The Dusk Watchman

CHAPTER 14

As the poacher’s moon appeared over the treetops and cicadas gave way to the dawn chorus, the group reached the first real sign of civilisation in Vanach. They had been travelling for six nights, and the only people they had encountered were Carastar mercenaries and companies of Black Swords from Ghale Outpost, to which Commissar Yokar had sent word of their arrival.

The outpost itself was little more than a hastily built army camp, protected by four wooden towers that looked down over a defensive wall and ditch. The outpost housed a good thousand troops, Vesna had estimated; it was the base for all the patrols in the region. In the feeble moonlight of the early hours it had looked a dismal place to be stationed, the stink of effluence carrying a long way on the wind.

They had been cordially escorted around the camp by a regiment of Black Swords under the command of two commissars, one of whom, a one-eyed woman with short hair and a white clasp to her scar, didn’t bother speaking as her colleague went through the formalities. Their captive had revealed that the white clasp indicated a specialised regiment within the Commissar Brigade. Once a secret within the ranks of the commissars, the Sentinels now wore their authority openly. The normal commissars enforced the law and monitored the Faithful, the common folk of Vanach, while the Sentinels oversaw the Blessed: the priests, commissars and Black Swords; as that gave them significantly more freedom and authority within Vanach’s borders, they were used by several councils of high-ranking commissars to enact their commands.

As the one-eyed woman was a Sentinel, it was almost cer tain she had known of the attack on them; she may even have ordered it herself. Leshi had been able to provide the name of one other faction within the Commissar Brigade; the Star Council was tasked with rooting out spies and revolutionaries. But that was only the largest and best-known of the factions; it was likely some operated as private fiefdoms or cult-aligned armies, and more than one of those would surely see any fulfilment of prophecies as a threat to their position.

Past Ghale Outpost and alone again, the party started to encounter enclosed monasteries and farming communities. Some of the latter looked like traditional villages; others under heavy guard were clearly labour camps. All had graves outside their perimeters, individual ones beyond the villages and pits outside the camps. None of these were hidden from the travellers. Life in Vanach was dangerous and the punishments were harsh, and so entrenched in public consciousness that the commissars and soldiers did not even consider how it might be viewed. Scavengers had dug in many of the pits, dragging out the bones of those deemed unworthy of proper burial; similarly, that didn’t appear to warrant action.

The Black Swords patrolling the camps were wary of newcomers and challenged them at every step of the way, but each time a commissar appeared and, with varying degrees of deference, waved them on their way. Taking too much interest in the camps themselves sparked angry shouts and drawn weapons from the guards, but Daken especially was happy to call their bluff and watch the feared soldiers back down at the order of their commanders.

They saw none of the inmates, though they could see easily enough past the corralling fence that surrounded each camp. In each one large, chimneyless buildings were positioned like spokes in a wheel around a mound bearing a square-towered temple, while low guard-towers manned by crossbowmen stood every thirty or forty yards around the fence. The fence itself could be easily scaled or kicked through, but the corpses impaled on high crosses by the gate were still wearing leg-irons that were not removed even after death.

On the sixth night they reached the gates of Toristern Settlement, the hub of all human life for fifty miles in any direction. Isak could see faces in the stone towers that flanked its main gate watching their approach. Compared to the great cities he’d visited, Toristern was an unimpressive, functional place. It was clear ostentation was not for the common man: grandeur in Vanach was reserved for religious structures, even more than in somewhere like Ismess. Anything approaching imposing displays were restricted to the great metal frameworks outside the walls, where several dozen naked or poorly clothed unfortunates slumped in confined cages, while corpses rotted beside them. The well-gnawed bones scattered around the base indicated scavengers were given free reign over the condemned.

The main gate of Toristern opened without any form of challenge; not even the cavalry stationed on the road to the settlement did anything more than watch them pass. Within, however, a reception committee stood to greet them with far greater ceremony than they had met with so far. A full regiment of Black Swords was formed up in the square beyond and ahead of them, and there were more than a dozen commissars wearing the formal uniforms of their brigade. Squat houses and larger wooden buildings were crammed together on each side of a large avenue; they appeared to have been built according to one template and with little skill.

‘Lord Sebe,’ called the leader of the group, the first portly figure they’d encountered in this starved nation. ‘You come under the blessing of the great Goddess Alterr and are welcome in our poor settlement.’

The commissar had the sloping forehead and wide nose that was so common in Vanach, but he still looked out of place, standing amongst a group of pallid, gaunt religious police. He spoke in the Narkang dialect, and Isak knew it well enough that he didn’t need Mihn to translate. He looked around at the small city they’d just ridden into. Unlike Tirah or Narkang, places that had evolved over the years, this had been built to a specific plan. It followed some strict pattern that he guessed would be echoed throughout Vanach.

