The Dusk Watchman

CHAPTER 34

Ilumene lit his cigar from a burning stick, puffed appreciatively at it and continued on. There were wary faces around the campfire; Devoted soldiers watching him like mice watching the cat. He ignored them; he enjoyed their fear, but he had better things on his mind.

Venn walked silently ahead through the regimented rows of tents, the white leather grip of his sword almost the only thing visible in the dark. Ilumene caught him up again before they had reached their destination, the tents of the Jesters and their acolytes at the edge of the main army camp.

‘Any guesses what this’s about?’

Venn shook his head.

The former King’s Man blew a lungful of smoke across Venn’s face. ‘Not even a guess?’

‘I suspect they will offer us a drink,’ Venn said at last, realising Ilumene was going to keep talking until he got a response.

‘Well, I won’t complain there. Doesn’t sound like ’em though, unsociable lot, our Jesters.’

‘It is an unusual sort of drink.’

‘Seen it before, then?’

Venn nodded. ‘In my years of bondage,’ he said solemnly, ‘I travelled the Waste for a time. The Jester clans welcomed me as befitting one bearing a holy charge.’

‘Too bad most others thought of you as the entertainment, eh?’

Venn stopped and looked Ilumene in the face. ‘Our reasons for being here are not so different.’

‘Never said they were.’ Ilumene looked Venn up and down. ‘Someone’s got prickly now he ain’t the fighter he used to be.’

‘I remain skilled beyond most others in this camp.’

‘Never said you weren’t,’ Ilumene said with a grin. He puffed away at his cigar and then continued, ‘Come on. If it’s some quaint barbarian custom we’re invited to, Rojak will complain if he misses it. Won’t bother me o’ course, but I reckon he’d keep you up the rest of the night singing all manner o’ filth. Minstrels are all the same, after all, just entertainment for the low masses.’ If Rojak responded to that in the privacy of Venn’s mind, the former Harlequin made no sign; he gracefully matched the taller man’s pace without appearing to hurry. They were admitted to the Jesters’ camp without a word by the white-masked guards and escorted by curt hand gestures to the tall tents where their Demi-God lords awaited them.

The small camp was strangely silent, even quieter than the subdued Devoted on three sides of them. The warriors were all loitering on the edges of a central square around which were the Jesters’ own tents. Over the last few weeks he had discovered there was a clear division within their ranks, though little difference in the way they dressed. The Harlequins wore their porcelain faces to ensure all roles and moods were conveyed solely by gesture, but Venn had suggested it had started as an echo of the serene faces of the divine, unencumbered by emotion. What ever the truth, the only way to tell white masked Acolytes and Hearth-Spears apart were the weapons they carried. The Acolytes, the elite, carried long, two handed swords; they worked as mercenaries alongside their lords. The Hearth-Spears, the men and woman of the clans, defended their homes with javelins or spears and oval shields.

Ilumene looked around. Most of the hundred elite Acolytes were assembled here, so whatever was going on, it looked like they were involved.

‘Lord Koteer, Blessed Sons of Death,’ Venn called as he approached the seated Demi-Gods, ‘I thank you for your invitation to attend this ritual.’

Koteer, the eldest of the Jesters who spoke for them all, looked up. His grey skin faded into the night’s darkness, leaving his white mask even more stark and ghostly. ‘We intend to raid the enemy — with your permission, Ilumene, as the voice of the Child,’ he announced. His voice was accented with age, but his words remained precise and clear. ‘We invite the Harlequins to join us.’

‘Just the Harlequins?’ Ilumene asked. ‘What if the rest of us want to join in the fun?’

Koteer regarded him. ‘It will be a night raid, tomorrow, when the moon is darkest. The Harlequins can move silently at night. Any others will betray us.’

‘Your Acolytes can see in the dark?’

Koteer gestured and the two disciples of Ruhen edged forward to get a better view. Smoky braziers flanked the entrance of each large tent; the flavour of incense was heavy on the air. Ilumene could make out a blackened bowl, some dark liquid bubbling gently within it, sitting upon a small iron brazier. Koteer unbuckled the vambrace from his left arm and pushed up his sleeve. Accepting a knife from the nearest Acolyte, the Demi-God started intoning something, then slit open his wrist, letting a stream of darkly glowing blood pour down into the bowl. Then he stirred the contents with the blade of the knife and handed it back.

