The ragged man

CHAPTER 35

Doranei watched the grainy light of dawn creep over Tairen Moor, his hand never leaving his sword. The Menin were out there, a dark smear in the distance – both nebulous and threatening. He couldn't help wondering if the fears of the many had come true and they truly were an unstoppable force led by an invincible warrior.

He tried to find the fear inside him, but it wouldn't come. The King's Man looked down at the discarded jug of wine at his feet. The contents spilled red, soaking into the earth and wood of the rampart. The wine had tasted like ashes in his mouth – like the pyres of Scree, or the shattered streets of Byora where Sebe had died. He didn't crave alcohol, not this morning. The feeling thrumming through his bones was something else, an angry impatience.

'This is another man's war,' he said dully, nudging the jug with his toe. 'Let them come, and quickly.'

'It's our war now,' Veil reminded Doranei as he drank from a waterskin. 'It weren't the Farlan brought this plague upon the kingdom; it were coming sure enough anyway.'

Doranei didn't reply. He didn't want to speak what was on his mind, to hand the burden on to his friend, but it was there at the back of his mind. He was tired of this all, tired of the years of struggle and seeing precious little victory from it.

Maybe all that drinking's finally paid off, he thought sourly, it's finally managed to numb what's inside.

The Menin had made camp a few miles away, not close enough to contain the Narkang Army, but still a threat. General Daken had arrived mid-afternoon with the news of one final engagement: one little piece of hurt delivered for the thousands murdered in their advance. His scouts had confirmed the scryers' intelligence: their baggage train was small and their supplies were dwindling.

Doranei leaned forward over the rampart wall, looking past the fire-dampening charms inscribed on the outside and down to the ditch below it. In a few hours he would be killing men at this very spot, spilling their blood and battering them back into the ditch. This was the heart of the army's defences; a fortress of earth and fresh-cut logs a hundred yards across, intended to meet the crashing wave of Menin infantry and hold firm.

Behind him was the mound of earth where Endine and Cetarn had been hammering stakes into the ground. Only Isak and Mihn went there now, sometimes accompanied by the witch of Llehden or Legana, but Doranei couldn't imagine what they were up to. The company of guards was still stationed there, to keep all others away, but he'd never seen the three do anything remotely of interest. Isak had stood there for several hours yesterday, just staring into the distance as the ghost hour came and went.

He turned and looked past the squat central tower of the fort. Cetarn had inexplicably chained the mound to the ground, which was now the centre point of a dozen or so buried tendrils, each one a hundred feet or more in length. It was dark now, but Doranei could make out the tattered grey cloak Isak wore. He elbowed Veil and pointed.

'Aye, back there again,' Veil said. 'Harnessing the energies o' the Land – isn't that what Cetarn called it?'

The white-eye was a strange figure within the massive army camp. Almost everyone else wore armour, but Isak still shuffled about in ragged clothes, and used his tattered cloak to hide his scars from the rest of the Land. Doranei didn't know whether Isak even owned any armour any more – although surely the king's armourers could have beaten something out for him by now.

'You reckon he's drawing power from that heap of dirt?' Doranei's voice dropped to a whisper so the Kingsguard soldiers manning the wall couldn't hear. 'I got to say, I don't think he's the man we once knew.'

'That doesn't surprise me,' Veil said. He grimaced at the thought of what Isak might have endured.

'What if the king's gambling on it though?' Doranei said. 'Why's this all so secret? Not sure he'll be calling down the storm any time soon these days.'

'You rein that in,' Veil said sharply. 'I don't give a damn what's goin' on in your head these days, there can't be talk like that just before a battle!'

'I didn't mean it like that,' Doranei protested grumpily, knowing he was in the wrong, 'just not used to surprises, and now there's a plan I ain't party to.'

'Well you're the one walked away, and you ain't a general; we ain't soldiers. This ain't our world, so our skills aren't in demand here.' Veil gave him a hard look. 'Now shut the fuck up and don't let me hear another word. No joke, Brother; you sounded like Ilumene for a moment there – Coran hears that shit and he'll break you in pieces.'

