The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection

by Tom Lloyd

  Doranei stopped him. ‘Cetarn,’ he said, ‘Shile Cetarn, Narkang’s greatest mage: you want someone to thank in your prayers, he’s the one. Him and Coran, they both sacrificed themselves.’

  ‘The king’s bodyguard?’

  ‘Aye, him, the one and only, stubborn, stupid, vicious white-eye motherless shit that he was.’ Doranei felt his lips tremble, but suddenly he couldn’t stop talking. ‘A man with no friends and lots of enemies, who liked his whores bloodied and bruised and never had a good word for any living man. The sort o’ fearless bastard you wanted at your side when it got down to the bone, one who never backed down from a fight in his life and enjoyed pain more than any fucker I ever met.’

  He took a long, shuddering breath and glanced back at the mound of earth where Cetarn had died. The earth was scorched and ripped open by the terrible magic unleashed there, the fury of an earthquake visited upon that small scrap of moorland.

  ‘And Cetarn was the best of men; ’cept for his size he had nothing in common with Coran before this. But neither one hesitated, or took a step back when the time came – they marched into Death’s bony arms, glad they were doing their duty and never a backwards glance from either of them.’

  Doranei turned his back on the soldiers’ stunned silence and looked at the killing ground between the fort and the mound. There too the grass was scorched black, the earth furrowed and seamed with white as though burnt to ashes. Crows and ravens hopped across the brutalised ground, their calls cruel and callous to Doranei’s ears. The faint smell of smoke carried on the wind and for a moment he felt his soul tug free to drift on the breeze with the voices of the dead and carrion birds.

  There were still many hundreds of bodies there on the killing ground, still lying where they had fallen. Not all could be identified, not even from one side or another, but there were enough green and gold Kingsguard uniforms to show Doranei where Coran had likely fallen. He hadn’t seen the body himself, but someone had said it bore terrible injuries – more than would be needed to kill a normal human or most white-eyes.

  Stubborn even to death¸ Doranei thought before muttering a prayer to the dead. I’ve no doubt you were a bastard to kill – you’d have had it no other way.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw a group of people heading his way and his heart sank. Isak and Vesna, with Mihn in close attendance. The broken white-eye was entirely hidden by a long patchwork cloak, as though trying to hide his identity, but it was hard to mistake a shuffling seven-foot monster of a man, no matter how stooped he now was. The harsh voice of a crow swooping above them made Isak look up and follow its movement with wary intensity.

  By contrast Vesna, the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn, looked pristine and regal. His title had been taken from him; Vesna was no longer a nobleman of the Farlan but had been dubbed Iron General by the God of War. Unlike Isak he still looked the part: his clothes were spotless, his hair neat and oiled, even the strange armoured arm Vesna now sported was clean and undamaged.

  Doranei sheathed his sword and turned to wait for them as the soldiers fled. He couldn’t blame them for being unwilling to loiter when Karkarn’s own approached them across a battlefield. Isak’s identity remained a secret. Even if his death hadn’t been widely reported, the horrific mass of scars on his face and body rendered him unrecognisable to anyone who might have known him.

  The King’s Man nodded as the group of Farlan reached him, not caring to do more even if they still expected it after giving up their noble titles. Seeing them here and now, he realised it meant as little to both men as it did to him. ‘Didn’t get a chance to thank you yesterday,’ he said to Vesna.

  The handsome Farlan looked startled at the idea. ‘Because we charged the Menin?’

  ‘Aye, well, some of us appreciated it.’

  Vesna’s face darkened. ‘Not too many left to do so, by the time we got there. Not sure even our final stand in Scree compared to what I saw there. How many of you survived? Maybe a hundred all told, around the king?’

  ‘Easy to look heroic when there’s nowhere to run,’ Doranei said awkwardly.

  ‘No,’ Isak interrupted, ‘it would have been easy to give up – none of you did that.’

  Doranei scowled at the furrowed ground at his feet. ‘Yeah, well, sure I’ll find a knighthood in my morning porridge. What’re you doing out here?’

  ‘Walking.’

  Doranei cocked his head and looked inside the drooping hood Isak wore. The dead man’s face was twisted strangely, but whether he was trying to make a joke Doranei couldn’t tell. Isak’s expressions were forever ambiguous now: the daemons of Ghenna had seen to that.

