by Tom Lloyd
‘And still he asks people to face us down?’ Macove’s breath caught as he realised the truth of it. ‘Oh Gods!’
‘Exactly,’ Torl said. ‘To meet Ruhen, the king’s armies will have to march through a river of innocent blood, cutting a path through unarmed fanatics as well as Devoted armies. Ruhen does not care how many we kill; his audience is the people beyond these parts. If we slaughter a hundred thousand of his followers, he will only laugh for we will be playing into his hands. We must hope the king puts a careful man in command of the army he is preparing.’ He sighed, feeling a chill of age and foreboding in his bones. ‘To reach our enemy we will have to confirm these people’s worst fears.’
CHAPTER 21
King Emin leaned forward and looked into Amber’s eyes. The Menin’s eyelids twitched as he came within grasping distance, but his hatred had been dimmed by the king’s return to Kamfer’s Ford. Emin might have commanded the army, but he hadn’t been in control of the one who’d torn Amber’s birthname away; that one had been working a revenge all of his own, and Amber didn’t know what to do about that.
The only one with reason enough to do what he’d done, Amber reflected. That why I don’t feel the same hate for him, or have I just used up all I had left?
‘You’ve been quiet a long time, Major,’ the king commented at last. ‘Do I need to repeat my offer?’
Amber slowly shook his head. They sat a private room in the tavern Amber had been quartered in – well, private once that scowling lump Forrow had cleared the other drinkers from it. Nai, Carel and Ardela were with them at the table, the necromancer scrutinising the floor for reasons Amber couldn’t find the strength to be interested in. ‘You’ll use your influence with the Chetse to secure us passage home if I persuade the legions holed up in Farrister to fight for you,’ Amber said. ‘Don’t see how I can persuade them if their commanders couldn’t.’
‘You are a man of renown, Major Amber – your word carries weight, I suspect. In any case, it isn’t all the troops in Farrister you need to persuade. My mages tell me many of the rank and file would like to take my offer.’
‘Your problem’s General Arek,’ Amber confirmed. ‘Man’s from the outer lands, as I recall; his family died years back.’
‘It seems he is resistant to any form of compromise. He would prefer to fight to the death, and take as many of us with him as he can.’
Amber sighed. ‘That surprises you? There’s nothing you can offer him.’
‘I was hoping sense might prevail. I had thought the Menin officers might feel a duty to their soldiers.’
‘You destroyed his life, his reason to live!’ Amber snapped. Forrow reached forward immediately, but the big Menin soldier ignored the hand on his shoulder. ‘What did you think was going to happen?’
‘That he wouldn’t be ruled by personal feelings,’ Emin retorted angrily. ‘If he wants his men to live, he’ll agree.’
‘And you think I can persuade him? I’ve barely met the man – and he’s got half a dozen officers who outrank me. Or are you hoping I’ll kill him and take command of the army?’
‘I hope you will sway him,’ King Emin said, standing. ‘You leave in the morning under escort. Their supplies are almost out, so if you care about saving any of them you should hurry.’
He marched out, not waiting for a response, and Forrow followed. The king’s bodyguard slammed the door behind him hard enough to shake the room, but once they were gone silence reigned. Amber stared at the vacant seat in front of him, exhausted by the idea of rejoining a Menin army again. He found it unreal to be even thinking of fitting into that structure again, however much he craved a return of order to his life.
‘Well?’ Carel said eventually. ‘You going to let them all die?’
‘War’s over – if they don’t see that, what can I do?’
‘That ain’t what I asked. Are you going to do your damnedest, or just pass on the message and pick up a shield?’
Amber glared at Nai.
The necromancer was unusually still and quiet; his hand twitched and Amber spied the edge of a tattoo under his sleeve.
Ah, that explains it then. Even the necromancer’s chosen a side in this war – we really must be coming to the end of things. Nai of the Brotherhood, eh? Whole Land’s gone over to madness.
‘I don’t get a choice there, do I, Nai?’
The man didn’t answer, but Amber continued anyway, scratching his cheek where Nai had marked him, ‘See, our friend with the odd feet there, he’s still got a hold over me – not just that dead man’s bag to keep me from killing him; he can do worse than that if I don’t come back as ordered. The rune he scratched on my cheek might have healed, but once a necromancer’s got his hooks in you there’s no escape.’
