by Tom Lloyd
Isak shrugged. ‘Just looking to share a pipe with my friend.’ He offered it over and Vesna frowned.
‘You know I don’t.’
‘Ain’t sure of much these days.’ Isak tapped the depressions in his recently shaved head. ‘So much spilled out when this got cracked.’
‘I’m sorry, my Lord—’
‘No, I am,’ Isak interrupted.
‘For what?’
The white-eye turned to face him. ‘Do I really need to say?’
‘No.’ Vesna’s eyes fell. There was a long moment of quiet. ‘I don’t blame you – you know that, I hope?’
Isak nodded. ‘I do. There’s no shame in what you feel, none at all. It’s just a simple fact: I’m here and she isn’t. Death’s hard enough to deal with already.’
It’s hard enough to lose a friend, but a bride too? That’d break most men, and now he’s got to sit with the daemon’s plaything he used to call friend, and every moment’s a reminder that she ain’t coming back.
Vesna’s black-iron hand tightened involuntarily. Isak watched the fist form and slowly be forced open again. He freed his own left arm from the folds of his sleeve and held it up in the pale starlight. It didn’t look so horrific in this light; the scars and bleached-white skin became more of a dream that belonged to someone else.
‘Reckon I’ll glow bright white on my birthday, on Silvernight?’
Vesna gave a snort. ‘If you do, some damn fool will probably try to worship you.’
More silence. Isak found his words were caught in his throat, unable to fight their way through to be spoken.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Vesna asked at last. ‘These plans you made with Mihn and Ehla – why keep them secret from your closest friends?’
‘You would have tried to stop me.’
‘Of course I would! It was insane! Look at yourself, Isak, look at what you put yourself through – there had to be a better way!’
‘I couldn’t find one,’ he said softly. ‘And you – you had a life to lead, a family to hope for. Mihn chose to be a weapon in this war and I – well, I was born to be one. It didn’t make sense to ask that of anyone else.’
‘What about your family, your friends? What about the chaos back in Tirah? Lord Fernal is barely holding the Farlan together, and his grip is even more tenuous without the Palace Guard on hand!’
‘And if I had stayed in Tirah, fighting a civil war while Narkang falls to the Menin, forever frightened to face them in battle because I know it will mean my death? Who does that serve?’
Vesna gave up, unable to find the strength to argue further. ‘I only wish you’d told me, not let us mourn your death.’
‘I didn’t know if it would even work,’ Isak whispered. ‘Some days I’m still not sure.’
‘The news of your death – it broke Carel, you know? Aside from when he shook me from my grief, he couldn’t look me in the face.’
‘Who?’
Vesna looked up, remembering too late. Tears were leaking from Isak’s eyes, and his faced was screwed up in the pain of lost memories.
‘Carel,’ he said gently, ‘the father you should have had.’
Isak’s hand started to shake and he hunched over, his elbows clenched tight to his body as though protecting himself from blows. ‘Tell me,’ he croaked, ‘tell me about him.’
‘He—’ Vesna didn’t know where to start. For a while was paralysed by the sight of the shuddering white-eye, but at last he said, ‘He loved you like his own. He tempered you; you always said Carel helped you be more than just the colour of your eyes. He retired from the Ghosts when you were a child and worked as a wagon train guard. He was the one who taught an angry boy how to fight, and when not to. He would – ah, he would be amazed you’d bought your own tobacco for a change.’
‘If he was broken by news of my death,’ Isak said, ‘what would it do to him to know I can’t even remember him?’
The Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn looked Isak in the face, the ruby tear on his cheek glowing with inner light. ‘It would kill him.’
Isak smiled sadly and rose. ‘Perhaps it’s best he doesn’t know, then.’ He tapped out the pipe and turned to head for his bedroll, but then he hesitated. ‘I stole this from Sergeant Ralen though,’ he said, tucking the pipe away. ‘Maybe there’s still hope for us.’
The miles passed quickly, thanks to daily changes of horses and the advance supplies secured by the Ghosts. The locals were curious, but they were glad to see the soldiers, for nightfall brought lone daemons prowling the village boundary stones. This was a part of the country that had known peace for a long time, the garrison towns on the Tor Milist border ensuring Duke Vrerr’s mercenaries had looked elsewhere for plunder during the civil war there, so even foreign soldiers didn’t provoke much fear.
