The Dusk Watchman

CHAPTER 30

Doranei looked up at the thick clouds and scowled, unable to gauge the position of the sun behind that uniform covering. Past midday, but beyond that it was a difficult call. The army snaked along what passed for a road in these parts: traders’ routes to the Circle City had seen little traffic of late, so tolls had been poor and repairs non-existent.

‘Copper for your thoughts,’ Veil said from beside him, nudging Doranei’s elbow as he spoke.

‘Just a copper?’

Veil smiled. ‘Never heard one of yours worth more’n that.’

Doranei didn’t reply; he was in no mood for banter. The closer they got to Byora, the more he felt the pressure like a great weight on his shoulders. The king had taken him aside a week back to reveal Doranei’s next mission, and the dread had been growing ever since.

‘Thinking about Byora?’ Veil asked. ‘Sebe, mebbe?’

The two men rode, mounts that’d been left without owners after the last skirmish. Veil wore his spike-tipped vambrace most all the day, now the threat of infiltrators was ever-present.

Gods, I wasn’t, Doranei thought guiltily. Thanks for reminding me. ‘Just trying to work all this out, what’ll be coming next.’

‘A fight, if we’re lucky.’

‘But then what? Ruhen’s no warrior — he’ll let the Devoted fight for him, but the shadow won’t be in the thick of it. Does he run? Let it all burn around him? Draw us into a trap?’

‘He’ll run,’ Veil said confidently. ‘He’ll let us inflict the horrors o’ war on his expendable followers, and that’ll do the job of recruiting thousands more for him.’

‘Where does it end?’

Veil shrugged. His long hair was tied back and covered with a scarf to keep the worst of the road’s dust out. ‘It ends when we catch him. And when it’s over, we start living again.’

‘Living?’ Doranei echoed. ‘What in Ghenna’s name is that? This war’s all either of us have ever known. You going to retire, go into trade?’

‘Hah! We’re killers, my friend, there’s no retiring for us. But there’ll always be enemies, never fear — just not ones of Azaer’s calibre — and I for one won’t be complaining about that.’

‘So that’s all my life will ever be?’

Veil looked askance at him. ‘You? Probably not. You ’n’ Dash’ll be running the Brotherhood one day soon. Sir Creyl’s got no fire left in him, not really. I ain’t pissing on the man’s name, but his edge went with his title and he’s not complaining. Got himself a family now, a legacy, and life better’n the Brotherhood could ever offer — while we get a commander pushing the paper who knows what it’s like down at the sharp end, which ain’t nothing neither. Meantimes, Dash makes the decisions and she’s the one with a heart o’ cold steel; they both know that so it’ll all keep working and we get the hope of something better — that’s if we survive to retire.’

‘Why me?’

‘You’re the favourite son Ilumene could never be. You don’t want to be king, simple as that. Let’s face it — we all love that spark of fear in the eyes of folk at court. They see the bees on our collars, they know the reputation of the King’s Men, and we’re Gods — and daemons — in their eyes. That feeling of being above the law, that’s the rush for all of us, but Ilumene, he wanted adulation too: the glory as well as the power.’

Doranei raised his eyebrows. ‘Been thinking about this much?’

‘Hah, mebbe a little, aye.’

Doranei was silent for a long while. Eventually he said, ‘Veil, you’d say we’re about as loyal as it gets, right?’

‘Eh? What sort of dumbshit question is that? Remember Canar Fell — that old bugger from the Three Cities conquest who’d pissed off the duke? The king sent us there to protect him and you never hesitated — you took a crossbow bolt and threw yourself out a damn window to save the man, all ’cos the king felt he owed a debt.’

‘Aye, I remember,’ Doranei said with a wince, working the shoulder he’d broken in the fall. He had only survived because he’d taken the assassin with him and had landed on the man. ‘I was just making a point: we’re loyal — but why? What for exactly? Why’d we do it?’

‘Piss and daemons, what’s the king asked you to do?’

He shook his head. ‘Just thinking about what’s to come.’

‘If you say so- Ah, shit!’ Veil gasped as he scratched his cheek with the wrong hand while he thought — again. He let go of his reins and used his right hand to wipe the blood away, wincing at the pain. He scowled at Doranei as though it was his fault, but Doranei hadn’t even broken a smile this time.

‘Sure as shit ain’t the adornments we get,’ Veil muttered. ‘Why’d we do it? Too dumb to know any better, I guess. Man needs something t’believe in. At least we don’t have to pretend some waddling inbred fool is a king we owe our lives to.’

‘And look what it costs us,’ Doranei said, pointing to Veil’s spikes. ‘Are we really so desperate for purpose, for something bigger than ourselves to believe in?’