‘I thank you for your welcome,’ Isak replied at last. Aside from the committee and the guards on the walls there were no signs of life on Toristern’s ordered streets, something he found disconcerting. ‘May I ask your name?’

The man bowed. ‘I am Commissar Kestis, of the Third Enlightenment. The Prefect of Toristern has instructed me to welcome you and escort your party to your allocated lodgings.’

Isak was about to reply when another commissar stepped forward and gestured to the soldiers behind them. ‘Lord Sebe, Brother-Under-Alterr Kestis — there is first the matter of the Ziggurat Mysteries. You come claiming the sanctuary of Alterr, but that is only the first of the signs that must be revealed.’

Isak peered at the man. This one was taller than Kestis, but skinny, and obviously lacking Kestis’ good nature. He also had a white band to his scarf, which made Isak’s fingers itch for his sword-grip.

Kestis turned in surprise, but checked himself before he said anything to admonish the man. Isak guessed he outranked the Sentinel, but they were challenged only cautiously when they policed their own.

‘It is necessary to demonstrate that immediately, Horshen?’ Kestis inquired.

‘So the Night Council has decreed, Brother-Under-Alterr,’ Horshen said haughtily. ‘Before the sanctuary of a settlement is granted the first two signs at least must be revealed.’

The soldiers Horshen had gestured to disappeared into a nearby building, fetching out a shackled man. The prisoner was painfully thin and almost naked, with crude tattoos on his hairless chest that were doubtlessly marks of slavery. On his arms and legs Isak could also see long bruises and red welts, the signs of regular, sustained beatings.

‘Very well,’ Kestis muttered. ‘I had been under the impression the Prefect intended for any such revelations to take place tomorrow, but if the Night Council prefer you to provide a first-hand report… The mysteries and signs are their purview.’ He glanced back at the troops and commissars behind him. ‘Commissar, dismiss the troops.’

The bulk of the Black Swords vanished quickly enough, until only ten remained in position. Three commissars also took their leave. At that distance Isak couldn’t see anything to mark them out on their uniforms, but clearly they were of the first rank only, and not privy to the mysteries of the second.

‘Horshen? Does the Night Council’s decree extend to soldiers witnessing the mysteries?’

The skinny man shot his superior a look of pure venom. ‘They are servants of the Council, tested by the priests of Karkarn and Alterr and worthy to witness such signs as I deem necessary.’

‘So you want a demonstration?’ Isak said. ‘Something to report back?’

Horshen looked defiant, but he knew his role enough not to stray beyond the bounds of his orders. ‘It is the duty of the commissars to question; to test the faithful and ensure they walk with the blessing of the Gods.’ The commissar turned to his terrified prisoner, standing helpless in the hands of the two soldiers. ‘The second of the Ziggurat Mysteries speaks of the ability to kill with a single word.’

Isak grinned in his unsettling, lopsided way and shrugged.

‘Shinir.’

The prisoner whimpered and sagged in the restraining grip of his captors, but his captivity had left him so cowed and feeble he did not even try to fight them and the two had no effort in holding him steady. Shinir raised her bow and let fly in one swift movement.

At that distance the arrow tore right into Commissar Horsh en’s neck, passing a foot out the other side as it threw him to the ground. The man hit the ground, legs kicking in uncontrolled spasms, as the remaining Black Swords immediately drew their weapons.

‘Hold!’ Kestis croaked at them, visibly shocked at a spray of blood that pattered over his boots. He recoiled a pace even as he spoke, distancing himself from the dead body. ‘Sheathe your weapons!’

There was a moment of sullen silence before any complied, but even those under the authority of the Night Council were not willing to disobey the direct order of a commissar. Eventually the soldiers stepped back while one of the prisoner’s guards inspected Horshen, confirming what they all knew: the commissar was dead. The stand-off lasted only a few moments, then a second Sentinel pushed her way forward through the remaining commissars. Isak felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Just from the way she walked he could tell this was not some spiteful, low-ranked fanatic.

Though plain-faced and lacking Zhia’s dark presence, the commissar still reminded him of the vampire. This was someone who knew their own power all too well and had no need to adopt the sort of supercilious air Commissar Horshen had.

‘Clever,’ she commented in accented Farlan, which made Isak assume she was from the north, where the two nations met. She sounded disinterested rather than scornful, as though Isak had not yet merited anything further from her. ‘You kept to the letter of the mystery, at least. But a waste of a loyal servant of the Gods — and for what? A slave?’

She gestured towards the cowering man and one of his guards hauled on his arm to make him stand a little higher. The slave had taken one look at the newcomer and fear took hold of him; urine was trickling pathetically down his bare legs.

‘Sister?’ Kestis said hesitantly. He too recognised the woman’s bearing as that of a superior, but from the way he was peering at her it did not marry with the markings on her scarf band.

‘Sister-Sapesien Fesh,’ she supplied without bothering to look at him. ‘Secretary to the Night Council and here to observe on their express orders.’

