The Twilight herald tr-2

by Tom Lloyd

  He levelled his sword at the main line of defenders, where three ranks were already formed up and set at an angle to deflect the onrush of the enemy into a bottleneck studded with spears. 'Keep the line and trust the men beside you and behind you. The only thing that'll keep us alive tonight is discipline.'

  The count forced a small laugh and gestured towards Isak. 'And if you don't believe in discipline, believe in the fact that Isak Stormcaller is standing here with you, and there's no daemon of the Dark Place that would dare cross him!'

  There was no time for anything more. With a great roar, the mob broke from the darkness, spilling left and right around black empty buildings into the faint light cast by the torches of the barricades, a thousand screaming figures rushing towards them. Isak felt the soldiers near him waver, then, grimly determined, face forward. He filled himself with raw energy from the Skulls, then jumped down from Toramin to stand with the infantry, his teardrop shield snug on his arm and sparks crackling furiously over his silver-clad body. It re¬assured him as much as those around him.

  The rush of power flowing through his body drove away the city's oppressive atmosphere. He stepped forward with a feeling of elation, his sword raised and ready, eager to disperse the ragged masses.

  Archers went into action, picking off the quickest. Sir Kelet, taking his job as one of Isak's personal guard deeply seriously, claimed his first three kills before anyone else had fired their first shaft. But the mad-dened hordes appeared oblivious to the flailing bodies and crushed them underfoot.

  There were not enough archers among Isak's troops to have any real effect, but the ranks were heartened to see the enemy take the first losses. The Devoted soldiers cheered and began to shout and bel¬low, working themselves up into a killing frenzy. Isak smiled inside his blank helm. That was what they would need, for this would be grim butchery soon enough. The screaming hordes were close now, barely thirty yards way, arms waving wildly, most clad in rags that could no longer be called clothes, charging on regardless of those who tripped and fell, to be stomped to death under their own comrades' feet.

  The skirmishers were next to join the fray, sending a sky-full of javelins from the ranks. The onrushing crowd was too tightly bunched for any of them to miss.

  The front ranks tensed and drew themselves up, bracing themselves for the impact. Buoyed by the wild, surging magic quivering inside his bones, Isak moved to the head of the bottleneck. Turn weakness to strength, he chanted to himself, the mantra of every successful general. His weakness was that he was a white-eye, vicious, and capable of brutality that would shock most normal men. Here it became a strength, a boost to the troops' morale. The enemy were unarmed and pitiful, but the beast inside him didn't care, it wanted only to kill. The chains of reason were gone.

  With a crash, the mob drove into the phalanx. The frontrunners found themselves impaled on lowered spear points, while others re¬bounded and collided with their fellow citizens. More fell, tripping on corpses or unable to keep upright as the angled shields shifted their direction right, towards Isak.

  The ranks of Devoted were backed onto a fat pillar three times the high of a man. It had a ledge running around it at shoulder height. As the mob hit the shields, Mariq, Isak's battle-mage, hopped up onto that ledge, a white ball of flame wrapped around his fist, screaming with furious delight.

  Isak took his cue and slashed forward with Eolis, letting the energy contained in the Skull fused onto the guard burst out and lash forwards into the onrushing figure. The burst of white flames tore the first man in half and continued on into the woman behind. Flickering tongues flashed out to those around her, blackening their skin and throwing them underneath those pushing up behind. The woman managed to keep upright somehow, but she was shrieking with pain as she was pushed forwards into the bottleneck by the reaching hands behind her. A spear jabbed out and tore through her neck. As she fell, a fine mist of blood hung in the air above her for a fraction of a second then dissipated, spattering those around her.

  With Vesna's words still ringing in his head, Isak kept himself in check, cutting down any within reach with brutal ease, but keeping his place in the line. Some wielded long knives or hatchets, but they couldn't get close enough to the line of soldiers to use them; swords or spears cut them down like wheal before a sickle.