‘’course! Only a bloody fool thinks otherwise too. Life’s not pretty or nice most o’ the time; you don’t buy into the lie a little, you’re always going to be waiting for things to fail. Take marriage — even someone like Zhia, who’s not exactly normal. Does any man really think his wife’s always going to be beautiful, always going to happy to see him and full o’ joy? Don’t make me laugh! You do your best to ignore the bad bits or soon enough they’re all you’ll see — and then the good is wasted.’

‘I guess so,’ Doranei said. ‘Who’re the heroes of the nation? It’s us — madmen like Coran and Daken who’re as bad as they are good, or someone like Beyn who was a bastard, no two ways about it, but a fucking hero all the same. Bad bits are easy to see if you want.’

‘Or moody shits like yourself,’ Veil added, ‘who falls into a bottle whenever he’s angry, upset, sleepy or horny, far’s I can tell.’

‘Least I got two hands, fucker.’

Veil was too quick for him, clouting him across the mouth with his remaining hand moving before Doranei had even finished speaking. The bigger man growled and swung a punch that would have taken Veil off the back of his horse, but he dodged and brought his reinforced vambrace crashing down onto Doranei’s head.

Stars burst before his eyes, but Doranei instinctively reached out and grabbed Veil’s brigandine. He dragged Veil towards him and headbutted him and he heard a crunch as he caught Veil right on the nose.

Veil fell backwards off his horse, his single hand flailing for a grip.

‘Ah, fuck!’ Doranei gasped, moving drunkenly as he tried to keep his balance.

‘Fuck’s sake, Doranei,’ Veil yelled from the road below. ‘What the fuck’s wrong with you?’

Without even meaning to, Doranei dropped from his horse and advanced around the beasts towards Veil. ‘You took the first swing, don’t bitch about what you get!’

‘Like that, is it?’ Veil demanded as he struggled up, spiked vambrace pointing at Doranei. ‘I could’ve rammed this in your fucking neck without even thinking. Next time maybe I won’t bother holding back.’

‘Oh fucking try it,’ Doranei snarled, his hand settling about the grip of his enchanted broadsword.

‘Ahem,’ said a voice behind them. ‘Children, is there a problem here?’

Doranei let his hand fall away from his sword and turned to face King Emin, sitting on his caparisoned horse, his head cocked to one side. Beside him, Dashain looked furious. Lord Isak was blinking as though dazzled by the muted daylight.

‘No problem, Sire,’ Doranei mumbled, unable to meet the king’s piercing ice-blue gaze for long.

‘Excellent news. In which case there’s no need to trouble the healers, is there? Given there’s not been a problem, no one can have been hurt.’

Doranei touched a finger to the right-hand side of his head. He winced as his fingers came away bloody. ‘No, Sire,’ he said, ‘no need to trouble them.’

‘No, Sire,’ Veil added in a muffled voice, ‘all good here.’

‘If I may, your Majesty?’ Dashain broke in. ‘I appear to have a discipline problem with my men.’

‘Of course.’ Emin waved graciously. ‘It is your prerogative.’

‘Thank you.’ She glared at the two Brothers. ‘Now, who started it?’

There was a pause, then both men said, ‘I did,’ in the same breath.

‘Good. Consider it at an end. Kiss and make up.’

Another pause in which the pair inspected the ground at their feet before mumbling apologies.

Dashain growled, ‘Did I not make myself clear? Did I fucking stutter? Do I look like I was joking? Bloody well kiss and make up, or I’ll flog the pair of you.’

There was silence, quickly broken by a cough of laughter from Isak. Doranei stared at the daemon-scarred man for a heartbeat, then back at Dashain. A few carefully muted sniggers came from the column of soldiers which had ground to a halt to watch the fight.

Doranei blinked, then a growl of annoyance from Veil turned into a laugh and he turned, grabbed Doranei by the tunic and pulled him closer before planting a big kiss on his lips, to the whoops of laughter from the onlooking soldiers.

Veil stepped back with a loud, theatrical smack of the lips and turned to bow to the applauding troopers. ‘Not so bad as I’d expected!’ he declared over the catcalls and lewd shouts. ‘Oh don’t kid yourself, soldier,’ he added, pointing to one of the louder soldiers, ‘you ain’t that pretty.’

‘Aye, well, glad I shaved now,’ Doranei replied, blowing Veil a kiss as he mounted his horse again. ‘Got a reputation to maintain.’

‘If we’ve quite finished, children?’ the king enquired idly, but in a tone of voice that quickly hushed the soldiers. ‘Back to the war, I think.’

‘Aye, Sire,’ Doranei said and gathered the reins of his horse before remounting. ‘Back to the war.’

‘So go back to the part where you and Veil kissed,’ Zhia purred as she dabbed at the cut on Doranei’s head.