With blood still dribbling from his wrist, he ran his fingers over the wound and spoke more arcane words in Elvish, the language of magic, and the wound sealed. An Acolyte came forward with a fresh piece of linen to wrap around the wrist and Koteer held that in place while his vambrace was buckled back on.

Another Acolyte stepped forward with a silver jug, poured something that looked like water into the bowl and stirred it again with a naked blade, then small flasks were passed forward by all the watching Acolytes and carefully filled by Koteer’s attendants.

‘The clans share our blood, one and all; many of the Acolytes are our sons, but they remain human,’ Koteer said. ‘This ritual temporarily brings out the divine in their blood. Mortals cannot endure that too often, but in times of war, the risks are worth taking.’

Venn said, ‘I will send thirty Harlequins to join you — I can spare no more; the risk of assassins remains too great.’

‘Acceptable,’ Koteer confirmed. ‘We will double back while the army moves on; the enemy are close enough that we can cover the distance in the day and strike their camp in the darkest part of night.’

‘And when you reach them?’ Ilumene asked. ‘You’ll never get near Emin or the Farlan boy; they’re too well guarded.’

‘We go to kill their elite,’ Koteer said with a sudden hunger in his voice, ‘to prove ourselves the greater warriors and weaken them for the battle to come. We do not go to win the war.’

Ilumene nodded in approval. ‘It’ll slow their pursuit up; give us time to negotiate the Chetse border if they’re watching for ambushes every night. You have Ruhen’s permission, send them my best.’

‘I have seen your best,’ Koteer replied without humour, ‘and it is a savage thing. That is what we shall give them.’

As the last of the sky turned to black, Doranei and Fei Ebarn headed out into the hushed army camp, where quiet snores mingled with the song of cicadas on the cool night air. Both were armed in their own way: Doranei in blackened armour, Ebarn in silver chains and crystal shards attached to a snug coat. There was not a breath of wind, Doranei noticed; after the blustery morning where the wind had been at their backs like Ilit’s hand urging them on, it had steadily faded to nothing, the God’s strength spent. Now the hushed Land waited, adding to the tense quiet of the army camp.

‘So, you and Veil then,’ Doranei said at last, when they had moved beyond the last tent.

Ebarn gave him a suspicious look. ‘What about us?’ The battle-mage was a strong woman, and well able to use both the stave she carried and the long-knives on her belt. Magic might be her greatest weapon, but in a melee the stave was an effective way to keep soldiers at arm’s length until she could burn them.

‘Just making conversation.’ He stopped and turned to face her. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it — just that you seem good together.’

‘And there’s you, the expert in relationships?’

Doranei gave a wry smile. ‘Screwed up a few in my time, right enough. That must have taught me something!’

Ebarn nodded to acknowledge his point and they continued their patrol. King Emin’s more obvious elite now walked the camps at night, mostly just to be visible to the many untested soldiers. No amount of training could prepare a youth far from home for the true chaos of battle — or the sight of dragons being hauled out of the Dark Place, for that matter. Emin wanted his mages and skilled killers closer to his men in a way a king could not be.

‘So. Me and Veil,’ Ebarn said after they had passed the first sentry post, seeing the soldiers stand a little taller in their presence, ‘you give your blessing then?’

‘I ain’t the boy’s father; he don’t need me to hold his hand.’ The mage smiled. ‘Just as well. He hasn’t got many to spare.’

‘Aye, so long as he takes off those damn spikes before he slips in your bed! Probably the first mistake I’d manage.’

‘Way I hear it, you’d have managed more’n a few by the time you get to the bed.’ Her eyes twinkled with amusement

‘Aye, could be true,’ he admitted.

‘How’s he dealing with it? Losing his hand, I mean.’

‘Like the rest of you would, I’d guess: he’s pretty pissed off — he’s always trying to scratch his little finger and he’s about ready to punch holes in the ground when he forgets and finds it gone all over again. Man’s about as hard to ruffle as any of you, though. He’ll be fine — he’s more worried about you!’

