The Dusk Watchman

CHAPTER 40

Vensa watched the soldier yelling himself hoarse as he wove through a mass of startled soldiers. Men were running in all directions, most with their weapons drawn, a cacophony of voices, panic and confusion breaking out in the heart of the camp.

‘Soldier!’ he roared as the man reached him, still gabbling frantically, ‘take a breath and tell me what’s happened.’

In that shout came the full force of Vesna’s divine presence and it rocked the man like a punch to the chest. He gasped and stopped dead, wide-eyed for a moment, before returning to his senses. ‘Lord Isak, my lord — he’s gone!’

Vesna grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Gone? What do you mean?’

The soldier swallowed hurriedly, feeling the Mortal-Aspect’s impatience like the heat of a fire. He wore the black and white of the Ghosts; he was old enough to be a veteran, but right now he was as flustered and frightened as a raw recruit. ‘He’s been taken — Tiniq’s taken him, with that bloody vampire’s help!’

‘ Tiniq the ranger? He’s the bloody traitor?’ Vesna demanded, shaking the soldier, who went white with terror. Vesna realised he’d dented the man’s steel pauldron and he quickly released the Ghost. ‘How? That’s why those wyverns were flying towards the enemy?’

The man bobbed his head, too frightened to speak. ‘He took the Skull from Lord Isak and used some glass feather to disappear, so Carel said.’

Vesna broke into a run, heading towards Isak’s tent. Even before he reached it he could sense the panic and confusion emanating from the throng around it, but they stilled as he arrived as though calmed by his presence.

‘Carel! What happened?’

Carel lurched forward, his face pale. ‘The bastard took him,’ he croaked. ‘He cut away the Skull and let the bloody sword cripple him with pain.’

‘He’s alive?’

‘Screaming,’ he moaned, ‘howling like the whole damn Dark Place was tearing his skin apart.’ He held up a shard of glass. Small fractures ran down one side of it, marring the clear view of a raven’s feather encased inside. ‘He used this to disappear.’

Vesna took the glass shard from him and inspected it. ‘Tiniq must have stolen this from the witch before we left Moorview,’ he muttered. ‘He’s been planning it all this time?’

‘But why?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. He always was a strange one — I just thought he was as mad as any other Ascetite. Could he really have been an agent of Azaer’s all this time?’

As he spoke a second figure sprinted up, and the Ghosts were turning with weapons half raised before they realised who it was.

‘Is it true?’ Doranei demanded, gasping for breath. ‘He’s been taken?’

Vesna offered the glass shard. ‘He used this to reach the vampire — Vorizh’s also betrayed us.’

‘Karkarn’s horn,’ Doranei breathed, ‘we’ve lost Termin Mystt, the Skull of Ruling, two wyverns and a vampire all in one go?’

‘Eolis too,’ Vesna reminded him. ‘Vorizh took it when Isak claimed Termin Mystt.’

‘And none of you had a fucking clue?’ Doranei shouted, wheeling round at the Farlan soldiers, who bristled. ‘A traitor in your midst this whole fucking time?’

More than one would have stepped forward if Vesna hadn’t raised a hand to stop the argument from developing. ‘There’s no time for that,’ he said. ‘We’ve lost our greatest weapon — we can’t delay any longer.’

Doranei grabbed the shard from his hand. ‘You’re right: Azaer’s got all the power it needs now. I’ll see if Endine can do anything with this. You get the army moving.’

‘What chance do we stand now?’ Carel yelled at the King’s Man. ‘The two greatest weapons in creation are in our enemy’s hands!’

Slowly and deliberately Doranei put a hand to Carel’s chest and pushed him back. ‘Yes, Azaer’s got all the cards, but that changes the game.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning,’ Doranei replied calmly, fully composed again now, ‘the shadow doesn’t give a shit about this battle. It’s got bigger plans than beating us on the field, and for those plans it needs the swords and Skulls in use, not out here tearing us apart.’