Thanks to Zhia’s interrogation, they recognised the different ranks of commissar; Kestis was a Tarasien, the third rank. Sapesien was the fourth rank, but few ever got that high. The difference in power was clearly enormous.

Fesh approached the cringing slave and inspected him for a few moments before turning to Isak. ‘This man is a heretic, condemned to death.’

Without any further ceremony she whipped a thin stiletto from her belt and jammed it into the man’s belly. He wheezed in shock and clutched feebly at the dagger hilt, a tiny cry of fear escaping his lips.

Fesh swatted the man’s hands away from her knife and withdrew it again with deliberate slowness. ‘Now he will die more slowly.’

With a twitch of the fingers she ordered the guards to release the slave and he collapsed to his knees, mewling pathetically. Dark blood trickled out from between his fingers and mingled with the puddle of urine on the ground while his weak cries grew increasingly piteous.

‘You want to test my compassion too?’ Isak growled, his words thick with restrained anger. The white-eye leaned forward over his horse’s head and stared intently at Fesh, while trying not to glance back at Zhia. He could sense a build-up of magic from the vampire; no doubt her Gods-imposed curse was filling her with discomfort at the man’s suffering and hunger at the slowly spilling blood.

‘I do not test,’ Fesh declared, meeting his gaze, and apparently completely unafraid, despite the fact Isak was so much larger. ‘I serve the wishes of the Night Council.’

Isak made a dismissive sound and urged his horse towards where Commissar Kestis had earlier gestured they find their lodgings. He caught Zhia’s eye as he went and called back over his shoulder, ‘Goodbye, Commissar.’

A muted crack broke the hushed night air as Zhia invisibly hastened the slave’s inevitable death, then the rest of the party followed him at a slow pace. Kestis hurried to catch up with his guests and usher them down the wide avenue leading to the heart of the city.

Commissar Fesh did not speak.

They were guided into the centre of Toristern, down a road studded with blockish, functional shrines and onto a tree-lined strip of open ground that formed a ring around a central district. Silver birches had been carefully cultivated to form screens that abruptly hid the slumbering city from view. The ground was covered in some sort of limestone gravel; it was obviously kept scrupulously clear of weeds and it shone in the pre-dawn gloom.

‘This ground is restricted to the Blessed,’ Commissar Kestis announced as he directed the party to walk down the white avenue. ‘The entire inner circle of Toristern is sacred; you will be the first outsiders to ever view this ziggurat.’

‘I hadn’t realised there was more than one,’ Isak said.

Kestis inclined his head solemnly, then looked up at the yellowed bulge of Alterr, high above them. ‘Every core settlement has a ziggurat now — none as remarkable as the Grand Ziggurat of Vanach Settlement, of course, but fitting places of worship all the same.’ He turned, his eyes suddenly bright with fervour. ‘And now you are here, come to fulfil the signs and reveal mysteries beyond those inscribed on the walls of the Grand Ziggurat — perhaps every city in the Land will be blessed with a ziggurat to elevate their worship?’

‘Not sure that would be so popular right now,’ Isak murmured.

‘No doubt,’ Kestis agreed gravely. ‘The wider Land has been forsaken by the Gods for so many years. We of the Commissar Brigade understand the extent of the task ahead of us; unbelievers will not easily accept the embrace of the Gods again.’

‘Lucky you’ve got so many Black Swords, eh?’ Isak commented, noticing yet another troop of soldiers watching them silently from under the trees.

‘The enemies of the Gods are many and devious,’ Kestis replied, a sharpness entering his voice. ‘The faithful must be protected, and more so than ever since the recent rise in daemon attacks.’

‘Rise?’

Kestis blinked at him. ‘We have ever been plagued by daemons roaming the wild parts of our nation; it is our lot as most favoured of the Gods. They enter the minds of mages and weak men, sometimes manifesting in their hundreds and slaughtering entire villages.’ He frowned. ‘It has always been that way — that is why the Shield Council was forced to redistribute the population and ensure they could be protected as they worked for the glory of the Gods. Surely your own people have the same problems?’

‘Oh sure,’ Isak said quickly, ‘daemons with the faces of men: always been a problem where I come from. There’s one growing with power even now, one that wears the face of a child.’ His face became suddenly tight. ‘Don’t even ask me what’s living in the cottage I used to own.’

Kestis went as wide-eyed as a child as Isak confirmed everything he had been told about the Land beyond Vanach’s borders. ‘It is a fight we are ready for, my Lord. The people of Vanach are strong and unflinching; the Commissar Brigade has worked for years to prepare them for what will be required.’

Isak said grimly, ‘It may be you’ll find that fight soon.’ He spoke in Farlan.

‘I’m sorry, Lord — I did not understand you. That was Farlan you spoke? Only very few here know that language, I’m afraid. Could you please repeat it?’

