by Tom Lloyd
He slashed up at the underside of the man’s hand, slicing through the soft flesh before stabbing him in the kidney. The man howled and fell to his knees, dropping his weapons.
Carel worked his sword savagely in the wound as the man screamed at the top of his lungs.
‘Who’s working with you?’ he yelled in the man’s ear. ‘Tell me, and I’ll drag you to a healer!’
The soldier’s eyes were wide with pain. ‘I don’t—’ he gasped, and then managed, ‘The coin—’
‘Coin?’ Carel demanded, but as he did so he saw a chain under the man’s collar. He tugged hard on it and the necklace came away in his hand. The soldier shuddered as the sword slid out of his back.
Carel held it up – it was just a scratched coin on a chain – and tossed it aside, and for a moment he thought he saw something akin to hope in the man’s eyes, but then Isak stabbed forward like a mantis and impaled him on the black sword.
In the blink of an eye the weapon had vanished from sight and Isak was left flexing his crabbed fingers as the corpse flopped to the ground.
‘Isak!’ Carel shouted, suddenly remembering the bolt in his back. He discarded the sword and ran over, but before he could touch the bolt, Isak raised a hand to stop him.
‘It’s not bad,’ he said, ‘really—’
‘Not bad? There’s a bloody arrow in your back!’
Isak grinned weakly and rapped his knuckles on his chest.
‘Armour?’ Carel gasped, tearing at Isak’s shirt until he could see the leather cuirass underneath. ‘You little bastard, why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Wanted it to be convincing,’ Isak said. He made a small gesture and looked all around as he pushed himself back to his feet, then he returned his attention to Carel, apparently satisfied with what he saw or didn’t see. ‘There’s still metal in my flesh, though. Help me off with this, will you?’
‘We’re safe now?’ And when Isak nodded he unsheathed his knife to cut away the shirt. The bolt had penetrated his armour, the plate of stiffened leather absorbing most of the blow, so no more than the tip had gone into Isak’s flesh.
‘You still got lucky,’ Carel growled. ‘Reckless bastard – what did he mean about it being worth the price?’
Isak winced at the sting in his back. ‘They wanted my skin broken – the bolt was tipped.’
‘Poison?’
‘No, something Emin told me Ilumene was skilled at making: it dulls magic, so it would make any energies I tried to gather slip through my fingers.’
‘Didn’t you use magic just now?’ Carel asked, bewildered.
Isak flexed his fingers and smiled. ‘Of course – but they were just hired agents. All they saw was an unarmed white-eye and a one-armed old man. They weren’t to know nothing they cooked up could match Termin Mystt.’
‘What about me – was I just bloody bait for you? What protection did I have?’ Carel shouted, suddenly furious at Isak’s risk-taking.
‘Why would they have shot you? You’re not the threat; the white-eye mage was.’
‘They might have had two bloody crossbows!’
The white-eye just shrugged. ‘True – they didn’t, though.’
‘Oh well, thank you very much,’ Carel snapped. ‘Glad I could be of use.’
‘You were,’ Isak said firmly. ‘We knew there’d be agents in the army – how many is anyone’s guess. But I knew they wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to take me when I looked most defenceless. Better they try me, than go for one of the weaker ones carrying a Crystal Skull. You said it yourself: trust the man beside you. Well, I did, and we both survived.’
Carel stopped dead, hearing his own words turned against him. The anger remained undiminished, but he’d long since learned anger was no use when arguing with Isak. No one could compete with a white-eye there.
‘You could have told me,’ he mumbled, retrieving his sword and turning his back on Isak. ‘Trust me enough to tell me, too.’
‘Sorry, my memory – you know? Not what it used to be—’
‘Eh?’ His anger faded in the face of Isak’s unashamed lies. ‘You brazen little bugger – at least pretend to be repentant!’
Isak turned his head to watch the grey blur of Hulf, bounding through the darkness towards them. ‘Don’t think you taught me that one. Anyways, doubt it’d be much use to a soldier, eh?’