‘Think I’ve told that enough already today,’ Doranei replied grumpily. Without meaning to he took a deep breath, inhaling her faint perfume as the vampire stood over him, her clothed belly barely three inches from his lips. ‘You only get it the once.’

‘Now that’s something a girl always likes to hear,’ Zhia sighed, looking down at him and affectionately stroking his cheek. ‘And we’re not even married. How quickly the romance fades.’

‘Aye, well, you didn’t pick the best prospect there: no home of my own, no assets beyond my sword, no prospects beyond a sharp and pointy end the day I’m not quick enough.’

‘You really need to work on your proposals, sweetness.’

‘If we were married and you died, would that mean I’d be free to chase other women?’ Doranei countered. ‘Them’s the rules, after all.’

‘Chase all you like,’ Zhia said, prodding his wound a little harder than strictly necessary, ‘but if you catch them, you’ll find out what they truly mean by “a woman scorned”.’

He snorted. ‘I don’t doubt that.’

‘So was that all I get?’ Zhia persisted, setting down the bloodied cloth and tilting his head so she could look down on the wound. She licked her finger and ran it along the length of the shallow cut and Doranei felt a tingle on his skin as it healed. ‘By way of proposals, I mean.’

‘You truly want to marry me?’ Doranei gasped, failing to conceal the astonishment from his voice.

‘It’s nice to be wanted,’ she said with a coquettish smile.

He winced. ‘Bit of a mismatch, though.’

‘Don’t worry, sweetness. I’d not actually make you marry me.’ Zhia shook her head and her long, lustrous hair fell loose about her shoulders. ‘We are set on too different paths for that. The proposal would do.’

‘Well,’ Doranei said cautiously, ‘might be I could do better’n that, if I really had to.’

‘Trust me; you really would have to do better. I’m a rather unique woman.’

He pursed his lips in thought. ‘I always thought you’d be the one doing the proposing, though. It’s not as if you’ll ever be the little wife on some man’s arm.’

‘I’m old-fashioned, remember? Some traditions I don’t mind.’

Doranei took her hand in his and kissed the back of it delicately. Zhia smiled expectantly down at him, but before he could say anything he felt her tense and the smile become frozen. White trails of light danced inside the dark blue of her eyes, a gust of wind dancing around their close walled tent as she drew deep on the magic in the air.

‘What’s wrong?’

She looked around, her hand slipping out of his. ‘I don’t know. Something.’ In the blink of an eye her sword was in her hand, though there was barely room for a drawn weapon inside the tent. Doranei scrambled for his own sword-belt and hurriedly buckled it on. He was pulling on his pauldrons and helm when he saw Zhia hadn’t yet moved.

He drew his sword and stared at the black, light-pricked surface for a moment. The weapon was older even than Zhia, and incredibly powerful; Doranei had taken it from Aracnan, Death’s bastard son. He found himself checking his palm for darkening skin whenever he sheathed it.

‘Something comes,’ Zhia declared, and stepped outside the tent, Doranei following on her heels.

Half the remaining Brotherhood were still sitting around their supper fires; they looked worriedly at Zhia. Veil made a small gesture, but Doranei shook his head, dismissing the offer: whatever was coming, it clearly wasn’t a normal attack.

The tents were quivering under a strengthening wind. Twenty yards away the king’s standard was stretched out by the wind to display to the whole Land the bee emblem, Death’s own.

Zhia continued to look around, focusing on nothing, while more faces appeared.

Tiniq’s nose rose to a scent on the wind that Doranei couldn’t detect, then he ran to fetch his own weapons. Others stood and started scouting around, but Zhia ignored them all and set off down the path that ran down the centre of the camp.

Doranei kept on in her shadow, his apprehension growing with every step. The wind strengthened and a log on a Kingsguard fire sent a sudden spray of embers dancing across their path. Zhia’s sword was up before Doranei could move, but there was nothing there and she quickly continued on her way.

‘What can you sense?’ he whispered.

‘I’m not sure.’ The tone of her voice made it clear she had no intention of saying any more.

At the edge of the camp a unit of Daken’s Green Scarves were on duty. Their lieutenant, a young man with blue spirals visible behind the cheek-guards of his helm, stepped forward smartly to greet Zhia, but she went straight past him without a word and stopped just behind the picket, staring out into the late evening gloom beyond.

At first Doranei, standing beside her, could see nothing in the darkness. Then he detected movement, and an intake of breath from the sentries behind showed they too had seen it. Zhia raised a hand and they readied their bows.

‘Is that a man?’ Doranei asked quietly as the movement began to resolve itself into a shuffling figure, moving by fits and starts.

‘Once perhaps,’ Zhia said. ‘Now-? Is this one of my brother’s games?’

