The Ragged Man

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘I’m waiting.’

  Ilumene threw up his hands and called up to the sky above, ‘You made this one impatient, didn’t you?’ He cleared his throat noisily. ‘It’s the Skull of Song, Major Amber — don’t believe that’s been ticked off Lord Styrax’s list now, has it?’

  Amber ignored the question. ‘And what’s the price of this gift?’

  ‘It’s a gift, there’s no price,’ Ilumene said with a grin. ‘What sort o’ birthdays did you have? Now it might so happen we know the location of another, one you don’t, and for that, we might want your boss to make sure we get the leftovers once he’s finished his sweaty exertions. I reckon he’ll realise by that point we’ll both need allies, and it’d be a damn sight better than the alternative, namely Lord Larim getting his sticky little paws on them.’

  ‘And when will this gift be delivered?’

  Ilumene smiled and turned away. ‘All in good time, Major Amber,’ he called over his shoulder, heading back to the shade of the valley. ‘All in good time.’

  CHAPTER 32

  They arrived at Moorview early in the ghost hour, just after sundown. Tairen Moor was a place of vibrant colour in the summer months, with great swathes of purple heather and yellow gorse carpeting the distant hills. It was a far cry from where the forest reigned in Llehden, forty miles away on the north edge of the moor. The moor was a long, shallow slope that ran northeast from this point for sixty miles and southeast for longer, studded by small hills and outcrops of granite. Doranei had travelled this way many times, and he always saw Tairen Moor as a rampart, protecting a dozen small towns and villages clustered in the crook of the moor from distant Helrect. They avoided civilisation, all of them sensing the mounting tension in Isak as they headed towards battle. Though Mihn did his best, it would take more than songs and stories to ease the white-eye’s fractured mind, where the memories of Lord Styrax’s blows remained fresh.

  At the first picket Doranei showed his golden bee device and warned the soldiers not to interfere with those following him. The lieutenant got the message and ordered his men to clear the path leading up to the castle. They watched with curiosity as the small group passed. Doranei could almost taste the sense of apprehension in the air above the camp, like a storm building as the Menin marched closer. While the soldiers didn’t know who was being ushered through their lines to an audience with the king, Doranei was far from alone in feeling a prickle run down his neck as Isak Stormcaller once more walked amongst them.

  And just like Scree, Doranei realised, the brewing storm will be more ferocious as a result of his presence. He shook his head sadly and looked around the troops assembled: as large an army as King Emin had led in decades. There were twenty thousand men already, and that was expected to double at least before the Menin arrived.

  This is our last chance - our last stand. Perhaps ferocity is what we need, a storm so terrible no invader can overcome it.

  The witch of Llehden and Major Jachen led the way up the path towards Moorview Castle, the witch’s fierce stare enough to turn away curious eyes. Isak, Legana and Mihn followed, with the two soldiers, Marad and Ralen, bringing up the rear. Hulf walked beside Isak, padding along with heavy paws after an exhausting day chasing butterflies and other interlopers, and guarding his flock. Isak trudged on, unmindful of everything, his arms held tight around his body, as though cringing from the curious faces.

  Morghien had left them in the night, pushing on to reach the king as soon as possible. Doranei thought the strange wanderer had been missing something for a long while now, some inner fire that Doranei had grown used to seeing. The Brotherhood knew Morghien to be irascible and complaining, but he shared the same dark humour. Coran had told him the man had been changed by the sundering he’d performed to free King Emin of Death’s influence. But now, Doranei thought, something of Morghien’s spark had been restored - though he had raged and sworn with a playwright’s invention two days previously, the day Morghien had discovered Isak alive — or at least, not dead - some part of his former spirit and energy had returned. The man of many spirits might have his reservations, but before, he’d lacked the strength even to argue properly.

  It gives me a little hope, that the people we once were aren’t gone forever, Doranei thought. Let’s hope it works the same for the king. I doubt much of the news he’s received recently has been good.

