The Dusk Watchman

CHAPTER 39

General Daken reined in and raised his hand to call a halt. Almost as one, the Green Scarves stopped to survey the enemy. The white-eye glanced around at his men, elite among the Narkang army. The officers had all been marked with flowing blue tattoos by Litania, the Trickster Goddess inhabiting Daken’s skin, and they were almost as irregular as the savage men they led.

Many wore Menin armour and helms, mismatched pieces scavenged from the dead, which were now augmented by the banded armour of the Knights of the Temples. There were now five complete legions wearing green scarves — King Emin had expanded their numbers with reinforcements from Canar Thrit, troops experienced at fighting Black Swords from Vanach and their Carastar mercenary allies — and they had been entrusted with the job of leading the way towards the Devoted.

‘Looks like all of ’em,’ Daken said at last, scanning the plain ahead. ‘Anyone else suspicious about that?’

‘Aren’t we expecting sort of mage’s surprise?’ Colonel Dassai asked.

‘Aye, but it would still be nice if they pretended otherwise. Makes it a bit bloody obvious when they’re all lined up like this.’ He gestured towards the Devoted army, stationed at the base of the hill ahead and a shallower rise on the left flank. He couldn’t make out the earthworks around the hill, but he knew they were there from the positioning of the enemy soldiers. Angled lines of troops marked stark lines of defence, static positions around which their cavalry could move. More than a legion of cavalry patrolled the open ground between them and there were clear channels for more to descend from the high ground in response to any threat.

‘And the scouts say this is the best approach?’ Daken said with a scowl.

‘Aye, sir, given the size of our army. The ground’s more broken on the east flank of the hill, a defender’s dream. There’re ridges to defend and stick your enemy full of arrows from, while you’ve got nothing more than a tired mob coming up towards you, all leading to a slope too steep to climb.’

Daken grunted. The Devoted had divided their infantry broadly equally between the hill and the neighbouring rise, unwilling to concede high ground so close to the part they had to hold at all costs. King Emin hadn’t given him the full picture about what Ruhen would be doing there, but he’d made it clear they needed to punch right in and give a small force under Isak’s command the chance to end the war.

‘Dassai, send a rider to the king,’ Daken said after a long, silent look at the defences ahead of them. ‘He should send the Denei cavalry to the east and south flanks — might not be we can attack there, but we can still rule ’em. The Devoted’s got nothing to touch Denei horsewarriors — two legions will be a right thorn in their side. Skirmishers too — in close formation, if Endine don’t think much of their scryers; might make ’em think the Legion o’ the Damned’s about to crawl up their arseholes.’

The colonel repeated the instructions to a messenger as a respectful suggestion to their liege and sent him off, then turned back to the white-eye. ‘And now?’

Daken spat on the ground ahead of him. ‘Now we secure this plain.’ He turned in the saddle, watching the rider race back the way they had come. They were several miles ahead of the main army, which was heaving forward like an aged and weary monster. The king would be ordering a halt soon; it was well into the afternoon and getting any closer would be foolish. Better to set camp and rest for the coming day, then march unencumbered the few miles.

‘There’ll be no fighting today, not unless we provoke it.’ The white-eye forced a grin. ‘What do you say, Dassai? Want to pick a fight?’

‘First blood for the Green Scarves, aye,’ Dassai agreed. ‘We’ve got a reputation to maintain after all.’

Isak sat outside his tent and watched the orange flames flicker and glow. Hulf had burrowed under his legs, teeth bared at faint sounds the humans were trying to ignore. It was well past the ghost-hour, but many hadn’t yet retired in the Narkang camp. King Emin and Legana shared the fire with him in a tense silence. The culmination of their plans was at hand, and they all feared the coming day.

Snow fell fitfully, adding to the shroud of quiet over the camp. On the edge of hearing, daemons howled like unholy wolves anticipating the morrow’s feast. Hulf growled softly again and Isak put his white hand on the dog’s back, trying to calm him, but it did no good; Hulf would not be soothed.

It’s hard to reassure him when I can’t forget, Isak thought sadly. We’re an army in mourning already — how many of us believe we’ll see dusk again?

He looked at King Emin, and recognised the glitter of tears in his eyes. Emin’s grey hair had been roughly cut back and with his hat discarded, revealed even more clearly the lines of his ageing face.

‘What was your son’s name again?’ Isak asked softly.

Emin jumped as though stung, then said quietly, ‘Sebetin. Oterness chose it — Sebe died in Byora just before the naming day and she always had a soft spot for him. She said he had a gentle soul compared to the rest of the Brotherhood. I don’t think I could ask for Sebetin to grow up better than that.’

Isak didn’t say anything else; he had nothing that could alleviate Emin’s own guilt and fear. There were thousands — tens of thousands, in opposing camps, but united in that moment — all thinking of those they might never see again. Vesna had gone off to watch the sun set and be alone with his thoughts of Tila; Doranei sat a little way from his king, staring down at the black star-speckled blade he’d used to kill his lover. It wasn’t clear the King’s Man had even heard Sebe’s name spoken, though Isak knew he felt guilt for both deaths.