  The fighting raged on relentlessly. As Isak took down yet another – he'd lost count within minutes – he looked around to see the whole phalanx had each impaled an enemy citizen; there was a moment of strange impasse as neither side could get past the standing wall of dead between them.

  Then that moment of hiatus fell apart as one soldier remembered his training and used his shield to bludgeon the dying man off his un-barbed spear. He ran through the next and battle was resumed.

  Aside from Mariq, who screamed curses and spells as he threw down ruinous fire to slow the press of bodies, the defenders were near-silent. After the initial attack, the men worked almost as one, like a methodical killing unit, beating forward with their shields, lunging at the next target, disengaging, beating forward again… countless hours of training drills paid off as they stood elbow to elbow in tight formation, ranks closed. Very few were yet injured; those few caught with lucky blows were quickly passed to the back and men from the second rank moved forward into any breach, leaving no gaps for the gibbering wretches to exploit.

  Again and again Isak felt sprays of blood patter over his armour, and the air was ripe with the stink of loosened bowels and exposed guts, but they couldn't stop to take stock for even a moment. It was just mindless, mechanical slaughter, but their lives depended on their ability to keep stabbing and slashing and smiting their attackers.

  'Press forward on my command,' Vesna bellowed suddenly from somewhere nearby.

  Isak felt the infantry tense once more. He felt a surge of pride in these men, strangers drawn from all over the Land to a place none of them cared about, yet they remained disciplined and focused, and when Vesna called 'forward!' they stepped out as one man.

  The mob reeled a little, surprised at the sudden movement, but there were still too many of them pushing onto the troops and the only real effect it had was to crowd those at the front even further. Vesna called again, and once more the infantry shoved forward, using their tall iron-bound shields to bludgeon their way through, while the second and third ranks of the line dipped their shoulders and added their weight to the movement.

  In the next few moments the front line of the mob, now too restricted by their fellows to do much beyond wail, shuddered as spears stabbed forward into their bellies, but as they crumpled, they were replaced by yet more keen fighters who were crushed against the shieldwall. Isak heard one soldier cry out as the pressure on him from front and back grew too much to bear, but as the man's voice broke the night air he seemed to find extra strength from somewhere and it became a roar of frustration, anger and pain. His comrades took up the call and a great howl ran down the line. In response Vesna demanded another foot of ground, then another, to drive the enemy to the ground where they could be slaughtered like the beasts they were.

  'Lord Isak!' cried a voice from somewhere behind him. Isak let the man behind him take his place, yelling wordless sounds of bloodlust and eagerly closing the gap. It gave Isak a moment of space in which to turn and look at the large shrine forty yards from Mariq's perch that marked the other end of their defensive line. The shrine had dozens of narrow archways, piled one on top of another in what had probably been a carefully devised pattern until the people of Scree had defaced it sometime recently.

  Perched on top of the shrine, oblivious (or uncaring) of the impiety to whichever God was worshipped there, was Shinir. She pointed to the ground behind the mob with the handle of her lash, then low¬ered it and with a savage flick wrapped the chain around the neck of a woman who'd been trying to scramble up the side of the shrine towards her. With a practised movement, Shinir tugged the lash away and the woman's entire body spasmed before falling limp. That done
, Shinir returned her attention to Isak, trying to direct his attention to something behind the mob.

  She shouted, 'Cavalry, sir, a good regiment of Farlan!'

  Isak grinned and raised his sword high. 'I knew Tori wouldn't die so easily!' he shouted back. The soldiers nearby gave a cheer and pushed forward with renewed vigour as the drum of hooves rose from behind the flailing scrum of crazed citizens.

  Isak forced his way to the front of the rank and waded out into the bewildered throng, which had at last recognised the danger. Using both shield and sword to kill anyone near him, Isak began to force his way through the hundreds still left alive. In his wake were the heavily armoured Ghosts of his personal guard, closely followed by the whole line of heavy infantry, driving a bloody path through the mob to the horsemen beyond.

  Isak felt a breeze that sent the shadows cavorting all around as the ground grew sticky with blood.