‘He’s in good company there,’ Doranei said darkly, ‘but I ain’t been drunk in days; that’s got to count for something, no?’

‘For you, aye — Veil told me you’d be good. I’ve got to admit I wasn’t so certain, but it looks like he knows you better.’

‘Simple and obvious, that’s one reason Zhia liked me in the first place,’ Doranei agreed. ‘When your days are full of lies and games, I guess not having to deal with that shit at night is a blessing. And yeah, Veil knows me well enough. I’m Brotherhood to the bone; ain’t one who’d survive retiring, not like him or Sebe. When duty’s all I got, it’s enough to keep me moving.’ He sighed. ‘It’s pathetic really. I’m like Isak’s dog Hulf, lost without a master.’

‘At least you realise that. Most wouldn’t.’

Doranei snorted ‘Most haven’t spent so much time asking why in the name o’ the Dark Place they’re doing what they’re doing. You know, I just realised something about all I’ve done, all that bad shit in the name of the king — it’s not that I’m kidding myself here, when I die, me and Lord Death are going to have a long old chat. Old Bones might have a few comments at my Last Judgment, and Ghain’s slope is going to be one long bloody walk.’

‘I sense a “but” creeping in.’

‘Aye, there’s a “but” — seems to me, the deciding vote ain’t going to be Death’s. Either we stop Azaer or we don’t. The final judgment about me might depend on success, not the right or otherwise of what I’ve done. Either the Gods owe all of us one bastard of a favour, or an Upper Circle God’s going to have it in for us. Azaer’s not a forgiving type, even in victory.’

Ebarn was silent for a long while. ‘So now you’ve depressed the shit out of me,’ she said eventually. ‘And this is you dealing with things better?’

‘Gives us a prize to aim for, you’ve got to admit.’

‘Incentive like that I didn’t need,’ she muttered, running a hand over her short hair as though trying to brush of her mood. ‘Now I know why Endine doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.’

‘Pah! The scrawny bugger should know better than to have a serious conversation with me when I’ve had a few — the man knows I’m a mean spirited drunk.’

‘That all it was?’

Doranei looked away into the dark of the countryside. This was a sparsely populated part of the Land, most of the towns nestled close to the cities they were bound to for fear of the regular wars between states. Most of the smaller settlements were now abandoned, according to the Narkang scouts.

‘Mostly,’ he admitted at last. ‘Neither of us has been an idealist, not for years; what truth I spoke he knows anyway, he just doesn’t like to think about it. With Cetarn dead he’s feeling lost. He wants his faith to be a shield against the Land the way Cetarn’s bulk was.’

‘Lost without his friend, eh?’ Ebarn said pointedly. ‘There might be more than one man feeling that way. So maybe you’ll go a bit easy on him?’

‘I see what you mean.’ Doranei picked up his pace. Now wasn’t the time to talk about their own frailties. He’d got the golden bee on his collar and the sword of a dead Demi-God on his hip: he was a King’s Man. He didn’t want to know what men might say behind his back, though he guessed it would be as much hero-worship as distrust — conquered a vampire princess, ear of the king, cold-hearted bastard who murdered his lover, a hundred different things. Best he didn’t hear any of them.

I might be a bastard in their eyes, Doranei realised, but they want killers on their side, ones they can’t imagine falling in battle. Few of us liked Coran — maybe none of us, to tell the truth — but you were still glad to hear him snarl at your side when the Soldier beckoned.

They headed to one of the advance pickets, fifty yards out from the camp, near enough for voices to carry if it was attacked. All ten faces turned their way, then the squad’s sergeant saluted gravely before returning his gaze to the darkness beyond.

The sergeant was a few winters older than Doranei, but the rest were frighteningly young — but the recruiters didn’t care much about actual age so long as they were strong enough to use a spear.

‘Evening, boys. All quiet out?’

‘Yes, sir,’ squeaked the private he was looking at, the youngest of the lot. ‘Nothing more than a bat.’

‘Did it give the password?’ Doranei meant to joke, but his weariness and lingering grief made the words sound angry and the boy’s face paled. ‘Never mind, son; just a joke. See any daemons?’

The boy shook his head violently. ‘Nothing, sir. Corporal Rabb, in third squad, he said he did last night, thing like a dog, shining silver in the moonlight.’