Doranei gave a start, his mouth dropping open in surprise. As he replayed Veil's words in his head he realised he'd been right. Doranei found himself recoiling from the realisation: Ilumene's betrayal had been preceded by increasing resentment towards the king, and the assumption that his advice should always be sought, no matter what the situation.

The King's Men were supposed to be faceless and silent, removed from politics and power, personal ambitions and desires foresworn… Only Ilumene hadn't been able to accept his place, one he'd embraced until he decided he stood above the rest.

Doranei found himself half a pace removed from the Brotherhood, and his thoughts had followed the same track – and Veil was right; Coran would kill him for taking even a step down that path. The more he thought about it, the more Doranei realised he wouldn't be able to blame the white-eye for it. Doranei had personally cut down one of the Brothers killed by Ilumene during his bloody defection. He hadn't just murdered the man, he'd pinned the bastard to a wall using eight shortswords, then ritually disembowelled him and fed his heart to the man's own dogs.

'Sorry,' he muttered, abashed. 'You're right.'

'I know,' Veil said airily, 'and after this, you'n'me are going to get your shit in order, y'hear? Should be Sebe doin' it, I know, but that's not going to happen and he was my friend too. He'd want me in his stead to see the job done and I'll be proud t'do it.'

Sebe, Doranei thought glumly, this life's harder without you here. Maybe that's what I'm impatient for. This war I can manage, been living with horror for too long as it is. Zhia I can handle, or survive her, at least. But do this all without the Brother I leaned on most of all? That's harder than I'd realised.

'I hear you,' Doranei said in a quiet voice. He resumed his position, staring out toward the Menin, willing them on.

See you when the killing's done, Brother.

Kastan Styrax walked out of his tent and stopped as the Bloodsworn knights who had camped around him in a protective ring raised their weapons and roared, their wordless fervour booming out all around and echoed back by the tens of thousands beyond.

He faced them silently, looking around at the cheering soldiers and matching their gaze. Wearing the black whorled armour of Koezh Vukotic he stood with his head uncovered and accepted their adulation. The thick black curls of his hair were tied back in the manner of a Menin nobleman, neatly, without frippery or adornment, while the ghost of a beard lay upon his cheeks. It was unusual for Lord Styrax not to be clean-shaven, but if anything he looked more Menin as a result.

Strapped to his back was the fanged broadsword he'd prised from the dead fingers of Lord Akass, his predecessor: the first great feat of many, and the one that had set him on this path. All those years ago – centuries, now – Kastan had realised it was true, that he was like no other mortal. His time in the Reavers had been not only for training and preparation, it had been a refuge against the weight of expectation placed on his shoulders when he had turned sixteen. That day he had been offered a glimpse of his true potential, the weapon the Gods intended him to be.

Even for a white-eye, it was almost too much to bear, Styrax thought as he let the waves of cheering crash over him. Even when I saw the Reavers were lesser kin, it was too much to ask of a boy.

Lord Styrax smiled, and with a deliberately slow movement he reached behind his head and drew the enormous black broadsword. The cheers became deafening and the elite Bloodsworn dropped to one knee, weapons touching the ground as their lord raised Kobra's split tip to the sky and added his own booming voice to the tumult.

'We go to war!' Styrax roared as the thousands raised their own weapons. He turned slowly, watching the faces around him fill with fierce pride.

'This long march has been hard,' he called, pausing to give them all time to remember the stories of the tribe's past, 'and it is more than the weak who have fallen along the path!'

Deverk Grast had marched the Menin away from the West and ordered that the weak be allowed to fall at the wayside. Once the greatest of the seven tribes, the Menin had endured horrors in the Waste as they travelled to the Ring of Fire; they had nearly been broken as they tried to carve a new home in the wilderness. There were many sects within the tribe who saw this invasion as a return to glory; the rightful return to their place as the foremost of the tribes of man.

'The pain has been the same for us all, the loss and the suffering shared among proud brothers!'

Styrax felt his face tighten. In his mind's eye he saw Kohrad exchanging blows with Lord Isak, matching the silver-blurred stokes of the Farlan with all the fire and ferocity he'd possessed. He saw Kohrad struck and stagger, the emerald hilt of Eolis blazing through the storm of magic as he pitched backwards and fell.

