The Dusk Watchman: Book Five of The Twilight Reign

by Lloyd, Tom

  Dazed by the power of the weapon, Ruhen stared dumbly at his hand as the pain receded. Everything was blurred after Aenaris’ bright light. Slowly focus returned and he looked down at the small hand of the body he’d stolen before its mother even realised she was pregnant, blinking at what he saw.

  Aenaris had left its mark on him, Ruhen realised gradually. The pain in his eyes and reeling shadows under his skin diminished, but a white mark remained on his hand. His palm and the inside of his fingers were scorched white where he had touched the crystal sword. He flexed his hand, testing the sore, taut flesh for signs of greater damage, but if he had really been burned, the Key of Life had healed him, just as it had when an assassin had shot him the day the Harlequins arrived.

  His attention was dragged towards the three disciples by a sudden howl from the youth, who was convulsing in Luerce’s arms. His eyes was staring unseeing up at the sky, his back was arched in pain. The alarmed First Disciple eased the youth onto the flagstones at the top of the stairs just as pinpricks of light appeared over the surface of his body. The same thing was happening to the other two, though the woman had somehow stayed upright, but as the flowering stars intensified, she moaned and bent forward as though in prayer.

  Each of the three curled up as the light started weaving a skein of shining threads over them. The spider-silk slowly enveloped them and Ruhen found himself taking a step back as his immortal senses felt the rush of magic around them continuing to expand until it had become an unseen torrent of power in the air.

  Venn sensed it too, and distantly Ruhen heard the former Harlequin gasp and fall to his knees, nearly overwhelmed despite the shield he’d had raised.

  The woman shuddered as though struck by two great blows and writhed left and right under the cocoon of power. Where she touched the shining threads they stuck to her clothes, then her hair and hands too, searing her skin just as Aenaris had marked Ruhen. One hand pushed out, reaching towards him, an awkward movement, jerking forward and back, and when she moved, a lattice of white threads remained.

  Beside her the young man kicked wildly, his silence disconcerting, as though he was suffering an agony that could not be expressed with a scream.

  The three figures became increasingly blurred, hands and feet thrusting out under the webs of magic, all unnatural angles and movements that expanded the cocoons and all-too-soon stopped corresponding to anything human. Behind them Ruhen saw a scramble of figures, Harlequins and disciples alike, drawing back – all fearful of touching those glittering threads that seared the pale daylight.

  The younger man’s cocoon tumbled down the slope onto a lower tier, momentarily out of sight until an arm or something drove upwards and expanded its form higher than a man. The two remaining came together with a hiss and crackle of competing energies, burning the air between them and creating some sort of barrier against which both pressed as they continued their astonishing growth. By fits and starts their progress went in opposite directions, blackening the grass as they reached it and scoring trails over flagstones.

  Another spasm brought one, then the others, up even higher, as though a horse were rearing up within the cocoon. Shapes pressed against the inner surface, curved and alien in form, but against the intense light Ruhen’s eyes could not make out anything definite. Again the boy was forced to retreat, now shielding his shadow-lidded eyes from the light.

  Something arched and held its position, working up into the air with sharp, jagged movements. The shapeless masses were growing larger with every passing moment and at last the cocoons were starting to weaken, sagging and tearing in places. The lightbound shapes rose again, this time driving up from the ground and huge grey talons ripped through the membrane. The frayed edges curled away as they were torn, flapping in a breeze Ruhen could not feel, until they caught against the talons and feet above them and melted onto the flesh and bone.

  The nearer shape lurched forward and almost toppled as a long limb pressed against the inside of the membrane and ripped it open with a savage jerk. Shreds of burning white light burst out and lashed across Ruhen and his most loyal. He heard Ilumene cry out in alarm, but he had no time to turn as light suddenly exploded across his eyes. Ruhen reeled, hands clasped to his face as searing pain more intense than the burning touch of Aenaris blanked out his vision.

  Ruhen cried out for the first time in his life, shock and pain mingling to cause the Land to lurch underneath him. Only unseen hands stopped him from falling to the ground – hands he realised were Venn’s after crystal wiped across his face and hauled the pain away.