‘And his sergeant said it was a damn rabbit,’ said the squad sergeant, glancing back. ‘Sergeant Garelden, sir. Sorry, foolish talk is all. Until they see their first fight, they’re always jumpy at the unknown.’

Doranei remembered the fears of his first mission well enough. ‘Sure it wasn’t actually a dog?’ he asked the private.

The soldier shook his head, eyes wide. ‘It ran without a sound, the corp said, and big as a wolf, and then it just vanished.’

‘Aye. His name’s Hulf.’ Doranei raised one palm to show the whole squad. ‘You seen these tattoos on the Ghosts and my lot? The Mad Axe decided the dog should get ’em too, give him a fighting chance if he’s going to run with the army. In darkness he’ll run like a ghost and likely sneak up on any daemons out there, just to give ’em a fright. He’s got his master’s sense of humour, that pup, but he’s with us. You’ve nothing to fear from him.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Enough of the “sir” crap. I’m no officer.’

‘Well, sir,’ Sergeant Garelden drawled, turning back to look at Doranei, ‘you’re a King’s Man and no infantry private, that’s for sure. Rank or no, think it’s best we use a bit o’ respect for anyone on first name terms with the king.’

Doranei hesitated, then said, ‘I suppose you’ve got a point there. Fair enough.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Ebarn watched Doranei with a smile on her face while the rest of the squad, under the stern eye of their sergeant, turned back to the darkness beyond, wanting to show how alert to their duty they were, especially while the eyes of the king were upon them.

‘Question, sir?’ Garelden asked quietly, never taking his eyes from the darkness.

‘Sure — what is it?’

‘The enemy, sir,’ he said slowly, as if not quite sure how to ask what he wanted. ‘I was hoping you could tell us a bit more about ’em — the child, I mean. All we’ve heard is rumour, and not much of that’s made a lot of sense.’

Doranei shared a look with Ebarn. ‘So your question is, “what’re we doing out here?”, right?’

‘No, sir; I know my duty, my boys too. We’re with the king to the end and it ain’t our place to question what we’re doing. We’re all loyal to the bone.’

Doranei realised some of the younger men were looking alarmed at the very idea of a King’s Man thinking them disloyal. ‘Right, so the question is “why’re we out here ”, mebbe? Why here and why now?’

‘Just hoping to understand a little better,’ the sergeant said carefully, not wanting to make a point of contradicting Doranei.

‘We’re marching into foreign lands to fight for our king, fight for our country, and none of us got a problem with that; it’s why we joined. But when I ask my boys to kill another man for a cause, I’d — well-’

‘Want to know the cause?’ Ebarn supplied, then, added, ‘It’s a reasonable request. I think we all forget most of the nation hasn’t been in this war as long as we have — most don’t know it’s been going almost as long as the king’s reign.’

‘It ain’t the time for a history lesson,’ Doranei growled, ‘nor for telling two decades o’ secrets.’

‘Don’t worry; we all know our duty here, right, Sergeant Garelden? So you get the quick version; most likely you heard it already, but rumour messes up most stories. There’s a shadow, as old as mortal life — it’s not a God and not a daemon, just claws and a voice that can whisper inside a man’s head, persuade him to do stuff he sometimes thought of in the quiet of night, but never really meant. We all got a bad side. Some of us let it out, and some of us get it forced out by others — life ain’t fair, and sometimes the shit gets too much. But for some, a shadow talks and talks at you until you let out that dark bit of your soul that you wouldn’t want your loved ones to see. With me so far?’

‘Aye, I think so.’

‘Well the shadow loves this power, but for centuries that was all it had — one or two folk here and there, a few whispers and fearful stories. Then the shadow found the Last King of the Elves, and it found the key to unlock that dark part, the hunger for more than we’ve got: ambition. A lot else happened and the Elves and Gods made their own mistakes, and the Great War was the result.’

Doranei cleared his throat, but Ebarn didn’t object when he took up the explanation. ‘All that was a long time ago, but it’s still important. When our king was a young man, the shadow made an enemy of him because the king’s a man who brings out the best in others — that’s his genius, really. The shadow knew it had found its opposite — its mirror-match. As the king’s power grew, the shadow’s did too, and it finally had a chance to take advantage of all the things it’d learned over the years.

