The Dusk Watchman: Book Five of The Twilight Reign

by Lloyd, Tom

  Vesna looked behind, and saw Isak was watching them with a frown on his face, and said carefully, ‘Carel, you do know it’s not simply—?’

  ‘Aye, I do,’ Carel said sadly, ‘but it’s an improvement on never seeing him again, so I’ll take it.’ He stepped back to inspect Vesna. ‘You look well, my friend.’

  ‘As do you.’ Vesna pointed to the sword at Carel’s hip. ‘Particularly now you’ve finally realised a swordstick is a little girl’s weapon.’ He hesitated, and then said gruffly, ‘I’m sorry for leaving Tirah so abruptly. A friend shouldn’t have acted that way.’

  ‘None of us are so attractive in grief,’ he said, forgiving him instantly, ‘not even you.’ He plucked at the Mortal-Aspect’s shirt. ‘Godhood clearly suits some better’n others.’ Vesna’d always that uncanny knack of looking ruggedly dishevelled where others were filthy and exhausted, even before he’d been filled with divine power. ‘Anyways, time’s come to forget our failings and go back to what we know.’

  ‘An old friend?’ Isak called from behind Vesna. ‘From the Ghosts?’

  Carel went to face the white-eye he now barely recognised, but before he could get there, the dog lurking at Isak’s heel had leaped forward to place itself between the two of them. Then the dog caught Carel’s scent, and after a moment’s hesitation it began to wag its tail, sniffing at the hand Carel offered.

  ‘I was in the Ghosts, but you introduced us, lad,’ Carel croaked, buffeted by his emotions. It was all he could do to stay upright as he stared at the damaged man. With his knees buckling underneath him, the dog’s fawning almost pushed him over until Vesna clicked his fingers and drew it away, leaving the two men to their strange reunion.

  Isak tilted his head, searching his tattered memory. ‘I – I don’t . . .’

  Carel raised a hand. ‘I know, lad. There are holes in your mind. Don’t try and remember.’ He gazed at his boy: every visible part of Isak was marked somehow – even the lightning-kissed hand was now a mess of scars, some haphazard, some runic, and the end joint was missing entirely from two fingers. The very lines of Isak’s face, once as familiar a sight as any in the Land to Carel, were altered, his jaw uneven, furrows of deep scar, and frayed edges to lip and ears.

  ‘Damn, but it’s good to see you, boy,’ Carel croaked.

  Isak’s face twitched and his stoop became a little more pronounced, his left shoulder dipping forward as though the weight of everything had grown too much. Then he touched his white fingers to the bulge at his hip, and that steadied him. Now Carel could see Isak’s right hand was oddly clenched, not quite in a fist, but his fingers were curled as though he was holding something.

  Grey scars showed up plainly against his blackened skin, and his thumb turned inwards at a strange angle. Carel wondered how well he could grip a sword, but then he realised Isak wasn’t wearing a weapon. For the first time since he’d seen Isak return from his first battle, Eolis was nowhere in sight.

  ‘Not a distinguished list, that,’ Isak said at last, ‘folk who’re pleased to see me.’

  ‘Aye, well, more distinguished round here, I’m guessing. Anyways, less you’ve changed as much as it looks, you won’t care how distinguished a man is if he’ll let you take his tobacco.’ He held up his pipe. ‘Never had any money of your own; years back I decided lettin’ you help yourself was better’n watching you steal it from others.’

  Isak looked blank, but he took the pipe from Carel’s unresisting hand and as he inspected it briefly, some shadow of recognition passed across his eyes before he raised it to his mouth and began to smoke. In a handful of white-eye-sized inhalations the pipe was finished.

  Isak tossed the pipe back to Carel. ‘Vesna says my sense of humour’s returning,’ he said with a tentative, crooked smile.

  Carel stared at the spent pipe. ‘Don’t throw a parade just yet,’ he muttered, ‘it was never up to much, you little bugger.’

  Isak’s face froze. ‘Mihn was your friend too?’

  ‘He was,’ Carel said, ‘and I’m waiting for an explanation better’n the one Ardela just gave me. Covering your retreat? Remember what happened last time some bloody fool decided to do that?’ Without even intending to Carel found himself poised to prod Isak in his scarred chest as he made his point, but his expression of alarm and dismay stopped him in time, reminding him that former closeness between them no longer existed.