‘Why wouldn’t it wait?’

‘You saw the toll Termin Mystt took on Isak; these weapons are not to be used lightly — and do you think it trusts its allies so completely it’d risk being vulnerable in their presence? Azaer’s goal is to become a God, not a conqueror! Why wait before doing that? Why wait for any possible surprises we might pull to win the battle? All those soldiers have to do is defend the hilltop until Azaer’s a God, and then we’re all fucked anyway. But to make that happen the shadow needs to be within the barrow, deep underground and away from anyone its mages could use the Skulls on!’

‘How long?’

‘How in the name of the fucking Dark Place should I know?’ Doranei shouted. ‘Do I look like a bloody mage? Vesna, you’ve got more chance of knowing — what does your God say?’

The Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn blinked, but if his God had answers, he was not sharing them. ‘I don’t know, but how long can a ritual take when you’ve that much power?’

He looked around and raised his voice so that the ground shook with divine authority. ‘Arm yourselves! Leave everything else — we march right now!’ Lowering his voice he looked hard at Doranei. ‘What happens even if we punch through? Isak was going to kill Azaer — how do we win without that option?’

‘I don’t know, but rituals can go awry — maybe Legana or Endine can find a way to disrupt it. You’re leading the strike now; there’s no one else. Who’s commanding the Ghosts?’

‘Colonel Cerse!’ Vesna bellowed, and the commander of the Ghosts ran up, still pulling on his heavy armour. In his wake came Suzerain Torl, dressed in the lighter armour of the Dark Monks.

‘Here, Vesna,’ Cerse replied. ‘Your orders?’

‘The battle order remains the same, but you’re leading the Ghosts,’ Vesna said. ‘Make General Lahk proud of his men. Torl, you have command of the Farlan forces.’

He started back towards his tent to put on the rest of his own armour, but hesitated when he realised the soldiers were all still staring at him in awed silence.

‘Move yourselves!’ he roared, jerking them into action. ‘May Karkarn’s blessing shield you all. The Farlan ride to war!’

‘At last we meet,’ came a distant voice through the darkness, ‘my most useful of playthings.’

Isak raised his head and muzzily made out a small figure standing a few feet in front of him. A small, slender boy, looking barely fourteen summers, but with the presence of a king. He was dressed simply, with a wrapped sword bound on his back, and he dominated a view containing Harlequins, mages and Demi-Gods. Even the one blind eye and scar on his face served only to enhance his unearthly air.

Isak recognised Ilumene standing close to Ruhen’s side, while on the boy’s other side he saw a black figure with teardrops tattooed on his face: the black Harlequin, Venn. Ilumene grinned malevolently at Isak, but the best he could manage in response was to look straight through the man, as though he wasn’t worth noticing.

‘But as you see,’ Ruhen continued with a small, secret smile, spreading his hands to indicate himself, ‘I am growing up. The time has come to put aside my childish things and you, beloved toy, have almost served your purpose.’

‘Fuck off,’ Isak croaked.

Ruhen’s smile widened. ‘Ah, you do not disappoint. Always the white-eye, even after all I’ve put you through.’

Isak took stock of himself. He was on his side, his right hand pulled tight against his chest and a chain of silver looped diagonally around his torso. The sky was oppressive, sullen grey clouds with a taste of rain on the wind. He could see a perimeter of cut stones, both standing and fallen, and fractured paving slabs underneath him. It appeared that they were standing on the remains of an obliterated temple. His senses told him he was on the bare hill their scouts had spoken of; Aryn Bwr had described it as a barrow. The air hummed with power and the stones beneath him trembled at the artefacts gathered in one place.

He pushed himself up with his left hand until he was kneeling, then hunched forward and retched until the waves of pain and dizziness passed. His hands were trembling and his head swam; even the simplest of movements was exhausting. It was a huge effort just to turn his head enough to see Tiniq’s hooded head behind him, a grim expression on the ranger’s face. The end of the chain that bound him was in one hand, the Skull of Ruling in the other.