'The end is not yet in sight,' he shouted, 'but the reckoning has come. We have beaten all in our path, and when Narkang falls the spine of the West will be broken!

'The Chetse we defeated, and they honoured us by joining our cause!

'The Farlan we defeated, and they ran for home!'

Whistles and catcalls came from all around, then laughter. Styrax waited for the noise to abate, then went on, 'The Farlan ran, and they will run again – but first we take down this self-anointed – a man too afraid to let his rabble of an army past their ditches to face us like men.

'Show them how men fight, brothers; call the names of our fallen and show them the price of cowardice. We go to war!'

His last words were barely heard as the soldiers yelled in frenzied abandon. General Gaur signalled the drummers to beat to orders, but even the heavy thump of the huge wardrums was swallowed by the clamour. Only when the great curling horns of the Chetse legions sounded and the Menin drums repeated the command did it die down and order resume.

Styrax turned to Gaur and the beastman bowed awkwardly. General Vrill appeared behind him.

'The legions have their orders?' Styrax asked.

'They have, my Lord,' Vrill called, also bowing. The duke was ready for battle, the ribbons fixed to his white armour trembling in the dull morning light. 'My infantry are moving out as I speak.'

'Good. I'll be counting on you to stir up a little confusion and panic.'

'While you assault a fixed position,' Vrill said pointedly. 'While we both assault fixed positions, with our forces nicely divided.'

Styrax gave the small white-eye a sharp look and sheathed Kobra again. 'Vrill, you may lecture me about dwindling supplies and lines of communication, or you may remind me of Erialave's tenets of the field. You may not, however, do both.'

Vrill bowed, lower this time. 'Apologies, my Lord. I remain yours to command. My concerns are for your safety, not my own.'

'We've overswept his land and killed half his people – still think King Emin is going to conjure up a surprise we can't handle?' Styrax said with a slightly forced smile.

He knew Vrill was right about much, but they simply couldn't wait to devise something intricate, nor could they evade the Narkang force – and he did not want to. Supplies were running dangerously low, and they needed a decisive victory, or they would begin to starve within the week. He'd given the order that there was to be no guard left with the baggage. One way or another, this day would be decisive. Styrax was certain his armies would show their worth.

'I think a surprise doesn't need to be your equal if it truly is a surprise – he possesses a Crystal Skull, according to Major Amber and – '

'And I have several!' Styrax growled, 'to say nothing of the fact none of his mages are my equal, nor Lord Larim's nor, most likely, half of Larim's acolytes.'

Vrill opened his mouth to argue, then shut it again with a snap. The decision was made and the most likely result of arguing further would be a swift death. 'As you command, my Lord,' he said in a tight, controlled voice. 'Do you have final orders for me before I go to my command?'

Styrax, his hands balled into fists, made himself calm down. After a moment, he said, 'Take your time. They'll not come to you, so once you've cleared away the skirmishers you can negotiate the advance ditches slowly. Keep your formation and keep close to the tree-line. If they have cavalry hidden there they'll run long before you reach them, for fear of being pinned down.'

Vrill looked up at the sky. It was still early and there was a blanket of thin cloud overhead. 'A good thing they want to keep your wyvern on the ground,' he commented. 'There's a lot of marching to do today; hot sun's the last thing we'll need.'

Styrax nodded. 'With any luck they'll keep the clouds there for us so I won't have to.' He offered a hand to his general who looked startled for a moment before remembering himself and taking it. 'Good hunting – if you break their line or draw them out, don't hesitate. Keep a mage close and send me a message if they're weakening; I'll get their attention while you win the battle.'

Vrill couldn't help but grin at the prospect, a flush of animation crossing his usually composed face. Lord Styrax was not a man who shared victory easily, but this he meant. Duke Vrill had the right flank; he had ten legions to march to the tree-line and in through the narrow channel King Emin had left on the edge of the forest: two thousand cavalry to protect his flank and eight thousand infantry to throw against the enemy line.