‘Oh stop fucking whining, boy,’ Carel snapped. He rapped the butt of his stick on the floor in irritation. ‘Your war ain’t done, whatever the king says.’
‘You think?’ Amber said with a snort. ‘Maybe Arek’s right then.’
‘Piss on Arek. The man’s a fool looking for a glorious death and he don’t care who he takes with him. One way or another you got to persuade him to take the king’s offer. You think you ain’t a part of this fight? That’s not what I heard from the last days of Scree.’
Amber frowned. ‘Dragged there on some fool’s errand, used as bait for King Emin and left to die by that damn vampire? You drunk again, old man?’
‘Pah, I heard it a different way: you worked as hard as any to save those refugees, the ones not taken by Azaer’s madness. You fought and bled on the barricade, leading from the front rather than looking to save your own skin.’
‘Someone had to take charge or we’d all have died. You think that means I’m at war with the shadow too?’
‘It means you used to give a shit about folk, and I reckon you still do. You’re no friend of Azaer and you don’t like seeing innocents die. Look at me; I’m old and crippled – Death Himself only knows what I got left to give to this life, but I ain’t giving up yet. You’ve got a whole lot more strength left in that arm o’ yours, and if you’ve given up on life, just tell me now and I’ll end it for you – stop you wasting what little drink we got left.’
Amber didn’t speak for a while. He looked from Carel to
Ardela, recognising the impatience on the faces of both. The young assassin had proved to be good company on the journey here, keeping her thoughts to herself while Nai chattered away enough for the three of them.
Once back in Kamfer’s Ford Ardela had rejoined her sisters. They had all been marked with tattoos by their priestesses, but she was still an outsider among the nascent Sisterhood, as the soldiers there were quietly calling it. If that bothered Ardela, she wasn’t showing it, but she’d sought out his quiet company most days since.
He’d not asked about the Harlequin’s sword she carried, except to inspect it. It was a beautiful weapon, so balanced and swift through the air he could see why Ardela had taken it, but even so, it was like she was inviting the hatred and contempt of others with such a clear admission that she had been part of that night of murder.
‘That why you’re here?’ Amber asked eventually. ‘To find a death you can be proud of?’
‘I ain’t afraid to die, but I ain’t hunting it either.’
‘And you know why I’m here,’ Ardela added, rubbing her palms together as the tattoos on them continued to itch. ‘My sisters need everyone they can get if we’re not to just fade away.’
‘Nai brought me here to sell me to the king; to use the link they made between me and Ilumene, and that’s not likely to prove useful unless Ruhen leaves the protection of his armies. The only thing that kept me walking was the thought of killing King Emin and now it turns out he wasn’t even responsible.
‘Sure your dead boy would’ve told him, but I know that someone offers you a victory, you don’t get to choose. So now if I’ve got anyone to hate, it’s your boy, Carel, and to hear the King’s Men tell it, he’s more br
oken than I am.’ Amber sighed wearily. Part of him wanted to lash out at anyone within reach, but mostly he just wanted to sleep for a hundred years and wake when all this was over. Right now when he slept he dreamed of ravens croaking urgently at him.
‘When—’ He winced and rubbed his brow with greasy fingers. ‘When my lord was grieving, I made it my duty to bring him back – nearly broke my neck, he did, but I waited out his rage. Right now I can’t think why I’d ever do something so stupid.’
‘Because you’re not one to abandon your men,’ Carel said. ‘What if your lord was here now – if Nai conjured up his spirit from the Herald’s Hall to ask his orders, what would he say?’
‘How should I know? Never could predict him.’
‘Guess.’
Amber rose and walked to the window, staring out at the street below while jumbled, senseless thoughts clashed in his mind. He tried to recall his lord’s face, but that was lost, like everything else to do with the man. A now-familiar yoke of fatigue settled about his shoulders and wormed its way into his bones, the same insidious wriggle as when the Gods’ spell had entered his mind, leaving him just as hollow. At last he said, ‘He’d say— Ah, he’d tell me not to waste their lives. If we fight on, the only winner is Azaer. The Gods only know what’s happened back home. Azaer’s working towards Godhood, and I saw enough in Byora not to want that. If my duty to my tribe helps prevent that, then all the better.’
