest are priests of Death or Nartis, so as not to unbalance the Upper Circle of the Pantheon. General Lahk and I reasoned that it would at least buy us time to halt the Menin’s plans.’

Emin turned back to Legana and Shanas. ‘So where do you fit in here, Legana? One Mortal-Aspect helping out another?’

‘Something like that,’ Shanas said, looking nervous as she voiced Legana’s words. ‘They are no longer the Palace Guard of Tirah, but they still call themselves Ghosts.’ The Farlan soldiers in attendance nodded at that and Legana, her green eyes flashing with divine mischief, patted Mihn on the head as though the failed Harlequin was a dog. ‘A precedent has been set: a man bound to service even as he was imbued with powers.’

Legana gestured towards all those present, picking out specific groups in turn while Shanas continued, ‘Those who live in the shadows’ – Legana jabbed a thumb back at Doranei – ‘these dark soldiers’ – as Torl’s Brethren of the Sacred Teachings were indicated – ‘these steel-clad ghosts’. Legana’s gaze fell on Vesna and General Lahk as the leaders of the Palace Guard.

The unnaturally beautiful woman kept her eyes on those two while she jerked the blanket from Mihn’s bare shoulders and turned his palms upwards so all present could see the owl tattoos there.

‘Those who choose to serve, let them be as ghosts,’ Shanas repeated for Legana, louder than before. ‘Let their skin be marked with silence and service. It is time to take this war to the shadow.’

King Emin wasted no time. The entire company was ordered to sit, the order rippling back through the ranks outside, and Doranei found a place at his king’s side, placing himself between Emin and the white-eye, General Daken. Morghien sat grumbling on Emin’s other side, while behind him the ranger Tiniq crouched in the shade of the king’s war standard and squinted down at the churned ground below.

Daken’s grin was barely visible behind the swelling and split lips, but the man still managed to express his amusement at the whole proceeding. Doranei tried to forget the bet Daken had won against the Brotherhood, instead looking at the assembled soldiers and trying to estimate how many they were.

The Farlan had been least hurt during the battle, arriving late to catch the Menin unawares, but anyone meeting the grief-maddened Menin heavy infantry had taken losses. He guessed one and a half thousand remained in total; the double-legion of the Ghosts wouldn’t have been quite at full strength, not after the major engagements of the last year, and some had to have remained to man the walls of Tirah Palace. Veil was nearby, looking exhausted, but in less pain now. He gave his Brother a prod with his boot and was rewarded by an obscene gesture with Veil’s remaining hand.