Vesna, Karkarn’s Iron General, drew the most curiosity. King Emin had been careful to spread the news that the God of War had favoured them with his Mortal-Aspect. Though he might scowl at the pointing fingers and whispered awe, it was clear Vesna was born to play such a role, willingly or not. The Farlan hero was tall and strong and handsome, and adulation settled naturally on his shoulders.
Behind the tattered shawl he used to shade his face from the afternoon sun, Isak smiled as he watched Vesna chafe under the attention. He didn’t need to remind anyone of their last journey together through Narkang lands: Isak Stormcaller, riding like a figure of myth in shining armour of liquid silver, a crowned emerald dragon on his cloak. Now he was anonymous in tattered clothes and a face masked by scars; marked out only by his size, he could be any hired Raylin mercenary.
At the southern border of Tor Milist they found Doranei and Zhia waiting for them at a ferry station with a large barge ready to take them all downriver. They would travel down the River Castir halfway to the sea, then follow the King’s Highway to Canar Thritt, around the slow-to-traverse hills south of Vanach and into the crumbling city-state itself. Mage Ashain would be sent here with a mirror, ready to provide them with an escape path, should one be required.
A small village had grown up around the ferry and as Isak’s party rode up they spotted the unlikely couple sitting at a table outside the inn, shaded from the evening light, with a bottle of wine between them. The villagers watched them arrive anxiously, not unhappy that the mercenaries would be staying overnight, but wary these days of anything that arrived in the waning light. As far as Isak could tell there had been few actual daemon attacks, but more scares or sightings, and many more rumours.
‘Now there are a few faces I could have gone a few months longer without seeing,’ Doranei called as boys ran out to stable the horses, jostling each other to reach Isak’s huge charger first. ‘But since you’re here, you might as well join us.’
He gestured expansively to the table while the travellers dismounted and stretched out the stiffness from their bodies.
‘Ah, there you are, Mistress,’ Doranei continued as the innkeeper appeared to survey her new guests. ‘I think we’ll need food and a lot more wine.’ He wagged a finger in Daken’s direction. ‘And a whole lot of beer for the fat one.’
Daken grinned and took up a seat opposite Doranei, his axe slung from one shoulder and saddlebags draped over his thigh. ‘You still being a sore loser then?’ the white-eye replied, taking Zhia’s hand to kiss in a fit of chivalry. He winked at the vampire. ‘Or is his arse just hurting him? How does it look, by the way? Better than before, I’m guessing, with a reminder o’ me in nice big letters.’
‘Oh indeed – how could a nicely-sculpted buttock not be improved by your name and a few roses?’
Doranei spluttered as Daken’s eyebrow rose. ‘Roses, eh?’
‘She’s joking!’ the King’s Man protested, ‘there’s no such thing!’
‘Oh, come, dear,’ Zhia purred, ‘there’s no need to be embarrassed about your admiration for the general.’
Daken’s eyes glittered with delight. ‘As the nice lady says, it’s only natural to feel a bit o�
� worship for me. You ain’t the first, I promise; you should’ve heard all the lovely things Legana was sayin’ to me only last night!’
As if on cue Legana arrived at the table, assisted by Fei Ebarn. Her vision was always poorest at dusk. Ebarn’s cheek crinkled as she scowled at the memory and pointed at Daken.
‘Your boy here likes to dry off naturally, so to speak. It’s not a sight we’re quite used to yet.’
—I said I’d cut off anything I saw hanging within reach, Legana added, writing quickly on her slate.
‘It’s all in the delivery,’ Daken said with mock wistfulness, ‘as the actor said to Etesia. Makin’ your eyes burn with green fire and wavin’ a knife around, that’s my kind of flirting.’
The rest arrived, Isak taking the furthest corner where he could wedge his back against the wall of the tavern and observe the rest. Veil went around behind him, struck his fist against Doranei’s before hopping over the bench to sit beside his Brother. Tiniq pointedly inserted himself between Shinir and Daken to prevent anyone getting stabbed while they ate. Leshi took Shinir’s other flank and Fei Ebarn followed Veil around to the far side, Mihn and Vesna taking position on either side of Isak.
