The Dusk Watchman: Book Five of The Twilight Reign (73 page)

‘I might not be greedy, but the Menin left our armies badly depleted and our capital city in turmoil. The expense of invasion is considerable.’ He ran a hand through his thinning grey hair and spent a while regarding the Narkang force stretching out for miles behind King Emin, no doubt looking for the Menin.

‘I’m not here to fleece you,’ Dev continued at last. ‘Well, not entirely. You want to take an army through Chetse lands, almost past the Gate of Three Suns itself, and you’ll pay, and you know that – so not a surprise to you, that one.’

He sighed. ‘But that’s not the problem. Money and concessions don’t buy off the blood oaths many under my command have sworn.’

‘The Menin,’ Emin stated gravely. ‘Is your hatred really so great that it defies reason?’

General Dev gaped at him. ‘You of all men can ask that? They
obliterated
Aroth! They slaughtered most of the population, civilians and soldiers alike, all wiped out without mercy. How can you ally your people with such monsters?’

King Emin turned back towards his troops and looked at the faces of his soldiers before replying to the general’s question. ‘How? Because I must. Do you think it was easy? Do you think my people are sheep, to be led unthinking whatever I decide? This war
must
be fought, and I am outnumbered. My choice was to kill them all and accept grave losses, or bring them to the fold and use their strength for something greater. You are a reluctant ruler of your people, but a king must make such choices.’

‘Why is this war so important to you?’

‘Because the child Ruhen will overturn the Pantheon of the Gods if we do not stop him. Because
all
of the Gods are threatened by his actions – your own patron included.’

‘Tsatach?’ General Dev said with sudden venom. ‘Then why does our God not warn us, or act? Do you claim greater knowledge than the Gods, or is he so weakened he cannot even find the dreams of his chosen people, his priests? Or does he not care? Are all the promises of the cults so empty our God himself will not stir to warn us?’

Emin looked into the ageing warrior’s eyes and saw the terrible strain Dev was under, and his heart softened at the sight. Here was a man struggling to hold his people together, alone, and no doubt challenged at every turn. The priests would prove little use, that powerful élite more of a hindrance than anything.

Have you prayed – is that the source of your anger? Does your God not answer you – now in your time of need, are you abandoned?

‘The Gods do not fully comprehend the threat,’ Emin started to explain. ‘Right now they are at their weakest; they fear any confrontation where artefacts powerful enough to kill them are used.’

‘So you do claim you know more than our God.’ There was contempt in Dev’s voice there, but it was weak; his heart was not in the scorn, Emin could see that. His political skill told him the Chetse leader was hoping for some way out, some ray of light, or sign from a power greater than himself.

‘The Gods know,’ he said softly, ‘but it is in the hands of mortals now.’

His words struck Dev like a punch to the gut. ‘What can mortals do where Gods dare not?’ he said hoarsely.

‘We—’ For a moment Emin’s words failed him, then he said, ‘We can match this threat. My allies are more than just Menin, and upon them I gamble the future of my nation. The future of the Land itself lies in our hands, and now we have the strength to win this war.’

‘The Devoted army is greater than yours,’ Dev warned. ‘They outnumber you comfortably.’

‘But they have only numbers on their side. We have Gods, and others besides. The Legion of the Damned march with the Menin; Karkarn’s Iron General and Fate’s Mortal-Aspect sit but a few yards from you, and then – and then there is another stronger than any of them.

‘General Dev, I urge you: allow us passage, our Menin allies too. I have given them assurances; they have fought and died for my cause. I would make the Chetse Narkang’s greatest allies in trade rather than make threats, but I cannot stand aside, and I cannot allow the enemy to escape.’

The general’s shoulders slumped. ‘My people will not accept it,’ he said, almost apologetic now. ‘Our honour demands blood.’

King Emin turned again, this time seeking out two sets of eyes among the crowd. They were simple enough to pick out; even hunched over, Isak was far taller than those around him, while Legana’s eyes shone in the shadow of her shawl. The white-eye slipped from his saddle and made his way forward, his cropped sleeves revealing the black and white skin of his arms.

The king’s guards opened a path before them.

‘General Dev,’ Isak said with a bob of the head, his Chetse rough, learned during his days on the wagon train, ‘my name is Isak.’