Isak waved it away as unimportant and turned to give Zhia a look instead. ‘Villages “disappearing” because of daemons? The entire population being “readied for war”? Remind me to kill your brother if I see him.’

The vampire indicated the soldiers they had just passed. ‘Have a care, my Lord — Commissar Fesh may have colleagues who speak Farlan.’

‘Oh, right, we wouldn’t want anyone to become suspicious of us,’ Isak snapped. ‘They might try to kill us if that happened.’

‘It was a limited effort,’ Zhia countered, ‘enough to test whether or not we were just some fools who’d chanced upon a way to travel unmolested in Vanach. I don’t doubt we’re in danger from this Night Council, but it doesn’t look like they are the dominant force in Vanach, so they will be cautious about acting publicly.’

Isak scowled and didn’t press the matter. He let Commissar Kestis guide them in silence around the outer ring to a second avenue leading into the heart of the city. As they turned onto it they were immediately confronted by a ceremonial procession of priests, looming like phantoms out of the darkness.

Dressed in white habits and shuffling along behind a circular silver standard, it was clear they were from the Cult of Alterr. Mindful of the position priests occupied in Vanach, Isak nudged his horse to one side and slipped respectfully from the saddle until they had passed.

Strangely, the priests paid him no attention at all. The hoods of their habits hung low over their face, but he knew the effect he had on passers by, so it came as a surprise when there was no apparent reaction at all.

Maybe the mysteries aren’t for the cults to know about, he mused. These commissars do seem to like keeping their power close.

He watched the procession as it shuffled away along the tree-line avenue, a hushed drone of prayer on the wind. The man at the rear swung a thurible on a long chain, but no smoke was emitted; there was only a deep thrum as air passed through its cut sides, a strange and haunting sound that lingered on the night air even as the priests moved away.

‘No incense?’

‘The Shrine Council removed incense from the list of accepted religious tools,’ Kestis said, careful not to indicate he had any opinion on the subject himself. ‘It was deemed a distraction from the majesty of the Gods and a lure for daemons.’

‘Ah, all that smoke and stink,’ Isak said. Thought it reminded me of something.

‘Yes, Lord,’ Kestis said, in all seriousness, ‘to echo their home realm is to encourage them into the hearts of men. To cause the faithful to breath smoke is to lower them to the level of a heretic. It is well documented that heretics commonly have disorders of the throat and speech, choking on the evil they spread as it draws the smoke of the Dark Place into their lungs.’

‘This has been documented by the same folk who report daemons causing whole villages to disappear?’ Isak said before he could stop himself.

‘Indeed, Lord.’

‘Oh. And who would that be, then?’

Kestis faltered a little, giving a nervous glance around before he replied, ‘I- My knowledge of the councils is limited, my Lord. I know little even of the one I serve. It is heresy to question those who preserve the majesty of the Gods.’

‘Guess,’ Isak commanded unsympathetically. He took a step towards the commissar and stood a little straighter. ‘I’m not asking you to reveal state secrets, just the name of whichever council issued those reports.’

Kestis stared miserably at Isak’s feet for a few heartbeats, then his resolve broke. ‘It was most likely the Dusk Council — the works of daemons is their purview.’

‘Friendly lot, are they?’

‘I know nothing of them, but they go with the blessing of the Gods,’ Kestis replied, falling back on doctrine in his anxiety. ‘Please, I can tell you nothing more.’

Isak stared at the quivering man a while longer, then let him off. ‘Of course. Please, lead on.’

Kestis scampered ahead while Isak’s party remounted and started down the street. The buildings within the sacred district started out looking as boringly functional as those outside, although more frequently stone-built, but as they penetrated further into the district, Isak saw temples and the ziggurat rising above the rest. Each temple was set in a compound of its own, with an attending network of buildings half the height or less of their corresponding temple.

In the centre was the unmistakable bulk of the ziggurat: four square levels of pale stone topped with a half-dome structure that Isak assumed was the Temple of Alterr. To his surprise the sides of each level bore images, both carved and painted, and ornate statuary stood along the stark edges. The temples too were remarkably grand compared to the rest of the city. High spires and obelisks dominated the view, and the great variety of ornaments and embellishments was in stark contrast to the rest of the settlement’s architecture.

They approached the ziggurat under the watchful gaze of yet more Black Swords. It seemed strange to Isak that their escort consisted of only one man, even though it was likely they were never out of sight of at least one unit of soldiers. He hoped it meant they were trying to keep his arrival quiet until the ruling councils decided how to react, but as Kestis had ably demonstrated, nothing in Vanach could ever be assumed to be predictable.

‘My Lord Sebe,’ Kestis declared, his spirit partially returned, ‘lodgings at the Commissariat await you.’

Their path to the ziggurat was blocked by a large fort-like compound, entirely enclosed by a stone wall and overlooked by low guard-towers. They passed through the gate and found themselves in a large courtyard that had been divided into two. The larger part was behind an iron gate, through which Isak could see a gibbet and narrow, barred windows.