Once past the defensive ditches of the Narkang Army it would become brutal, bloody sword-work. With a breach, the quality of the Menin heavy infantry and the savagery of the Chetse elite axemen would come into their own.

'Good luck to you too, my Lord,' Vrill said with meaning.

The bulk of the army, double the number at Vrill's command, would be directly assaulting the fort at the heart of the Narkang defences, marching straight towards the enemy on ground of the enemy's choosing. A further six legions protected their left flank and rear, where the Narkang cavalry would be trying to make their greater numbers count.

They would be assailed on two sides, barely able to fight back until they breached the fort's walls: it would be the greatest test the Menin Army had ever faced. Their enemy was ruthlessly inventive and had had weeks to prepare for battle; that made it a horrific prospect – but Lord Styrax himself would be leading them, and that was enough for the army.

Styrax watched Vrill go, then raised an armour-clad arm and struck it against General Gaur's. The two had no need for parting words. Gaur had devised the plan with his lord, and he knew his part well enough; everything else was understood. He left without a word.

Styrax looked out towards the enemy lines, visualising what he'd scouted from wyvernback the previous evening: two great defensive ditches, each running for more than half a mile, reached out from the castle called Moorview in a diamond shape, with a wooden fort at the nearest point and Moorview at its rear. The castle was set in an indent of the forest, although there was open ground on its right flank. His scouts reported smaller, staggered defences set beyond each of the great ditches.

The Narkang cavalry would be concentrated on the open ground on Styrax's left, which gave them space to manoeuvre. The bulk of King Emin's army would be behind the ditches, probably concentrated at either end, and he guessed their orders would be simple enough: stay put, and resist assault. Doing anything so complicated as advancing would leave inexperienced troops vulnerable – and they were inexperienced; six months before they'd all been farmers and ploughboys! – so it was unlikely the Menin would be able to tempt them out. Still, Vrill had a few hundred captives to execute in plain view, just in case he could torture them into forgetting their orders.

'Sound the advance,' Styrax called, 'and let's show them what they're all afraid of.'

The Bloodsworn around him turned to march to their positions – on foot, fighting as his bodyguard – but two lingered, staring straight at Styrax, barely ten yards away. He felt a prickle of magic tremble through the air and was drawing his sword before he'd had time to think.

As the man on the left ran forward, the Bloodsworn armour started to disintegrate, pieces cascading from its body as it moved with impossible speed. It had covered the ground between them in a heartbeat, bringing up a shimmering sword, ready to strike. Styrax threw himself back, but his attacker followed, blindingly fast, his sword distorting the air as they parried and broke, and moved again, and again.

Styrax blocked with desperation, the weapons moving too fast for a normal human to clearly see. His armour turned a glancing blow in a shower of sparks and Styrax went briefly onto the attack with a volley of blows that would have felled any normal man – but each was met and blocked, and the ring of their blades came so fast it sounded like shattering glass.

Distantly he felt a flicker of apprehension as he finally recognised the figure attacking. The armour now was identical to his own, and the sword seemed to tear at the air it passed. Styrax found secure footing and drew on his Crystal Skulls. The magical artefacts pulsed at his command, tendrils of spitting light lashing out, burning furrows through the earth and scorching the moorland grass.

Koezh Vukotic pressed his advantage. Staying light on his feet, he dipped and weaved his way between the savage streams of magic, cutting through the storm with his rage-filled sword. Koezh forced Styrax to turn, deflecting his sword up and catching the Menin lord a glancing blow across the ribs. It didn't pierce the metal, but even as Styrax slashed at his opponent's head, Koezh had moved and cut across Styrax's cuirass, nicking the edge of the monogram plate bearing Koezh's own initials.

Styrax hurled himself forward, using his greater bulk as a battering ram to drive Koezh back, but the vampire rode the blow and turned it to his advantage, nearly managing to thrust his sword point into the back of Styrax's knee, then smashing the pommel of his sword into Styrax's chest. The white-eye saw the blow coming and slashed crossways, forcing Koezh to retreat or be decapitated. He won himself an instant to breath -

– and a second figure flew forward while flames erupted from the ground all around them, and Styrax twisted with unnatural grace, parrying the blow and filling his sword with magic to score a blistering trail down the other attacker's thigh – but his blow was turned by the same whorled armour, and his attacker had already pivoted and kicked out at him. Styrax dropped to a half-crouch, pinning the armoured foot under his arm and punching with his left hand into the side of Zhia's knee. He didn't wait to see if he'd caused any damage, but rolled his body through the air, moving around Zhia to use her as a shield against Koezh's follow-up.

