The Dusk Watchman: Book Five of The Twilight Reign

by Lloyd, Tom

  ‘Simple: life ain’t that they cheer or weep you, it’s that they notice you passing and you had yourself a damn good time on the way! You lot sneak through the shadows, gathering power and money too, and most importantly, prolonging the inevitable, but you forget to spend all you’ve gathered. Power’s fun enough, but it ain’t nothing compared to an immoral woman in your bed and fine food in your belly. Where’s the use in your long life if it ain’t fun?’

  ‘So speaks a man who’s never held true power in his hand,’ Nai countered, slender spindles of light erupting from the fingers of his upturned hand. ‘You’ve never tasted that fire on your tongue, never learned the secrets of the Land while magic echoes through your bones.’

  ‘Pah, fire on the tongue? Prefer the taste o’ some girl’s sweat misself. Once this is all over, I’ll introduce you to some ladies I know – they’ll show you there’s something better than magic t’ have echo through your bones.’

  ‘I’ll take that offer,’ Amber joined, his words hesitant and awkward. ‘Got to be better than the aches I’ve got right now.’ There were dark rings of fatigue around his eyes, rings that had been there for many days now.

  ‘Be a pleasure, General,’ Daken said, smiling. ‘The girls like a man with scars too, which makes it easier.’ He nodded towards Nai. ‘And this one’s funny-looking – best there’s more’n just my beauty t’ distract ’em from his weird feet.’ He heaved his saddle up onto his horse’s back and secured it, slid his long-axe into a hook, offered Amber a sloppy salute and mounted.

  ‘Time to go greet my king,’ he announced. ‘He’ll probably need my help with the diplomacy t’ come. Messages for him?’

  Amber stared at the white-eye for a long while, long enough for Nai to be about to reach out and touch the Menin on the arm when he finally spoke. ‘Messages? No, I have none.’

  ‘So just your humble greetings and request for further orders? Or shall I just ask what took ’em so long?’

  ‘Ask what you like,’ Amber said, at last seeming to focus on Daken and stand a little straighter. ‘He is my ally, not my king. My price was that he got my troops through Chetse land and supplies on the other side. How he does that is his concern.’

  ‘Aye, guess it is.’ Daken leaned forward on his saddle, noting the eyes of Amber’s bodyguard as they all fixed upon him. Behind their curling beards and steel helms he could see little, but the white-eye appeared to find enough to confirm what he was thinking.

  ‘It’s what happens on the other side I’m more interested in,’ Daken said lazily. ‘So may be time you asked your men which way they want to march.’

  ‘My men are Menin,’ Amber said, ‘and they follow their commander – or they kill him. There is no asking.’

  ‘Aye, well, ask yourself then: there’s a fight coming, either in Chetse lands or out the other side. If it’s the one, you’ll be with us, but the Devoted have a start on us, so I’m guessing it’ll be the other and then—’ He jerked his reins and wheeled around. ‘Well, ask yourself, is all I’m saying. You here for glory or safe passage?’

  ‘You don’t think we’ve earned both?’

  Daken grinned. ‘Anyone who walks away from the fight to come, they ain’t likely t’ be remembered. The rest of us’ll be so shining with glory Tsatach hisself won’t need to lift his eye over the horizon for years to come!’

  ‘Or you’ll be dead,’ Amber called, ‘dead, forgotten and cursed for all eternity.’

  The white-eye laughed and pulled up his shirt, revealing the tattoo of Litania covering much of his chest. The tattoo there was still, the Trickster Goddess still weak, as all her kin were, but Daken’s point was made.

  ‘Nah, must have a few favours saved up – I’ve done some dirty work for this immoral bitch over the years. The rest o’ you bas tards might be fucked though, aye!’

  Two days later the Narkang army arrived at the Chetse border. King Emin rode with General Lahk and Vesna ahead of a legion of Kingsguard heavy cavalry, each in full armour. Emin and Vesna were resplendent in their ornate plate; Lahk, in his usual austere battle-dress, Lord Bahl’s black-and-white tabard, was as famous a sight as the extravagant lion’s head helm hanging from Vesna’s saddle. King Emin’s armour echoed that of the Kingsguard, but was suitably finer in every aspect, surpassing even Vesna’s for artistry; mage-engraved runes incorporated into a design of bees and oak leaves.