  ‘Do I remember that?’ Isak said in a hollow voice, ‘yes, all too well.’ His face tightened and became resolved. ‘Just remember: I had reason for doing what I did.’

  ‘And Mihn shouldn’ve known better than to take a second crack at the other lands,’ Carel snapped. ‘Dyin’ in a fight ain’t the same as lettin’ some witch half-drown you – and there’s no one ready to go in after him that I can see.’

  ‘Mihn made his choice,’ Isak said stonily. ‘He thought the risk worth taking.’

  ‘For what, eh? You can’t tell me that, you can only guess!’ Carel shook his head. ‘Ah, lad, I’m sorry; it ain’t your fault your recklessness is rubbin’ off on others. Only to be expected from the Chosen, I guess.’

  ‘You’ve got the scar,’ Isak said abruptly, staring at his ripped shirt. ‘You’ve linked yourself to me.’

  Carel nodded. ‘Whatever foolishness you’ve got planned, I’ll be right behind you from now on.’

  ‘You want to restrain me?’ Isak sounded incredulous.

  ‘No, lad, just clip you round the head from time to time, make sure you’ve really thought through whatever you’re planning to do next. Never was able to stop you from doing what you wanted, but I could make you think again sometimes. The more you stand there lookin’ like some tortured God, the more that might be in the interests o’ the whole Land.’

  Isak looked down at his strange, mismatched hands. ‘God? No God ever looked like this.’

  ‘No mortal’s got skin that colour either, Isak,’ Carel said. ‘Vesna looks normal in comparison now.’

  ‘Maybe we need new Gods,’ Isak replied, abruptly crouching, and the dog immediately broke from Vesna’s grip and leaped forward to tuck itself under his white arm. Isak hugged the animal close with that one arm and rested his chin on its head. Carel noticed he kept his black arm well clear.

  ‘Maybe it’s time to change this old order a little,’ Isak murmured, ‘make Vesna and Legana our Gods instead.’

  ‘And that would be better? Vesna’s just a man, touched by Karkarn or not.’

  Isak nodded distantly, his eyes still averted. ‘Maybe our Gods just need to do better, then.’

  Carel forced himself to laugh. ‘Aye, well, if any man could chastise ’em, it’d be you.’

  A ghastly smile crept onto Isak’s lips. ‘There’s another, but he’s feeling a bit ragged these days.’ He stood again, apparently having found strength in the dog’s presence. ‘So is this how our friendship worked?’

  ‘How’d you mean?’

  ‘I steal your tobacco; you lecture me about life.’

  Carel hesitated, then smiled. ‘More or less, come to think of it. Oftentimes there’s beer involved somewhere too.’

  The white-eye grinned, the gaps in his teeth adding to an already macabre expression. ‘Let’s do that then.’

  CHAPTER 25

  ‘So this is the price of command?’ Amber asked.

  Nai gave him a puzzled look. ‘Price?’

  ‘To hide at the back like a damned coward,’ the general clarified. His face was mostly hidden by his steel helm, but his stance was telling: taut, ready to charge.

  Nai made a point of checking all around. ‘Nope, we don’t seem to have moved by mistake. Exactly what part of this is cowardly, General Amber?’

  Amber loomed towards him, his hands in fists. ‘We’re at the back of an army, you fool!’ He looked at the ranks ahead of them. ‘The enemy’s the other side of that lot.’

  ‘But we’re still on foot, right?’ Nai looked down mournfully at the heavy boots he wore. ‘This might be my first battle, but
I’m pretty sure cowardly would be to have horses so we could run away if it went bad – Ghenna’s teeth, in any other company I’d call that sensible!’

  ‘Any other company?’ asked Sergeant Menax at Amber’s side, a man nearly as tall as the general himself, if rather less inspiring. ‘Just what’re you sayin’ about us?’

  Sergeant Menax had been given the job of leading Amber’s troop of bodyguards because the general had asked for the ugliest, evilest bastard sergeant in the whole army. For reasons Nai didn’t understand, sergeants who’d got away with every sort of vicious criminality ended up as highly valued in Menin armies – those failing to make the grade were generally hanged somewhere along the way.