And what about me? he wondered. Is this fear I’m feeling, grief for those who’re lost, or something else? I wish you were here, Mihn; that I do wish, but my guilt’s unchanged. There’ve been too many deaths on my account already, so perhaps one more makes no difference to the weight of my chains. Or maybe I’m just too broken to feel anything more.

His hands tightened and he felt a slight resistance in the palm of his right where the black sword still resided between one Land and the next.

You deserved better, but I know you’d say they all did — all those I killed, all those who died alongside me. Is it cowardly of me to want a way out of all this? I fear the chains I’ll be dragging up Ghain’s slope, but I’m so tired of this fight.

‘ Look,’ Legana said unexpectedly into their minds, brushing the grey-seamed copper hair away from her face as she tilted her head up to the sky.

High above them the dark clouds of night were cut through by flame, a thin trail of light that faded only slowly, then a second bright path streaked alongside where the first had passed.

‘What is it?’ Isak whispered, watching the strange sight with fascination. ‘A shooting star?’

Legana shook her head and pointed as another blade of light tore through the dark, this one an arc, curving gracefully around. The air was perfectly still and silent, no deep and savage cry of dragons breaking the calm.

‘ They’re hunting,’ Legana said at last, wonder and delight in her voice. ‘ If only you could see it with my eyes. ’

Isak frowned, still not understanding, but a gasp from Emin told him the king had realised what they were looking at.

‘The phoenix dance,’ he croaked in astonishment. ‘I’ve heard the stories but not even Morghien has seen this!’

‘Phoenix?’ Isak asked. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Birds of flaming plumage, who scorch the air as they dive on their prey,’ Emin said softy, and Isak gaped at the sight as two trailing paths like fire arrows raced through the night above them, faster than any falcon could swoop. Distantly he heard the click and chatter of bats in the night sky, Death’s messengers fleeing the talons of the phoenix: the chosen creature and symbol of the Queen of the Gods.

‘Is it an omen?’ King Emin wondered aloud. ‘Do they herald the rebirth of the Land?’

Legana shook her head. ‘ Some will see them that way perhaps, but I’ve had enough of omens. The future shall be as we make it. The phoenix tell us something far more important. ’

‘Which is?’

She smiled and rose to leave, unsteady on her feet until Ardela appeared at her side to steady her. Legana put her hand on Ardela’s, letting her support her with loving care. ‘ They remind us that there is still beauty in the Land. ’

Isak stepped out of his tent and looked up at the sky. A brisk wind threw the drizzle down onto his face, but while his guards scowled at the cold, unwelcome dawn, Isak savoured it. His bones carried a memory of Ghenna’s close, oppressive air and unnatural warmth so for him, the chill winter rain slapping his cheek was a pleasure, the surging wind and open ground around him a moment of release from the memories that bound him.

All around him men and woman were waking, and several Sisters of Dusk emerged from Palace Guard tents, dragging their coppery hair back into braids and ponytails for the day’s battle. Isak watched one, a tall woman in a studded jerkin at least a decade older than the grim-faced Ghost at the entrance of the tent she’d just left. With a deft hand she buckled on her spaulders and vambraces before collecting her long-knives and spear from the tent.

She paused a moment to run an affectionate finger down the soldier’s cheek, then headed out without a backwards glance. The soldier watched her go, then caught Isak’s eye and ducked his head with a sheepish expression. The white-eye’s laughter echoed around the camp.

‘Morning, lad,’ Carel called, rising from beside the dull fire embers. ‘Get any sleep?’ He looked stiff in the chill morning air, and had dark rings around his eyes, but once he’d taken a few steps there was a renewed purpose to the ageing warrior’s gait. He was already dressed for battle and carried a peaked helm looted from some Devoted corpse in his hand. Carel had blackened the helm’s surface in the fire, Isak saw, burning off the painted insignia and ensuring he wouldn’t look like an enemy in the chaos of battle.

‘As little as you,’ Isak admitted. ‘As little of any of us.’ He’d slept in his breeches and long boots like the rest, but his chest was exposed to the faint daylight and he saw Carel’s eyes drawn to the scars on his body. Most prominent among them was the fat band around his throat and the distinct white mark of Xeliath’s rune.

Around his waist was the cloth band that kept the Skull of Ruling pressed against his skin. It was faded and stained by many weeks of constant use — but then, nothing about him was pristine, Isak reflected. He reached up towards the sky and stretched out his white and black arms, still thickly muscled, despite the damage done to them.

‘You shouldn’t come,’ Isak said once he’d finished stretching out the familiar discomfort of a night on hard ground. ‘I know you want to be at my side, but the best of the Ghosts’ll be hard-pressed. It’s too dangerous for you.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll stick with the women and the cripples,’ Carel said with a fierce grin.

‘The Sisters of Dusk are with me, Legana too.’

‘Well, that’s tough shit for you then, ain’t it? Can’t tie me up like you have Hulf.’

