The Dusk Watchman ttr-5

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘I found this in a pack last night,’ Tiniq explained as he reached Isak and deposited a hinged cuff attached to a chain in Isak’s open palms.

  Isak frowned down at it, sensing some latent magic in the metal. ‘I don’t understand,’ he started.

  Without warning Tiniq slashed forward at Isak’s belly with a short knife, and Isak gasped, the silver chain spilling from his hands — but before he could react, a surge of power roared up from inside him and he screamed with pain.

  Tiniq dropped to a crouch as Isak howled and the Crystal Skull tumbled from the slashed strip of cloth across his belly. Quick as a snake the ranger scooped up the Skull, dropping his knife in the same movement and catching up the falling chain in his free hand. Isak dropped to his knees as the air turned black around him, his hands rising as though to shield his face from the suddenly-unchecked magic coursing through his body.

  With one deft movement Tiniq brought the chain up and snapped the cuff around Isak’s black wrist. Without waiting to see if the stricken white-eye had reacted, he kicked backwards at Carel, knocking him sprawling. As the nearest Ghosts came forward, Tiniq ran behind Isak with blinding speed, dragging the chain after him so Isak’s right arm was pinned against his chest.

  Strands of black light filled the grainy morning air and Isak screamed again, falling to his knees as sparks burst from his eyes and the magic of Termin Mystt ran rampant through his mind. The daemon-scars on his body flared red and as his cries intensified, lightning snapped out through the air all around him. The Ghosts faltered in the whip-crack of light that lashed past them and Tiniq took the opportunity to throw the chain around Isak’s body again, looping it under his right elbow and back over his left shoulder.

  That done the ranger glanced around, checking he wasn’t about to be gutted by any of the startled soldiers, and yanked a shard of glass encasing a black feather from his tunic. He dropped it, and a storm of black wings erupted from the magic-saturated air around them. The cloud of wings hammered furiously for a brief second, beating back the stunned guards, and then melted into nothingness, leaving behind only the glass shard on the ground where Isak had been.

  Carel dragged himself upright and stumbled forward a few steps before falling to his knees in disbelief. Isak was gone. Tiniq was gone — had betrayed them after all this time. The weapon they had hoped might win this war was now in their enemy’s hands.

  ‘Sound the alarm,’ he croaked, his voice initially too hoarse to the guards nearby to make out. ‘Alarm!’ Carel cried, grabbing the nearest dumbstruck soldier and dragging him around to face him. ‘Search the camp, fetch Vesna! They can’t have gone far — find him, damn you!’

  The Ghost gave some sort of garbled reply, but Carel was already heading for the king’s tent, until the beating of wings in the still morning air stopped him dead. With a mounting sense of horror he saw Vorizh Vukotic’s wyverns rising into the sky, a few hundred yards away. The vampire was astride the leading beast, but he turned towards the second, with the great bulk of a white-eye draped across its back and Tiniq’s smaller frame perched just behind.

  The Land seemed to squirm around him as the wyverns beat the air with their wings and climbed steadily, rising in the sky and heading towards the Devoted army. Shouts rang out from all around, but Carel didn’t hear them. He tried to run, but his legs betrayed him and only the arrival of some soldiers at his side stopped him from falling to the ground.

  ‘Archers,’ Carel tried to shout, but the strength had drained from his body, the air driven from his lungs, and the command came out only as a gasp, the cut-off exhalation of a man run through. He felt it as a pain in his gut, an upwelling of horror that enveloped him as Isak was carried off into the distance.

  CHAPTER 40

  Vensa watched the soldier yelling himself hoarse as he wove through a mass of startled soldiers. Men were running in all directions, most with their weapons drawn, a cacophony of voices, panic and confusion breaking out in the heart of the camp.

  ‘Soldier!’ he roared as the man reached him, still gabbling frantically, ‘take a breath and tell me what’s happened.’

  In that shout came the full force of Vesna’s divine presence and it rocked the man like a punch to the chest. He gasped and stopped dead, wide-eyed for a moment, before returning to his senses. ‘Lord Isak, my lord — he’s gone!’

  Vesna grabbed him by the shoulder. ‘Gone? What do you mean?’