  They walked through the lines of tents, a thousand faces looking up from their supper and wondering at the cloaked and hooded strangers in their midst. In addition to his long, tattered cloak, Isak wore a faded shawl the witch had given him to shade his eyes from the afternoon sun. It hid his face, but even with his awkward stoop Isak was large, even for a white-eye. Doranei heard whispers of ‘Raylin’ more than once as they made their way across newly dug ditches and defensive lines of stakes.

  Legana provoked as much interest as Isak, but while the white-eye shirked from the whispers, she rose to the occasion. Doranei had wondered how she would manage to keep up, with her inability to face the sun and her ungainly walk, but during the day she’d effectively blindfolded herself, and still matched the brisk pace he set without complaint.

  With the sunset, Legana had uncovered her head and eyes and, walking with the aid of her gnarled oak staff, she looked like a figure of legend come to join the battle. The copper seams of her dark hair shone bright, caught by the waning light, and her emerald eyes were never brighter.

  ‘Doranei,’ called a voice from the small bridge that crossed a deepset stream and Morghien stepped forward, Veil beside him.

  Doranei hurried over to embrace his Brother.

  ‘How goes it?’ he asked.

  Veil’s face darkened. ‘Not good. From what we hear, Aroth was destroyed entirely. Lord Styrax put the whole fucking city to the sword, and since then the Menin have done the same to every town they’ve come upon. They’re not interested in prisoners; they’re even chasing down refugees fleeing the fighting. He’s sent a message, as if he hadn’t already made the point: he’ll kill everyone who crosses his path unless the king surrenders - or faces him in battle.’

  ‘Best our mages can tell, Styrax has sent one force roving west, laying waste to every town and village they can find,’ Morghien added, his face reflecting Veil’s anger. ‘The other, larger, army is coming this way, looking for a fast run to Narkang. No doubt his scryers have found us by now; it’s a matter of weeks before they reach us.’

  ‘I take it you’re still not happy about facing them?’

  Morghien’s voice dropped to an urgent whisper. ‘I ain’t the only one — turns out bloody Larat himself warned the king not to face him in battle. Suggested he follow Aryn Bwr’s tactic, sapping the enemy’s strength in his retreat, using ambushes, rearguard actions, the lot.’

  ‘The last king lost that war,’ Doranei pointed out, ‘and I for one don’t intend to follow him all the way to the Dark Place. Besides, his intent’s clear enough even without the messenger. If we don’t face him somewhere, he’ll put the entire kingdom to the sword. It’s as much a warning to the Farlan as showing the king the price of retreat.’

  He watched as Legana approached, Isak behind her. The white-eye walked with his hand on Mihn’s shoulder, as he had for much of the journey. Hulf trotted alongside, warily watching the soldiers.

  ‘You think this is the answer?’ Morghien said quietly. ‘The mad mystic converted you while I was away?’

  ‘Enough of that,’ Doranei warned. ‘You start that again and Mihn’s going to make good his threats. It ain’t for us to decide these things, not even you. We leave that for the king.’

  Morghien made a disgusted sound as Legana had reached them. She stopped and looked at Veil for a moment. Her pale skin was almost luminous in the gloaming, and it made the shadowy handprint on her throat even more obvious. Doranei noticed Veil staring at the mark, looking as if the sight of Legana in the twilight was making him feel Azaer’s creeping presence.

  It’s not the first time he’s
seen her, though, Doranei reflected. I guess some of us are more used to the unnatural. He cleared his throat. ‘You’re to lead us to the king?’

  Veil ducked his head. ‘Aye, follow me.’

  He led them up the stepped slope towards Moorview Castle. It didn’t look much militarily - a smallish tower set against the southern side of a defensive perimeter wall - but inside there was a newer, highly fortified keep. It stood on a bald outcrop surrounded by thick forest, dominating the landscape. It was, in the eyes of the king and his Brotherhood, a fine place for a last stand. There was one proper road running through the forest to the castle, and a few animal paths used by those who could find them, but for the main it was impassable to large bodies of troops. They crossed a defensive ditch around what had been formal gardens until two legions of Kingsguard had camped on it, and laboured up the last hundred yards to the main gate.