  Behind them, nestled within a screen of Kingsguard, rode the less prepossessing: Isak in his tattered leathers, Legana with a shawl covering her face from the weak sun and Daken in plain armour and a stained green scarf. Carel’s cream uniform was emblazoned with Isak’s crowned dragon crest, but weeks of travelling meant it was far from pristine.

  ‘King Emin,’ called the ageing Chetse at the head of the receiv ing delegation, ‘I am General Dev. I command the armies of the Chetse until a new Lord of the Chetse is Chosen.’

  Dev’s thick arms were uncovered despite the cool air and steady drizzle, and gold and copper torcs framed the ritual scars on his biceps. He wore a warrior’s kilt, but carried no weapon. He stepped forward to bow low. Those behind him followed suit. Their clothing indicated they were ruling landowners and the remaining Tachrenn of the Ten Thousand, but they held back to make it clear the general spoke for all of them.

  The Chetse borders were aggressively defended; their slow-burning war with the Siblis ensured that every man grew up a warrior and any Chetse would feel naked when unarmed. Emin knew it was a deliberate gesture of friendship, that Dev had met them without his axe in hand.

  ‘General Dev,’ King Emin replied in surprisingly good Chetse, ‘your reputation precedes you. I am glad to finally meet you.’

  ‘Yet you do so with an army at your back,’ Dev pointed out. ‘Not an auspicious start, would you say?’

  King Emin inclined his head and dismounted, Lahk and Vesna doing likewise. ‘It remains my hope that I can prove Narkang’s friendship to your tribe,’ he said as he advanced a little way on foot, ‘if you would agree to hear my offer?’

  ‘I’m a soldier, not a politician. Friendship is something that is earned, not bought with gifts.’

  ‘A soldier’s friendship perhaps,’ King Emin replied, unruffled by Dev’s gruff words, ‘but a nation is a different beast. The business of a nation is improving the lot of its people, and the gifts I intend are to the Chetse tribe as a whole.’

  ‘It isn’t my tribe you need to persuade, it’s me,’ Dev said.

  Emin nodded. ‘And if your reputation were that of a greedy man, I’m sure your friendship would be far more cheaply bought.’

  Some of the Chetse gave an angry start at that, and more than one hand tightened around an axe-shaft until General Dev raised a hand without looking back.

  ‘I might not be greedy, but the Menin left our armies badly depleted and our capital city in turmoil. The expense of invasion is considerable.’ He ran a hand through his thinning grey hair and spent a while regarding the Narkang force stretching out for miles behind King Emin, no doubt looking for the Menin.

  ‘I’m not here to fleece you,’ Dev continued at last. ‘Well, not entirely. You want to take an army through Chetse lands, almost past the Gate of Three Suns itself, and you’ll pay, and you know that – so not a surprise to you, that one.’

  He sighed. ‘But that’s not the problem. Money and concessions don’t buy off the blood oaths many under my command have sworn.’

  ‘The Menin,’ Emin stated gravely. ‘Is your hatred really so great that it defies reason?’

  General Dev gaped at him. ‘You of all men can ask that? They obliterated Aroth! They slaughtered most of the population, civilians and soldiers alike, all wiped out without mercy. How can you ally your people with such monsters?’

  King Emin turned back towards his troops and looked at the faces of his soldiers before replying to the general’s question. ‘How? Because I must. Do you think it was easy? Do you think my people are sheep, to be led unthinking whatever I decide? This
war must be fought, and I am outnumbered. My choice was to kill them all and accept grave losses, or bring them to the fold and use their strength for something greater. You are a reluctant ruler of your people, but a king must make such choices.’

  ‘Why is this war so important to you?’

  ‘Because the child Ruhen will overturn the Pantheon of the Gods if we do not stop him. Because all of the Gods are threatened by his actions – your own patron included.’

  ‘Tsatach?’ General Dev said with sudden venom. ‘Then why does our God not warn us, or act? Do you claim greater knowledge than the Gods, or is he so weakened he cannot even find the dreams of his chosen people, his priests? Or does he not care? Are all the promises of the cults so empty our God himself will not stir to warn us?’