‘Traitor,’ Isak managed, but even as he said that a shocking pulse of energy ran up through his arm, setting the nerves aflame and his bones creaking until Tiniq quietened the flow.

‘I think you should be more civil,’ Ruhen warned. ‘It’s only the link he holds that is keeping Termin Mystt from shredding what’s left of your mind.’

Despite the boy’s words, anger and hatred continued to growl unabated in Isak’s gut. ‘Stabbed your own damn brother in the back?’ Isak hissed, blinking away the stars that burst before his eyes. ‘Did you let him see the face of his killer — or were you too much of a coward to let him know what his brother was before he died?’

This time the pain was worse, and Isak’s vision went white as power ran rampant through his body and his ears filled with his own screams. Eventually Tiniq relented and cut the flow again, leaving Isak panting and sobbing in a heap.

‘My brother needed no such burden,’ Tiniq hissed. ‘He died clean and quick. You all used him like a dog and you think to condemn me? Piss on you all, the whole damn tribe of the Farlan who’d have hung me in an instant had they learned what I am.’

Isak grunted and rolled over so he could again see Tiniq through his blurred and wavering eyes. ‘What’s that, then?’

Tiniq’s face became stony. ‘There’s no name for what I am: twin of a white-eye,’ he spat, ‘an impossible birth. I shouldn’t have survived; your kind don’t share, except my soon-to-be dead mother was infected by something almost as strong as white-eye’s blood.’

‘You’re a vampire?’ Isak croaked in disbelief.

Tiniq sneered, ‘And to think the Gods placed you above my brother. There’s no name for what I am. I was infected by the vampire blood, but sharing a womb with one touched by the Gods. For years I fought the thirst, knowing my own people would kill me if they ever discovered the truth.’

‘Until the shadows spoke to him,’ Ruhen added, delight in his voice as he savoured the words and his own triumph. ‘Until I gave him the strength to survive its growing call — to become more than a man in hiding from his own nature.’

‘What are you going to offer me, then?’ Isak said, weakly pushing himself back to his knees.

‘Offer?’ Ruhen cocked his head to one side. ‘Why should I do that?’

Isak tried to smile as he gestured to the black hand bound tight to his chest. ‘Got anyone else who can hold this? You reckon your pet Jester could stand it?’

Ruhen turned and looked around Ilumene at the tall, grey-skinned Demi-God not far behind. ‘Koteer? I think he might, yes: a son of Death with Ruling in his hand and Aenaris nearby — yes, if you forced my hand, I think he would.’

‘But would you trust the bastard to follow orders?’

If Isak stirred anything up, he couldn’t see it. Koteer remained impassive, and Ruhen was more amused than anything else.

‘Trust? Koteer’s brothers have died for the cause. Loyalty like that buys everything they were promised and more.’ Ruhen looked past Isak. ‘But I don’t think you will press the matter. Your friends might yet break through to meet you. It would be a shame if Ilumene had already taken your head before Emin manage to conjure something.’

‘We wouldn’t want them to be disheartened now,’ Ilumene agreed. ‘They might give up and leave us to it.’

‘You don’t want that?’ Isak coughed.

‘Of course not,’ said Ruhen. ‘The greatest magic is always consecrated by blood, after all, and the presence of power is almost as important. I don’t need your cooperation, you see, just your presence. With a majority of Skulls and the rest nearby, magnifying the presence of Demi-Gods and Mortal-Aspects…’ The boy laughed. ‘It will be more than enough; you overestimate any resistance the Gods are likely to mount.’

Isak had nothing to say. Under the assault from Termin Mystt and Ruhen’s carelessly spoken words, he felt enfeebled. He found himself unable to move from his position of subjugation, kneeling, head bowed, before the shadow eye of Ruhen.

