The Dusk Watchman ttr-5

by Tom Lloyd

  Amber sighed and shook his head, exhaustion suddenly catching up with him. ‘Somehow my lord knew I’d end up this way. He trusted me with some o’ his most dangerous missions — he thought me strong enough for that — but something told him I’d end up broken, so he said there’d always be a place for me with Frost. If I ever get home, I’ll go and find him, maybe. Make sure my lord’s promise to him is kept.’

  The old man stared away into nothing.

  Amber concentrated on his beer, but he could see the glowing embers of the veteran’s pipe wavering uncertainly in his peripheral vision. Another round was bought, but the old man just stared at his drink, not touching it as Amber raised his in silent toast.

  At last the old man turned in his seat and offered his hand.

  ‘Name’s Carel. Marshal Betyn Carelfolden of Etinn, properly, but that’s all just so much piss, between you an’ me.’

  Amber nodded and took the man’s arm. ‘Amber,’ he said. ‘Just Amber now.’

  To Lord Fernal it looked like the stone walled town had been breeding in the night. A pair of staggered defensive earthworks now stood on either side of Borderkeep, the southernmost of Helrect’s major towns, and a small fort at the western end of the town commanded an uninterrupted view of the vast grassy plains to the south and, more importantly, the roads that cut through them. Behind each set of earthworks was a village of tents for the soldiers stationed there, brightly coloured banners marking the territory of each suzerain and count in attendance.

  Since the collapse of the White Circle, Helrect had suffered a chaotic struggle for power among the noble families. With many of the most powerful tainted by White Circle associations or weakened by the fall of Scree, those unable to defend their positions had been murdered or cowed into submission and their lands stolen.

  While the state hadn’t ceased to exist so completely as Scree had, the common folk of Helrect were almost as pleased as their neighbours to hear the Farlan’s declaration of annexation. The remaining nobles and their warbands hadn’t been so pleased, but there had been little they could do other than submit. Other than a few mass executions of marauding soldiers, the Farlan had effectively conquered two city-states in the name of peace.

  ‘My Lord!’ called an approaching nobleman through the clusters of hurscals. He ended up barging soldiers out of the way as he approached, almost knocking one proud young knight to the ground as he went. ‘There is a delegation to meet you,’ he announced as he reached Fernal at last. He sank to one knee, unclipped his sword from his belt and offered it to the massive Demi-God.

  He was from one of the oldest families in Lomin, Fernal had been told, in a way that made it clear this was important; the count was an experienced soldier and commanded the scouts sweeping the fringes of Helrect territory.

  ‘Rise, Count Mekir,’ Fernal said, gesturing with one huge taloned hand. ‘What sort of delegation?’

  ‘Knights of the Temples, my Lord, and a group of preachers wearing white.’ Mekir stood and pointed back the way he had come. ‘They follow a mile or so behind me, escorted by some of my men.’

  Fernal scowled as he followed the man’s pointing arm, looking over the heads of his guards. In the distance he could see a large group of riders approaching, still too far for him to make out any banners or formation.

  Clearly my instructions were not simple enough.

  ‘Duke Lomin,’ Fernal said as he turned to the recently raised nobleman, one of those attending their lord, ‘what instructions did you give your men regarding parties from the south?’

  Belir Lomin’s face tightened as the eyes of all the men present turned to him. He was barely secure in his position and still learning how to act in the company of his new peers, and he knew they’d take any opportunity for scorn or condescension.

  ‘I relayed your orders exactly, my Lord,’ he said carefully, taking note of who might be enjoying the implied rebuke. He outranked all of the five suzerains and scions present, but he was equally sure they all considered themselves above him, even if Suzerain Lehm was the only one who showed it.

  ‘My Lord,’ Count Mekir interjected hesitantly, ‘they came in greater numbers than my men, and they refused to turn back. When they heard your decree they asked specifically to present themselves to you as a delegation from the Circle City. As I did not have troops enough to forcibly stop them, I had no choice but to accede.’

