The Dusk Watchman

CHAPTER 7

‘What are you doing, necromancer?’

Nai paused in his gestures and glanced over at Amber. The Menin soldier sat in a slouched heap beside their small fire, looking as exhausted as he sounded. Small sparks smouldered on his boot, orange pinpricks against the black leather. When Nai pointed to them Amber frowned at the fading glows for a long while before eventually dropping a heavy hand on them to extinguish them. The only other movement he could bring himself to make was to scratch the scabs of a graze on his cheek, where Nai had scraped a temporary rune into his skin.

‘I’m going to summon a spirit,’ Nai replied at last, ‘something that can scout the path for us. There’s likely to be all sorts roaming in the wake of an army, but none friendly to us.’

‘Spirit or daemon?’

Nai ignored the question and returned to his preparations. He’d drawn a circle in the bare earth beneath a yew tree and scattered a handful of bones within it around a small, blackened bowl into which he’d put a pinch of herbs soaked in blood.

He spoke a long mantra over it before igniting the herbs. ‘Dedessen, I summon you,’ he intoned, bowing towards the bowl, ‘Dedessen, receive my praise; Dedessen, accept my sacrifice.’

Behind him was a young rabbit, feet bound together and magically subdued but still alive. Nai bowed again to the bowl and drew a knife across the rabbit’s throat. Blood spurted out over the circle as the rabbit convulsed twice, then died. The air around him seemed to thicken, becoming hot and close as a bitter stink filled the fitful evening breeze.

Nai bowed his head again and was about to repeat the mantra when a whispery voice cut through the night.

‘Ever faithful to the old covenants,’ the daemon said from somewhere nearby, ‘your sacrifice is welcomed, Nai.’

The necromancer bowed again before sitting up straight and looking all around, trying to work out where the voice had come from. It had emanated from several directions at once, but he knew it would incarnate soon.

‘I am glad it pleases you, mighty one.’

‘What do you seek of me? Wisdom or wrath; concealment or craft?’

In front of Nai the deep blue evening sky shimmered, folded back on itself and tore to reveal a slender-limbed figure draped in black cloth. The cloth hung down over its body in long strips a hand-span wide, each weighted at the bottom by a writhing iron charm. The daemon itself had parchment-pale skin and thin eyes that glowed red as they moved between Nai and Amber. Despite its long hooked claws and a pair of massive fangs, its speech was refined, its gestures neat and elegant.

‘You have found a protector, at least? But no, it does not reach for its swords — it cannot be much of a guard dog.’

‘More of a commodity,’ Nai said with a smile and a twitch of the finger that caused the scabbed rune on Amber’s cheek to glow briefly. The big soldier flinched and looked away. He knew the fate Nai had in mind for him, but he believed Nai when he said the rune’s spell would make doing anything about it a dangerous prospect.

‘I beg for assistance, some creature of yours to scout the way for me and provide a safe path towards Narkang.’

‘You seek Narkang, or its king?’

‘Its king — why — is he dead? I raised shades both within the Herald’s Hall and on Ghain itself, and no word of King Emin was mentioned there.’

‘Perhaps he lives, perhaps he has fallen.’ The daemon edged closer, as though wary of being overheard. ‘The borders are weakened between this and the other lands and many of my kind can cross freely. King Emin chooses dangerous company.’

‘“Cross freely”? The Gods weakened themselves that much?’

Dedessen hissed like a snake, but Nai knew the threatening sound was more an expression of pleasure than anything else.

‘They have broken their errant Chosen, but so high, so high the price. Now they reach into the mind of every mortal, every immortal, and tear out what they cannot stand, then retire across the seas. Now has come another Age of Darkness, now daemons hunt freely, and some they hunt with a rage never before seen.’

‘Do any hunt here?’

‘Certainly,’ the daemon said as it gestured to the east, ‘they gather even now. Byora has cast out the Gods from their hearts. There is space only for fear there now, and my kind will be drawn to feed.’