‘A fucking prison?’ he demanded, pointing up at the armed guards peering down at them.

Kestis flapped madly in his haste to correct Isak. ‘A secure station,’ he gabbled, pointing to the right, where the buildings were somewhat less brutal in aspect. ‘Yes, it is next to a prison, but as a result this is our most protected place. The Prefect has decided it best to spare you the curious eyes of the Faithful and Blessed alike; here you may have both privacy and security.’

‘Security from whom? The Dusk Council? The Night Council?’

Kestis couldn’t have shaken his head harder. ‘Insurrectionists, daemon-worshippers — the Faithful are ever under threat of those who have turned from the Gods.’

Isak looked around at his companions. None of them made any comment, but Vesna tapped his wrapped Crystal Skull and urged his horse onwards. The gesture was obvious, and Isak nodded his agreement: Any trouble and we can carve a path through it.

‘Then it will serve, I suppose.’ Isak followed Vesna inside. ‘Tell your Prefect we await his pleasure.’

The Prefect’s invitation arrived late in the afternoon. Much to the discomfort of their guards, Isak had gone up one of the guard-towers to look out over Toristern Settlement; he saw the messenger approaching with his escort. The guards, unable to speak the same language, had tried making threatening gestures to get him back into the secure quarters, but a determined white-eye was not easily stopped, and Isak was willing to take a chance that their orders didn’t include violence — at least not at this stage.

In the light of day Toristern remained unimpressive. The screen of silver birch limited his view of the city beyond, but what he could see was a uniform view of basic, single-storey buildings punctuated with the occasional warehouse. Only the restricted district bore any resemblance to the ancient grandeur of Tirah or even Scree’s modest prosperity.

Buildings of any significance or permanence appeared to be strictly limited to the cults and ruling councils. The massive ziggurat was not the only example of skill and endeavour, but even compared to Scree, before the firestorm had destroyed it, Toristern was little more than an overgrown town.

The messenger was another commissar; a man not much older than Isak with short hair and a neat beard. He came on foot with a squad of Black Swords trailing behind, the commissars’ feared enforcers echoing Isak’s opinion of their city: young and insubstantial when seen in the light of day.

‘My Lord Sebe, I bring the greetings of Prefect Darass, overseer of Toristern Settlement and Priesan of the Commissar Brigade.’

‘Priesan? That’s the highest rank, right? You have to walk the labyrinth to be raised to that?’

The man bowed. ‘That is correct, my Lord. He invites you and your companions to be his guests at the Dusk Ceremony this evening.’ Despite his youth the commissar was as blank-faced as the most experienced politician. Kestis had come across a devout believer, but this one was either a zealot of the worst order or a willing participant in his state’s cruel excesses.

‘Away from prying eyes, then,’ Isak remartked dryly. ‘You commissars don’t trust each other much, do you?’

The young man bowed. ‘It is the duty of a commissar to ques tion. Those of true faith can endure any test.’

Isak grinned nastily, drawing the scars on his face tight as he revealed the missing teeth in his month. ‘You reckon? Give me some pliers and a hot fire and I’m willing to bet otherwise.’

‘There is no force greater than faith in the Gods,’ the commissar countered smoothly, ‘but such a debate might best be continued with Prefect Darass rather than a man of my modest rank.’

Isak inclined his head to agree. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’

‘The Prefect anticipated you might wish to leave some of your companions behind, given that the shrine atop the ziggurat is of modest size.’

Isak hesitated. What exactly the Priesan rank would know of Vanach’s founding remained unclear, but they would be aware of some of the truth in Vorizh Vukotic’s schemes.

Is this a ruse to split us up, or a sign that he’s aware we might have Zhia or Koezh among us?

‘I’ll do so then. Three of us will suffice.’

Isak returned to their quarters, pausing at the door where Doranei and Daken were standing guard. Though mismatched in size, dress and weapons, the strange pair were united in their hostility as they stared at the newcomers.

‘Could you look less like you want to pick a fight?’ Isak muttered to them.

‘Only face I got,’ Daken replied softly.

‘I’ll alter it if I get back and find out you’ve started something.’

Before Daken could utter any reply, Doranei gave him a warning look and the Mad Axe pursed his lips, fighting his natural instincts, and nodded stiffly. He was part of the Brotherhood now, and King Emin had made it clear he needed to follow their rules: the mission was everything, you never let any personal bullshit get in the way.

Inside, Isak dug out a long midnight-blue robe from his pack, similar to the formal ones he’d worn as a lord in Tirah. It looked a little austere compared to the noble silks and lion-embossed cuirass Vesna had, especially when he kept the hood up, but with a white leather belt and stylised golden bee pendant — Death’s own symbol — he managed the noble ascetic image he was aiming for. Naturally Mihn wore no finery. He needed only to set aside his staff before setting off with Isak and Vesna, adopting his usual persona of humble manservant.