  So they did pay attention, Fernal mused. It’s amazing what loyalty these Farlan show once the niceties of rank are agreed and observed and there’s profit to be made. ‘I understand. Duke Lomin, have your troops make ready.’

  ‘My Lord, is the hostility necessary?’ asked Suzerain Fordan, gesturing to the soldiers surrounding them: there were five legions of troops, either camped around Borderkeep or patrolling within a day’s ride, and a similar number were stationed around Scree and Helrect to maintain order there.

  ‘That can’t be more than two regiments approaching; the threat is unnecessary, and it will be considered an insult if they are an official delegation.’

  Fernal gave Lomin a look, and the duke relayed the order without waiting to hear Fernal’s response. Once men were rushing for their horses and forming up, the Demi-God addressed his six high-born companions, who had been granted the greater bulk of Scree’s territories between them, each to rule their portion as they would their own suzerainty. Of the six, two were scions, bearing the full authority of their suzerains as Torl and Saroc had marched west with the Palace Guard.

  ‘Let me add to my decree for the benefit of all of you: the territories in Scree you now own were granted because of your loyalty — or your lords’ — in the expectation that you will command this first line of defence of the Farlan nation and protect our borders. I do not care what deals you make with your peers to secure troops or boost trade, so long as Farlan law is extended to Scree and Helrect and is equally respected in our protectorate of Tor Milist.

  ‘These laws include bans on the Knights of the Temples and all followers of the child Ruhen, and I mean the laws to be kept to the letter.’ He took a pace forward, his lupine fangs bright against the dark blue of his fur. ‘The Farlan like laws; you like your bargains and compromises. This I understand — and I have Chief Steward Lesarl for this — but there will be no compromise where Ruhen’s Children are concerned, nor for any other groups that preach his message.

  ‘You will all do well out of me, you who govern the Farlan and gather the wealth of the nation: I will make you even more wealthy and powerful by the time my father chooses a new Duke of Tirah, this I promise. I shall not demand the Farlan make war on Byora, as my predecessor did. That is the price, the bargain that keeps the Farlan from civil war. What I expect in return is no grey areas; no unseen deals or “interpretations” of my decrees. It is very simple: any man or woman within the Farlan nation who aids or encourages the followers of Ruhen in any way will be deemed a traitor of the nation, and they will be killed.’

  Fernal plucked at the long shirt he wore, fitted loosely over his powerful furred frame, and gestured to the adapted trousers and boots he had adopted to conform to the strictures of Farlan society. ‘I wear this to show publicly that I, as Lord of the Farlan, am one of you, but do not forget my heritage. If you wish to test me on this, you will see what I have inherited from my father, God of Storms — and you will see how widely and indiscriminately I can destroy.’

  As the noblemen stared aghast at their lord, Fernal realised just how close to a growl his voice had become.

  Lomin was the first to move; he dropped to one knee in acknowledgement of Fernal’s words. ‘Your words are clear, my Lord. Shall I order the delegation to be slaughtered?’

  Fernal shook his head, the dark mane of hair flying freely. ‘I think they also must hear it explained clearly. Let them report my words back to the shadow so there will be no later “misunderstanding”. I will meet them.’

  The hurscals spread out to flank the assembled lords. Fernal’s company of
liveried personal guards formed a narrow avenue, to physically limit the numbers approaching their lord. A tense hush fell over the Farlan soldiers as they watched the newcomers arrive, and Fernal noticed more than one of his men whispering to each other. Even the officers were looking a little uncertain of how to treat the arrivals — until they looked at their lord, and took their cue from him.

  Fernal stood with his arms crossed, his axes ready at his belt. He knew to his cost that humans could read little from his face, and that they always assumed a creature his size was capable of nothing but aggression — but in this instance that was precisely what he wanted his subjects to display.

  When the Devoted and their white-cloaked companions were within shouting distance, one officer nudged his horse ahead of the rest and called out, ‘Lord Fernal, I thank you for receiving us. My name is Major Kadin. I am a Knight of the Temples.’