Perhaps having seen white-eye mercenaries before, the innkeeper was remarkably quick at sending out half a dozen pots of beer and as many bottles of wine. Daken descended on two of the former with love in his eyes, and the first had been sunk before they’d finished pouring the wine. While the rest were served, Isak watched a pair of stablehands fetch out lamps and hang them off the building. It wasn’t dark yet, but given what the ghost-hour heralded these days, they clearly wanted as much light in the village as possible.
‘We’ll be needin’ a whole lot o’ food out here,’ Daken warned the serving girl as he handed her an empty pot. ‘May be a time before we get decent food again, so you tell your cook if we don’t get the best out here soon, I’ll go in and give ’em a beatin’ before I take over the kitchen.’
‘Is that why you brought him, Isak?’ Zhia asked once the serving girl was out of earshot. ‘He’s your chef?’
‘Why, you needin’ some domestic service?’ Daken asked cheerfully. ‘Told Doranei he drank too much.’
‘I brought him,’ Isak broke in, ‘because someone needs to carry all your spare clothes – and his is a name the Carastars’ll know. Ours might not be so welcome there, after all.’
‘But mainly it’s the clothes,’ Veil commented, raising his beer to Daken, who took the comment in good spirits. ‘Does a good turn as a mule, our noble general.’
‘You all joked enough?’ Shinir demanded suddenly. The woman’s eyes were suddenly alight as she looked up and down the table. ‘You better all damn well make sure you get it all out of you before we reach Vanach. They ain’t ones for joking or laughter. It’s pretty fucking easy to get the Commissar Brigade after you, but opening your mouth without thinking’s the fastest, and they won’t give a shit if we’re following some prophecy or not.’
The whole table looked startled. That speech near as much equalled the sum total of what anyone had previously heard Shinir say.
‘And that’s bad, right?’ Daken asked, happily needling a woman considered dangerous even among Chief Steward Lesarl’s agents.
Shinir ignored him and continued to address the whole table. ‘The Commissar Brigade has at least one agent in every village. They enforce the laws and they don’t even answer to the cults. They’re the ones who control Vanach and they kill anyone who doesn’t act like the perfect servants of the Gods.’
‘The Commissar Brigade,’ Leshi added, ‘are independent of the cults – have been so for decades now.’ He spoke hesitantly, starting too quiet, before loudly clearing his throat. ‘If they decide you’re a threat, they’ll kill you. We can take down a lot of them, but their numbers won’t run out. Every citizen can be drafted into service, and maybe one in ten is already a brigade agent – they’ll make women and children fight, so it’ll look like the Temple Plaza in Scree, day after day.’
Leshi was a Farlan ranger and Ascetite, just as Tiniq was, and he epitomised the brave, taciturn warriors who haunted the wild forests east of Lomin. They had little use for conversation, and Leshi’s obvious unnatural skills had made him something of an outcast even within that élite band. Though he verged on gaunt, he was almost as strong as a white-eye, and incredibly fast – but it was his ability to fade into the shadows that had allowed him to infiltrate Vanach on Lesarl’s orders.
He and Shinir were two of a small number ever to get out of Vanach, and their intelligence had satisfied the Chief Steward, so no more had been sent. The population were permanently on the verge of starvation, and rigid controls on travel and interaction between classes meant Vanach barely functioned as a state. Only the fertile northern regions prevented outright calamity, while the labour camps and executioners prevented any opposition to the commissars.
‘No glory in that,’ Daken muttered darkly, looking around at the faces of those who’d been in Scree at the time.
No one responded; most could not find the words to describe what had happened in Scree and even Zhia’s face went stony. It was unlikely anything would match the horrors of the Last Battle – the Gods’ victory over Aryn Bwr had seen the fabric of the Land permanently frayed – but even the Menin’s efforts to wipe Aroth from the map had not been so effective as the madness and subsequent firestorm in Scree.
Isak hunched his shoulders a little more and reached out for a cup of wine. ‘I’ve left enough slaughter in my wake,’ he said. ‘I don’t want that added to my tally too.’