She watched it scuttle through the darkness, six-legged and wrapped in shadows. From tree to clump of grass, stalk-eyes forever turned her way. A bisected tail curved over its humped back, fat pincers tucked down over its mandibles. Uneven plates covered its body, upraised and cracked, like flagstones assailed by tree roots. To most eyes it would be near-invisible, but to Zhia those folded shadows shone like a lamp.
Not a typical suitor, Zhia thought to herself, but I smell the same apprehension from this creature.
The daemon made its way closer: forty yards, thirty, never moving directly, slowing as it came until it was creeping with the delicate, fearful steps of a deer watching the wolf.
Zhia sighed. She could only imagine it had been sent with some message for her, but by whom or what, she couldn’t decide. It was smaller than Isak’s oversized puppy, so hardly much of a messenger – unless that was the intention?
She watched it wriggle into a long-abandoned fire-pit and pause there as though contemplating the last few yards of ground, but before it could decide the path was safe, a circle of light appeared around the edge of the pit. The daemon drew its limbs closer to its body, moving instinctively away from the light, and turned to seek a way out. Finding none, it started to dig frantically, scraping at the muddy ash with all its limbs at once, desperate to hide as the light steadily brightened.
Threads broke from the ring, writhing worms reaching up into the air only to find nothing and fall inwards, where they scorched the dark armour of the daemon. The creature hissed and scrabbled for purchase, snapping at the threads with its pincers, only to get one set snagged and caught, which increased the daemon’s panic. The threads of light closed inwards on it like a carnivorous plant, snaring its prey in a sizzling, shuddering bundle of scorched chitin.
‘Instructive, is it not?’
Zhia turned to find her brother standing just a few yards off. She hadn’t sensed his approach, but he was the only one who could take her unawares. He was unarmoured, dressed in fine silks procured from the Gods alone only knew where, embroidered all in black to serve as contrast to the plain white scabbard that held Eolis.
‘Instructive?’
‘The creature is ruled by its baser instinct to hide from the light and pain,’ Vorizh explained. ‘It cannot bring itself to burst through its cage of light until it is too late. It is hard to pity something that cannot comprehend sacrifice.’
The vampire’s face was a picture of ghastly fascination, and Zhia was struck by the strangeness of the sight. Vorizh was a mad recluse, both animated and restless, and in normal times she would see him perhaps every few centuries. Koezh, their elder brother, was very different. He was driven by his duty as leader of the Vukotic tribe, one of the Seven Tribes of Man; he was a man used to stillness and calm, his emotions well-hidden behind a mask of duty. And yet the two looked very much alike.
Sometimes she wondered if Vorizh served to remind Koezh that the alternative to that duty was to break under the strain of their curse, to become a monster fascinated with the death of daemons.
‘Why did you kill it?’ she asked.
‘Perhaps it was coming to kill you, dear sister. Did you never consider that?’
Vorizh’s moods were rarely predictable, but after centuries they followed well-trodden paths. ‘Did you send it to kill me?’ she asked in weary irritation.
‘That would be madness,’ Vorizh countered, a sly smile on his face. ‘It barely merited the name of daemon; it was little more than a scavenger on the shore of this Land. It could never pose a threat to one such as you.’
‘That’s no answer.’
‘Y
et answer enough,’ he spat. ‘What do you care for them anyway? They are not mortal; you do not feel their deaths in your gut – leave the loss of immortals to your betters, to those of us elevated to a higher station.’
‘A higher station now, is it?’ Zhia asked. ‘Does that make your damnation less than mine, or greater?’
‘Greater in all ways!’ he cried. ‘You cannot begin to understand my suffering; you cannot hear the death-song of this Land and its Gods.’
‘That was a tune we both played once. Are you not bored of it?’
‘Me?’ Vorizh exclaimed. ‘You ask that of me? Your hands drip with the blood of mortals as yet unshed – I know your part in this, the games you continue to play!’
‘Ah, outrage and condemnation, the tyrant’s call down through the ages. What future for Vanach, dear brother? You think our deeds comparable?’
Vorizh stopped, his face changing to a picture of calm with such speed Zhia felt her skin crawl. ‘Comparable – yes, sweet sister, and complementary too. You play your games with mortals and I with immortals; that is the difference between us.’