  The soldier swallowed hurriedly, feeling the Mortal-Aspect’s impatience like the heat of a fire. He wore the black and white of the Ghosts; he was old enough to be a veteran, but right now he was as flustered and frightened as a raw recruit. ‘He’s been taken — Tiniq’s taken him, with that bloody vampire’s help!’

  ‘ Tiniq the ranger? He’s the bloody traitor?’ Vesna demanded, shaking the soldier, who went white with terror. Vesna realised he’d dented the man’s steel pauldron and he quickly released the Ghost. ‘How? That’s why those wyverns were flying towards the enemy?’

  The man bobbed his head, too frightened to speak. ‘He took the Skull from Lord Isak and used some glass feather to disappear, so Carel said.’

  Vesna broke into a run, heading towards Isak’s tent. Even before he reached it he could sense the panic and confusion emanating from the throng around it, but they stilled as he arrived as though calmed by his presence.

  ‘Carel! What happened?’

  Carel lurched forward, his face pale. ‘The bastard took him,’ he croaked. ‘He cut away the Skull and let the bloody sword cripple him with pain.’

  ‘He’s alive?’

  ‘Screaming,’ he moaned, ‘howling like the whole damn Dark Place was tearing his skin apart.’ He held up a shard of glass. Small fractures ran down one side of it, marring the clear view of a raven’s feather encased inside. ‘He used this to disappear.’

  Vesna took the glass shard from him and inspected it. ‘Tiniq must have stolen this from the witch before we left Moorview,’ he muttered. ‘He’s been planning it all this time?’

  ‘But why?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. He always was a strange one — I just thought he was as mad as any other Ascetite. Could he really have been an agent of Azaer’s all this time?’

  As he spoke a second figure sprinted up, and the Ghosts were turning with weapons half raised before they realised who it was.

  ‘Is it true?’ Doranei demanded, gasping for breath. ‘He’s been taken?’

  Vesna offered the glass shard. ‘He used this to reach the vampire — Vorizh’s also betrayed us.’

  ‘Karkarn’s horn,’ Doranei breathed, ‘we’ve lost Termin Mystt, the Skull of Ruling, two wyverns and a vampire all in one go?’

  ‘Eolis too,’ Vesna reminded him. ‘Vorizh took it when Isak claimed Termin Mystt.’

  ‘And none of you had a fucking clue?’ Doranei shouted, wheeling round at the Farlan soldiers, who bristled. ‘A traitor in your midst this whole fucking time?’

  More than one would have stepped forward if Vesna hadn’t raised a hand to stop the argument from developing. ‘There’s no time for that,’ he said. ‘We’ve lost our greatest weapon — we can’t delay any longer.’

  Doranei grabbed the shard from his hand. ‘You’re right: Azaer’s got all the power it needs now. I’ll see if Endine can do anything with this. You get the army moving.’

  ‘What chance do we stand now?’ Carel yelled at the King’s Man. ‘The two greatest weapons in creation are in our enemy’s hands!’

  Slowly and deliberately Doranei put a hand to Carel’s chest and pushed him back. ‘Yes, Azaer’s got all the cards, but that changes the game.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning,’ Doranei replied calmly, fully composed again now, ‘the shadow doesn’t give a shit about this battle. It’s got bigger plans than beating us on the field, and for those plans it needs the swords and Skulls in use, not out here tearing us apart.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it wait?’

 
‘You saw the toll Termin Mystt took on Isak; these weapons are not to be used lightly — and do you think it trusts its allies so completely it’d risk being vulnerable in their presence? Azaer’s goal is to become a God, not a conqueror! Why wait before doing that? Why wait for any possible surprises we might pull to win the battle? All those soldiers have to do is defend the hilltop until Azaer’s a God, and then we’re all fucked anyway. But to make that happen the shadow needs to be within the barrow, deep underground and away from anyone its mages could use the Skulls on!’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘How in the name of the fucking Dark Place should I know?’ Doranei shouted. ‘Do I look like a bloody mage? Vesna, you’ve got more chance of knowing — what does your God say?’

  The Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn blinked, but if his God had answers, he was not sharing them. ‘I don’t know, but how long can a ritual take when you’ve that much power?’