‘But not you.’ It wasn’t a question; not all daemons were the same and those bloodthirsty monsters descending upon Byora were of a lower breed. Age brought wisdom of a sort to daemons, a diminished hunger for violence and savagery when better sources of power were available. Dedessen would be naturally wary of Byora, given recent events there. The Devil’s Stairs — direct paths between the Land and Ghenna — made it an enticing hunting ground, but either Stair’s creation suggested great power was present there, and Dedessen lacked the strength of a daemon-prince.

‘The entire Land is a hunting ground now. I will eat the dead souls of man and daemon alike once the slaughter is done, but I do not go to war on mortals — there will be plenty enough eager for that.’

‘And King Emin is their first target?’

The hissing came again, but this time Dedessen flexed and clenched its clawed hands too.

Pleasure and anger together, or have I misread it all these years? Nai wondered.

‘The princes of Jaishen cry for vengeance, this much I hear in Coroshen. Some great offence was done and only blood will quench the flames of their wrath.’

‘Should I not seek him out then? I would not offend any prince of Ghenna.’

‘Now is a time for feeding and growing strong on the blood of others. Those who seek vengeance will overlook new rivals and become prey themselves. Go to King Emin and earn your coin for this one’s soul — but once you have your reward, you must sacrifice a child to me in return.’

Nai bowed again. ‘As you command.’

The daemon approached the circle Nai had drawn and reached into it, digging its long fingers into the dirt while a haze of bloody light reflected off the scattered white bones. Nai sensed magic fill the air and run down into the ground, but the daemon’s workings were a language separate from the spells Nai understood.

Dedessen withdrew its hand and stepped back as the earth wriggled and heaved. ‘Your guide.’

Nai watched in fascination as a small shape pushed its way to the surface, claws tearing away at the earth until it had cut itself free like a corpse rising from the dead. It was small with a squat, furred body and leathery wings furled tight to its body. The creature turned its eyeless, whiskered snout up towards Nai and he realised it had once been a mole, now twisted by the daemon’s magic to suit his purpose.

The daemon-creature opened its wings and gave them an experimental flap before beating them hard and rising up in the air just in front of Nai.

He looked for Dedessen but the daemon had already receded into the night and faded from view.

‘My guide,’ Nai repeated softly. He held out his palm and the daemon settled on it, using a hooked thumb on its wings for balance like a bat would.

‘Go, scout the Land all around us; return to me if you see danger.’

The creature dropped from his palm and darted off with surprising swiftness, disappearing from view in two rapid wing-beats. Nai stared after it for a long while, puzzling over the daemon’s words: a new Age of Darkness? Even he, a necromancer, felt trepidation at the notion.

He shook his head and returned to the fire where Amber was staring at the branches of a dead tree. In the uppermost branches sat a pair of large black birds, ravens, Nai guessed from the size. Both were watching them. Perhaps they had been wary of the daemon, but now that it was gone their scrutiny did not waver. Amber matched their unwavering stare without moving or speaking, apparently captivated by the birds.

What are ravens to the Menin, death omens? In Embere they were the souls of the dead come to speak to the living. I remember leaving out scraps for them as a child on feast days — payment for whatever words they might speak at twilight.

Nai realised he’d been holding the dead rabbit all the time. Now he held it up to his companion. ‘Dinner? Or shall I leave it for the ravens — a gift for lost souls?’

Amber blinked at him. ‘Lost souls?’ He shook his head. ‘Ravens take all the payment they need.’

The child walked alone through the streets of Wheel, Byora’s largest district, towards the long city wall. The evening sun painted his dark hair golden, and he paused in the middle of the street, eyes closed, as he savoured the warmth on his skin. All around him the life of the city continued, and the boy was barely noticed by those passing by. Those not busy with work or thoughts of heading home had another sight to linger on: a man trailing well behind who looked far less comfortable on Byora’s meaner streets.