  But there was something different about the young white-eye. Though permanently stooped, thanks to the abuse he’d received in Ghenna, Isak definitely stood a fraction taller today; it made Doranei think a weight had been lifted from those scarred shoulders. He had been born to be the Menin lord’s adversary, in more forms than one, so Isak could truly feel his purpose in life had been fulfilled.

  ‘Just out for a walk? Picked a funny spot for it.’

  ‘As have you. Maybe we’re doing the same thing, though: remembering the dead.’

  ‘Lost many friends yesterday, did you?’

  Isak’s head bowed for a moment, then tilted towards Vesna. ‘Some. Others I just heard about.’

  Doranei hesitated. Just before he’d crashed out yesterday, someone had mentioned an assassination attempt on Vesna, one that had left Lady Tila dead – on her wedding day. It hadn’t surprised him at the time, not after the horrors he’d just witnessed, but now it seemed sick and unreal – that beautiful young woman no different to the brutalised corpses all around him. He shook his head as if to clear the image from his thoughts.

  ‘What now for you?’ he asked.

  ‘Now? Now we’ve a war to win.’ Vesna’s black-iron fingers flexed disconcertingly. ‘The worst may be yet to come.’

  ‘You make it sound like all this was nothing!’

  Mihn stepped around Isak and placed a hand on Doranei’s shoulder. ‘This was far from nothing, my friend. The man created by the Gods to defeat Aryn Bwr was beaten, and that in itself will be remembered as one of the great feats in history. But your war was not always with the Menin lord.’

  ‘Azaer,’ Doranei said, finally getting it. ‘Do you have a plan?’

  Mihn gave an apologetic little smile. ‘Nothing quite so simple, I’m afraid, but there is much work to be done.’

  ‘Where do we start?’

  ‘The king wants you to interrogate the Byoran prisoners – there are men of the Ruby Tower Guard claiming they have information for the king, if he is the one who sent men to assault the tower.’

  ‘I better get to it then. There aren’t many of the Brotherhood left who know what questions to ask.’

  Mihn stopped him as he turned to leave. ‘Afterwards, come and find us at the Ghosts’ camp,’ he said, pointing to where the Farlan tents stood in neat blocks. ‘We have something else you might be interested in, you and all your Brothers. If you would gather them and anyone else you consider bound to the Brotherhood?’

  ‘Why?’

  The small man glanced back at Isak. ‘I do not want to promise too much in advance, but there is a common saying: “a burden shared is a burden halved”.’ He scratched at his chest where the witch of Llehden had burned the heart rune into his flesh. ‘I am hoping the same does not go for gifts.’

  There were three of them, two captains and a major, filthy and bedraggled in their torn uniforms. Buttons and braiding had been ripped away, most likely removed when they were disarmed, and they’d been relieved of any money they might have had. One of the captains was in a bad way, his right arm as poorly splinted as the gash in his shoulder was stitched.

  Only one looked up when Doranei approached, but it was enough for him to see the misery of a cowed dog.

  Ignoring the Ruby Tower Guardsmen surrounding him, Doranei advanced on the officers and squatted beside them. There wer
e two Brothers behind him, Cedei and Firrin; neither were close enough to save him if the mob went for him, but they all knew the remaining regiments would be butchered if they did any such thing.

  ‘The Menin’s dead,’ he started in a quiet voice.. ‘You came here as allies of his, against your will, I’m sure.’

  The battered captain nodded briefly, and returned his gaze to the ground.

  ‘So we don’t care much about you right now – no one wants the effort of imprisoning or slaughtering you all – but you’re soldiers and you know how easily that can turn. You all killed a lot of our countrymen getting here.’ He waited a few moments to give them time to think about that, then continued, ‘So this is me asking nicely so I don’t have to bother showing you how nasty I can get: tell me everything you know about Sergeant Kayel and the child, Ruhen.’

  The captain’s fear fell away for a moment. ‘That scar-handed bastard? Gladly – the kid too. There’ somethin’ unnatural about the pair of ’em; the duchess is my liege, but when that Ruhen’s around she ain’t all there.’