‘I’m immortal.’
‘And you too are caught in my web. The roots run deep, dear sister, most especially within the blood we share. You obey your blood, the instinct within.’
Zhia bit back her response. Fantasy and reality blurred into one with her brother, she knew that, but she was certain he did not guide her actions. He could not even know of some of her deeds. She had learned millennia back that to believe all he said was to forget his madness and the tint it cast on all things.
‘What of King Emin, Isak – do they obey your machinations?’
‘The mortals I leave to you,’ Vorizh scoffed, ‘and in their failures I see your weakness.’
‘Failures?’
‘This land you pass though, these villages and towns that worship your enemy. Your king fears to encourage the tales being spread about him, and so he spares his enemy’s worshippers: the very power-base of a God left untouched.’
‘He has his reasons,’ Zhia said firmly, ‘and I do not control him. The Walls of Intercession are torn down, but only a monster slaughters tens of thousands just to undermine a weaker enemy. The Legion of the Damned has slaughtered enough to expunge their comrades’ thirst for it.’
‘An irrelevance; those battles determine nothing. They are not the true test of power.’
‘Is there a point to all this?’ Zhia demanded, her patience running out.
He gave a sly smile. ‘The more a fly struggles, the more it’s lost to the web.’
‘A lesson for me? Oh thank you.’
Vorizh suddenly peered suspiciously at her, staring so closely he almost seemed to be hunting for her soul through the windows of her eyes. ‘Have you made your move?’
‘Move?’
‘Don’t pretend you’re content to simply allow this to play out. They are less than cattle compared to us. What power do you wield over events?’
‘Why would I tell you?
‘Our goals are the same; together, none of them can oppose us.’
Zhia shook her head and started to walk away, but Vorizh darted around her with unnatural speed and grabbed her arm. ‘Tell me, sister! Events move apace – are your games with the mortals complete? You claim not to control this king, and that’s a risk we cannot afford.’
‘Our goals may be the same,’ Zhia said slowly, her eyes fixed on the hand gripping her, ‘but that does not mean you can give me orders or lay your hands on me.’ Vorizh’s fingers were as pale and slender as any woman’s, and even after all these years he still wore a signet ring. Once it had been made of gold, but now it was some greyish-black metal she couldn’t identify. The pressure on her arm increased a touch, then Vorizh stepped back, satisfied he’d asserted his dominance.
‘You will know the plans I’ve laid as they play out,’ Zhia said, ‘but not before. As for you, the damage you’ve done to the Land is severe enough. If you wish to be involved, take your orders from Isak or King Emin. This is the time for mortals, their decisions and deeds.’
She started towards the Narkang camp, but paused after a few steps. ‘And brother dearest, next time you lay your hands on me, you’ll die. Do you understand?’
Vorizh’s sapphire eyes gleamed at that, but he said nothing. Zhia turned her back on him and walked away, leaving her brother to the shadows.
‘Shouldn’t we tell him?’
King Emin looked up, momentary surprise on his face. The tent was dark, and smelled of mud and cold soup.
Vesna looked between the faces of his companions: Emin, weary-eyed and thin, showing his fifth decade at last. Isak, all expression lost to the scars and abuses of the Dark Place. Legana, all the more breathtakingly beautiful in the gloom of a single lamp, her green eyes shining with inner fire, as predatory and terrible as a Goddess’s should, while the sinister handprint on her throat was pitch-black against her pale skin.
And what about me? Vesna asked himself. Do I look the part of a God? To soldiers who’re desperate for a warrior, perhaps, but to the rest? Hah! Only the Gods alone know. I don’t carry it like Legana, marked by injury though she is. Maybe it was then she found her wisdom; I still have to find mine. He touched the ruby on his cheek, the sign of Karkarn’s covenant with his Mortal-Aspect. No, the Lady chose well – I guess she had better folk to choose from. We soldiers, we turn on ourselves too easily, but we’re all Karkarn has.
‘Tell him?’ Emin asked at last. ‘Why?’
‘You don’t think he has the right to know?’