He straightened and turned to face them. ‘Nai, tell your new master I’ll do what he asks. Don’t expect them to fight alongside Narkang troops, but they will fight – I promise him that.’
Doranei wriggled through the yew’s branches, doing his best not to shake the spread of branches supporting his body. It was not long after dawn and the ground beyond his vantage point remained blurred by mist, but below him there were signs of a campfire; clearly Doranei wasn’t the first traveller to think this a good spot for the night. He slipped his pack free from the branch and dropped to the ground, covering the fifty yards to their main camp as silently as he could.
The others had woken with the dawn and Daken, Ebarn and Legana were all bent over bowls of porridge as Doranei trotted in. He checked his pace a little to avoid startling the horses, they’d only got them back a few days previously and half of the beasts were still spooked at being led through the wilds by a newly converted vampire. As soon as their belongings had been delivered, Zhia had sent the scowling, snarling former commissar west, not even bothering to discover her reluctant servant’s name before she ordered him to spy on the border and warn her if the Black Swords left Vanach lands.
‘We’ll have visitors soon,’ he announced to the party at large, looking round to check they were all there. Veil and Vesna both were reaching for their weapons when Doranei motioned for them to stop. ‘They’re moving too quick for Black Swords. I reckon it’s the Legion.’
‘Of course it’s the Legion,’ Zhia said from the shadow of her small tent. ‘They’ve been covering our retreat since we left Vanach, but we’ll be crossing the hills today.’
A grunt came from Zhia’s left and they all turned to watch Isak flailing weakly at the blanket covering his head. After a few false starts, he managed to free both his arms and head enough to sit up. He stared bleary-eyed at his companions for a long while before he spied the porridge and started to struggle his way to his feet.
‘Piss and daemons!’ Vesna drew his sword and cast around as though someone was charging through the trees towards them. ‘Isak, where is it?’ he cried urgently.
‘Eh? What?’ Isak said, still groggy with sleep.
‘The sword!’
‘It’s in my bloody— Oh.’ Isak blinked down at his right hand and flexed his fingers. ‘Well, that’s weird.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I can still feel it.’ Isak looked between Vesna and Zhia with a puzzled expression. ‘It feels like I’ve still got it in my hand.’
Zhia covered herself in her thick shawl and walked over to him. She frowned as Doranei went to her side, and the air around her fingers shimmered briefly. ‘It’s still there,’ she announced, looking as surprised as Isak. ‘It’s in the stain somehow, Isak; it’s becoming part of you.’
He pushed back the loose sleeves of his shirt and raised his hands. The shadowy stain on his right arm had deepened; the skin there was near-black now. Just as lightning had burned the colour from his left arm, so his right hand and arm appeared to have been washed in soot and left as dark as a charred branch. The scars on his skin remained visible, each ridge and swirl obvious in the dull morning light, but the contrast between his hands couldn’t have been more visible.
‘Take your shirt off,’ Vesna asked, sheathing his weapon. He helped Isak pull his shirt over his head, revealing the man’s brutalised torso. Isak had lost some of his bulk while in Ghenna, but he remained a starkly muscled white-eye on whose skin the old injuries were mere decoration. The black stain on his skin balanced his white arm almost perfectly, reaching to just beyond the shoulder, but instead of stopping abruptly it tapered away.
‘Looks like a rash o’ some sort,’ Daken commented.
Doranei shot him a look, but then realised the other white-eye hadn’t been making a tasteless joke. He realised what Daken meant: it wasn’t like gangrene taking hold of a limb, but it was too close for comfort, and the idea that it might spread further worried him.
‘Can you make the sword manifest?’ Zhia said.
Isak frowned down at his hand, his fingers twitching. For a while nothing happened, then Doranei saw the air start to tremble. He blinked and winced as dark stars began to burst around Isak’s fingers; it was hard to keep his gaze on the soot-stained limb, but he was not faring as badly as the lesser mages among them.