  Ruhen shuddered, half-cradled in Venn’s trembling arms, and tried to blink away the blur in his eyes. He felt his left eye obey and gasped as he suddenly made out the shape ahead of him: a near-translucent outstretched wing the size of a ship’s sail. His right eye saw nothing though, just a uniform white nothingness, as though thick fog had suddenly descended.

  He touched his fingers to the skin there and hissed as he discovered a long, raw wound curving up from his cheek to his ear. His eye was too numb for him to be able to tell whether the lid was even open or not, but questing fingers found it was, though covering his eye with his hand made no difference to the dull white blur he saw.

  ‘Master, can you see?’ Venn demanded hoarsely, tilting Ruhen’s head to inspect the burned flesh. ‘Your eye, it’s gone entirely white,’ he croaked, lowering his voice as he added, ‘the shadows are gone from it.’

  Ruhen struggled up, disorientated by the unfamiliar sensations, but more horrified by his childish frailty and weakness. ‘It is blind,’ he gasped. ‘I see nothing.’

  The wing above was suddenly retracted and a long claw protruding from the wing’s knuckle was driven hard against the ground seeking purchase. It caught the edge of a paving stone and stuck fast while the struggling creature heaved against the smoking remnants of membrane around it.

  ‘The sword,’ Venn suggested, watching the beast like Ruhen, mindful that only swift action could properly repair injuries.

  Venn’s wrist had set as it was, pressed agonisingly back into the semblance of position, but then it had healed that way. To undo that was beyond any healer’s skill. Though the Key of Life might have that power, the pain it would cause was too great; Venn’s breathtaking skill was gone forever, at least in mortal terms.

  ‘No,’ Ruhen croaked, pushing away Venn’s hands and steadying himself, his attention fixed on the monsters as shrieks of panic rang out across the Stepped Gardens.

  The nearest tore away the last of the membrane and lifted its head to the sun, oblivious to the aghast faces watching. A thin blanket of autumn cloud covered the sky, but the dragon shone with an inner light that lovingly illuminated every scale. Huge muscles bunched under the shimmering reptilian armour, while a needle-tipped tail wove with a cobra’s promise. Its broad head was grey, seamed in black below its spiral-horn-studded brow, while the top was almost perfectly white, echoing the hooded cloaks all three had worn. The man’s disconcerting eyes – one had been brown, one green – were now pale and luminescent.

  The dragon stretched its wings out wide and roared a challenge to the heavens that Ruhen felt like a blow to his ears.

  Beside it, the second beast rose up and regarded its sibling with unblinking eyes; this one was more slender, with a sharp beak and a spear-like head where once an ageing woman’s face had been. It was even whiter than the first, carved from ice, with eyes a paler blue than any Litse’s, but when it opened its mouth to add its voice the tongue and flesh were unnaturally black.

  The last, the young man, was darker than the others. The only white on its body was a streak that ran down its spiked spine; the rest was shadowed grey. Great claws tightened and furrowed the earth as the dragons’ birth-cries split the sky and tears fell from the heavens to splatter on the heads of those fleeing the gardens. Ruhen didn’t move, unafraid of the enormous monsters, enraptured by the sinuous, lethal shapes crafted by his mind.

  ‘The power of the Gods,
’ he whispered, savouring the thrill of creation that was only intensified by the pain that remained in his ruined eye. He touched his white-marked fingers to his face. ‘And this I sacrifice.’

  Hunger. Prey.

  The words echoed out from their minds, barely formed thoughts and emotions. Azaer heard them, just as he had heard the silent calls of men like Venn or Witchfinder Shanatin: an echo beyond human ears, a need of basic and primal origins.

  ‘One must stay and watch over this city until you are called,’ Ruhen ordered, and the three heads swung down to face the boy who commanded them.

  Behind him, Ruhen felt Venn tense at the scrutiny of these inhuman, terrifying beasts.

  ‘I am marked by your rebirth, just as you are marked by the devotion of your former selves. One will stay; the others will fly west and fight in my name.’