Styrax caught a glint of red light in the air and summoned a grey dome of energy to deflect the bloody fire lashing down at his head. He released Zhia, but kept her between himself and Koezh, knowing her to be the weaker fighter. White swirls danced around her body, exploding into sunbursts of sparks as his sword hit them. She retreated, keeping her sword close to her body as she waited for a chance to get inside his guard. He obliged; smashing an elbow forward as she stepped into a thrust and snapping her head back.

With both fists around his grip Styrax punched her in the chest, putting all his power into the blow. It smashed her backwards, driving Zhia through the air, but before she'd even hit the ground Styrax was moving, striking out as Koezh came at his other side. The blow was parried and he dropped low to slash at the vampire's legs, but it was deflected into the ground even as Koezh hacked at his neck and was stopped by a grey bar of magic.

Koezh made a twisting gesture with his hand and Styrax felt his feet wrenched sideways. He turned into the movement, flinging himself around, and as he dropped, he lashed out wildly, as Koezh turned the blows with practised ease.

One-handed, Styrax turned his first two blows, and stepped into the third, casting forward a corkscrew of raw energy, and somehow the vampire managed to both drive himself backwards while at the same time twisting so one arm pierced the centre of the spiral. With one hand, Koezh grasped the stream of magic itself and savagely ripped it away.

With the energy dissipated, he cut upwards at Styrax, but the white-eye had already retreated and he smashed Kobra down, nearly catching Koezh on the upswing- but the vampire sprang away, sliding backwards across the magic-scorched grass.

Styrax braced himself and unleashed the full force of the Skulls at Koezh, but the twisting cable of uncontrolled magic unravelled, spraying wildly all around while the Skull fixed to Koezh's own armour blazed bright white.

Zhia appeared in Styrax's periphery. The whorled pattern on her cuirass was distorted and buckled, but it didn't hamper her as she raced back into the fray. Styrax stepped away from her charge, taking a glancing blow from her sword on his pauldron as he extended his sword and felt it pierce the flexible mesh covering her armpit. He drove forward, and as Kobra's fangs skewered her flesh he dragged and her side around and lifted his weapon, pulling her on to her tiptoes.

Then, sensing Koezh behind him he tugged Kobra out of Zhia's armpit and slashing left-handed as he moved to the left, away from the vampire's onrush. Koezh anticipated the move and a grey bar of energy caught Styrax's sword before it could cover his body. The vampire cut up at his exposed wrist; Styrax had to lean forward to take the blow on his vambrace instead, but still he felt the sword pierce the metal and a hot burst of pain flowered in his arm.

He dived forward frantically, evading the next crippling blow, and rolled close to the perimeter of flames that was keeping his soldiers away. He felt the sizzle of acid on his flesh: Koezh's sword had scarred his skin again. Now he placed both hands on his own sword and flooded his body with magic to wash away the pain before leaping to his feet and immediately dodging to strike inside Koezh's follow-up blow.

The vampire moved even faster now, aware his sister was injured and the fight was all his own. They struck and blocked and parried in turn, until they locked swords, pulling each other to within a few inches. Each tried to shove the other off-balance in the split-second before retreating, but their unnatural strength was equally matched.

Styrax stepped back first, cutting up at Koezh's hands, checking the blow and lunging at his face. Koezh, the smaller man, dodged with astonishing speed, diverting the thrust upwards with the guard of his sword and turning it into a thrust of his own. Styrax stepped into the blow, catching it on his chest before Koezh could get any force behind it, then slamming an elbow down onto Koezh's shoulder and at last getting him off balance.