The walk to the ziggurat was quick and uneventful; Black Swords at every corner ensured even the Blessed of Toristern steered well clear. Once at the heart of the core settlement Isak stopped and took a few moments to appreciate its size, aware he had a while until dusk fell.

Under the commissar’s urging, Isak eventually started the long climb up the massive staggered ramp that ran up one side of the ziggurat, pausing at each level to survey the settlement as it was incrementally unveiled. The priests standing on each of the levels kept their distance, withdrawing before he came into view so there was no way Isak could interact with any of them.

Before they reached the upper level, he rounded on the man escorting them. ‘Commissar, tell me, why is it in a nation of the faithful, your priests keep their distance?’

The commissar blinked in surprise, but it only lasted a moment before the young man recovered himself. ‘My Lord, as yet your status is uncertain and the purity of our priests is our greatest defence against evil. The priests of these temples live cloistered lives, the better to contemplate the will of our Gods and commune with their servant Aspects. It is the obligation of the Commissar Brigade to conduct all interaction with outside elements and endure the disruption of order this may lead to.’

Isak gave Vesna a look, but the veteran soldier was careful not to comment. He could see Vesna’s amazement, though: this nation’s fanaticism had tied even its own priesthood in knots, making it a prisoner of a political wing gone mad. Every other class in Vanach had been reduced to an irrelevance; even the heads of each cult were probably subordinate to the Commissar Brigade, answering only to some faceless council.

‘“There can be no greater tyranny than good intentions left unchecked”,’ Mihn said in Farlan. He earned a quizzical look from the commissar, but stared blankly at the man until he gave up and looked away.

‘So until all the signs are revealed,’ Isak concluded, ‘my exist ence goes unreported and unexplained to the people?’

‘Vigilance is our watchword,’ the commissar replied firmly. ‘We are guardians of the people and entrusted by the Gods to see them safely to the coming Age — even unto keeping them safe from themselves and their own failings.’

‘Naturally.’ Isak sighed and trudged on, suddenly keen to be away from the conversation.

As he reached the top of the ziggurat Isak discovered the commissar had discreetly stayed behind where they’d spoken, leaving the three of them to ascend the final stair alone. The shrine of Alterr stood in the very heart of the upper tier; a circular groove was cut into the smooth stone underfoot, marking the sanctified ground. At its centre was a simple round altar covered in a white cloth. The breeze was brisk that high off the ground, and the cloth’s edges fluttered madly, but it was held in place by five beautiful silver chalices.

Around the altar were three people, two men and a woman, with a fourth standing back in the recess of the half-dome shrine. He was dressed as an officer of the Black Swords, and was of no importance to proceedings here, even though he’d been summoned to a meeting where ranked commissars had not.

Of the other three, one, truly ancient, was a High Priest of Alterr. The white-haired, white robed relic stood with his hands clasped and eyes downcast. He had perhaps been instructed to avert his gaze even as he bowed with the other two.

‘My Lord, you honour us with your presence,’ declared the elder of the remaining two, a man past his prime but still strong and fit looking. ‘I am Prefect Darass, Overseer of Toristern Settlement, and this is my deputy, Counsel Aels.’ He indicated the handsome woman of perhaps fifty summers beside him who bowed a second time. Both wore plain brown clothes of good cloth, the yellow scarves of the Commissar Brigade, and identical black coats that hung like academic robes — but there was one crucial difference between them. The deputy, Aels, wore the white clasp of the Sentinels on her scarf, while Darass had a black one.

So Aels, Isak guessed, must be the Night Council’s local commander. He stopped himself right there, telling himself, don’t be stupid now; it doesn’t mean they’re the only danger, just the most obvious one.

Isak introduced himself and Vesna briefly before the Prefect turned to face the sinking sun and declared it was time for the dusk rituals. As though restored to life, the high priest jerked into action and began to drone a long, monotone prayer to Alterr. Isak kept silent, though he could hear Vesna reciting the Farlan equivalent under his breath. After five interminable minutes he was bored and restless, but at last the priest took one of the chalices and lifted it to his lips.

The brim was reverentially wiped with a cloth and both chalice and cloth were passed to Darass, who did the same before giving it to Isak. Rather startled, Isak swallowed some of the water it contained, then Vesna reached out to accept it from him, knowing he’d rarely been to temple and barely knew the rituals of Nartis, let alone any other.

When the chalice made its way back round to the High Priest and a second round of incomprehensible droning started up, Isak felt his heart sink. He belatedly realised each chalice must contain a different liquid, no doubt to be sipped in turn, and he gave Mihn a look — but the failed Harlequin had anticipated him. His hands clasped across his stomach, he was already staring fixedly at Isak. The white-eye got the message and returned to his former stance, closing his eyes to let the words slip gently over him with the evening breeze.