  The largest of the three drew back at that, whether affronted or angered, it was impossible to tell, but Ruhen stared it down. With each passing heartbeat he sensed the latent feelings of the three devotees returning as they remembered their blind obedience, their desperation to serve, their sense of purpose in his presence. He was so much smaller than they, but that resonated deep inside their hearts: the protection of the weak, the service of innocence. They would follow the child to a new form of glory.

  Obey.

  The dragons leapt into the air one after the other, driving up with their powerful hind legs before sweeping out their huge wings and battering the air down. Ruhen was driven to his knees by the force of their strokes, but once aloft they circled low over Byora with little effort needed.

  ‘One to stay, two to go,’ Ruhen repeated, and the third dragon, the greyest, broke away from its siblings and turned into a long circle that encompassed much of Byora before turning and heading up to Blackfang’s jagged mountaintop. The remaining two beasts watched it go, then they too began to climb high into the sky, until they were indistinct shapes against the distant clouds. There they drifted on the far winds for a time until they caught the scent of those they sought and darted away on long, powerful wing-beats, cutting through the air like the arrows of Nartis.

  ‘Venn, Rojak,’ Ruhen said to his black-clad disciple, ‘now it is your turn. That Skull of Song you hold: sing a song of fair winds and summer skies. The Stormcaller knows how to ward against dragons. Remove that option from him.’

  ‘See my power, white-eye,’ Ruhen whispered to the wind as flakes of snow began to sweep past. ‘Match it if you dare. Unleash the horrors of the Dark Place against me – declare yourself the monster the whole Land secretly believes you to be.’

  CHAPTER 32

  The first winds of winter scoured through the Narkang army, dragging at their raised spears and trying to wrench banners from the grips of their bearers. Tiny snowflakes drifted on the breeze, only rarely falling to the ground. Isak watched the white specks and shivered at a cold he could not feel.

  While all those around him were bundled up in coats and furs, Isak wore his usual shirt and cloak only. For him the chill in the air was one of the soul, not of the body; the snow looked like blossom gliding across a dead place. Death’s own blossom: and soon the dead fruit will fall. It was a dismal sight, promising an unnatural harvest.

  Now he stood and watched the troops gradually moving into position on the plain in front of him. Orders were shouted, horsemen were thundering in all directions, horns and drums sounded. For once he was surrounded by people, and yet totally ignored. He had no place here, and no rank or unit to impose purpose on him.

  In the distance he could see the enemy, already assembled and waiting on the higher ground. Soldiers stood in neat rows halfway up the shallow slope, with staggered knots of cavalry and archers wearing red sashes spread across the plain. In complete contrast, the left flank was a disordered mass of people, thousands of clamouring white-clothed faithful, only held back by the presence of the Devoted cavalry.

  ‘Isak!’ cried a voice over the chaos, and he turned to see a rider pulling up beside him. The black shield hanging from the saddle had a small bee painted in one corner, and beneath it was a long-handled sword. Isak couldn’t see more than the plain grip and brass scabbard tip, but he knew there would be bluebells on the scabbard, as incongruous as blossom in late autumn.

  ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Doranei called.

  Isak gestured at all that was going on. ‘Everyone has orders but me.’

  ‘My lord—’

  The white-eye cut him off. ‘I’m not a lord, no longer even a soldier.’

  ‘Aye, well, I still thought you’d be with the rest of the Farlan.’ He pointed to the division of Palace Guard in the black and white of the Ghosts assembled on their right flank. Each man was in heavy armour, their horses in full barding. Isak was already picturing what would happen when they rode into that undefended mass of Ruhen’s followers.

  ‘Most likely I’ll spook the other horses,’ Isak said. ‘Turns out I’m just a danger to those around me.’

  ‘Hah, could’ve told you that for free,’ Doranei replied with a scowl. ‘Where’s the rest of your bodyguard? Carel can’t ride with the Ghosts, and Tiniq had a bad enough time riding back from Vanach; horses dislike his scent as much as they did Zhia’s – he’d be thrown before he reached the enemy.’

  Isak made a show of looking around at the ground nearby. ‘Seem to have lost them somewhere,’ he concluded.