Side-on to his enemy, Styrax swung down as he moved clear; trying to chop into the vampire's throat, but Koezh dropped flat on his back and the blow caught only thin air. As Styrax stabbed down, Kobra's fangs met a flat grey disc. With his full strength behind the blow, the weapon penetrated, but the impact juddered right through Styrax's body and the fangs were stopped by Koezh's cuirass – and Styrax had to hop gracelessly back to save his ankles.

Koezh was already striking as he leaped to his feet and caught Styrax's blade as they both moved into the attack, locking weapons again. Styrax, catching a movement out of the corner of his eye, threw himself backwards as Zhia arrived. He gave ground right up to the encircling flames, desperate for space to evade her – only to watch in astonishment as Zhia's slender sword ran straight and true into the seam of the black cuirass, driving deep inside.

Her brother faltered, driven sideways by the unexpected impact, but before he could react, Zhia forced her sword further into Koezh's guts. A gasp of pain escaped his lips as she retracted the weapon and stepped back. Her brother staggered and dropped to one knee, his hand going to his side as a spurt of black blood spilled out.

Styrax didn't hesitate, advancing and smashing Koezh's sword aside. With the vampire defenceless, he cut at his opponent's neck and felt Kobra tear through the armour. Koezh fell, limp before he hit the ground and a sudden silence descended.

'I'm sorry, brother,' Zhia whispered, her voice strained, 'but it must be this way.'

She turned to Styrax, who faced her with his weapon raised warily, but the Vukotic princess shook her head and sheathed her weapon.

'You will have to enjoy your battle alone, Lord Styrax – I am done for the day.' Her right arm went to the armpit where he'd injured her. He could hear from her laboured voice that the wound was severe.

Do I kill her now, while I have the chance?

'You could kill me,' she said, correctly guessing his thoughts, 'but that would deny you an ally for the future – one who could be of use to a collector.'

With a gesture she dismissed the flames crackling all around them and the true Bloodsworn rushed forward, stopping dead as Styrax raised a hand. He thought for a moment, panting to get his breath back after the furious exchange, barely able to string a coherent thought together.

'Go then,' he said eventually, 'go with my blessing and remember this debt.'

'My debt to you? How very male,' Zhia gasped, her arm drawn tight up to her chest. 'I suppose that's all the thanks I'll get for persuading Koezh our chances would be better without the Legion of the Damned.'

She looked down at the corpse of her brother, lying at Styrax's feet. A faint mist was building over it as his body started to decay and disintegrate.

'As you wish,' she said finally. 'Until we meet again.'

She turned and faced the wall of soldiers. They didn't move, and she looked back at Styrax, who gestured, parting the Bloodsworn for her. Once a path was clear, the vampire left without looking back once.

Styrax looked down at the putrefying armoured corpse at his feet. Koezh's Crystal Skull was still attached to the cuirass, and he quickly tugged it free. The armour was already soft and malleable, decaying with Koezh's body; the metal would melt into nothingness unless it was removed with alacrity, as Styrax had the first time they fought. If not, it would slowly reform with Koezh's body in the crypt beneath the Castle of Silence, far to the east. Koezh's sword was similarly indistinct within the mist, and as he watched, it sank into the moorland beneath it, unclaimed yet again.

He looked up at the assembled troops surrounding him. With an effort he smiled. 'First blood to us,' he announced hoarsely. The responding cheer was deafening.

'Enemy's advancing,' Veil said, pointing.

King Emin looked up. 'So it begins,' he muttered. 'How about the left flank?'

Veil squinted at where the smaller Menin force had formed up, by the tree-line. 'Looks like it – I'd need a mage to be sure.'

'Where are the damn mages?' Emin growled, seeing nothing but soldiers. The fort contained more than a thousand men, as closely packed in as could be managed without causing complete chaos.

'There's the runt,' Coran said, indicating the diminutive form of Tomal Endine, who was weaving a path towards them, through the Kingsguard and the catapult platforms that stood between the central tower and Emin's position on the rampart.

The mage laboured up the wooden ramp towards King Emin, and Coran reached down to drag the small man the last yard while he gasped for breath. The King's bodyguard stood out from the crowd by more than size now – his cuirass and helm were painted a bright bloody red, in contrast to the green and gold livery that surrounded him. The rest of the Brotherhood wore black-painted armour, punctuating the crowd of resplendent Kingsguard like needles secreted in a haystack.