  With Veil leading, they were admitted without challenge. The high walls concealed ground that was teeming with uniformed officers, their weapons and finery gleaming despite the advancing gloom. Veil headed for the keep, but before they reached it a black-armoured King’s Man came out, followed by the king’s bodyguard, Coran, and Veil had already moved to Isak’s side as he saw the last man stop in the open doorway.

  A slight hush descended upon the scene as the officers and soldiers on the wall all turned to watch as King Emin advanced from the shadows of the doorway, a curious, almost pained smile on his face.

  ‘So it is true,’ he said softly.

  The king was resplendent, although dressed for war - not in all-enclosing plate, but in something more akin to the heavy armour worn by the soldiers of the Kingsguard. His cuirass was green and gold, of such intricacy and artistry only a king would ever consider wearing it to battle. Doranei picked out the angular Elven runes woven into the design: there was magic imbued in the metal.

  His greaves were magnificently detailed, with knee-guards of bees in flight; Doranei’s sharp eyes noticed their gilded stings protruded slightly from the metal plate.

  ‘It is true,’ Mihn said, stepping forward when no one else spoke, ‘but it was not done without consequences.’

  The king nodded, looking haunted. ‘Aye, that I cannot doubt,’ he murmured. Abruptly he swept off his feathered hat and bowed low to them, but Doranei realised it was only when he looked at Legana that his welcoming smile reached his eyes.

  ‘That it was done at all is a miracle,’ the king continued, ‘and one I scarcely know how to begin asking about.’

  Mihn held up a hand to stop him. ‘Your Majesty, there will be time for questions another day, and I will answer them - yours is, ah, an inquiring mind, and naturally you will wish to know every details.’ He looked apologetic as he glanced briefly in Isak’s direction. ‘However, there are some memories best not unearthed.’

  Isak hadn’t looked up through the whole exchange, but when Mihn turned in his direction he seemed to sense it and he flinched. Hulf started at the unexpected movement and Isak knelt, running a hand down the dog’s back to sooth him. The sight of his abused flesh made more than one man gasp and Isak quickly withdrew his arm.

  King Emin gave Mihn a puzzled look, clearly not having expected Isak’s self-effacing bodyguard to be so assertive, but he was right; now was not the time. He walked forward and went down on one knee in front of Isak.

  Hulf immediately moved forward and placed himself between the two men. Though not yet fully grown, Hulf was no longer a puppy, and he was piling on muscle every day. His growl was threatening enough to make the King’s Men on either side edge forward. But the king ignored them and reached slowly forward with one hand for Hulf to take his scent.

  Isak remained very still while Hulf sniffed at the king’s fingers and quietened.

  Emin heard the white-eye’s breathing, shallow and uneven, but still Isak would not look up at him.

  ‘Do you remember me, my friend?’ he said softly.

  ‘We fought side by side,’ Isak whispered.

  At last he raised his head. Emin had to struggle to retain his composure as he finally saw the young white-eye’s face, not just the many gruesome scars, but the pain in his eyes.

  ‘We did,’ Emin agreed calmly, offering his hand to Isak and slowly standing. The white-eye didn’t take the hand, but he followed Emin’s movement. ‘It was an honour to do so,’ the king continued, looking up at Isak.

  Isak’s cheek twitched at the word ‘honour’ but he looked Emin in the eye all the same. ‘There is no honour in my shadow,’ he said sadly, ‘only daemons.’

  ‘We may need daemons soon enough, my friend. There is terrible work ahead of us. I pray you bring us the answers we need.’

  ‘Prayers,’ Isak agreed mysteriously, ‘I bring prayers - but it’s the prayers you hold that we need.’

  Emin frowned. ‘I’m not sure my prayers will be welcome — in fact, I’m quite certain they’re not.’

  ‘It’s the prayers you hold,’ Isak repeated.

  As he straightened a little, his unfastened cloak swung open to reveal the unmistakable hilt of Eolis, tucked through his belt, and a small leather bag, which Isak was holding.

  The shape of the bag made Emin hesitate, and almost unconsciously he touched a similarly shaped item hanging from his own belt. He gestured to the open door.

  ‘Come. We need to speak more, and in private.’

  Isak, Mihn, Coran, the witch and Legana followed Emin inside, but Doranei held back. Veil gave him a questioning look, but he ignored it and after a moment his Brother indicated the door be shut behind them.