‘Ilumene, set your pieces,’ Ruhen said to the former King’s Man, and Ilumene nodded and beckoned forward a white-eye in bright robes and a Farlan man Isak hadn’t noticed before. The former had to be Lord Larim, the Menin mage who was Larat’s Chosen — they hadn’t found his body at Moorview, and no one had dared to hope the man would be dead. The sickly-looking Farlan had dark circles around his eyes and gaunt cheeks. The armour he wore was that of a general of the Knights of the Temples and Isak realised belatedly this had to be Knight-Cardinal Certinse, the last living member of that troublesome family.

‘Definitely going to make sure I kill you,’ Isak declared in a heavy, slurring voice. ‘Get myself the full family set.’

If the Knight-Cardinal reacted, Isak didn’t see, for Tiniq struck him on the back of the head and sent him sprawling to the ground, pink and black stars bursting before his eyes.

‘Close order infantry on both hills, archers behind and space for the cavalry to descend. Give them leave to range around the rear of the hill. I doubt an attack’ll come there, but we still need to watch for troops like the Legion. What we can offer Emin is the lower rise — this flank’s the best one to attack but it leaves them badly open. Larim, you’re the heart of the defence,’ Ilumene began in a business-like voice. ‘Yours will be the only Skull outside the barrow.’

‘What? The rest are going in with you?’ Certinse blurted out.

Ilumene nodded. ‘Six Skulls and Aenaris are what the master needs, so you’ll make do with what you’ve got: seventy thousand troops to stop them taking one fucking hill, so don’t whine.’

‘Seventy thousand closely packed soldiers facing five Crystal Skulls amongst Narkang and Tirah’s elite?’ the man protested. ‘It’ll be a slaughter — how long do you expect us to last?’

‘Long enough. Don’t worry; we’ve a few cards still to play.’

‘Those damned fanatics? Last I heard you’d poisoned them all; they’re just lying on the hillside like they’re bloody dead.’

‘They’re resting — conserving their strength,’ Ilumene assured him as Larim gave the Farlan a reptilian smile. ‘Most of ’em anyways. Probably.’

‘Unarmed and too ill to move, if they’re not already dead!’

Ilumene draped a comradely arm around Certinse’s shoulders and the slender man shrank under the touch. ‘Haven’t you learned to trust me by now? They’ll give a good account o’ themselves, and they’re not the only tricks our friend has up those big sleeves of his.’

Larim who bowed his head to acknowledge Ilumene’s words; a strange gesture of deference given the reputation of the Chosen of Larat, Isak thought. But then he remembered what Doranei and King Emin had told him about Ilumene — if anyone was to command the respect of savage and callous men, it was him.

‘Don’t bring them in too early,’ Ilumene added for Larim’s benefit. ‘Feel free to tire their mages first. Blood must be spilled this day, the blood of thousands — our ritual demands it.’

‘And if they do manage a breach?’

‘Then they’ll be vulnerable to your surprises, but don’t let it get to that. Our positions are fortified, our troops disciplined. The Knight-Cardinal and his generals know their trade well enough; soften them up as they approach, outflank them with cavalry and let them exhaust themselves on the shield-wall.’

‘It’s the Legion of the Damned I’m more concerned with,’ Certinse said in a subdued voice. ‘They can break the line and open us up.’

‘So you find ’em, Larim, and you break ’em,’ Ilumene declared. ‘They’re not invulnerable and they’ll be at the heart of Emin’s assault. The Knight-Cardinal’s right, the Legion is their greatest weapon — but how many do they number now? Five hundred? They can’t recruit, and every skirmish with General Vener’s troops has reduced their numbers. You direct your magic there and use Vorizh — his presence with those wyverns will counter their impact.’

‘Questions?’ Ruhen asked, prompting all three men to turn and shake their heads. ‘Excellent, then we will delay no longer. Venn, Koteer: summon your troops. It’s not that I lack faith in the Knight-Cardinal’s abilities, but if King Emin does break through we will be fighting in near darkness.’