A grey sprinkling in his hair and beard was the only hint to his true age. The silver charms on his robe were a greater clue to his profession. The mage looked nervous, cowed even, repeatedly checking the nearby alleys, but his attention always returned to the child before too long. The locals gave him a wide berth, but they were used to seeing mages walking tall and fearless, so they took the opportunity to inspect him more thoroughly.

He was far from impressive-looking: just a thin man of average height, with the pale skin of a scholar. But for the charms and pendants hanging around his neck more than one watcher might have tried to relieve him of his fine opal and firegem rings.

Just as some started to follow his gaze and wonder at the child in fine clothing standing before the open gate, another figure came down the street behind him and joined the mage. The watchers immediately looked away, as though the scent of wild roses accompanying the newcomer on the breeze was Death’s own perfume. Here was one who appeared to own all he surveyed, and none of Wheel’s residents were keen to argue the matter.

At last they realised who the child was, and the newcomer grinned as he heard gasps and whispers from all directions. He was dressed like a hero from some tale, shining breastplate and helm over a white tunic and breeches, while the hilt of his sword glittered in the light. All he lacked was a knightly crest on his shield.

‘What’s wrong, Peness? Not looking forward to this?’

‘Of course I’m not-’ Mage Peness hesitated. ‘What are we even doing here? Why is the gate still open?’

Ilumene laughed. ‘You think a gate will stop them?’

‘Surely some defence is better than none? Summon the guard, man; do something!’

‘And who’re you to give me orders?’ Ilumene demanded. Peness didn’t reply so Ilumene rested a heavy arm on the smaller man’s shoulders. ‘Why’d you want to panic the good folk of Wheel, then?’

‘Why?’ Peness lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Sergeant, there are daemons waiting out there, just waiting for sunset before they come to kill us all!’

‘No need to get excited about it, these things happen.’ Ilumene ushered Peness forward, keeping a tight grip on the man’s shoulder.

‘Wait! I can’t go out there!’ Peness gasped, struggling against Ilumene’s greater strength with increasing panic. ‘Every one of them will be after me; my soul’s a greater prize than any other in the entire city!’

‘Oh I doubt that,’ Ilumene said darkly and continued to shove Peness forward.

At last the mage stopped panicking enough to think, and a crackle of light burst over his body, darting over the silver threads of his robe and singing Ilumene’s fingers. The big man backed hurriedly off, hissing and cursing.

‘Touch me again and I’ll tear your limbs from your body!’ Peness snarled as the locals scattered in all directions to leave the two men facing each other.

‘Reckon so, do you? Fucking try it then.’

The mage didn’t hesitate. A nimbus of energy played briefly around his head as Peness summoned his strength, then he made a grabbing motion towards Ilumene’s legs and the soldier was thrown from his feet. Though he crashed heavily to the ground, somehow he managed to draw and hurl a knife — but a bright cloud of smoke enveloped it before it hit the mage, slowing it enough for Peness to pluck the weapon from the air.

In his hand the dagger spun violently about its axis while a long shaft of crimson light appeared behind it. Peness stabbed the new-formed spear down, under Ilumene’s breastplate, and felt it bite. The big soldier curled up under the force of the impact, then twisted violently away as a burst of ruby light illuminated them and the spear-shaft vanished. Ilumene rolled on the ground, his hands clasped to his chest, his face contorted with pain.

The soldier flopped in the dirt like a fish, barely a yard from Peness, who did nothing but watch. Suddenly Ilumene’s leg flashed out and caught the mage in the side of the knee. Even as he was knocked over Peness saw Ilumene scrabbling forward, not bothering to get off his knees. He pounced on the mage and punched him with his steel-backed glove, and Peness felt his nose pop and blood squirt across his cheek. The hot burst of pain took hold of him and he howled, momentarily blinded, while Ilumene crashed his fist into the mage’s ear and rolled off him, directing a kick into the man’s ribs for good measure before backing off.