‘You can’t hide from a shadow. Whatever strong-room you put your secrets in, shadows creep in as you shut that door. And this shadow’s learned as much as the Gods about the balance of the Land. Daemons did its bidding, furthering its legend in return for the souls they covet, and the Last King, Aryn Bwr himself, gave his soul over to the shadow before he died. Then when Aryn Bwr tried to be reborn, the shadow played the Last King for its own purpose. It knew the Gods would fear their old enemy — and all those with the sort of power Bwr’d wielded — but none of them cared about something as weak as a shadow.

‘It had seen how the Great War weakened the Gods, and now it knew it could bring about the same: it could stop the prayers that sustain the Gods; it could make folk turn against the priests who carry those prayers to the Gods. And now it intends to use the weapons Aryn Bwr himself forged — the Crystal Skulls — to unbalance the Land so it can force itself into the Pantheon of the Gods.’

‘So that’s why the child of Byora has sent preachers out across the Land?’ Sergeant Garelden asked, as rapt as his young soldiers. ‘He’s gathering worshippers for when the shadow becomes a God, stealing them away from the other Gods to weaken them?’

‘Exactly. Now there’s more to the story, and some things I won’t tell you, but that’s the heart of it. That child, Ruhen, has an immortal soul, and it hopes to become a God. We have to stop that happening and we’ve got a weapon to do just that.’

‘So that’s what we’re fighting for — to stop a shadow killing the Gods?’ one young soldier breathed, wonder mingling with terror in his voice. ‘We’re fighting for the fate of the whole Land?’

Doranei shook his head and forced a smile, clapping his hand on the youth’s shoulder. ‘No, lad, you’re in the infantry. Let folk like Ebarn and me do that; you just remember what you learned your very first day of training.’

‘What-? Sarge?’

‘Come on, Private, you’ve heard it so many times it should be carved into your heart!’ Garelden replied.

‘Oh, that.’ He swallowed. ‘You fight for the man beside you; you fight for your friends around you so you don’t let them down.’

‘Aye, that’s it,’ Doranei said. ‘Don’t think about where the war’s going or what the king’s thinking; you’re here to be strong. Victory only comes if men like you stay strong. Look after the man beside you and he’ll look after you. Kill the enemy before they get you or the man at your side — that’s the only way any of us are going to make it home.’

‘Yes sir,’ the soldier said. He looked down at the ground, another question clearly on his lips.

‘Go on,’ Doranei encouraged, ‘ask it, even if you’re afraid to. There’s no shame in fear, only in letting it rule you. Fear is a shadow,’ he added, amending the Brotherhood’s long-standing mantra about grief, ‘and we don’t submit to shadows.’

‘Yes, sir. I just — I don’t know what it’ll be like, when we do have to fight.’

‘Fucking terrifying,’ Doranei said with a rough laugh. ‘It looks like the Land’s exploded around you, and everything’s moving too fast for anything to make sense. That’s why you stick to the man at your shoulder. You’re safer when you’re together, and once you realise you’re not alone, the chaos will fade.’

‘What about killing, sir? I’m a soldier and we’re going to fight — but what’s it like, to kill a man? I’ve never done more’n split a lip before and — well, you’re a- you’re a King’s Man.’ The soldier hung his head, fearing he’d insulted Doranei.

‘I’m a King’s Man, aye, and I’ve killed more’n a few in his name: it’s part of what we do. Don’t mean I’ve enjoyed it, but I was trained to kill, sure enough, better than any soldier.’ He looked around. ‘Gods, now you’ve made me feel old, lad. So what’s it like? Don’t know I can tell you rightly; it’s different for everyone, far’s I can tell. First man I killed, I couldn’t stop my hand shaking afterwards. Knife went in so easy and smooth I couldn’t believe it. It frightened me, how easy it was, in truth.’