Ilumene came towards Isak and before the white-eye had managed to focus on him properly, the man had slipped a leather noose around his neck and yanked it tight.

‘Come my little pet,’ Ruhen said with delight as Ilumene dragged Isak stumbling forward on hand and knees. ‘It is time we went to meet our Gods.’

Standing high in his stirrups, King Emin cast around to check the army was ready. It was an impressive sight by most standards, but nagging doubts still lingered. The bulk of the army was infantry, arrayed in two lines on each side of him and angled like a flattened V, since they would be charging an enemy set at an angle. At the centre of the army was an arrowhead of heavy cavalry, serving as the hinge between their forces, Kingsguard and Palace Guard, with the remaining Ghosts on foot behind, alongside the Legion of the Damned.

Between the three sets of troops were gaps of fifty yards, space enough for the cavalry to manoeuvre or the advance units of skirmishers and light cavalry to retreat. They had already engaged with the Devoted’s ranging cavalry, but neither side was keen to get embroiled in a standing fight and it had been short-lived.

On his right were the four heavy infantry legions of the Kingsguard and the same number of Menin, while the left flank was headed by the mercenary legions and the battle-clans of Canar Fell. Behind both were the Narkang regular spearmen, and cavalry and archers ranged on both flanks. Emin had ordered there be no reserve at all, unable to contemplate retreat or even a protracted battle.

‘Endine, is Nai ready to provide our decoy?’

‘He is, your Majesty. The battle mages know to wait for him to act first. Wentersorn and Morghien are ready too.’

The king took one last look around at the men and woman riding at his side. Count Vesna shone darkly at the head of the Ghosts; Legana was a gleaming emerald thorn amidst her spear-bearing sisters. Doranei and Veil clapped each other on the shoulder and Daken snarled with barely restrained blood-rage, already sinking into the white-eye battle-fury. Carel, a still, silent figure behind him with his face hidden by his helm, was steeling himself for the slaughter to come.

‘Brothers!’ King Emin called, drawing his sword and holding it high for as many as possible to see. ‘Our time has come — our place in history is at hand!’

There was a roar from the soldiers around him, one that was taken up by the savage battle-clans before the rest joined in. Soon even the fanatical Menin added their voices and the air shook with murderous intent.

With Endine’s assistance Emin continued, this time with a voice that echoed like thunder down the assembled ranks. ‘My brothers: the enemy lies before us, the enemy of the Gods themselves! There can be no retreat, no respite or surrender. Here is our moment. This day we determine the future of the Land itself! The songs of heroes will bear your names, each and every one of you feted by the Gods themselves.

‘We go to fight, we go to die. This nameless place shall forever be remembered by those who speak of glory. Your names, your legions, will be whispered with reverence by all peoples to come. This is our war — this is our purpose. Come, my brothers — the Gods await us!’

To remind them of Moorview, he removed his feathered hat and tossed it forward to resounding cheers up and down the line. In its place went an engraved golden helm, a band of black-iron lattice-like bee wings covering his eyes and nose. A second cheer rose up as the symbol of their king and greatest of the Gods shone in the pale light.

Emin lowered his sword and there was a renewed bellow from the thousands at his side as they started off towards the enemy, legion after legion marching in unison, the glaives of the Ghosts and halberds of the Kingsguard ready to chop a path through the Devoted. The word had been spread through the officers and sergeants; every man knew his place that day. Not a step backwards would be considered.

Alongside allies whose legend spanned the West, alongside the hated Menin who would never show weakness, the soldiers of Narkang and the Three Kingdoms roared their defiance.

‘Thank you, my friends,’ the king said to those around him, the clamour almost drowning out his words. ‘It has been an honour.’

Before anyone could respond Count Vesna roared out the first line of the Farlan battle-hymn and the sky erupted into sound once more.