  He looked around and raised his voice so that the ground shook with divine authority. ‘Arm yourselves! Leave everything else — we march right now!’ Lowering his voice he looked hard at Doranei. ‘What happens even if we punch through? Isak was going to kill Azaer — how do we win without that option?’

  ‘I don’t know, but rituals can go awry — maybe Legana or Endine can find a way to disrupt it. You’re leading the strike now; there’s no one else. Who’s commanding the Ghosts?’

  ‘Colonel Cerse!’ Vesna bellowed, and the commander of the Ghosts ran up, still pulling on his heavy armour. In his wake came Suzerain Torl, dressed in the lighter armour of the Dark Monks.

  ‘Here, Vesna,’ Cerse replied. ‘Your orders?’

  ‘The battle order remains the same, but you’re leading the Ghosts,’ Vesna said. ‘Make General Lahk proud of his men. Torl, you have command of the Farlan forces.’

  He started back towards his tent to put on the rest of his own armour, but hesitated when he realised the soldiers were all still staring at him in awed silence.

  ‘Move yourselves!’ he roared, jerking them into action. ‘May Karkarn’s blessing shield you all. The Farlan ride to war!’

  ‘At last we meet,’ came a distant voice through the darkness, ‘my most useful of playthings.’

  Isak raised his head and muzzily made out a small figure standing a few feet in front of him. A small, slender boy, looking barely fourteen summers, but with the presence of a king. He was dressed simply, with a wrapped sword bound on his back, and he dominated a view containing Harlequins, mages and Demi-Gods. Even the one blind eye and scar on his face served only to enhance his unearthly air.

  Isak recognised Ilumene standing close to Ruhen’s side, while on the boy’s other side he saw a black figure with teardrops tattooed on his face: the black Harlequin, Venn. Ilumene grinned malevolently at Isak, but the best he could manage in response was to look straight through the man, as though he wasn’t worth noticing.

  ‘But as you see,’ Ruhen continued with a small, secret smile, spreading his hands to indicate himself, ‘I am growing up. The time has come to put aside my childish things and you, beloved toy, have almost served your purpose.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ Isak croaked.

  Ruhen’s smile widened. ‘Ah, you do not disappoint. Always the white-eye, even after all I’ve put you through.’

  Isak took stock of himself. He was on his side, his right hand pulled tight against his chest and a chain of silver looped diagonally around his torso. The sky was oppressive, sullen grey clouds with a taste of rain on the wind. He could see a perimeter of cut stones, both standing and fallen, and fractured paving slabs underneath him. It appeared that they were standing on the remains of an obliterated temple. His senses told him he was on the bare hill their scouts had spoken of; Aryn Bwr had described it as a barrow. The air hummed with power and the stones beneath him trembled at the artefacts gathered in one place.

  He pushed himself up with his left hand until he was kneeling, then hunched forward and retched until the waves of pain and dizziness passed. His hands were trembling and his head swam; even the simplest of movements was exhausting. It was a huge effort just to turn his head enough to see Tiniq’s hooded head behind him, a grim expression on the ranger’s face. The end of the chain that bound him was in one hand, the Skull of Ruling in the other.

  ‘Traitor,’ Isak managed, but even as he said that a shocking pulse of energy ran up through his arm, setting the nerves aflame and his bones creaking until Tiniq quietened the flow.

  ‘I think you should be more civil,’ Ruhen warned. ‘It’s only the link he holds that is keeping Termin Mystt from shredding what’s left of your mind.’

  Despite the boy’s words, anger and hatred continued to growl unabated in Isak’s gut. ‘Stabbed your own damn brother in the back?’ Isak hissed, blinking away the stars that burst before his eyes. ‘Did you let him see the face of his killer — or were you too much of a coward to let him know what his brother was before he died?’

  This time the pain was worse, and Isak’s vision went white as power ran rampant through his body and his ears filled with his own screams. Eventually Tiniq relented and cut the flow again, leaving Isak panting and sobbing in a heap.

  ‘My brother needed no such burden,’ Tiniq hissed. ‘He died clean and quick. You all used him like a dog and you think to condemn me? Piss on you all, the whole damn tribe of the Farlan who’d have hung me in an instant had they learned what I am.’

  Isak grunted and rolled over so he could again see Tiniq through his blurred and wavering eyes. ‘What’s that, then?’