‘When do rights come into it?’ Isak asked.
‘He’s my friend,’ Vesna insisted. ‘He has been for a long time now. How am I meant to hide that from someone, knowing it’s a secret that’s likely to kill him?’
‘What if we do tell him?’ Legana said into their minds. ‘A general cannot be loyal just to his friends.’
Vesna stared down at his hands, the one covered in black-iron twice the size of his normal one. ‘I don’t know what’d happen,’ he admitted.
‘So can we risk it?’ Emin said, his tone making clear his opinion.
Vesna shook his head. ‘It feels like a betrayal.’
‘There’ll be enough of those to go round,’ Isak said.
Vesna glanced at the white-eye, unable to tell if that was a callous joke or not, but Isak’s face gave nothing away. He lowered his gaze again. ‘More than enough,’ he muttered. ‘Too much for all of us to bear. You really want to add to it?’
CHAPTER 30
Doranei looked up at the thick clouds and scowled, unable to gauge the position of the sun behind that uniform covering. Past midday, but beyond that it was a difficult call. The army snaked along what passed for a road in these parts: traders’ routes to the Circle City had seen little traffic of late, so tolls had been poor and repairs non-existent.
‘Copper for your thoughts,’ Veil said from beside him, nudging Doranei’s elbow as he spoke.
‘Just a copper?’
Veil smiled. ‘Never heard one of yours worth more’n that.’
Doranei didn’t reply; he was in no mood for banter. The closer they got to Byora, the more he felt the pressure like a great weight on his shoulders. The king had taken him aside a week back to reveal Doranei’s next mission, and the dread had been growing ever since.
‘Thinking about Byora?’ Veil asked. ‘Sebe, mebbe?’
The two men rode, mounts that’d been left without owners after the last skirmish. Veil wore his spike-tipped vambrace most all the day, now the threat of infiltrators was ever-present.
Gods, I wasn’t, Doranei thought guiltily. Thanks for reminding me. ‘Just trying to work all this out, what’ll be coming next.’
‘A fight, if we’re lucky.’
‘But then what? Ruhen’s no warrior – he’ll let the Devoted fight for him, but the shadow won’t be in the thick of it. Does he run? Let it all burn around him? Draw us into a trap?’
‘He’ll
run,’ Veil said confidently. ‘He’ll let us inflict the horrors o’ war on his expendable followers, and that’ll do the job of recruiting thousands more for him.’
‘Where does it end?’
Veil shrugged. His long hair was tied back and covered with a scarf to keep the worst of the road’s dust out. ‘It ends when we catch him. And when it’s over, we start living again.’
‘Living?’ Doranei echoed. ‘What in Ghenna’s name is that? This war’s all either of us have ever known. You going to retire, go into trade?’
‘Hah! We’re killers, my friend, there’s no retiring for us. But there’ll always be enemies, never fear – just not ones of Azaer’s calibre – and I for one won’t be complaining about that.’
‘So that’s all my life will ever be?’
Veil looked askance at him. ‘You? Probably not. You ’n’ Dash’ll be running the Brotherhood one day soon. Sir Creyl’s got no fire left in him, not really. I ain’t pissing on the man’s name, but his edge went with his title and he’s not complaining. Got himself a family now, a legacy, and life better’n the Brotherhood could ever offer – while we get a commander pushing the paper who knows what it’s like down at the sharp end, which ain’t nothing neither. Meantimes, Dash makes the decisions and she’s the one with a heart o’ cold steel; they both know that so it’ll all keep working and we get the hope of something better – that’s if we survive to retire.’
‘Why me?’
‘You’re the favourite son Ilumene could never be. You don’t want to be king, simple as that. Let’s face it – we all love that spark of fear in the eyes of folk at court. They see the bees on our collars, they know the reputation of the King’s Men, and we’re Gods – and daemons – in their eyes. That feeling of being above the law, that’s the rush for all of us, but Ilumene, he wanted adulation too: the glory as well as the power.’
Doranei raised his eyebrows. ‘Been thinking about this much?’
‘Hah, mebbe a little, aye.’