Peness gasped, the breath driven from his lungs, and whimpered. Raising one hand above his head to ward off any further blows, he kicked feebly against the ground as though trying to run. Out of instinct he reached for his magic again and sparks crackled into life all down the silver thread of his robe and cast a ruby light from his blood-spattered fingertips.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and whipped round with a fistful of raging energies, but even as he cast the magic at his assailant he felt a shadow fall over him and the magic fell apart, withering to nothing. A sudden chill ran though his bones and the mage stopped dead at the sight of the small, smiling face of Ruhen rather than Ilumene’s weathered scowl.

‘Peace, brother,’ Ruhen said softly. ‘No more fighting.’

Peness stared up at the child in wonder, his mouth dropping open and hanging slack as the shadows in Ruhen’s eyes washed cool and soothing through his soul. The pain of his injuries faded, numbed by the sweep of shadow. He tried to speak, but he could only wheeze after Ilumene’s kick.

‘Peace,’ Ruhen repeated. ‘Forget your pain and breathe in the beauty around you.’

Peness blinked in surprise and looked around. There were frightened faces at windows and the mouth of a nearby alley, pinched with poverty or scarred by disease. Stinking grey water slopped over an abandoned rag in the gutter near his feet. The uneven cobbles on the ground were stained and dozens were missing A flitter of movement caught his eye: up on a windowsill the tiny form of a bird peered down at him, then returned its attention to the grey bricks of the wall beside it. Its wings were a bright green, its head was marked with a long golden stripe. The bird hopped forward along the sill and Peness saw at the end a bowl-shaped blue flower growing in the gap between bricks and a beetle the colour of finest amethyst. In a sudden burst of movement the bird darted forward and plucked the beetle from the wall, then carried it up to the slate roof of the house where wild roses were nodding in the breeze. There it sat and stared defiantly at Peness, beetle in its beak, before vanishing away over the houses.

‘Peace,’ Peness croaked, shakily trying to get to his feet.

Ilumene came forward and hauled him up. ‘Peace,’ he agreed, less than impressed with the idea, but unwilling to argue with Ruhen.

The pristine white of Ilumene’s clothes were now spotting with blood — his blood, Peness realised belatedly. He tried to find the anger inside him, but nothing came though the stiffness and returning pain.

‘How?’

‘Got my ways,’ Ilumene said with a half-smile. ‘Don’t think I’d go up against a mage without a little protection, did you?’

Peness stared at the man. He couldn’t see a charm or anything on Ilumene’s armour, but there was a silver chain peeking out from behind his tunic. ‘I suppose not,’ he admitted.

Surreptitiously he opened his senses and tried to discover what it was the man was wearing. He detected some small presence of energy in the air around Ilumene, but the weave of magic was too subtle for him to unpick further. That alone told Peness something, however: he was the most skilled mage in Byora, and if he could not discern the shape of the magics Ilumene wore, that meant it was of the highest quality, most likely ancient, and Elven-made.

‘Nah, I’d have already cut your throat by now if that was the case.’ Ilumene made a show of dusting the mage down as he spoke. ‘Best you remember in future, though: whatever you throw at me, I’ll get a shot in before I go down.’ He paused and grinned evilly at Peness. ‘And I only need one.’

Before the mage could reply Ilumene had sauntered past him and taken Ruhen’s offered hand. Incongruously the burly soldier allowed himself to be led by the child out through the gate without even a glance back. Once they were through it, he jabbed a thumb in Peness’ direction. On the other side Peness saw the tall shape of Koteer, the Demi-God, with his two remaining brother Jesters. Koteer beckoned for Peness to join them and, still wincing at the stinging rib, he did as bidden.

Ruhen continued walking into the fading sunshine of the open ground beyond the wall. Peness couldn’t hear any conversation between them, but after a while Ilumene left abruptly and with a minimum of fuss he rounded up the traders and labourers who were working just beyond the gate and ushered them all inside the wall.

‘And now we wait?’ the mage complained. ‘This is madness.’

‘Now we wait,’ confirmed Koteer in an expressionless voice.