He sighed and looked away, trying to work out how to explain it in a way that wouldn’t break the boy’s spirit and mean he didn’t last longer than his first battle. Those who feared the killing were the ones who hesitated. At last he said, ‘It’s easy t’kill a man. I’m serious, killing a man’s so easy you’ll be scared too. See that spear you got?’ He took hold of the shaft and lowered the weapon so he could tap the slim blade on the end. ‘This is sharp and hard — people ain’t. You put your shoulder into it, not just prod like a girl, and this’ll go through flesh and bone and out the other side, right through a man. We ain’t made to be hard to kill, and the first time you put a man down you’ll feel the weight of that like a punch to the gut.

‘Afterwards comes the screams and the stink of spilled guts, blood, shit and mud all mixed and filling your nose. Then the chaos of battle comes back and grabs you in its teeth and you’re more scared than ever before — but that’s what battle is: more noise and movement than any mind can keep up with, so keep your mind on the job and don’t let all that distract you.’ He released the spear.

‘Killing a man’s easy,’ Doranei repeated sadly, ‘forgetting the next day that he was just like your brother — that his mother’ll be weeping when she hears, or something’ll break inside his father, never to be fixed — that’s the hard part. Come see me after your first battle, lad, and we’ll drink until we forget those we’ve killed.

‘You don’t get a choice about killing sometime, and not in war, that’s for sure. Just remember to share the burden or it’ll eat you up inside. There’s no shame in sharing; and any man who thinks so can explain himself to me or the Mad Axe — we’ll both — ah, respond — the same. Understanding consequences is what makes us men. Sometimes you got to accept consequences, sometimes you got to know when they’re too great. Without understanding that choice you’re nothing.’

Doranei and Ebarn walked away in silence, leaving a stunned silence in their wake. After fifty paces Ebarn draped a sisterly arm around Doranei’s waist. ‘Fine speech. Inspiring. Really roused them for the fight ahead.’

Doranei sighed. ‘Sorry. Took myself down some unexpected path.’

‘Aye, sounded like it. Dark down there, is it?’ She raised her free hand, showing faint trails of light dancing and swirling. ‘Need some light to show you-’ She stopped, so suddenly that she dragged Doranei to a halt. ‘What’s that?’ she muttered to herself, swinging around.

‘Something wrong?’

‘I, ah — I don’t know.’

‘What the fuck does that mean?’

She looked up at him, eyes wide. ‘It means yes; it has to be!’ She dropped her right hand to the Crystal Skull hanging from her belt and cupped it, reaching her left hand up into the sky. Doranei reeled away just in time, covering his eyes just as a stream of light surged up into the inky night sky.

‘ Ware! To arms! ’ Ebarn roared, sending the column of light a hundred feet in the air before running forward, half dragging Doranei with her.

The light continued to drive up and forwards, arching out beyond the pickets, where it cast a faint starlight over the ground below. He shook himself free as small sparks of magic began to race over his fingers, Ebarn’s chains and shards coming alive with power, and followed blindly, trusting her skill to lead him.

Halfway back to the picket Doranei saw them: small squads advancing on the sentries stationed all around the army. The nearest were closing on the post they’d just been standing at and there was no time: the sergeant didn’t even have time shout as his soldiers instinctively huddled close and levelled their spears.

The men on either end died almost in the same instant. Masked figures with flowing grey hair and double-handed swords danced around the clumsy spears before cutting each down. Ebarn snarled and punched forward with her open palm and a burst of crimson fire smashed into the nearer figure’s chest.

The other white-masked figure ran for them and Doranei moved to intercept, belatedly recognising the figure as an Acolyte. ‘It’s the Jesters!’ he yelled to Ebarn as he aimed a sweeping strike at the swordsman.

The Acolyte stepped to one side, intent on catching Doranei’s blade and deflecting it down, not realising the midnight-black blade was speckled with unnatural light until too late. Doranei’s sword sheared right through the Acolyte’s weapon and he followed it with an upward flick that chopped up into the fighter’s throat.

To his left he heard Ebarn shout; the harsh syllables lit up the night and tore into grey-skinned Acolytes with ease. Doranei pushed on to try and reach the beleaguered squad, but before he could, someone shrieking in agony was driven out of the squad’s line by a tall figure, also white-masked, but the height of a white-eye.

‘Our brother’s sword,’ the figure said in a cold, ancient voice. ‘Are you worthy of it, warrior?’ The Jester raised its sword. The acid-etched blade shone weirdly as it reflected the light of Ebarn’s battle-magics as it saluted him in some formal manner. ‘We shall see.’