  ‘You people are the most insanely death-obsessed madmen I’ve ever met,’ the former necromancer said. ‘Your interest in surviving any battle seems transitory at best, and at worst a secret shame you’re determined to make amends for.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You’re all fucking idiots is what I’m saying.’

  Amber raised a hand before Menax tried something stupid.

  ‘I’m a front-line officer. That’s where I should be when the fighting comes.’

  ‘You’re a general now,’ Nai countered, ‘which means you need to stay alive more than lead the charge. I’m guessing the king’ll use sarcasm at me if my first report says you died fighting in the line.’ The newest King’s Man pointed off to their left, where the small knot of undead soldiers stood unnaturally still and quiet. ‘Anyways, once they get stuck in, I’m pretty certain you’ll not keep clear.’

  Amber turned to follow Nai’s gesture. The Legion of the Damned were less than a legion now; it was hard to count them accurately when they were standing in a formless mass, but he estimated some six hundred of the undead mercenaries remained. He could only communicate properly with them though Nai; the mage had some way of planting directions in their leader’s mind. Without that he’d be forced to resort to hand gestures – as if battlefield communication wasn’t hard enough at the best of times.

  ‘Having a horse is still cowardly,’ Menax repeated. ‘It ain’t the Menin way.’

  ‘Your armies have cavalry,’ Nai protested. ‘They’re over there!’

  Menax sniffed. ‘And a bunch of fucking cowards the lot of ’em, chinless noble-born brats with no spine, savin’ yer presence, General, o’ course. Useless, the whole crew.’

  ‘What about Colonel Dassai’s troops? Our supporting legions are led by Narkang noblemen, but I hear they give good account of themselves.’

  ‘That’s easy when you’re trying to cause trouble, distract an army from its purpose. Might have t’let a wasp sting you before you c’n swat it.’

  General Amber let out a heavy breath and the pointless conversation fell dead. They were waiting on a floodplain where a Devoted army had established camp thirty miles in from the Narkang border. Colonel Dassai was making a nuisance of himself as best he could, with half his Green Scarves occupying the high ground to the left while the rest busied themselves raiding the Devoted line. The cavalry had sparked a near-revolt within the Menin ranks, until wiser heads had prevailed. Amber had been careful to keep the Menin-hating colonel and the blue-tattooed élite cavalry away from his Menin infantry. Under General Daken, the Green Scarves had seen more fighting than any other legions during the Menin invasion, and neither side were showing much interest in forgiveness.

  The bulk of Amber’s army was spread out ahead of them: his five heavy infantry legions were formed up in two lines, with a third of medium infantry. On the left flank the useless Menin cavalry waited; the Menin archers were on the right, where they could support the infantry, but would be able to withdraw easily without being massacred or disrupting the spear-wall.

  In the sky wisps of thin cloud stretched like lace in the gusty wind. A flock of black birds turned above the plain, delighting in the surging wind as they readied for the feast Amber intended to provide. He could feel the wind on the back of his neck, bearing a promise of autumn.

  Everywhere I see black birds, he said in the privacy of his mind. The call of crows wake me at dawn, ravens attend me at dusk. Are they the souls of those we’ve killed? A colder prickle went down his neck. Am I drawing them in my wake like I’m already marching up Ghain’s slope, the chains of sin around my neck? Or is Nai right and they’re the souls of those we’ve lost, come to guide us?

  ‘Does this general have no pride?’ Amber wondered aloud. ‘We’ve been here all morning, making him look like a coward in front of his men.’

  ‘Cautious, perhaps?’ Nai ventured. ‘They might not know you’re a bunch of madmen eager to die in battle. He might be wondering what an army half the size of his is doing here.’

  ‘His Litse white-eyes have had plenty of time to scout for surprises,’ Amber said. ‘There are none – none that they’ll be able to find anyway.’

  ‘My point exactly,’ Nai said darkly. ‘Might be they’re not fools.’

  ‘You wouldn’t understand, Narkang man,’ Menax said scornfully.

  ‘I’m from Embere,’ Nai protested.

  ‘Same place as this lot, no?’

  ‘Dassai said their banners’re from Mustet, southwest – Embere is east. That’s hundreds of miles’ difference.’

  Amber nodded. ‘And Nai’s not a man for patriotism anyway. His allegiance is to his art, right, Nai?’