Koteer was significantly taller than Ilumene, and he too was dressed for war, in strange armour of curved scales. But what four warriors thought they could do here was a mystery to Peness. He’d been the one to send the warning to Duchess Escral in the first place, when, for once, his daemon-guide had been unambiguous: there were scores of daemons, perhaps as many as a hundred, marching on Byora.

The boundaries of the Land, like the Gods, had been weakened. Daemons still shunned the daylight, but dusk was fast approaching. The people of Byora had rejected their Gods, and consequently the border was weakest here. Byora would see a feeding of daemons not witnessed since the end of the Great War, when the Gods’ strength had been taxed almost to extinction.

‘What did he do?’ Peness whispered, then cringed as he realised he’d spoken the words aloud.

Koteer turned to face him, his expression hidden behind his white mask. ‘Who?’

‘The, ah, the Menin lord. The Gods must remember how weak they were left after striking Aryn Bwr’s name from history — what could have made them do so again?’

Koteer regarded him for a long while, then turned his attention back to Ruhen without replying. Peness stared at the grey-skinned son of Death and wondered at his motivations too, but this time he managed not to speak them aloud. The Jesters had lived as Raylin mercenaries for centuries now; violence would always be their first recourse.

At last Ilumene returned to Ruhen’s side and the pair stood on the road out of Byora, looking towards the treacherous, spirit-haunted fens in the distance. The sun had dropped behind the montain called Blackfang now and Byora was in shadow again. Even in summer the ghost-hour started early there. The evening gloom was still further advanced over the watery fens, where solitary ghost-willows lurked on the banks of ponds and lakes, and copses of marsh-alder hid the deepest parts from sight. Still waters were gateways to the other lands and it would be through the fens that any daemons came to Byora — the people’s innate fear of that place would ensure it.

‘Not long now,’ Ilumene commented to Ruhen as Peness watched them from a safe distance. ‘How many do you bet there’ll be?’

‘You are not a King’s Man now,’ the child said. ‘A wager serves no purpose here.’

‘Keeps me from getting bored.’

‘There is enough to consider already.’

Ilumene sniffed and inspected the bloodstain on his gauntlet. ‘The fabric of existence ain’t really my department. What the Gods have done to the Land I’ll leave to greater minds.’

‘Flattery is one lie that does not come easily to your tongue. Tell me your thoughts.’

‘On the weakening of boundaries? Not much to tell. I’ve no idea how Emin managed to force the Gods into that position — he must have known the result. Most likely the only God walking the Land right now is the Wither Queen and that’s only with Jackdaw’s help.’

‘Perhaps the Gods did not fear it. Their enemy was Aryn Bwr; the Menin lord was their potential rival. We do not figure by comparison, not in a way that threatens the divine. The Menin lord defied them, turned from the path they had prophesied, so he appeared a threat, but they do not care to involve themselves in the power-struggles of nations and men, and with both threats defeated they had no reason to hold back.’

‘Well, whatever the reason, it speeds up our plans another notch. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear the Farlan boy was the one who started it off somehow, gave Emin the means or something.’

Ruhen stopped dead and laughed, high and innocent, as realisation struck him. ‘We gave him the means,’ the child said. ‘We sacrificed it for the journal — the Skull of Ruling, the prize we dangled before Emin so he would kill the abbot in Scree for us. How else would he compel the Gods to expend such power?’

‘That’s what did it? Worked out better than we’d planned, then.’

‘Indeed. Your king has embraced its chaotic nature with greater relish than anyone could have anticipated. Now he just needs to bring the Key of Magic into play and every piece will finally be on the board — more than we even need, now the Gods are so weakened.’ He raised a hand to stop any reply from Ilumene, and took a deep breath of the evening air. He glanced back at Blackfang and saw the halo of evening sun dimming around the broken mountain’s ragged brow. ‘I smell them,’ he murmured.

‘Here?’

‘In the air. They’re waiting, watching and waiting.’