Doranei made no response but he fumbled at his belt and ran to meet the Demi-God, tossing a pouch of sparkle-dust in front of him as he went. The Jester dodged with alarming agility, and the pouch passed its head. It didn’t touch the Jester, but some of the dust leaked out and a white-glittering path was traced through the dark just past its eyes. Realising that would do no more than make the Jester hesitate for a moment, Doranei pulled his short axe and went on the attack. Sensing him come the Demi God wheeled right, keeping its long sword between it and Doranei. He caught it with his axe and yanked down, but the Jester dropped the tip and let the axe slid harmlessly off, deflecting Doranei’s follow-up slashes as it planted its feet.

Lashing out with unnatural speed, the Jester directed a flurry of cuts at Doranei. The King’s Man barely blocked the first in time, only his training saving him as the next slashed down at his knee. He caught the third and chopped at the Demi-God’s arm, his axe glancing off the scales of its armour. He stepped forward into the fight and tried to rip his sword across the Jester’s wrist, but it was already moving back.

He kept on, knowing attack was his best option. With the sword he’d taken from Aracnan Doranei could strike as quickly as his enemy, though his reactions remained mortal. The light-speckled sword cut through the air so swiftly it felt like it had a mind of its own. The Jester tried to batter it from his hand, but Doranei rode the heavy blows, deflecting the last upwards with the axe following close behind. Again the edge was turned by the Jester’s armour, but Doranei pressed in behind it.

With his sword he engaged the Demi-God’s weapon, then hooked his axe into the back of the Jester’s knee, hauling back and slamming his head into the Jester’s midriff. The Demi-God fell onto his back; Doranei stumbled himself, but caught himself in time and swung down at the Jester’s feet. The scale-armour couldn’t resist his sword and he chopped right through the Jester’s ankle, swinging up almost blindly to deflect the inevitable swipe of an injured warrior.

The Jester was lying supine, and the strike was weakened by panic and pain, and Doranei was able to batter away the weak blow. He threw himself forward and hacked his axe at the Jester’s face, and as he felt it bite he followed up with a stab to the armpit that drove deep inside the Jester’s body, which suddenly went rigid.

Doranei rolled back to his feet and looked around wildly for the next threat, but none of the attackers were going for him.

The remains of the squad were cringing in a small knot behind their shields, back to back, spear-heads wavering. Surrounding them were five Acolytes, identically dressed, each with blood on their long blades. But none were bothering to look at the infantrymen; their eyes were all on Doranei and the corpse at his feet.

‘Reckon I’m worthy, then?’ Doranei shouted at them, not caring whether they could understand him or not. ‘This good enough for you — a dead God at my feet?’

Any response was precluded by a burst of magic from Ebarn, long slivers of white that flew like daggers at the nearest of the Acolytes, tearing bloody ribbons across its chest and slicing through the sword arm as the Acolyte tried to parry.

The Acolyte dropped, dead before it hit the ground, and the others broke and sprinted off into the darkness. Doranei looked at the corpses on the ground. Only one looked to have been killed by the soldiers. He’d taken down two; that left five Ebarn had dispatched.

‘Oh Gods,’ Doranei breathed as the sergeant threw down his spear and started to check on the fallen. One youth’s frantic, pained breaths told Doranei the dismal news; another howled as soon as the sergeant touched him. The rest were already dead, among them the youngest of their squad, his neck sliced clean open. Blood no longer flowed from the wound; too much had already run out down his studded jacket into the dry earth beneath.

‘There’s no time, Brother!’ Ebarn warned, running to his side and pointing towards the next picket. ‘It’s a coordinated attack.’

‘I know,’ Doranei muttered, unable to tear his eyes from the boy’s sightless eyes. ‘I just-’

‘Shift yourself!’ Ebarn yelled, giving the King’s Man a rough shove, and when that didn’t work she hauled him around and made him look her in the eye. ‘It was a quick death and you can’t ask for more. He’s in Death’s hands now, and we need to see to the living!’

Doranei sheathed his weapon and started to run towards the next post where, without a mage, they most likely hadn’t been faring so well. ‘We see to the living,’ he repeated.