  Without warning a soldier leaped from the huddled mass, a short knife in his hand. For a moment Doranei didn’t react to the sudden movement, his exhausted body failing him, then he saw the knife-tip pass him by and something went click in his head as he saw the man reaching for the captain. Doranei launched into the slimmer man and knocked him sideways, then scrabbled to get his fingers around the man’s wrist. They crashed together into the injured captain, who cried out as they flattened him.

  The Byoran twisted underneath Doranei, trying to kick him off, but the King’s Man hooked one leg under him and let his greater size do the work for him. Once he had a good grip on the man’s wrist he pushed forward, lying nose-to-nose on top of the attacker while stretching his arm up away from his body. The Byoran wrenched around and managed to turn onto his front, trying to bite Doranei’s arm until he smashed an elbow into the back of his head.

  The blow seemed to drive the frenzy from the Byoran and gave Doranei time to bend his knife-hand back behind his shoulder. A quick twist and the man’s fingers opened, releasing the knife with a yelp that turned into an agonised howl as Doranei increased the pressure and felt the man’s shoulder pop out of its socket. That done, he pushed himself upright again, leaving the wailing man on the ground as he drew his black broadsword.

  ‘Anyone else fancy being a martyr to a false god?’ he demanded, raising the sword. His ragged voice was thick with hatred and the crowd of soldiers shrank further back, some falling over each other to get away. He saw the fight was gone out of them. Not even the brutal treatment of one of their own could make them raise a hand against him. Doranei turned and found Firrin right behind him, sword drawn, with Cedei two paces behind.

  ‘Take this one – I’m sure the king’ll be interested to meet a fanatic,’ he said, giving the prone Byoran soldier a nudge in the ribs. As Firrin hauled the man up Doranei saw the fear in the captain’s eyes. He realised the man was watching his own men, expecting another attack to follow as soon as he was left alone. ‘You’re coming with me,’ he announced, and grabbed the man’s arm, pulling him away until they were clear of the mob. There he released the Byoran officer and gestured for him to keep walking with him as he sheathed his sword again.

  ‘There’ll be more of them, waiting for me,’ the officer whimpered.

  ‘Don’t you worry about that. Tell me the truth and if it checks against our intelligence, you won’t be going back to them – not until we win this war.’

  ‘What? But—? I’d look like a traitor, selling out the whole Circle City!’

  ‘Bit late now,’ Doranei said, grabbing the man by the arm and stopping him short. ‘Your only other choice is me beating the fuck out of you ’til you tell me what I want to know. Don’t be surprised if I kill you, I ain’t in the best o’ moods and I can always ask the same of your major afterwards.’

  The Byoran’s head drooped. ‘What is it you want to know?’

  ‘Like I said: Kayel and the child – how do they act, how do they speak, how old is the child now. And how did you mean “ain’t all there”?’

  ‘That’s it?’

  Doranei laughed. ‘We just battered the best of your army and the Circle City ain’t got many special defences to speak of – got any secrets our spies don’t already know?’

  The Byoran just looked blank at that and Doranei started walking again. ‘Exactly. Either you’re a better liar than I am, or you don’t know anything else of use. So tell me about Kayel.’

  ‘I don’t understand him myself,’ the Byoran said with a miserable shake of the head. ‘He’s mad, vicious to the bone, that one—’

  ‘I’ve met the bastard; tell me something I don’t know.’

  ‘Well that’s just it,’ he captain insisted, ‘it doesn’t make sense – Kayel’s not one to take orders; he’s not one to take shit or even leave alone anyone who looks at him in a way he doesn’t like. But he follows that weird brat’s every word like he really is the saviour they’re saying.’

  Doranei stopped short. ‘Kayel’s taking his orders? You mean he’s taking the duchess’ orders when Ruhen’s near her?’

  ‘No, not just then; it’s whether or not the duchess is around. That’s what has half the quarter persuaded Ruhen’s everything those white-cloaks, Ruhen’s Children, claim he is. He’s growing faster than any normal child, could only be by magic, but Kayel don’t look ensorcelled. That man’d rather cut out his own eyes than think any man’s his better, but he jumps when that shadow-eyed bastard says, just as quick as any of the rest of us.’

  Doranei gave a cough of surprise which turned into a painful wheeze as the aching muscles in his back reminded him of their presence. ‘“Shadow-eyed”?’

  ‘Aye, that child’s got shadows in his eyes, drifting like clouds on the breeze.’ The Byoran shivered at the memory.