‘No doubt. Not much beats a daemon for looking forward to a bit of slaughter.’ Ilumene fitted his round shield properly onto his arm and loosened the ties around his sword-hilt. ‘We’ll make ’em think twice about it, though.’

The pair walked slowly down the road beside one of the many streams that ran from Byora to the fens. The evening grew around them, a steady, stealthy creeping darkness accompanied by the whisper of wind, and faint voices. Ruhen and his protector faced the stiffening breeze in silence until they were fifty yards from the gate and the only visible souls there, all the more obvious for their bright white clothes. A scent of age came to Ilumene on the breeze, the dry and musty chill of a tomb, the silence and patience that was Azaer, reaching out into the twilight and luxuriating in the precarious balance between one moment and the next.

Ilumene smiled as he felt Azaer’s presence surround them both: tiny, delicate touches down his neck — the lightest imprint of a spider footstep, the brush of a fly’s wing — while the twisting threads of shadow in his soul blossomed into dark buds.

In the distance shapes as yet unformed advanced towards them, discernable only as wisps of movement. With each advancing second of evening, the daemons came closer to the Land, and in their wake the howls of the damned echoed. The deepening blue sky was overlaid with a bloody red haze and the shadows of roiling smoke-clouds. Ilumene drew his sword as Ruhen stood and stared, transfixed by the sight of figures coalescing out of the evening air.

Already they could make out individuals, coming on two feet or four, clothed in bright cloth, or plates of bone and chitin, armed with claws and teeth or rusted, hook-edged axes and swords. They marched not with threats or shouts but with a near-silent intensity of purpose and halted when they were no more than forty yards away from Ruhen and Ilumene.

The leader of the pack was a tall beast that stood on a dog’s hind legs and carried a pair of ornate axes. Its muzzle was drawn back into a permanent snarl by iron chains set into its cheeks, shaping its skull into a blunt wedge.

‘Leave this place,’ Ruhen called to them, his child’s voice carrying clearly through the evening air, but it seemed to be followed by strange whispers that raced in all directions like zephyrs through long grass.

The daemon regarded Ruhen for a long while as its fellows hissed and gnashed their teeth. ‘Give us tribute and worship and we will let you live.’ Its voice was a threatening growl, and sounded like random noises that just happened to form human words.

‘No tribute,’ Ruhen said plainly, ‘no worship. This is a place of peace. Your kind are not welcome here.’

‘What are you to make such demands?’ the daemon barked, the anger in its voice echoed by the dozens at its side.

The clamour of their howls hammered at Ilumene’s ears so intensely that for a moment he wondered if he’d missed Ruhen’s reply. Then he realised the child had said nothing; he was waiting patiently for the chance to speak. Inexplicably, the daemons stayed where they were, and eventually they quietened. Peness’ daemon-guide had claimed the warband was thirsty for flesh and blood, that nothing would stop or slow them until they were sated, yet not only had they failed to attack, but they stood well back of the little boy and his single protector.

‘My name is Ruhen,’ he said, ‘and your death stands in my shadow.’

To emphasis the point Ilumene raised his sword, but he was one against dozens.

The daemons started to advance on them, their jaws open and weapons held ready.

‘The Circle City is under my protection,’ Ruhen continued, as if oblivious to the danger closing on him. ‘I will not allow you to harm its people.’

When the leader of the daemons only snarled and increased its pace, Ruhen made a small, dismissive gesture with his hands. ‘So be it,’ he murmured.

From their hiding-places the Harlequins burst up to attack, their white masks shockingly bright in the deepening gloom. They moved as one, converging on the daemons in seconds, weapons already moving for the kill. Ilumene charged the dog-legged daemon with a yell, reaching it at the same moment as a young warrior whose slender sword caught the daemon’s raised left arm.

Ilumene ignored a blow from the daemon’s axe on his shield, instead pushing inside its guard and smashing up at its dog-muzzle with the pommel of his sword. The blow snapped its head back and Ilumene wasted no time in chopping down into the daemon’s arm. He followed it up with a thrust into its gut and the daemon vanished just as the blow struck. The Harlequin had already passed onto the next daemon, striking with blinding speed. The Harlequins moved in a complex dance, each one aware of where the others were, each one constantly in motion.