Both Ebarn and Legana had reeled away, assailed by what Isak was doing, while Tiniq’s face tightened with strain and he turned his shoulder towards the white-eye as though facing a gale. Doranei was watching the man so intently he only realised Isak had succeeded from the shock on the ranger’s face.
As Isak stood, Doranei felt Zhia lean back against him, the presence of Death’s weapon a constant discomfort for her. Termin Mystt had reappeared in Isak’s fist, point-down, its black surface absorbing the morning light. Isak retrieved the sheath he’d once used for Eolis and carefully slipped Termin Mystt inside. The clips that normally attached it to a belt he hooked around his wrist to hold the sheath in place and keep it from inadvertently touching anyone.
‘The shadow’s retreated,’ Vesna pointed out, moving carefully around Termin Mystt to point at Isak’s shoulder. The fading edge of the mark had moved away from Isak’s neck, leaving the top of his shoulder only a slight shade darker than the rest of his pale Farlan skin.
‘Stain,’ Doranei broke in, prompting a puzzled look from the Mortal-Aspect. ‘Call it a stain, not a shadow – not when Azaer’s our enemy.’
Vesna nodded his assent. ‘Stain it is: your skin’s still darker, though, Isak – manifesting the sword’s only limited the hold it’s taken on you.’
‘I never expected to master the damn thing, I suppose,’ Isak said at last, ‘even with the Skull this was never going to be longterm.’
‘What happens when it takes over entirely?’ Vesna asked. ‘Do you die? Or become Death’s Mortal-Aspect?’
‘It won’t come to that,’ Isak said firmly.
‘No? Look how far it’s gone already!’
‘Not much a surprise, is it? I’m balancing the scales in my head; the sword in one hand, the Skull of Ruling in my other. One arm’s white – it’s only fair the other balances it out.’
‘Fair?’
Isak waved his free hand dismissively. ‘Not fair then, but fitting, maybe. If you’re worried, we can stop by Llehden on the way back and ask the witch, but I don’t reckon she’ll be surprised. Legana?’
The green-eyed woman observed him for a long while. Her face was as still as a porcelain doll’s and Isak could read nothing in he
r expression. Eventually she nodded. ‘You strive for balance,’ Legana said into his mind. ‘We can’t be surprised if balance is what we get.’
‘Exactly: so we’ll only start worrying if it goes past that. Now, you said something about visitors, Doranei?’
Before the King’s Man could reply, a guttural voice called out. They all turned, reaching for their weapons.
There were six figures, no more than twenty yards away, each one bearing enormous weapons as pitted and battered as they were themselves. Their leathers were tattered, their mail torn to reveal mortal wounds. What few scraps of plate armour they wore – mismatched pauldrons and vambraces, and one had a holed cuirass – were similarly rusted and ancient.
‘Lord of the Black Sword,’ Zhia said, translating the words for Isak before he could remind himself Mihn was now dead, ‘we honour you.’
Only the colour of their eyes, deep-blue, rusty-brown and amber, stood out against their pale dead skin and mouldering clothes. The colours reminded Doranei that they had been mercenaries somewhere out east, most likely of Menin and Vukotic blood.
Isak advanced to meet the undead mercenaries, Vesna close at his side. If the warriors of the Legion noticed anyone beyond Isak and Zhia, however, they made no sign of it. ‘I thank you for your greeting,’ Isak replied through Zhia, ‘and for hindering the pursuit.’
‘We have pledged ourselves to you,’ one of the mercenaries at the centre of their small group said. ‘We will serve you.’
Doranei gave a start when he realised he recognised the face from Scree: one side of his emaciated face had been mangled by a blow to the head, and his jaw hung loose as though in a mocking grin. The Legion had appeared just before King Emin claimed the Skull of Ruling and left Vorizh’s journal behind, not knowing its value.
Strange, Doranei thought as he, glanced around at the rest of their party, if I’d gone with him into the cellar that night – if I hadn’t been so dazed after we left Rojak to burn – maybe I’d have found the journal and Mihn would still be alive. No way of knowing, but I’m sure there’s a lesson in there somewhere.