  ‘Shadows in his eyes,’ Doranei whispered hoarsely, ‘and Ilumene’s his errand-boy. Fires of Ghenna, the boy’s no instrument—’

  ‘Nope,’ the Byoran agreed, puzzled by the name he didn’t know but eager to be helpful, ‘the little bastard’s in charge sure enough, and by now I’d guess half the Circle City’s willing to accept him as their saviour.’

  Doranei had started running blindly until his brain caught up with him and he tried to work out where King Emin would be at this hour. The Byoran captain followed him like a lost puppy until they came upon a nobleman, who wisely decided not to object when Doranei left the Byoran in his charge. He directed the King’s Man to where he’d seen the king’s party last. Unnoticed by Doranei, more than a few Narkang soldiers had grabbed weapons in his wake, looking in vain for the danger as they followed him, but he jolted to a stop as he passed another Brother, the thief Tremal.

  ‘The king, you seen him?’

  Tremal nodded, his mouth full of the honey-cake he’d procured from somewhere. ‘Heading to the Farlan camp with most o’ the remaining Brotherhood – I just been sent to round up the last few.’

  Doranei had to walk to the Farlan camp. It was on the other side of the battlefield, half a mile away and beyond the long defensive ditch now half-filled with corpses. Long before he got there his body was protesting violently. Tremal and the remaining two members of the Brotherhood caught up, but none of them bothered with questions; they recognised Doranei’s expression well enough.

  At the Farlan camp it was easy to find King Emin amidst the duller liveries of the Tirah Palace Guard and Suzerain Torl’s Dark Monks. Doranei was so focused on the king that he almost barged the suzerain out of the way, checking himself just in time as he glimpsed a hurscal’s sword leaving its scabbard. The white-haired Farlan was one of a crowd around a large fire and as he made space for Doranei to pass, the King’s Man realised they were all watching a small group sitting inside the circle.

  The figure closest was Isak Stormcaller; still clad in his tattered cloak. The white-eye was looking into the flames, paying no regard to those around him
. The heat would have been uncomfortable, save, perhaps, for those who’d felt the flames of Ghenna. Close behind him, the Witch of Llehden had one hand tight on the cord around the neck of Hulf, Isak’s dog. She was staring at Mihn and the Mortal-Aspect Legana. The witch noted his presence with a flicker of the eyes, but clearly she wouldn’t be distracted from whatever she was watching between Legana and Mihn.

  He didn’t even bother trying to work out what she was seeing around those two; they could have been wearing Harlequin’s masks for all he could make out in their faces. Legana had a shawl shading her eyes from the morning sun as usual, while Mihn was shirtless, for reasons Doranei couldn’t fathom, with a blanket loosely draped around him to cover the leaf-pattern tattoos running from wrist to shoulder. The pair sat silent and still, as close as young lovers.

  ‘Doranei,’ the king said from the other side of the fire, ‘I’ve not seen you look so glum since you told me you were in love.’

  The King’s Man tried to smile at the gentle needling, but he failed as completely as those around him. Their losses had been too great. Instead he ducked his head in acknowledgement and looked around at their allies to check he could speak freely.

  ‘News, your Majesty,’ he started, ‘from the Byoran prisoners.’

  ‘Speak it then.’

  Doranei hesitated, in case he’d misheard or misunderstood, but he knew it wasn’t so. ‘You’ll want to hear it yourself, but I think we judged it wrong in Byora,’ he said. ‘The child, Ruhen, isn’t a vessel or tool; he’s the one giving orders. Ilumene jumps on his command – the command of a child with shadows in his eyes.’

  There was a cold silence, every remaining member of the Brotherhood digesting the information as they remembered their failed assault on Byora’s Ruby Tower.

  ‘Azaer has taken mortal form,’ King Emin said at last. ‘A mortal body, an immortal soul – but why?’

  ‘The greatest magic always involves sacrifice,’ Isak said abruptly, looking up from the fire at last, ‘the change from life to death.’

  ‘And the potential for catastrophe,’ the witch added. ‘Azaer does not intend some basic working of magic, but something to unpick the fabric of the Land so it can weave the tapestry anew. Even the Gods are weakened by grand undertakings; whatever power the shadow can bring to bear, it must risk everything in the act.’