  Tiniq’s face became stony. ‘There’s no name for what I am: twin of a white-eye,’ he spat, ‘an impossible birth. I shouldn’t have survived; your kind don’t share, except my soon-to-be dead mother was infected by something almost as strong as white-eye’s blood.’

  ‘You’re a vampire?’ Isak croaked in disbelief.

  Tiniq sneered, ‘And to think the Gods placed you above my brother. There’s no name for what I am. I was infected by the vampire blood, but sharing a womb with one touched by the Gods. For years I fought the thirst, knowing my own people would kill me if they ever discovered the truth.’

  ‘Until the shadows spoke to him,’ Ruhen added, delight in his voice as he savoured the words and his own triumph. ‘Until I gave him the strength to survive its growing call — to become more than a man in hiding from his own nature.’

  ‘What are you going to offer me, then?’ Isak said, weakly pushing himself back to his knees.

  ‘Offer?’ Ruhen cocked his head to one side. ‘Why should I do that?’

  Isak tried to smile as he gestured to the black hand bound tight to his chest. ‘Got anyone else who can hold this? You reckon your pet Jester could stand it?’

  Ruhen turned and looked around Ilumene at the tall, grey-skinned Demi-God not far behind. ‘Koteer? I think he might, yes: a son of Death with Ruling in his hand and Aenaris nearby — yes, if you forced my hand, I think he would.’

  ‘But would you trust the bastard to follow orders?’

  If Isak stirred anything up, he couldn’t see it. Koteer remained impassive, and Ruhen was more amused than anything else.

  ‘Trust? Koteer’s brothers have died for the cause. Loyalty like that buys everything they were promised and more.’ Ruhen looked past Isak. ‘But I don’t think you will press the matter. Your friends might yet break through to meet you. It would be a shame if Ilumene had already taken your head before Emin manage to conjure something.’

  ‘We wouldn’t want them to be disheartened now,’ Ilumene agreed. ‘They might give up and leave us to it.’

  ‘You don’t want that?’ Isak coughed.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Ruhen. ‘The greatest magic is always consecrated by blood, after all, and the presence of power is almost as important. I don’t need your cooperation, you see, just your presence. With a majority of Skulls and the rest nearby, magnifying the presence of Demi-Gods and Mortal-Aspects…’ The boy laughed. ‘It will be more than enou
gh; you overestimate any resistance the Gods are likely to mount.’

  Isak had nothing to say. Under the assault from Termin Mystt and Ruhen’s carelessly spoken words, he felt enfeebled. He found himself unable to move from his position of subjugation, kneeling, head bowed, before the shadow eye of Ruhen.

  ‘Ilumene, set your pieces,’ Ruhen said to the former King’s Man, and Ilumene nodded and beckoned forward a white-eye in bright robes and a Farlan man Isak hadn’t noticed before. The former had to be Lord Larim, the Menin mage who was Larat’s Chosen — they hadn’t found his body at Moorview, and no one had dared to hope the man would be dead. The sickly-looking Farlan had dark circles around his eyes and gaunt cheeks. The armour he wore was that of a general of the Knights of the Temples and Isak realised belatedly this had to be Knight-Cardinal Certinse, the last living member of that troublesome family.

  ‘Definitely going to make sure I kill you,’ Isak declared in a heavy, slurring voice. ‘Get myself the full family set.’

  If the Knight-Cardinal reacted, Isak didn’t see, for Tiniq struck him on the back of the head and sent him sprawling to the ground, pink and black stars bursting before his eyes.

  ‘Close order infantry on both hills, archers behind and space for the cavalry to descend. Give them leave to range around the rear of the hill. I doubt an attack’ll come there, but we still need to watch for troops like the Legion. What we can offer Emin is the lower rise — this flank’s the best one to attack but it leaves them badly open. Larim, you’re the heart of the defence,’ Ilumene began in a business-like voice. ‘Yours will be the only Skull outside the barrow.’

  ‘What? The rest are going in with you?’ Certinse blurted out.

  Ilumene nodded. ‘Six Skulls and Aenaris are what the master needs, so you’ll make do with what you’ve got: seventy thousand troops to stop them taking one fucking hill, so don’t whine.’