Ilumene held back, aware his own style, however effective on a battlefield, could not fit into that dance. He marvelled at the bloody ballet being executed before him as eighty Harlequins, a slim sword in each hand, slashed and pirouetted their way through the mass of lumbering beasts in concentrated silence, always moving, each step fluidly transforming into the next lethal strike. Some fell, unable to avoid the wild sweeps of the huge daemonic weapons, but the majority continued in their silent dance. The daemons were now striking out in wild, uncontrolled frenzy. Blows were coming from all quarters, but none of the Harlequins stayed still long enough for the daemons to focus: it was impossible to find one foe to face before that was replaced by another, identical and just as deadly, moving in from a completely different direction.

One monster raised itself up on its hind legs and flexed great talons, ready to swipe down at whatever stood before it, only to have a dozen long cuts appear, circling its belly. A black-clad Harlequin appeared quite suddenly before it, momentarily stepping out of the main dance and into a solo. The daemon roared like a bear, but even before it smashed its taloned paws down on Venn, half a dozen more cuts had been torn through its shaggy hide. Venn dodged the claws with ease and slashed again at the daemon’s flank, each strike cutting to the bone amidst a shower of ichor, then he rammed the point of one sword into the leg-joint and sliced it away entirely.

That done, Venn returned to the dance and vanished into the storm of swords, even as another Harlequin appeared in front of the daemon and sheared through the bony protrusion under its eyes. A third exposed its teeth with a deft cut to the cheek, then another came, and another and another. The daemon howled and tried to protect its face, but the Harlequins had already switched focus to its supporting leg, and cut after cut flashed into that knee-joint until, within a matter of seconds, that too was sheered through and the daemon flopped to the ground, helpless.

One, a lithe daemon with reptilian eyes and a grey spiny coat, tried to batter its way through to Ruhen. It moved with abrupt, darting steps, avoiding the worst of the blows, but it found Ilumene moving to intercept instead as it dodged free of the Harlequins.

The daemon tried to feint one way and nip past, but Ilumene, seeing its intention, threw his shield towards where it was heading, then brought his sword around behind his body and hacked cross-wise at the space he’d just left. Even with a spiny claw outstretched for protection, the daemon was smashed off course by Ilumene’s heavy sword. It staggered a step or two, its arm shattered by the blow, by which time Ilumene had made up the ground and with a great roar of triumph chopped through its neck.

Ilumene looked up to see Ruhen with a small smile on his face and the shadows in his eyes racing with delight. His lips were slightly parted, and Ilumene saw him breathe in the stink of the dying daemon’s blood with relish, but before the soldier could return to the fight a sound came from behind the boy and he raised his sword again as they both turned — and wonder fell across Ruhen’s face. Scores of people were streaming out of the city, then the stream became a flood of men and women, soldiers and shopkeepers and labourers, all barrelling towards the mass of daemons, shouting with outrage, crying ‘Byora!’ and ‘Ruhen!’

They brandished whatever they had been able to find: spears and swords, cleavers, knives and clubs: a poor army, but in seconds it was two hundred people, then three, all racing towards the battle without a thought for their own safety. They threw themselves on the remaining daemons even as the Harlequins continued their own lethal dance.

Ilumene gaped at the unexpected turn of events, nearly dropping his own sword in surprise. The population of Wheel had been watching them from the walls — he had expected that — but their love of Ruhen ran so deep that they would attack a horde of daemons? He laughed, long and loud, as more and more of Byora’s poorest ran into the fray.

Ruhen was staring in thrilled silence; his delight at the daemon’s death had paled into insignificance compared with what was plain on his face now. As the people of Byora stabbed and battered and pulled down the last of the daemons, the shadows all around them deepened until there was nothing left to kill and darkness shrouded the victors.