  Emin looked into the ageing warrior’s eyes and saw the terrible strain Dev was under, and his heart softened at the sight. Here was a man struggling to hold his people together, alone, and no doubt challenged at every turn. The priests would prove little use, that powerful élite more of a hindrance than anything.

  Have you prayed – is that the source of your anger? Does your God not answer you – now in your time of need, are you abandoned?

  ‘The Gods do not fully comprehend the threat,’ Emin started to explain. ‘Right now they are at their weakest; they fear any confrontation where artefacts powerful enough to kill them are used.’

  ‘So you do claim you know more than our God.’ There was contempt in Dev’s voice there, but it was weak; his heart was not in the scorn, Emin could see that. His political skill told him the Chetse leader was hoping for some way out, some ray of light, or sign from a power greater than himself.

  ‘The Gods know,’ he said softly, ‘but it is in the hands of mortals now.’

  His words struck Dev like a punch to the gut. ‘What can mortals do where Gods dare not?’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘We—’ For a moment Emin’s words failed him, then he said, ‘We can match this threat. My allies are more than just Menin, and upon them I gamble the future of my nation. The future of the Land itself lies in our hands, and now we have the strength to win this war.’

  ‘The Devoted army is greater than yours,’ Dev warned. ‘They outnumber you comfortably.’

  ‘But they have only numbers on their side. We have Gods, and others besides. The Legion of the Damned march with the Menin; Karkarn’s Iron General and Fate’s Mortal-Aspect sit but a few yards from you, and then – and then there is another stronger than any of them.

  ‘General Dev, I urge you: allow us passage, our Menin allies too. I have given them assurances; they have fought and died for my cause. I would make the Chetse Narkang’s greatest allies in trade rather than make threats, but I cannot stand aside, and I cannot allow the enemy to escape.’

  The general’s shoulders slumped. ‘My people will not accept it,’ he said, almost apologetic now. ‘Our honour demands blood.’

  King Emin turned again, this time seeking out two sets of eyes among the crowd. They were simple enough to pick out; even hunched over, Isak was far taller than those around him, while Legana’s eyes shone in the shadow of her shawl. The white-eye slipped from his saddle and made his way forward, his cropped sleeves revealing the black and white skin of his arms.

  The king’s guards opened a path before them.

  ‘General Dev,’ Isak said with a bob of the head, his Chetse rough, learned during his days on the wagon train, ‘my name is Isak.’

  Already staring aghast at the mass of scars and unnatural lines visible on the white-eye’s hands, face and neck, Dev staggered back a step when he heard Isak’s name. His own men breathed curses or gasped in alarm, many making warding signs against daemons, but Isak did not react, not even when the boldest pulled their weapons. He stared into the old man’s eyes, watch ing the shock play out.

  ‘But you— It cannot—’ Dev glanced back at his own men and realised some were on the point of attacking. With a feeble gesture he stopped them, wonder and horror blossoming all over again when he turned back to Isak. ‘How is this possible?’

  ‘Not easily,’ King Emin suggested before Isak could reply, ‘but perhaps it goes some way to showing the power we possess?’

  As he spoke Isak raised his right hand and a burst of black light exploded from it. General Dev and King Emin both recoiled from the sudden flare of darkness that had struck with painful speed; when they opened their eyes again Isak’s fingers were wrapped around the grip of Termin Mystt. In the light of day its deep, unnatural blackness absorbed the sun’s rays so completely it looked like a tear in the fabric of the Land.

  ‘I hold Death’s weapon in my hand,’ Isak announced to all those watching. ‘The Dark Place could not hold me; the Menin lord could not stop me. Do you want me as your enemy?’

  ‘General Dev,’ Emin interjected hurriedly, ‘my army outnumbers any you could field, I am certain; we possess many Crystal Skulls and Death’s own weapon. You must see reason.’

  ‘I’ve told you,’ Dev said with a helpless gesture, ‘my people have sworn blood oaths! The honour of the tribe demands blood be spilled, forcing trade agreements on us as alternative to unleashing Ghenna upon us does not satisfy honour.’

  – You want blood? Legana wrote on her slate in Chetse, holding it up for Emin and Dev to see while she spoke the words into Isak’s mind.

  ‘My people will have blood; they will fight the Menin, no matter what threats you make.’