  His accent placed him as Farlan, no doubt one of those Tildek men who’d followed the Knight-Cardinal into exile when Lord Bahl, Isak’s predecessor as Lord of the Farlan, banned their Order. The major dismounted and those behind him followed suit and continued their approach on foot, showing no apparent apprehension. Another Devoted officer, a captain, took up position next to a white-robed woman carrying an oak staff.

  ‘May I present to you Child Ileil, whose preachers we are escorting?’ Major Kadin said.

  The preacher bowed. She was tall and thin, no doubt once beautiful by Litse standards, though perhaps twenty winters past her prime now. ‘Your divine blood graces us with its presence,’ she murmured.

  Child? That’s the title she uses to bear Ruhen’s authority? ‘Why are you here, Major Kadin?’ Fernald asked bluntly. ‘Did you not understand my decree?’

  ‘We thought official relations between the Circle City and Tirah might yet be possible,’ he said smoothly, ‘especially given this mercy mission you have engaged in here.’

  ‘You bring them peace,’ Ileil broke in, her face shining with fervour, ‘you bring them the justice of the Gods, to save them from lawlessness. The child Ruhen asks us all to do what we can to aid our brothers and sisters in these parts — we carry his message of hope to everyone in these troubled times-’

  ‘Not without breaching the laws of the Farlan,’ Fernal said loudly, forcing the woman to break off from her rehearsed speech. ‘This is the only warning you will receive, you and any others sent in your stead: the lands of the Farlan are closed to you all. Any violation of this will be considered an act of war and receive the appropriate response.’

  Child Ileil looked aghast. ‘How can you threaten war in such troubled times? The Farlan are assailed by the cruelties and corruption of the cults, just as the Circle City has been. Your people are wearied of war and fear — all we ask is to speak to them of peace!’

  ‘You ask to speak lies!’ the Demi-God roared, anger welling up inside him. The fury in his voice forced even the fanatic to move back several paces, fear on her face. He growled, ‘Your master is a daemon with a child’s face, taking advantage of the Land’s troubles to further its own power.’

  ‘Ruhen is but a child,’ Ileil gasped, ‘special only in that his mind is not clouded by the fears and desires suffered by others! Look around you — look at the Land you inhabit and the allies your nation claims.’ Her voice became shrill as she spoke louder, to reach as many of those nearby as she could. ‘We are plagued by daemons, all of us. The borders of this world have been weakened by the rash actions of King Emin. Just as the cults have poisoned the message they were entrusted with, so King Emin has weakened the Gods in his desperation for power, for victory — and his madness has opened the very gates of Ghenna!’

  Fernal shook his head, unable to find the correct words to dismiss her claims outright. This was a perversion of what King Emin had done, he knew that, but he had always left the verbal diplomacy to the witch of Llehden. Instead he snarled, ‘Your master is a shadow, one that twists everything to its own advantage. I will not have Ruhen’s message inflicted on the Farlan.’

  ‘Your people cry out for peace,’ Ileil begged. ‘How can you deny them that? How can you deny it to those innocents within Scree’s borders after all they have suffered? Outside the walls of Byora the child Ruhen faced down the daemons — he cast them back to the Dark Place; with no army at his back he faced them down, and they could not withstand the power of his message.’

  ‘I do not care what bargains he makes with daemons,’ Fernal snarled, ‘his message is not welcome here. You have had your warning. Leave now, or die.’

  The Child lowered her head sadly and started backing away. ‘Ours is a mission of peace,’ she replied, her voice still raised. ‘If you are so clouded by fear and hatred that you will not hear of peace, we will not inflict greater suffering upon this place. The plague of daemons is a punishment upon us all, but if you refuse to be freed of them, if you refuse to hear Ruhen’s message, then he cannot force you.’

  She fixed him with one last, sorrowful look and returned to her horse, her head bowed as though in grief. The entire party left without another word, followed by the Farlan cavalrymen ordered by Duke Lomin to escort the party to the border. Behind him Fernal heard dismissive words from the older nobles and veteran hurscals, but they were not the only mutterings he made out on the wind.

  The seeds had been sown. He knew in that moment that the woman had succeeded in her mission; the trouble had only just begun. Fernal watched the preachers leave with sadness in his heart, but those who turned his way saw only the fierce features of a monster and quickly averted their eyes.