  CHAPTER 30

  Doranei froze and shrank down beside the splintered trunk of a cherry tree that had fallen into the street. Up ahead he could see Mikiss, the Menin vampire, had stopped and was turning his head from left to right as though searching for a scent. Theirs was the smallest group, with only a handful of the Brotherhood to accompany Zhia, and they were trying to keep as far as possible from their supernatural allies.

  The three remaining white-masked acolytes that Zhia had bought from the Jesters padded along nearby. She claimed they would remain completely loyal to her, even if she were fighting the Jesters them¬selves. Zhia's disparate army was completed by Haipar, Legana, the necromancer's servant Nai, and her own man, Panro, who carried a long canvas bag over one shoulder. Doranei guessed that the bag con¬tained a tent, a last resort should dawn catch them still in the open. Both Nai and Panro were armed with brutal steel-tipped clubs, which they had already had occasion to use on the journey here. Despite the fires that had destroyed large tracts of southern Scree, driving the mobs north, there were still packs holed up all over the city.

  Doranei thought the people they were encountering now were different to the mobs. They were still frenzied, but tonight he saw human emotions creeping back in. He recognised terror, because of a Land they no longer understood, a fear that was strong enough to drive them to terrible deeds. This horror had a human soul again, and that frightened Doranei more.

  He knew roughly where his comrades were, but they were out of sight now. King Emin was circling around behind their target, while the remaining King's Men had broken off to approach from the east.

  The banks of cloud above were obscuring the stars, sliding over the city like a coffin lid. He kept his eyes on Mikiss, who'd been told to lead the way. He wondered whether he had sensed a threat, or just some tasty morsel on the breeze. These days either was possible.

  A hand came from nowhere to touch him on the arm and Doranei flinched with shock, his sword rising of its own volition until the hand closed about his wrist and held it tight. He twisted to bring the axe in his left hand around, stopping dead when he saw Zhia's sapphire eyes glittering in the darkness.

  'Do calm down,' she said. 'Are you always this jumpy before battle?'

  'Yes,' Doranei hissed angrily. 'I'm following a maniac through a city of madmen, hunting down a mage with a Crystal Skull. I'm bloody terrified. I bleed a lot more easily than you do, remember?'

  Zhia was silent at first as she stared at him. 'I'm sorry,' she said eventually. 'It is easy for me to forget that life is a precious thing. What you fear is the one thing I crave.'

  Doranei felt a flush of shame as he saw the truth in Zhia's expres-sion, but he knew it wasn't pity she was hoping for. As she released his wrist, Doranei leaned his sword against the fallen tree trunk and took her cold fingers in his hand. 'I can't even imagine it, but I don't want to be the one who reminds you of that, not if it causes so much hurt.'

  She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 'For all of my little problems, there's still a part of me that remains human, and people need to be reminded of pain sometimes. Without it there cannot be joy.'

  Doranei instinctively checked his companions. They were similarly crouched a short way away, carefully watching for dangers in the other direction. 'Perhaps now is not the best time-'

  And when would be better?' Zhia asked sharply before her expres¬sion softened. Doranei realised how unused to letting her guard down Zhia was. And how could she live any other way?

  'We're safe enough at the moment, and once this is over it may be years before our paths cross again.'

  'I hope it will be sooner,' Doranei said quietly.

  'So do I, sweetness,' she replied with a soft laugh, patting the steel-covered back of his hand fondly, 'but such things are not always so simple.'

  'I know. Whatever my feelings, there's a war to fight here, and we may not always be on the same side.'

  And that I know only too well,' she said sadly. 'It is when sides are taken that the greatest hurt is done'

  She leaned closer to him and lifted his helm from his head, then kissed him with surprising force, her desire almost palpable. She held him tight for half a dozen heartbeats, one hand entwined in his hair to bring him hard against her, the other pressed against his chest, as though touching his heart.

  'That's why the present should always be savoured,' she whispered when their lips parted. 'Never forget to enjoy something special when it's in front of you.'