Already staring aghast at the mass of scars and unnatural lines visible on the white-eye’s hands, face and neck, Dev staggered back a step when he heard Isak’s name. His own men breathed curses or gasped in alarm, many making warding signs against daemons, but Isak did not react, not even when the boldest pulled their weapons. He stared into the old man’s eyes, watch ing the shock play out.

‘But you— It cannot—’ Dev glanced back at his own men and realised some were on the point of attacking. With a feeble gesture he stopped them, wonder and horror blossoming all over again when he turned back to Isak. ‘How is this possible?’

‘Not easily,’ King Emin suggested before Isak could reply, ‘but perhaps it goes some way to showing the power we possess?’

As he spoke Isak raised his right hand and a burst of black light exploded from it. General Dev and King Emin both recoiled from the sudden flare of darkness that had struck with painful speed; when they opened their eyes again Isak’s fingers were wrapped around the grip of Termin Mystt. In the light of day its deep, unnatural blackness absorbed the sun’s rays so completely it looked like a tear in the fabric of the Land.

‘I hold Death’s weapon in my hand,’ Isak announced to all those watching. ‘The Dark Place could not hold me; the Menin lord could not stop me. Do you want me as your enemy?’

‘General Dev,’ Emin interjected hurriedly, ‘my army outnumbers any you could field, I am certain; we possess many Crystal Skulls and Death’s own weapon. You must see reason.’

‘I’ve told you,’ Dev said with a helpless gesture, ‘my people have sworn blood oaths! The honour of the tribe demands blood be spilled, forcing trade agreements on us as alternative to unleashing Ghenna upon us does not satisfy honour.’

–
You want blood?
Legana wrote on her slate in Chetse, holding it up for Emin and Dev to see while she spoke the words into Isak’s mind.

‘My people will
have
blood; they will fight the Menin, no matter what threats you make.’

Legana looked from the general to King Emin and back. ‘
You men and your honour – look what it does to you,
’ she said into the minds of Isak and Emin. She used her sleeve to erase the first message and quickly wrote a second.

–
A duel. Amber against a Chetse. You will have blood.

‘A duel of champions?’ Emin echoed, thoughts racing. ‘A formal resolution to satisfy your honour? Even your more bloodthirsty warriors must realise the Chetse can ill-afford the huge loss and battle would mean, General Dev. This practice is ancient; the Gods themselves endorsed it before the Great War.’

‘This is some sort of trick,’ Dev muttered. ‘You planned all of this.’

‘I didn’t,’ Isak said with a crooked grin. ‘I only planned threats.’

‘This is no trick, General Dev,’ Emin said, shooting Isak a warning look, ‘but it might serve your purposes. You do not want to fight, I assume? Might your people accept such a thing? The terms would be simple enough – if your champion wins, our Menin allies turn back and we go on without them. If their champion wins, we are all granted passage. The trade terms I’m prepared to offer would not be contingent on either outcome, but the formal contract would serve to satisfy the dignity of your tribe?

‘The Chetse consider combat a noble trial, do you not? One that rests in the skill of the warriors and the will of their Gods? General Amber is a skilled fighter for certain, but he is no mage nor white-eye, just a veteran soldier. Surely you have a man to match him, so we can put it to the will of the Gods?’

General Dev was silent a long while, scrutinising the faces of all three but gleaning little from a Goddess, politician and mangled white-eye.

‘Perhaps,’ he admitted at last. ‘I must speak to my people to see if they will honour any such outcome.’

He bowed and turned away, walking back to his advisers with heavy footsteps. From somewhere high above came the mocking caw of a crow.

Amber marched out to the battle-ground as soon as dawn came. A circle was marked in the earth between the Narkang army and the far smaller Chetse force, twenty yards in diameter. Spears had been thrust into the ground at regular points around the furrowed circle and already there were soldiers standing at them, keen to get a good view of the duel to come.

‘General Amber,’ King Emin called from his right.

The Menin soldier stopped and turned to face his ally. ‘King Emin.’ He stood tall, not bowing – and realising he didn’t even feel the urge to bow.
Strange. In— In my lord’s presence I always felt unworthy, blessed to be there. Now I feel nothing. The whole sham of formalities sickens me.

‘Thank you for agreeing to this,’ the king continued. ‘This is not what I wanted, but I thank you for the risk you’re taking for my cause.’