  CHAPTER 16

  Isak crested the hill and a shiver of dread ran down his spine. In the grainy grey light of pre-dawn, Vanach Settlement was slowly unveiled in all its brutal glory. The city on the valley plain below straddled the narrow mouth of a long lake, its arrowhead lines picked out in lanterns along the waterside and on the bridges between the shore and the lake’s two small islands.

  ‘Reminds me of Tirah,’ Vesna commented from his right, ‘all that old grey stone and dark slate. Just needs a few impossible towers and we’re halfway home.’

  Isak nodded slowly. ‘And it’s dwarfed by the lake, like the forest does for Tirah.’

  ‘There were towers once,’ Mihn said, ‘maybe not as grand as those of Tirah, but still built tall with the work of many mages.’

  ‘The commissars pulled them down?’

  Mihn inclined his head. ‘Before they were called that, yes. It is a common theme of history: people build these monuments, others tear them down. To look down on the Land from upon high… well, men must sometimes be reminded they are not Gods.’

  ‘Speak for yourself,’ Daken growled from behind them. ‘Some of us got ambitions.’

  Isak turned to look at the irrepressible white-eye, who courteously inclined his head at his commander. The man was a handful, but had mostly accepted his second-tier status in the group in a way most white-eyes wouldn’t have. Daken’s boasting and lascivious behaviour was mere window-dressing, Isak had realised; a sop to his innate antagonism and stubbornness that demanded some sort of release.

  ‘You don’t want to be a God,’ Isak said eventually. ‘You’d get bored.’

  Daken laughed. ‘Maybe I would at that,’ he agreed. ‘Anyways, not sure I’ll like the look o’ this Land once you an’ Ruhen are through with changing it. I’m a creature o’ habit, me.’

  Isak didn’t have an answer to that, but when he met Vesna’s eyes the Farlan hero turned away, his lips pursed. The pain of Tila’s death remained etched clear in the lines of his face, but Isak could see the man was developing something of Lord Bahl’s timeless air.

  How many years will you have to live with this loss? Isak wondered.

  Vesna drew his arms a little tighter around his body, almost as if Isak had asked the question aloud. If the Mortal-Aspect had an answer, it didn’t appear to be one he liked.

  ‘My Lord,’ called a rider in accomplished Farlan: an officer of the Black Sw
ords, coning down the road ahead. ‘Dawn will be upon us soon. Lodgings have been prepared.’

  Isak acknowledged him and watched the man ride away. The journey to Vanach had been slow, hampered by the Black Swords accompanying them. For days they had feared an attack; that some rogue part of the Night Council would decide to wipe out the uncertainty of Isak’s presence, but nothing had transpired. It had been a cold sort of relief when they’d discovered the truth, pushing their escort to move as fast as possible and coming across soldiers clearing civilians from their path.

  Inevitably some word of the saviour prophecies carved into the Grand Ziggurat’s walls had reached the general population over the years. For people without hope, oppressed by the very Gods they worshipped, Isak’s arrival offered a chance of change, and there were those who were desperate to see if the rumours were true, even as the Commissar Brigade were desperate to prevent any contact that might spark insurrection.

  Isak’s heart ached for these people. The dismal air of despair infected even the smallest communities under the ever-watchful eye of the commissars, while the labour camps they passed grew incrementally larger. Two days out of Toristern he had tried to get close enough to one to look in the eyes of these so-called heretics — and to test the limits of their escorts’ orders. The commissars marching with these Black Swords were of low rank, and no one stopped him when he rode up to the camp’s gate, though he had been expecting threats and drawn weapons. When Isak had peered over the gate at the emaciated faces beyond, part of him had hoped it would come to violence; but the result of his action was something he couldn’t defend against.

  Shouted orders to the camp guards had been obeyed immediately, without even a request for confirmation: one low-ranked commissar’s word was enough for the camp guards to instantly butcher every slave within sight. Only Mihn’s swift action had stopped Isak from turning on his escort and killing them all.