‘We won’t. This is going to go smooth as you like,’ Doranei replied for the rest of them. ‘Way I see it, this is a Brotherhood operation, and that means we plan from here to the border, rehearse everything we need and leave nothing to chance. We’ll be ready, I promise.’
Zhia raised her cup. Isak could taste a shred of magic on the breeze as she spoke, just a tiny fragment that tingled warm down his neck and lifted his spirits a touch. ‘Here’s to not killing everyone we meet,’ she declared.
The assembled company smiled and joined her toast. ‘Not killing everyone.’
Shinir looked to her right and gave Daken a thump on the shoulder. ‘That means you too.’
‘Aye, ’spose so,’ he grumbled and raised his pot of beer. ‘Just you make sure there’s some. I’m a man o’ appetites, me.’
Mihn yawned and set his wine down unfinished. It was late in the night and half of their party had retired to the rooms they’d taken upstairs. He looked around at those who were left. Zhia, bright-eyed and alert, sat curled in Doranei’s lee, the lovers talking quietly with Legana. Daken was more or less asleep, waking only to growl whenever someone tried to pluck the clay bottles nestled in the crook of each arm from his grip, while Veil sat in silence and mourned his hand. He plainly didn’t want any company beyond the presence of Ebarn, sound asleep on his shoulder, and one of Doranei’s cigars.
As for Isak … Mihn sat up, suddenly fully awake as he realised Isak was missing. Hulf lifted his head from the old bearskin in front of the fire and sleepily regarded Mihn. Then he too was awake, looking for his master as automatically as Mihn.
Legana raised a hand to catch Mihn’s attention.
Outside, he read off her slate and nodded his thanks. He slipped off his boots out of habit and headed for the door. Hulf beat him there and danced about impatiently until Mihn thumbed the latch. They didn’t have far to go: Isak was sitting in the cool night air, bathed in moonlight and puffing on his pipe. He didn’t turn at the sound of the door opening. He knew who would be looking for him.
Hulf bounded over and forced his nose onto Isak’s thigh. The white-eye shifted to scratch the dog behind his ears, but as soon as he moved, Hulf was off with his nose to the ground, following some scent. Mihn watched him move into the shadows and vanish from sight. Thanks to Daken’s intervention at the Moorview ritual, he’d not be able to follow Hulf’s path.
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��Should we not keep him near?’ Mihn asked softly.
Isak shook his head. ‘There are no daemons out there, not tonight. There’s only us.’
‘You wanted to be alone?’
At that he turned and Mihn saw a smile on his abused face. ‘I like the moonlight,’ he said simply, ‘and this tobacco’s good.’
‘I remember once you were not so comfortable in the presence of shadows,’ Mihn said, taking his usual position at Isak’s side.
Isak inclined his head in agreement. ‘I was many things,’ he commented. ‘Some I’ve lost, some I’ve learned to live with. I can’t decide yet, has all this left me unrecognisable, or put me back to where I began?’
‘Which would you prefer?’
A sigh. ‘Dunno. I’ve forgotten enough already so I’d hope there was some of me left.’
‘Then I dub you the brat I first met,’ Mihn pronounced with laughter in his voice.
The night air was soft on his skin, the packed earth pleasingly cool underfoot. From the trees came the rustle of leaves, like a drawn-out sigh of the Land readying for sleep. The rest of the village were long abed and silent, though he could see lamps still lit and hanging from the eaves of houses. The furthest was just a yellow glow against the dark silhouette of a house on the far bank of the River Castir.
‘A waiting soul,’ Mihn commented, looking past Isak to the distant lamp, ‘a light that doesn’t move through the darkness, just waiting for the living to perform some task.’
‘Or follow,’ Isak added. ‘I know some folklore, and you don’t need to coddle me any longer.’
‘As you say, my Lord.’
Isak gave him a shove at the formality. ‘And enough of that too!’ His tone became serious. ‘You don’t need to worry; I’m not haunted by death any more. That burden’s been lifted.’
‘But we are all closer to it, every day closer.’
‘Now who’s being morbid?’
Mihn bowed his head. ‘There are many souls waiting for us these days, so many lights in the dark.’
‘Sometimes a light in the dark is a witch, remember? And sometimes it’s just a fucking lamp.’