‘For your cause?’ Amber said. ‘You think that’s why I’m doing it?’

King Emin inclined his head. ‘I think you are serving your army and honouring the agreement we have made. Your motives are your own; my gratitude remains.’

Amber looked up at the sky where thick bands of cloud reached up from the eastern horizon. ‘Hope it doesn’t rain. I hate fighting in the wet.’

‘Kill ’im quickly then!’ Daken suggested with a laugh, trotting over to join the two men. He had a mug of beer in his hand and offered it to Amber, who shook his head. ‘No? Might be your last chance – I hear they’ve got a big bastard for you!’

Amber looked at the Chetse soldiers. They were all broad men, with wild sandy-brown hair; their barrel chests and thick arms made it clear how easily they could swing the long-axes each man had on his back.

‘Big, eh? Well that’s not much of a surprise.’

‘Aye, could be right there. Either way, the odds on you were lengthening all bloody night.’

‘You’re running a book?’ King Emin demanded. ‘We’re supposed to be maintaining the dignity of the situation – preserving the honour of the Chetse and the nobility of this ancient practice.’

Daken grinned. ‘Never been one for honour, didn’t you know? And this nobility thing’s harder than I realised – you might have made me a marshal of some place I’ve not managed to visit yet, but nobility? That escapes me.’ He raised a finger. ‘Soldiers, though, I get them well enough. Gossipy, money grabbing bastards, no matter what tribe they come from, and bugger me, do they like to gamble. So yeah, I’ve been running a book. I spent half the night in the Chetse camp, gauging their mood, finding out who their champion’s likely to be . . . There’s a whole mixed bag of feelings about this and our hero Amber here, but when you’re offering brandy and good odds you get to make friends quick in an army camp.’

‘And what have you found out?’ Amber asked.

‘That he’s a big bugger.’

‘That’s all? It was my brandy you took there, wasn’t it?’

The white-eye’s grin widened. ‘Once I heard he was a big bugger, didn’t seem like you’d need it.’

‘By which time you’d already stolen it.’

‘Aye well, I’ve got a nose for this sort of thing.’

Amber shifted the baldric loosely slung over his shoulder so his scimitars were in a more comfortable position. ‘Did you find out anything else?’

‘Aye. Them buggers like good odds. If you lose, I might need t’ sell that marshalsy you gave me, your Majesty.’

The king regarded Daken for a long moment. ‘Maybe I’ll just let them cut bits off you instead for payment.’ He turned away from the white-eye and offered his hand to Amber. ‘I’ll leave you now; I’m sure you want to prepare alone. If you need anything, let me know. Otherwise – good luck, General.’

Amber took the man’s hand stiffly, not trusting himself to speak, but the king just turned and moved towards Doranei and Endine.

‘Any more words of advice?’ he asked Daken as he watched the king walk away.

The white-eye shrugged. ‘Pointy end goes in the other bastard. Aside from that, wouldn’t surprise me if the king had a trick up his sleeve, but don’t count on it.’ He ushered Amber to the circle, where Carel joined them and gruffly wished him luck too. Trailing along behind were Amber’s Menin guards, each of them looking about to explode as they matched glares with the Chetse, but it never went beyond that. General Dev had assured the king that his men were bound by the honour of the duel not to spill blood outside it, while Amber had threatened to execute every man in the squad of any Menin starting a fight.

Once inside the circle, Amber handed his weapons to Carel and rolled his shoulders in slow circles to loosen them up. Thanks to the efforts of Narkang’s healers, his various injuries had all healed, but still he felt stiff and old – too old to be fighting this close to dawn, whether or not he’d managed much sleep.

‘Reckon they’ve found a white-eye?’ Carel asked, conversationally. ‘Can’t have many to pick from, what with their best marching with your lot.’

‘I’ve fought white-eyes before,’ Amber said.

‘If they do, likely you’re in luck,’ Daken decided. ‘The best’ll have been in the battle at Moorview and most likely killed. If they drag out any old white-eye he’ll be quicker’n you, but still most likely dumber. All strength and no skill.’

Amber glanced up at the empty sky again and made his way out into the centre. More soldiers had arrived at the circle now, both Narkang and Menin. A few of the younger recruits attempted a cheer as their army’s champion reached the centre, but Amber scowled at them and the sound withered.