by Tom Lloyd
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 unfa
stened 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 each 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.
The sensations mingled and added to the mess of confusion in his dreams, and everything was dominated by Zhia's darkly glittering sapphire eyes. The questions continued, voices speaking at once: Mihn's soft lilt, King Emin's crisp, aristocratic tone, and they were all asking about those sapphire eyes.
Can she be trusted? Where do her allegiances lie? Will she take sides?
He couldn't answer any of them. In his dreams his tongue swelled, making speech impossible, but even if he had been able to speak, there was nothing he could say, no assurances he could give.
An unexpected chill shivered down Doranei's spine and he jolted awake, heart hammering and dread slithering across his skin. The room was dark, and as he sat up his head cracked against the underside of the dining table under which he'd been sleeping. A deep thump reverberated around the room as Doranei fell back onto his bedroll, gasping.
'Told you,' whispered someone nearby.
It took Doranei a few moments to focus as he winced and rubbed his stinging head. When the stars cleared he saw Veil, watching him owlishly from the other side of the table.
'Told me what?'
Veil grinned. 'That you wake up sudden-like sometimes, so maybe under a table ain't the best place to sleep.'
Doranei looked around at the rest of the dining room: a long, ancient hall – older even than the keep – that had been incorporated into the newest wing of Moorview Castle. Apart from the huge, empty fireplace there was precious little space not occupied by dozing King's Men. He opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated, remembering the strange sensation that had woken him.
'Thought I heard something,' he said at last.
'No, you didn't,' Veil said. 'You'd have a sword in hand if you did. You dreamed you did, or some girl with sapphire eyes just reached out and touched you.'
Doranei frowned and tried to order his thoughts. He didn't remember dreaming of anything that would wake him so abruptly. Zhia's touch was accompanied by a memory of her perfume; this was neither, it was something unfamiliar.
'Think I'll go get some air,' he muttered.
Veil watched without comment as Doranei picked up his sword; unnatural happenings and strange sensations were familiar to the Brotherhood, as were overactive imaginations in the dark of night. However, the need for caution was ever-present, and confusion hadn't overridden Doranei's natural mistrust.
Doranei slipped out of the darkened hall and found himself in a moonlit corridor. He didn't know what bell it was, but the stillness indicated the depths of night. He looked around and as he shivered involuntarily, his hand closed around the sword grip… but nothing happened, so, feeling foolish, he released it again and buckled the scabbard properly to his waist.
He still felt better when he was holding the sword. King Emin's belief that Lord Styrax would not use subterfuge to win this battle was small comfort in the dark hours of the night.
Magic had always been feared by the common folk; its use in battle was accepted, but few generals made their name off it. Styrax might have the advantage there, with his awesome powers, but his plans extended further than mere victory. Intelligence reports were coming in all the ti
me: four Menin armies of ten to fifteen thousand men were destroying great swathes of the Narkang nation as three of them made their way towards Moorview Castle. Each army comprised soldiers from all his conquered cities, most particularly the remnants of the Chetse elite known as the Ten Thousand.
Part of the reason for bringing them here was to keep the vanquished troops under control – if they were ravaging King Emin's lands, they would not be fomenting rebellion in their homeland. But that was not the whole of it: Lord Styrax had amassed a larger host than ever before for a more fundamental reason. Forty thousand or more men were marching on Moorview to take part in the battle he wanted every bard to sing of for centuries to come.
Somewhere up ahead Doranei heard the scuff of a shoe on the flagstone floor. He started to draw his sword – and stopped, struck by the sight of the black blade in the darkness. The provenance of the sword he'd taken from Aracnan's corpse was unknown, but it was certainly old and powerful. In daylight it prickled faintly with tiny sparks of light. Now it was more like the night sky on a clear night, casting a very faint light of its own. He sheathed it again, suppressing his fascination for the time being. When he reached the corner of the corridor he stopped and peered around it. He saw no one, but whispering voices were coming from somewhere at the far end.
This was the opulent part of the castle, away from the servant's quarters, and there were long, narrow rugs running down the centre of the corridors. A wide variety of paintings, both portraits and landscapes, were displayed on the walls, and ahead of him Doranei could see a large map of the whole area covering one wall. It had been painted by Countess Derenin, the lady of the house, and was accurate enough that the king had consulted it often in the past few days. The local suzerain's family was an ancient one which had managed to adapt and thrive under King Emin's rule, unlike many who didn't understand the art of compromise and had been eclipsed by the king's ambitious supporters.