  Doranei frowned. ‘Great, one of those days,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Man was bad enough before the sword scrambled his brains.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Isak said, slipping his hand around the Crystal Skull at his waist, ‘I’m here, with the rest of you. Might be I’m not enjoying being on a battlefield again, though. It brings up bad memories.’

  ‘Aye, well, we all got things we can’t afford to think about right now,’ Doranei growled. ‘You ain’t special in every way, so focus on your job, soldier.’

  ‘Good advice from a man who carries a reminder of his pain on his saddle.’

  Doranei’s face tightened. ‘That’s my business, I still know my duty. Stay where you are and stick with the reserve. General Lopir’s over there with Legana – probably Carel and Tiniq too, just giving you some space.’ He pointed to a group of horsemen a hundred yards off. ‘If we need you and your black sword, we’ll come and find you.’

  ‘If you need Termin Mystt,’ Isak suggested, ‘when you have wyverns, Crystal Skulls and Mortal-Aspects at your disposal, might be I’ll not need an invite.’

  Doranei gave him an angry look. ‘As you say. See you when the killing’s done.’ He didn’t wait for a response, but headed back the way he’d come.

  The main line had started their advance: two blocks of eight thousand spearmen apiece flanking the central bulwark of halberd-wielding Kingsguard. There was no manoeuvring such large units of men; they could only advance and attack whatever was in front of them. But with cavalry protecting their flanks, there would be no stopping them, either.

  Isak watched them go, and his keen ears detected the clatter of the first cavalry skirmish not long after. He turned to head towards General Lopir’s staff, but took only a step before something brought him up short: a sensation unlike any he’d felt before, skittering down his spine as though an icicle had rolled over it. His mouth fell open, about to speak, until he remembered he was alone, with not even Hulf at his side. He took a deep breath and straightened up, ignoring the familiar tug of his abused muscles, and cast his senses out across the Land.

  The tramp of boots echoed through his chest, the rush of wind in his lungs. Isak closed his eyes and felt a song ring out across the copse-studded plain and touch his mind with its silent, soaring cadence. Rising high through the clouded sky were crisp, lingering notes of beauty. His eyes jerked open unbidden as the sense grew stronger, keener, like the piercing cry of a hawk where once there had been only birdsong.

  ‘Something comes,’ he muttered to the empty ground around him. ‘The bastard’s wasted no time in us
ing it, not now Zhia’s secret is out.’

  The magic ringing through the air became more insistent and Isak heard a cry from Lopir’s group: Ardela was calling his name. He turned unsteadily and saw her waving him over.

  ‘Isak, what is it?’ Legana asked as soon as she was close enough to speak into his mind.

  Isak turned and looked up into the sky. The note peaked and began to fade almost immediately and he realised now it was just an echo, the ripple of vast magic done, but no threat in itself. What he feared was the results of such a thing.

  ‘Is it Ruhen? What has he done?’

  ‘What has he done?’ Isak said to the wind, ‘he’s used Aenaris for something – and so the Land slips further out of balance.’

  ‘Not even the shadow would wield it in battle, not now, with the Gods so weakened. To tear the heart of the Land out like that – it serves no purpose.’

  Isak scowled. ‘An immortal destroys carelessly,’ he said at last. ‘They can pick up the pieces of civilisation at their leisure.’

  They both knew how far Azaer was prepared to go. He invited slaughter to claim authority; he tore apart cities and fuelled the fires of fanaticism. They were right to assume the worst.

  He started for Emin’s command post, his senses open to the Land. Something was approaching, though still miles off.

  ‘You said he wouldn’t use it!’ King Emin shouted as soon as Isak was close enough. ‘You assured me this wouldn’t happen!’

  ‘We don’t know what’s happened,’ Isak replied as he reached them. ‘Ruhen isn’t with their army.’

  ‘Endine?’ Emin snapped, but the mage nodded in confirmation.

  He was looking even paler than normal. He pushed away Forrow’s supporting arm, only to sag again. ‘Ruhen’s still in Byora,’ Endine gasped. ‘That was miles away – it hit me so hard because I was scrying the plain.’

  ‘But it is Aenaris,’ the king said flatly. ‘And you look ready to collapse, not to work some great magic in response.’