After four more rounds the ceremony was over, and after a nod from Prefect Darass, the High Priest bowed to those present before leaving. He didn’t make eye contact with Isak at any point, apparently afraid, even in these circumstances, to risk what a commissar might view as contamination.

‘And now, my Lord Sebe,’ Prefect Dasass announced, advancing with a studied smile of welcome, ‘may I offer you refreshment?’

The soldier standing in the wings was already moving as the Prefect spoke, heading around behind the half-dome and returning with glasses and a swan-necked glass jug that Isak could see was filled with pale red wine. With each of his guests served, Prefect Darass spoke several toasts — to the moon, the Upper Circle and his guest. Each was recited as if by by rote, the words no doubt set in stone.

‘You bring us exciting times, my Lord,’ Darass said next, the formalities finally completed. ‘The future of Vanach and all servants of the Gods may now follow your guidance, but I find my thoughts lingering on the past still. Your name is not known to me; might I enquire a little of your background?’

Isak forced himself to keep eye contact. ‘There’s little to tell. My parents were Farlan. I became a soldier like most white-eyes, then I found a different path.’

‘Quite a path, my Lord,’ Aels interjected. She indicated the Roaring Lion emblem on Vesna’s cuirass. ‘Whilst we might be isolated, we do hear a little of the Land beyond our bor ders. Another white-eye had the renowned Count Vesna as his vassal-’

‘Who then died, as I’m sure you also heard,’ Vesna said, the menace in his voice unmistakeable. ‘Nor am I a nobleman of the Farlan any longer, the Gods have set a different path before me. The tribe of my birth lies behind me.’

Aels inclined her head. ‘I am reminded of a saying by one of Vanach’s founding Priesans: “Mindful of our past, we walk to the embrace of the Gods with ties of family and honour falling in our wake”. Our future does not lie with the Tribes of Man, nor with the tyranny of kings: so it is written in the Ziggurat Mysteries the messenger of the Gods granted us.’

‘Everything will change,’ Isak agreed. ‘For good or for worse, change has come.’

‘Surely you do not doubt the power of the Gods?’ Aels asked in studied surprise. ‘No force could overcome their majesty, not even the Great Heretic when he is reborn and summons his daemon army.’

Isak blinked. He couldn’t see Mihn’s face, so he didn’t know what dogma or prophecy this daemon army might refer to, but he was not surprised the last King of the Elves, the great heretic Aryn Bwr, was part of these zealots’ ultimate calling.

Let’s just hope they don’t find out in whose body Aryn Bwr tried to be reborn.

‘The enemy of the Gods is born,’ he said carefully, ‘and my fear is that the power of the Gods has been turned against them. Your priests must have informed you that the Gods are weakened, drained by the effort of striking a faithless servant’s name from history. The enemy will act soon, and the faithful must be ready for him.’

‘The enemy has a name?’ Darass demanded before Aels could speak again.

Isak inclined his head. It seems lies come more easily now I’m not a politician or nobleman. ‘It masquerades as a child, a ward of Byora named Ruhen. Under its influence the duchess has already banned the cults there, and its disciples now carry its heresy throughout the Land.’

‘Troubling news,’ Aels said with less emotion than Isak would have expected, ‘but the faithful of Vanach are ready. We walk with the Gods. I pray you share our resolve for the third of the signs requires that be demonstrated unflinchingly.’

‘You think I lack resolve?’

Aels shook her head. ‘No, Lord, but I fear you must lose a powerful ally to fulfil the sign. The loss of a servant means little in the eyes of the Gods.’

‘Loss? I’ve no intention of losing anyone,’ Isak said. His fingers itched for the grip of Eolis, currently wrapped in cloth on his hip to avoid it being recognised as the weapon of the great heretic.

The woman looked genuinely apologetic, but there was no such emotion in her voice when she explained, ‘Lord Sebe, the third of the signs, as described in the Ziggurat Mysteries, is that the one sent by the Gods shall know the true meaning of sacrifice. This has been debated at length by the Councils of the Commissar Brigade, who believe it calls for the sacrifice of one of the twelve. I am here as a member of the Night Council to attest to your constancy.

‘The death of a servant cannot be of any true loss to one who will lead the faithful in battle, however, and now the sign is invoked it must be fulfilled properly and under Alterr’s watch this night.’

Isak nodded towards the Black Swords officer. ‘That why he’s here? To take the place of the one I kill?’

‘Your companions must number twelve still, so the mysteries say.’

He looked at Vesna and shrugged. The Mortal-Aspect said nothing.

Aels saw the spark in Isak’s eyes and drew back a touch as Isak growled, ‘And who are you, to make such demands of me?’ Anger smouldered in his belly. ‘You demand a sacrifice from me? You demand to see what I have lost — what I’m willing to lose in this war?’ He could feel his hand shaking; the weight on his shoulders building. On the distant breeze he could hear the groan and rumble of the Dark Place, voices raised in unholy cries. His nostrils filled with the sulphurous stink of Ghenna’s tunnels and something deep inside him began to scream for what he had lost, for the pain he remembered in his bones.