'Piss and daemons,' Doranei said, 'man's exhausted and the battle's not started yet!'

Endine gave Doranei an unfriendly look and sparks crackled momentarily across his knuckles.

'Your Majesty, Mage Holtai reports both sections of the enemy are advancing. Two lines of heavy infantry are moving directly here, with archers and cavalry protecting them, while a mixed force of infantry and cavalry are stationed on their left flank. The smaller force is keeping tight to the forest and they too are protected on their left flank by cavalry.'

King Emin nodded and turned to face his army, the bulk of which was lined up behind the long ditches. They stood in long lines that would be vulnerable on the open field, but these great defensive works would massively reduce the force of any infantry charge.

'There is more, your Majesty,' Endine said urgently, 'I sensed magic used in the enemy camp – not a spell in progress, but energies shaped quickly, with violence meant.'

'Which means?'

'That I don't know, but most likely Lord Styrax fought someone of great power – perhaps he even gave Larat's Chosen a Crystal Skull to use in battle and had it turned against him.'

King Emin frowned. 'I doubt that; he will assume he has the advantage there without help from doubtful sources.'

'I can see no other explanation – the magic expended was considerable – '

'And without a Crystal Skull,' Emin finished for him, 'what fool would bother?' He forced a smile. 'It'll do us no good speculating. If the enemy is divided, they'll be less enthusiastic about throwing themselves on our stake-points!' The king gestured towards the long lines of raised stakes surrounding the fort and provoked a cheer from those nearby.

'Endine, return to your post,' King Emin said once the noise had abated, 'when I need Cetarn signalled I'll send a runner. In the meantime, keep us safe!'

The sickly mage bowed and scuttled back to the tower in the centre of the fort where the scryer, Mage Holtai, sat watching the enemy's movements, and three battle-mages waited for the coming assault.

'Will Cetarn be enough?' Doranei asked quietly. 'He's no white-eye, no matter what they've cooked up on that chained mound.'

'Cetarn will play his part,' Emin replied distantly, 'as must we all.'

'Is that why you're here, your Majesty?'

Emin gave him a sharp look. 'Your meaning?'

Doranei edged forward, keeping his voice as low as possible and ignoring the fact that Coran also stepped closer, just in case. 'The fort is vulnerable; you must see that.'

'Must I?'

'Yes,' Doranei said firmly, 'the ditches aren't long enough to be certain we won't be cut off, yet here's where you make your stand. Wouldn't it be better if you moved further back, where the whole army can see your standard and take heart?'

King Emin gave him a more genuine smile than he had Endine. 'No, my friend, it is best I'm here, on that you must trust me – as I trust you and Coran to keep me safe.'

'Are you intentionally putting yourself in a dangerous position?' Doranei asked quietly.

'Remember this – we are all in mortal danger today,' Emin said, 'and it will do the men good to see that I take the same risks they do. In the context of a battle plan, my significance should not be overstated. If Kastan Styrax wishes me dead, he will achieve that goal wherever I stand. My death may be a blow, but the Menin know they must do more than that to win the day.'

'It'd be a bloody good start though,' Doranei hissed, prompting a bellow of unexpected laughter from King Emin.

'Hah, you could be right there! So let's give them something more pressing to think about, eh?'

King Emin clapped him on the shoulder and turned back to the Menin Army. Their progress was difficult to discern, but they were still well outside the range markers the Narkang troops had installed on the moor.

The ground dead ahead was clear and open, but on both left and right were sets of ditches, staggered so six divisions of archers could hurt the enemy before they came anywhere near the Narkang Army. Working in concert with each other and with squadrons of cavalry supporting them, the archers would engage in a fighting retreat, with little fear of being caught in the open.

'Signal the cavalry to advance,' he called aloud, and a sergeant below him took up the order and it started repeating at a roar. On the tower, a red flag was run up the pole.

'That's not going to be enough, however much we outnumber 'em.'