A whimper came from Isak’s tent as the dog heard his name. Isak had tethered him to a stake to keep him away from the battle, but Hulf was used to freedom and Isak had to hope the rope he’d used would last long enough.

Isak sighed. Though his memories of the man were fractured and broken, Carel’s presence remained soothing for him; he calmed the burr of fear and fatigue at the back of his mind, just as Mihn had. And then Mihn had died, trying to protect him.

‘Then you keep with them, you hear me? Stay with Ardela — I can’t be watching over you, I can’t be at your side.’

‘Don’t worry, lad,’ Carel said, nodding, ‘I was a Ghost, remember? Sometimes the white-eyes or Lord Bahl himself had to be left exposed in the teeth of battle. Don’t feel right, but that’s the way it is; a normal like me can’t always be in the worst of it. There’s places I can’t follow you and weapons I can’t stop. I’ll do my part and give you the space you need.’

‘Good — you just remember that. Even if you don’t understand what I’m doing, you leave me to it. I’m not part of the battle; I’ve got my own mission.’

‘Aye, my Lord,’ Carel confirmed.

‘I’m no lord, not any more.’

The veteran scowled. ‘Piss on that. You’re the lord I follow, the one I’m proud to obey. If this old man only has one fight left in him, it’ll be in your name and there’s nothing you can do about that.’

Isak smiled. ‘As you wish.’

‘My Lord!’ a voice called from beyond the ring of tents: Tiniq, returning from his nightly patrols. The Ascetite ranger’s night-vision was far better than any normal man’s, so he spent the night roaming between sentry positions and slept in the wagons during the day. Now he trotted forward, holding out something coiled and silvery in his hands for Isak to see.

‘I found this in a pack last night,’ Tiniq explained as he reached Isak and deposited a hinged cuff attached to a chain in Isak’s open palms.

Isak frowned down at it, sensing some latent magic in the metal. ‘I don’t understand,’ he started.

Without warning Tiniq slashed forward at Isak’s belly with a short knife, and Isak gasped, the silver chain spilling from his hands — but before he could react, a surge of power roared up from inside him and he screamed with pain.

Tiniq dropped to a crouch as Isak howled and the Crystal Skull tumbled from the slashed strip of cloth across his belly. Quick as a snake the ranger scooped up the Skull, dropping his knife in the same movement and catching up the falling chain in his free hand. Isak dropped to his knees as the air turned black around him, his hands rising as though to shield his face from the suddenly-unchecked magic coursing through his body.

With one deft movement Tiniq brought the chain up and snapped the cuff around Isak’s black wrist. Without waiting to see if the stricken white-eye had reacted, he kicked backwards at Carel, knocking him sprawling. As the nearest Ghosts came forward, Tiniq ran behind Isak with blinding speed, dragging the chain after him so Isak’s right arm was pinned against his chest.

Strands of black light filled the grainy morning air and Isak screamed again, falling to his knees as sparks burst from his eyes and the magic of Termin Mystt ran rampant through his mind. The daemon-scars on his body flared red and as his cries intensified, lightning snapped out through the air all around him. The Ghosts faltered in the whip-crack of light that lashed past them and Tiniq took the opportunity to throw the chain around Isak’s body again, looping it under his right elbow and back over his left shoulder.

That done the ranger glanced around, checking he wasn’t about to be gutted by any of the startled soldiers, and yanked a shard of glass encasing a black feather from his tunic. He dropped it, and a storm of black wings erupted from the magic-saturated air around them. The cloud of wings hammered furiously for a brief second, beating back the stunned guards, and then melted into nothingness, leaving behind only the glass shard on the ground where Isak had been.

Carel dragged himself upright and stumbled forward a few steps before falling to his knees in disbelief. Isak was gone. Tiniq was gone — had betrayed them after all this time. The weapon they had hoped might win this war was now in their enemy’s hands.

‘Sound the alarm,’ he croaked, his voice initially too hoarse to the guards nearby to make out. ‘Alarm!’ Carel cried, grabbing the nearest dumbstruck soldier and dragging him around to face him. ‘Search the camp, fetch Vesna! They can’t have gone far — find him, damn you!’

The Ghost gave some sort of garbled reply, but Carel was already heading for the king’s tent, until the beating of wings in the still morning air stopped him dead. With a mounting sense of horror he saw Vorizh Vukotic’s wyverns rising into the sky, a few hundred yards away. The vampire was astride the leading beast, but he turned towards the second, with the great bulk of a white-eye draped across its back and Tiniq’s smaller frame perched just behind.

The Land seemed to squirm around him as the wyverns beat the air with their wings and climbed steadily, rising in the sky and heading towards the Devoted army. Shouts rang out from all around, but Carel didn’t hear them. He tried to run, but his legs betrayed him and only the arrival of some soldiers at his side stopped him from falling to the ground.

‘Archers,’ Carel tried to shout, but the strength had drained from his body, the air driven from his lungs, and the command came out only as a gasp, the cut-off exhalation of a man run through. He felt it as a pain in his gut, an upwelling of horror that enveloped him as Isak was carried off into the distance.