  Legana looked from the general to King Emin and back. ‘You men and your honour – look what it does to you,’ she said into the minds of Isak and Emin. She used her sleeve to erase the first message and quickly wrote a second.

  – A duel. Amber against a Chetse. You will have blood.

  ‘A duel of champions?’ Emin echoed, thoughts racing. ‘A formal resolution to satisfy your honour? Even your more bloodthirsty warriors must realise the Chetse can ill-afford the huge loss and battle would mean, General Dev. This practice is ancient; the Gods themselves endorsed it before the Great War.’

  ‘This is some sort of trick,’ Dev muttered. ‘You planned all of this.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Isak said with a crooked grin. ‘I only planned threats.’

  ‘This is no trick, General Dev,’ Emin said, shooting Isak a warning look, ‘but it might serve your purposes. You do not want to fight, I assume? Might your people accept such a thing? The terms would be simple enough – if your champion wins, our Menin allies turn back and we go on without them. If their champion wins, we are all granted passage. The trade terms I’m prepared to offer would not be contingent on either outcome, but the formal contract would serve to satisfy the dignity of your tribe?

  ‘The Chetse consider combat a noble trial, do you not? One that rests in the skill of the warriors and the will of their Gods? General Amber is a skilled fighter for certain, but he is no mage nor white-eye, just a veteran soldier. Surely you have a man to match him, so we can put it to the will of the Gods?’

  General Dev was silent a long while, scrutinising the faces of all three but gleaning little from a Goddess, politician and mangled white-eye.

  ‘Perhaps,’ he admitted at last. ‘I must speak to my people to see if they will honour any such outcome.’

  He bowed and turned away, walking back to his advisers with heavy footsteps. From somewhere high above came the mocking caw of a crow.

  Amber marched out to the battle-ground as soon as dawn came. A circle was marked in the earth between the Narkang army and the far smaller Chetse force, twenty yards in diameter. Spears had been thrust into the ground at regular points around the furrowed circle and already there were soldiers standing at them, keen to get a good view of the duel to come.

  ‘General Amber,’ King Emin called from his right.

  The Menin soldier stopped and turned to face his ally. ‘King Emin.’ He stood tall, not bowing – and realising he didn’t even feel the urge to bow. Strange. In— In my lord’s presence I always felt unworthy, blesse
d to be there. Now I feel nothing. The whole sham of formalities sickens me.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to this,’ the king continued. ‘This is not what I wanted, but I thank you for the risk you’re taking for my cause.’

  ‘For your cause?’ Amber said. ‘You think that’s why I’m doing it?’

  King Emin inclined his head. ‘I think you are serving your army and honouring the agreement we have made. Your motives are your own; my gratitude remains.’

  Amber looked up at the sky where thick bands of cloud reached up from the eastern horizon. ‘Hope it doesn’t rain. I hate fighting in the wet.’

  ‘Kill ’im quickly then!’ Daken suggested with a laugh, trotting over to join the two men. He had a mug of beer in his hand and offered it to Amber, who shook his head. ‘No? Might be your last chance – I hear they’ve got a big bastard for you!’

  Amber looked at the Chetse soldiers. They were all broad men, with wild sandy-brown hair; their barrel chests and thick arms made it clear how easily they could swing the long-axes each man had on his back.

  ‘Big, eh? Well that’s not much of a surprise.’

  ‘Aye, could be right there. Either way, the odds on you were lengthening all bloody night.’

  ‘You’re running a book?’ King Emin demanded. ‘We’re supposed to be maintaining the dignity of the situation – preserving the honour of the Chetse and the nobility of this ancient practice.’

  Daken grinned. ‘Never been one for honour, didn’t you know? And this nobility thing’s harder than I realised – you might have made me a marshal of some place I’ve not managed to visit yet, but nobility? That escapes me.’ He raised a finger. ‘Soldiers, though, I get them well enough. Gossipy, money grabbing bastards, no matter what tribe they come from, and bugger me, do they like to gamble. So yeah, I’ve been running a book. I spent half the night in the Chetse camp, gauging their mood, finding out who their champion’s likely to be . . . There’s a whole mixed bag of feelings about this and our hero Amber here, but when you’re offering brandy and good odds you get to make friends quick in an army camp.’