Ruhen led his small party to the entrance to the barrow — the place of power to where his shadow soul had once led Aryn Bwr. There the Crystal Skulls had been unearthed, their place in the Land’s fabric revealed and subverted. Isak managed one brief glance back at the Narkang army advancing over the plain and felt a shudder of fear for them. There were thousands of Devoted massed on the hill’s slopes, divisions of archers perched in inaccessible parts, and lines of heavy infantry blocking all the routes to the summit.

The lower rise was similarly covered in troops, serried ranks of infantry on its lower slopes, with channels for the cavalry to surge down. He couldn’t see the fanatical mob of Ruhen’s Children, but something told him the talk of a blood sacrifice was not just some idle reference to battle.

As devoted as they might be, Ruhen’s Children were unarmed and sickly, from what their scryers could discern. Their lord might simply have them driven into a cavalry charge to be obliterated, and the attackers would have no option, no matter how horrific the act.

‘Come on, puppy,’ Ilumene said, yanking Isak’s leash and dragging him to his knees once more. ‘Heel.’

Tiniq gave him no time to rest, kicking Isak’s buttocks and causing the white-eye to cry out in pain, but somehow the survival instinct inside him drove him onwards. The chain binding his chest grew heavier with every step. A whimper of fear crept through Isak’s lips as he took the first step down the wide entrance, set between the two enormous carved stones each more than sixty feet high. His skin crawled under the chain’s touch, and as memories of the Dark Place gripped his mind, suddenly it burned and tore at his skin. It was only the pressure Tiniq maintained on the chain that kept the shuddering white-eye from pitching forward down the steps.

As the darkness surrounded him Isak’s stomach heaved and he bent over; puke dribbling over his lips and piss darkening his trousers.

‘Don’t bring back good memories, eh?’ Ilumene cackled, dragging Isak forward once more.

Isak slipped and fell, moaning and shaking uncontrollably as the scars on his body burned as they had in Ghenna itself. Again he was beaten upright; again his deep instincts drove him onwards. He heaved desperately at the silver chain, but it was imbued with magic stronger than even one of the Chosen. He wrenched round, trying to dislodge it, but more violence brought him back to his knees and he realised the links were bound together behind his shoulder.

Ilumene stopped and smashed a steel covered knee up into Isak’s face, breaking his misshapen nose again and snapping his head backwards in a burst of pain and blood. ‘Do what you’re fucking told,’ he growled at Isak, and when Isak tried to reach out with his free hand, he punched it away, then whipped out a dagger and sliced deep into the muscle of Isak’s forearm as punishment.

‘Listen to me, white-eye,’ he continued, ‘you remember this pain? You remember what the daemons did to you? Aye, you feel it in your bones: you’re crippled by the memories. Well, here’s your one chance; keep quiet and don’t cause us trouble and you’ll not go back there. Hear me? A free pass, like all the Chosen — but don’t you dare fucking cross me! Any trouble, any delaying tactics, any attempts on any of us, and you’ll not even see the slope of Ghain.

‘You’ve fallen that way once before and it’ll be damn easy to send you straight into Ghenna a second time. There’ll be no escaping again. This place is halfway to the other lands. The flames of Maram light its heart, so Ruhen tells me, and I’ll gladly toss you in if you cause any trouble, so here’s your last chance: behave, or burn until the end o’ days in the darkest place.’

Isak was too sickened to reply, but his face told Ilumene that he understood the words. The former King’s Man straightened and looked up at Tiniq. ‘Keep a tight rein,’ he said, and started back down the dim, red-tinted darkness of the tunnel. At last Isak found the strength to follow, wheezing and whimpering and stumbling on the stony floor as it sloped forever forward. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Aryn Bwr’s words returned to him and he cringed in terror.

Down into darkness, into the bowels of the Land… Deep, so deep I feared going further would bring me to the six ivory gates of Ghenna itself.

Ahead, Ruhen walked on, unafraid and perfectly at home in the dark. From the rock all around distant voices emanated: the voices of the damned, calling him home.