  Doranei didn’t speak, but reached into a pouch and pulled out his leather cigar case. Veil produced an alchemist’s match and held it up. When the initial burst of black smoke had subsided, Doranei put the cigar to the flame and drew on it until it was alight.

  ‘The presence of great men,’ Doranei said at last, looking at the top of the keep. He’d stayed here once, as part of the king’s retinue.

  It was an unlovely construction, built by a local tyrant three hundred years previously, more for practical reasons than for architectural elegance. Once it was open to the elements; now it was partly roofed-over, and there were long banks of shutters on two sides of the square to allow light in.

  ‘Had enough of it at last?’ Veil said. There was no condemnation in his voice.

  Doranei still scowled, even as he agreed. ‘Never meant to get into it in the first place.’

  Veil chuckled. ‘Aye, the master-thieves in the Brotherhood always laughed at you for never looking where you put your feet. Sure you can keep out of things so easily?’

  Doranei watched the lamp-light in the highest room grow brighter. ‘I got to try.’

  The sight of Morghien recovering some of his old passion had sparked an ache in Doranei’s heart. I just want to do my job again, serve my king. All this ‘grand scheme of things’ is beyond me; I’m just a simple Brother. Can’t I leave it to someone else again?

  He sighed and puffed away at his cigar, the distraction greatly welcome.

  But how do I go back to a time before I called lords ‘friend’ and vampires something more? he wondered.

  Above the keep the clouds raced, indistinct, looming shapes in a darkening sky. The breeze freshened, carrying a scent too faint to recognise, and yet it put him in mind of the peppery smell of a summer storm . . . but left him uneasy, in the way the promise of rain didn’t.

  ‘What do you think he’s going to say?’ Veil asked after a long while.

  ‘I don’t even care,’ Doranei said sulkily. ‘They can tell me to kill, or to steal, for the good of the nation, and that’s my duty. They can’t make me want to get more involved.’

  ‘Could be worse,’ Veil said cheerily. ‘Cedei had to spend the day keeping General Daken busy and out of the way. I tell you, that bugger can sniff trouble out better’n a dog after a bitch on heat. The king’s kept this from him, as you might guess - last thing we need is two bloody white-eyes gettin’ under eac
h other’s skin.’ He plucked the cigar from Doranei’s unresisting hands.

  The pair stood together for a quarter-hour or more, sharing the cigar as Veil patiently stood guard and his friend, eyes half-closed, stared into the night sky. The sounds of the army camp had returned to normal: the clatter of cooking pots and bellowed orders overlaid by the clump of boots on dry, packed earth. They washed over Doranei without effect as he closed his mind to everything but the clouds overhead, losing himself in their swift, silent passage. He let the breeze sweep away the tangle of his thoughts, dissipating them like smoke.

  Then the door to the tower opened again and the Brothers saw Mihn staring fixedly at Doranei.

  Mihn had removed his cloak and pack. He wore his customary black linen trousers and tunic. The failed Harlequin was a short, slim man, especially compared with the men of Narkang, and that difference was highlighted by everyone around him wearing armour. It was somehow hard to believe how capable Mihn was - until you saw him moving with purpose, Doranei thought.

  ‘You want something?’ he said eventually.

  ‘You,’ Mihn said. ‘We have some questions for you.’

  Doranei felt his hand tighten. ‘Of course you do.’ He carefully handed the stub of his cigar to Veil and followed Mihn. ‘Don’t suppose I’d be lucky enough you’d be asking about swords and the like?’ he said dryly.

  Mihn hesitated and looked back at Doranei for a few moments. Then, his eyes twinkling in the darkness, he started up the stair again.

  ‘I am sure King Emin could phrase the question in terms of your sword, if that would help,’ he murmured.

  Doranei sighed.

  CHAPTER 33

  Doranei slept poorly in the humid night air. Words and faces danced on the edges of his consciousness, questions and memories colliding uncomfortably. Some part of him sensed the bedroll underneath him, and the pack he was using as a pillow, but at the same time he could feel the cool, clean sheets of Zhia’s bed in Byora.