'I know,' King Emin said distantly, 'but they may yet make a mistake in the heat of the moment. If nothing else, it will give them pause for thought while they attempt to charge through us.' He started towards a ballistae station on their right, where the rampart walkway bulged to allow easy movement, but before he reached it, the voices within the fort were dropping and faces began to turn his way.

The king faced his men, then swept off his flamboyant hat so his face was visible to all. He gave them a moment to remember the stories, the legend of a king to rival any the Land had yet seen. He had as commanding a presence as any white-eye, and his quiet assurance and cold eyes gave no reason to doubt the reputed genius of his intellect, nor the ruthless ambition that had driven his own conquest two decades previously.

'Brothers,' King Emin called in a loud, clear voice, 'our time of reckoning has come.'

Doranei watched the effect of the king's piercing ice-blue gaze sweeping over his troops, as the men stood a shade more upright under that imperious stare.

'The so-called "first tribes" have marched on our lands,' King Emin announced, raising his arms as though to embrace the army, 'intent on destroying all we have built and all we hold dear.'

He looked around, catching people's eyes, so every man thought he spoke directly to him. 'In their envy,' he cried, 'they come to kill us, to murder this dream we share. They see the twilight of their own kind and for that they fear us.'

He raised his voice, little by little, as he went on, 'They fear our great kingdom, because it stands for an end to the ways of the past – an end to the ties of tradition and ancient prejudice. An end to the dream that they are better than we.

'Twenty years ago I realised the truth, one I see realised in the faces all around me: I believed that we were equal of any of the seven tribes – but now I see we are greater still!'

He paused, waiting and watching, until the watching soldiers were breathless with anticipation.

'When the White Circle attacked Narkang, many of you fought alongside me, fought as equals alongside Lord Isak himself, and when the breach came it was his actions that saved the day, and yet – and yet he did not claim the title of hero that day, though he was more than entitled.'

Doranei could feel the expectation building like a tidal wave inside them all.

'Young as he was, Isak knew his God would protect him as he called the storm down, and secure in that knowledge, he sought to close the breach alone.'

King Emin paused again. The faces were rapt, every man holding his breath until the king slowly raised a finger. Doranei felt the murmurs building from the crowd.

'But… but in that breach he was not alone – '

He got no further as a roar of approval crashed out around the fort, drowning out all other sounds. The king waited for the tumult to die down again, knowing their pride would eclipse any thing else he might now say. Many of those present had fought on the walls of the White Palace; many friends had died beside them, and they had all known their lives were hanging in the balance when Lord Isak of the Farlan had stayed alone to defend the wall.

' – yes, brothers, there was another – one who was neither white-eye, nor favoured of the Gods. Commander Brandt was a man, no different to you or me, and yet he was a hero! He was not even a soldier – the City Watch was his mistress, and he served it faithfully, man and boy.

'When the time came, this simple watchman sacrificed himself for the city he loved, for his wife and children, and to protect this dream we share! And he did so gladly.

'He stood, back to back with a figure from myth – back to back and unafraid!'

King Emin turned to the advancing Menin Army, then back to his men, a mocking smile on his lips as he made a dismissive gesture.

'Equal to the Seven Tribes? No – not that day, nor for ever more! They come to kill us; they come to conquer us, because they fear us! Without the patronage of Gods here we stand, as strong as any of them, and solely through our own endeavour. Even now they dare not face us alone, but with reluctant, fearful allies.'

The king gestured at the faces arrayed below him. 'The blessed of the War God march on us, yet I see no fear on your faces. They have hurt us, they have razed our towns and murdered our countrymen, yet still I do not see fear. Instead I see a people of one mind, a people of one unstoppable resolve!

'Together, brothers, we will show them the quality they fear, the true strength of the nation that eclipses them! This day I leave the field as King of Narkang, or not at all, and as a watchman once laid his life down for his wife and children, so shall I, if the Gods demand it!

'We are steel, tempered in the flames of their disdain. On steel, their ancient bronze will break. Tomorrow we will pity them, for their time is done, but today we will show them only our rage!

'Rage for the innocents they have slain. Rage for the threat to those we hold dear. Face them, my brothers – face them and show them the strength of free men!'