An image of Tila’s face flashed before his eyes, her elegant features contorted in death, and looming behind her was the dark shadow of a man whose face he could no longer see. Carel.

The word meant little to him, but it sparked a pain like no other and the loss tore through his gut: the nameless, unspeakable pain of a part of him that was gone for ever: his childhood, the foundations of his life, vanished into a murky void. With it mingled the death-scream of Xeliath, and the feel of huge claws tearing through the rune burned onto Isak’s chest.

‘Pray,’ Isak ordered, voice tight and rasping with rage, ‘pray you never understand what I have sacrificed.’

He took a step towards her without even realising and found himself looming over the woman, his hands clawed and apparently ready to grab her by the throat. Aels was plainly terrified, and frozen to the spot, staring up at the tortured vision now standing before her.

Slowly, with great difficulty, he withdrew his hands, gasping for breath as he realised how close he had come to tearing out her throat with his twisted fingernails. His hands went to his head and he pushed the hood back off his battered scalp.

Mihn had cropped his hair close to the skin to highlight the indentations and claw-marks that defined his head. A lopsided widow’s peak indicated where part of his scalp had been torn away; a furrow ran from his ragged ear down to his throat, and it was there Aels’ eyes lingered: on the deep, dark regular curves of scarring from the chains that had bound him in Ghenna.

Isak opened his robe to reveal his bare torso. The patterns of scarring continued there, covering so much of his chest and arms that Aels gasped aloud in horror. Chain-marks looped over his shoulders and across his belly. The indentation where the Menin lord had opened his guts was only the largest of the injuries visited upon his body. Runes and daemon-script were carved into his skin: rough, uneven symbols inscribed with savagery, torture beyond anything that could have been inflicted on the living.

His left arm had been burned white by the touch of Nartis in Narkang, and in the fading light of dusk his skin now shone with terrible intensity. Haphazard loops and slashes of shadowy scarring seemed to rise and swarm like traces of dark magic before Aels’ eyes.

Eventually she turned away, unable to bear the look on his face as the memories of those injuries returned afresh in his mind. From across the city came the haunting sound of daemon-song, a terrible jubilation ringing across a land of weakened Gods, running its cold claws down the spine of all who heard it.

‘I know sacrifice only too well,’ Isak breathed, ‘for I am its favourite plaything.’

‘It was a mistake to try and kill them,’ said a figure in black, one slim shoulder visible against the open window behind.

Counsel Aels froze, halfway inside the door to her private office. Her hand went to her belt, but the knife wasn’t there now. She’d left it behind on her desk; there it was, just visible in the twilight of the darkened room.

‘You?’ she exclaimed, ‘how did you get in here?’

The man inclined his head to the open window by way of explanation.

Aels frowned as she pictured the wall outside: twenty feet at least of sheer stone, all while regular patrols walked the path underneath. Only an acrobat could climb that, or a Harlequin. ‘You take a great risk, invading the office of a member of the Night Council,’ she muttered as she shut the door behind her.

She jumped as she saw another figure shift slightly in the dark, this one wearing the familiar diamond-pattern clothes and white mask. ‘Still more so by dictating to us how we should respond to threats to the state.’

‘You showed him your hand by sending troops to kill him.’

She dismissed the comment with a wave of the hand. ‘An underling overreacted; the council did not sanction the action.’

‘That is no longer relevant,’ said the one who’d named himself Venn on his previous visit. He stood perfectly, unnaturally still as he watched her, unnerving her and making her wonder about this new ally of the Night Council, but she suppressed the question. This one claimed to be the enemy of their so-called saviour, the man who would tear down everything they had built here in Vanach. The Night Council’s decision was correct, and the price of Venn’s information modest.

‘There will be no further efforts.’

‘Good. Have you decided how you will proceed?’

Anger welled inside her. ‘Who are you to demand answers from me?’ Aels snapped. ‘I am a Sapesian of the Commissar Brigade and Second of Toristern Settlement, sitting member of the Night Council. Adopt a more respectful manner or my inquisitors will ensure you can never climb again.’

If there was any change in Venn’s expression it was too minute for Aels to discern. ‘My apologies, Sapesian Aels.’

Again, the man’s manner made her hesitate. His words sounded entirely sincere and cowed, but his poise indicated no such correction.

‘We will proceed as we see fit,’ she said at last. ‘The Night Council does not rule the Sanctum; other ranking councils must have a reason to follow our lead.’

‘Confirmation of your concerns?’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Exactly. Why? Can you arrange this?’

Venn bowed and slipped out of the window. His mocking reply drifted through the night air. ‘All things are possible for those of faith.’