  Doranei nodded, unable to find the right words. As he looked at Zhia, he felt something on his lower lip. Raising a finger to it, he saw a single droplet of blood. His eyes widened.

  Zhia gave him a coquettish smile. 'Just a little reminder of me, and something for me to remember, too.' Before he could say anything, she added, 'Don't worry, sweetness; a scar will be the only gift you get from that.' She gestured. 'I think someone is getting impatient to be off.'

  Doranei saw Mikiss glaring at them. 'Are we sure we can trust him?' he asked.

  Zhia waved a hand dismissively. 'They're always a little excitable in the first few days. Mikiss will be close to his old self soon enough.' She pointed to his sword, still resting against the tree trunk. 'Come on, sweetness, we're not finished tonight yet.'

  They set off again as a brisker pace, moving as silently as possible, Mikiss still in the lead. The vampires were the only ones with their weapons still sheathed. Doranei had yet to see Zhia draw her long-handled sword. The only person who'd managed to slip past the acolytes to reach her had received a casual backhand slap for his trouble. Afterwards, when none of the attackers had been left stand¬ing, Doranei had knelt with his knife to finish the boy off. He guessed his age at fifteen summers, but it was hard to tell as he flailed weakly on the ground, the left side of his face smashed beyond recognition.

  The fires had raged unchecked, and Doranei could still feel heat stinging his exposed cheeks whenever the gusty air switched direction, which it did with treacherous frequency. King Emin had travelled in a wide circle to avoid still-blazing areas, and no doubt the ground he was moving over was as hot and cracked as the earth under Doranei's own boots. He didn't know how long it had been since the fires had hurned out here, but there were still puffs of smoke here and there, and the stones scattered all around were blistering to touch, as Sebe discovered. He'd shared a nervous grin with Doranei at that, wryly acknowledging that his foolishness had been observed.

  Sebe had kept his distance from Doranei since Zhia had joined them. Usually the two were to be found side by side; they'd grown up together, from the orphanage to the Brotherhood. They were brothers, in both senses. Now Sebe watched the lovers, trying to fathom exactly what was between them, and what it meant for the rest of the Brotherhood.

  Doranei wasn't worried; Sebe had instinctively moved into his lee at the last attack. They fought well as a pair, and whatever private thoughts Sebe had, they would be shared only with the king, and only if he asked.

  Not even Beyn would take action, not unless evidence was pro-duced, and Doranei knew he'd not be alive now if that had been the cas
e. Usually a corrupt or traitor Brother was left thinking himself safe, until the day Coran appeared behind them in some deserted street… at which point the king's justice would be done.

  Only llumene had expected that moment, and only llumene had survived. Doranei sighed. llumene, the son King Emin had never had. He had been friends with llumene from before he first became a true member of the Brotherhood. The man had been easy to like; almost from the outset it had been clear to all that he was first among equals, yet even the veterans had not begrudged llumene that. With his easy smile and sharp mind, llumene had quickly become the heartbeat of the Brotherhood, the one man untouched by the requirements of his job. Perhaps we should have thought harder about that. Doranei grimaced; those had been Sebe's words when llumene had betrayed them and gone on his killing spree, taking out the king's allies in Narkang.

  Charisma been replaced with contempt as llumene grew more and more resentful that he would only ever be a member of the Brotherhood. He'd never spoken it aloud, but there'd been no need: everyone knew he wanted the king to name him as his heir. He had refused to recognise that it was too late for such a thing. By the time the relationship between llumene and the king had collapsed, llumene had been twisted by his own anger. As king he would have been a despot; desperate to surpass his adopted father's successes and uncaring of the suffering others would have to endure to achieve it.

  A stone caught under his booi and he stumbled, earning reproachful looks from his companions for being so careless. The clatter had echoed as loud as a whip crack in the unnatural quiet of the empty street. Zhia gestured and they all stopped where they were.

  'Our goal is just down there,' she said to Doranei softly, pointing to some burning remains about a hundred yards away.

  'Are you certain?'

  'No doubt. If you had any magical ability at all your head would be buzzing with the energy around that place.'