  The King’s Man looked shocked. ‘Quoting the mage Verliq to me now? I’m impressed.’

  His lack of response showed how much Amber cared about that and they fell silent again while the breezes danced around them and black birds circled overhead.

  Bringers of the Slain maybe, Amber mused. Guess if any Gods have the strength to be abroad these days, it’d be them. ‘Anyone seen the Bringers of the Slain before?’ he asked, surprising himself almost as much as those around him.

  ‘You don’t see ’em,’ Menax said, ‘not without gettin’ your eyes plucked out.’

  ‘Only on a fresco,’ Nai added, ‘seeing them before you’re dead would be . . . well, as portents go, it’s like pissing into the face of the Reapers.’

  ‘What did the fresco look like?’

  Nai frowned. ‘A figure of sorts, made up of a flock of crows: it had a face, I think, but mostly it was wings and beaks.’

  Very deliberately Amber angled his head up and the others followed suit. The rooks or whatever they were darted momentarily closer as a gust of wind buffeted them, then they climbed and spiralled towards the river.

  What would Horsemistress Kirl think as she saw me now? What message would her raven speak for me?

  ‘Where’s our scryer?’ Amber asked. ‘I want an update.’

  Colonel Dassai swore and wrenched back on his reins, one arm raised high to halt the unit. The captain beside him bellowed the order and they clattered to an untidy halt, the companies strung behind them following suit like surly offspring.

  ‘Ready bows,’ Dassai yelled, waiting a heartbeat as the captain repeated the order. ‘Bugler, order all the others except Second Company back to high ground.’ He stood up in his stirrups: the enemy camp was stirring, a sudden mass of movement that made him think of a nest of snakes, long coils unfolding and preparing to strike. Troops were running for the defensive ditches – and then Devoted cavalry burst from the left flank, driving hard to cut them off.

  Dassai checked behind him. The other companies were still wheeling and preparing to withdraw. He could see their officers bellowing orders; most had followed his example and were not yet wearing their helms, displaying the sweeps of blue-stained skin on their faces left there by Litania, the Trickster Aspect.

  ‘First Company advance!’ he ordered, and as one they turned. Every man there knew his job; the Green Scarves had been at the forefront in the war against the Menin, raiding and punishing at every opportunity. Then, they had been the bold and the arrogant, as eager for battle as their commander, General Daken. Those who remained were disciplined veterans now, but still bold
, their arrogance now earned.

  The horses drove forward unchecked as their riders nocked arrows and prepared for slaughter. The Devoted cavalry had poured from their camp with little regard for order, each man intent only on getting clear of his comrades so he could manoeuvre; though two companies numbered only a hundred men, their sudden advance and the volley of arrows as soon as they were in range took the Devoted unawares.

  With horsemen still pouring into the fray, those in the lead turned away from the attack, heading back to the safety of their camp.

  ‘Two more volleys,’ Dassai called, firing himself even as he called out the order. The wind was behind them for the moment and their arrows carried well, most striking home.

  The cavalry ahead of them broke into two halves, one group wheeling aside while the other charged straight for Dassai’s archers. He looked back to ensure the rest of his men were clear; they were already at the foot of the sloping high ground where he’d left the second legion. Their passage stirred up a clamour of rooks that had been feasting on the ungrazed ground. With indignant caws and lazy strokes of their wings, the birds made for an ancient oak to the north that dominated the horizon.

  ‘Find yourselves a good view,’ Dassai laughed as he watched the rooks. ‘There’ll be food enough for all of you soon!’

  A rogue gust of air thumped down onto his back and whipped a stalk of grass across his face. Dassai watched the grass dance away through the air, carried high by the wind.

  ‘Lord Ilit doesn’t approve,’ the captain commented with a smile that crinkled the long pair of blue lines running from forehead to throat.

  Dassai reached over and roughly patted the man’s stained cheek. ‘Tough shit for Ilit then!’ he replied. ‘We’re Litania’s now. If Ilit don’t like it, he can argue it out with the Mad Axe.’

  He looked at the Devoted camp, where more cavalry were emerging, accompanied by heavy infantry, judging by their broad oval shields.

  ‘Fall back,’ Dassai called, and the captain repeated with a bellow. ‘Back to the high ground so they can bravely drive us from it. Looks like General Afasin’s found his spine after all!’