The figure came closer and Doranei could see its right leg was badly gashed and it was limping. A chainmail shirt hung open at the front, but he could make out little beyond a bloody mess running from chest to groin. A long wisp of hair hung down on one side of its head. The figure was staring emptily at the ground as it trudged on until it was barely a dozen yards away from Zhia.

Then it stopped and looked up, and the sentries started to curse under their breath. Even Doranei took a step back as he looked at the figure’s face.

Its eyes were burning: bright yellow flames leaked like tears from eyeholes that were empty pits of fire. Its jaw hung slack and Doranei could see more fire within there, boiling and rushing up its gullet into its head. It took another step forward and raised its arms almost beseechingly towards Zhia.

That was enough for the sentries. Two fired; one arrow caught it in the arm, the other hit just left of where a man’s heart would be, rocking the figure back on its heels, but it just stared dumbly at the shafts for a moment before struggling forward a few more paces.

A third arrow caught it in the throat, snapping its head back up, and a spray of fire poured down its chest. From its upturned eyes, twin spurts of flame shot a foot up in the air. But it was the wound to its neck that had Doranei captivated: the fire burned bright as it cascaded down the front of the figure, illuminating fat metal staples running all the way down its body.

‘Lords of Ghenna,’ Doranei breathed, ‘what is that?’

‘That,’ Zhia replied slowly, ‘is my brother’s madness.’ She took a step forward and the figure reacted as though shocked by her presence.

Doranei tore his gaze away from it and looked at Zhia, who now had eddies of crimson light flowing off her body and sword and streaming away in all directions as she drew deep on her magic. He could feel the presence of her power on his exposed cheek: the prickling heat of a bonfire and a shock of ice-cold air hitting him together.

‘A Chalebrat,’ Zhia said, ‘a fire elemental — stitched by magery into a corpse.’ She held out her left hand and the whirling magic tightened around her, lighting up the bones of her hand against her skin before the corona of light became too intense for Doranei to watch any more.

She took another step closer and the figure, leaking fire from its various wounds, staggered back, but not quickly enough to avoid Zhia’s sword, which flicked out and sheared through the crude staples holding its front together. The corpse burst apart and collapsed to the ground like a discarded coat while a ten-foot figure of flame unfolded against the night.

Zhia punched forward with an open palm and the Chalebrat was thrown backwards a dozen yards, flames streaming in its wake. The fires of its insubstantial body guttered under the blow.

Doranei readied his sword, but the Chalebrat was making no move to attack; instead, it looked up at the night sky before vanishing, leaving only a trail of light in Doranei’s eyes.

‘Was that another lesson for me?’ Zhia shouted up at the sky.

Doranei followed her gaze and at last he made out the shape of a wyvern, lazily hovering above where the Chalebrat had been. As his eyes adjusted to the loss of light, Vorizh’s pale face became clear against the black clouds above.

‘A distraction!’ Vorizh called with a laugh as a sword entere Zhia’s back. ‘And now I leave you to your loving embrace.’

Doranei held her close and blinked back the tears. He had one arm around her, just below her throat, the dark green embroidery of her dress bunched in his fist. The scent of flowers filled his head as Zhia shuddered, a tiny gasp of air escaping her lungs. His hand shook, unable to let go of the weapon it held. The hilt pressed right against her back, but still he drove it forward as his guts turned to ice. Zhia tilted her head down to stare at the tip of the weapon now protruding from just below her ribs and gave a cough that could have been surprise.

She dropped her sword and Doranei felt her fingers reach up to clutch his hand, her usual strength absent, her hand closing about his like a lover’s might. Doranei closed his eyes and pressed his face against her neck, still holding her tight, and Zhia leaned her own head into his for a moment. Doranei could hear nothing but the rush of blood in his ears and the terrible pounding of his heart.

He felt her legs begin to sag, his grip the only thing holding her up, and gently he lowered her to the ground, sliding his black broadsword out and lying her on her back. She trembled only slightly as he withdrew the weapon and cast it aside. He cupped her face in his hands.

‘I will,’ Zhia whispered. A flicker of pain crossed her eyes, and then she was gone.

Doranei gave a strangled howl as the woman went limp. From nowhere a black mist rose from the ground, stealing up out of the scrubby grass to curl around the edges of her body. Horrified, Doranei fell back; he couldn’t take his eyes off Zhia’s corpse as the mist swarmed up and over her body, licking at Doranei’s discarded sword and his boots until he stumbled back a pace.

‘She will what?’ the Goddess marked lieutenant said in a hushed voice.

Doranei’s stomach lurched. ‘Before… this…’ he began, choking on his own words, ‘she knew…’

He sank to his knees, grief filling his vision. ‘I wanted to ask her a question.’