The Dusk Watchman ttr-5 Page 4

  Doranei looked away from them both and the witch moved on, raising her voice so she could be heard by all.

  ‘All of you — put your palm against the chest of the man behind you, over his heart. You must all be linked; you must all choose to give yourself to this service.’

  Doranei felt Daken’s meaty paw thump him on the chest, almost knocking him backwards, and he grabbed it with his left hand and held it over his sternum, where he knew the heart rune had been burned into Mihn’s and Isak’s flesh. Reaching back he felt Veil push forward against his hand and all around them men and women copied them, or followed the king’s example and reached out with both arms.

  It took a long while for everyone to link themselves, but the witch — unable to have her own magic turned back on her, Doranei guessed — continued on out through the ranks, neatly picking her way over the outstretched arms towards the back. Finally he saw the witch waving from the far end of the seated soldiers, indicating Legana could start.

  As Shanas passed on the message — Legana’s eyesight was too poor to see so far in daylight — Daken clicked the fingers of his free hand towards Isak. ‘Here doggy,’ he whispered as Legana took her place between Mihn and King Emin.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Doranei said as Hulf pricked up his ears and Isak slowly looked over. The young dog was sitting on Isak’s feet, watching events suspiciously.

  ‘Come to Uncle Daken,’ the white-eye called, clicking his fingers again. Eventually Isak focused on the man and stared at the gestures he was making. He watched the man a moment, then removed his hand from around Hulf’s shoulder. ‘That’s it, boy, come here,’ Daken called again.

  ‘Leave the bloody dog alone,’ Doranei whispered. The palm on his chest briefly became a claw as Daken dug his fingers in to shut Doranei up.

  ‘It’s for the best,’ he said, nodding encouragingly to Isak. ‘That dog was with him on the battlefield — they might not’ve been part o’ the fighting, but it ain’t leaving his side any time soon. You ever seen a dog fight an armed man? It’s gonna need all the protection it can get.’

  From behind him Doranei heard a snort. ‘Don’t be so surprised,’ Veil said softly, ‘if a dog can’t eat or fight something, it’s only got one use for it — remind you of anyone?’

  Isak pushed Hulf towards Daken, and at last the dog padded warily over. The white-eye mercenary let Hulf sniff his fingers before he made to stroke him, but once that was done Hulf went easily enough and Daken hooked an arm over the grey-black dog to hug him close.

  ‘Now don’t you bite my face, you little bugger,’ Daken whispered as Legana reached out, a Crystal Skull in each hand. One she pressed against Mihn’s chest, the other against King Emin’s. After a moment Doranei heard the king gasp and braced himself.

  Mihn had told him acquiring the scar had hurt enough to make him pass out. Legana hadn’t mentioned anything like that, but the erstwhile Farlan assassin had a strange sense of humour at the best of times. If it wasn’t for the fact that she’d grown close to King Emin and he was to be the first recipient of the markings, Doranei thought it an even bet she’d gladly have knocked out more than a thousand men in one go.

  Daken’s fingers tightened on Doranei’s tunic and he pulled it against his chest, a moment later feeling Veil follow suit as best he could. Hulf gave a short bark, more puzzlement than alarm, but Doranei couldn’t look to see if Isak had reacted. Instead he closed his eyes and focused on the warm tingle that was building on his chest. His heart began to beat faster as the warmth spread around his chest like a belt, slowly tightening on his ribs.

  A furious itch began on his palms and down his arms, the skitter of a thousand tiny spiders on his skin. Carefully he opened his eyes, wincing slightly as the pressure on his chest increased with every second, and turned his free hand over to look at the palm. A white speck of light was dancing madly over his skin, leaving a trail of ink behind it. All around him he heard gasps as others discovered the same sensation, but he only looked up when he heard a gasp of pain from Mihn.

  The Crystal Skulls in Legana’s hands shone with a fierce, bright white light, and it looked like the shafts of light had impaled Mihn. His arms and head hung limply behind him; his lips were moving, but whatever he was saying Doranei couldn’t hear.

  Then Mihn’s whole body shuddered as though Legana had shaked him like a toy and he moaned, ‘It is given.’ His voice was hoarse from the pressure being exerted. Doranei felt a renewed surge of power wrap around his body and Mihn’s words echoed through his bones. Then the power increased again and Mihn’s words became lost in the storm that filled Doranei’s head. ‘Whatever asked… in darkness a path…’

  Doranei howled as the pressure abruptly focused into a burning pain, as though Daken’s hand was a white-hot brand. Distantly he heard others cry out, and Hulf whimpered, but the sounds were lost amidst the stars of pain bursting before his eyes. Though reeling from the agony, he felt impaled by Daken’s hand, nor could he wrench his own hand from Veil’s chest.

  A cool gust of wind swept across his face, whipped into life by the magic running through his body. It carried the stink of scorched flesh and Doranei realised with a flash of fear that the smell was him. The itch on his hands, feet and arms intensified. Unable to see through the pain he had to picture the tattoos unfolding on his skin, spun like silk and burned onto his body: circles within circles to keep him hidden and silent, leaves of rowan and hazel on his arms to shield him from magic.

  With one final surge the searing magic drove deep into his chest, then went racing down his arm and on into Veil. He heard his Brother cry out even as Daken’s hand fell away and the pain receded. When the magic was gone and through Veil the pair sagged, flopping sideways and clinging desperately to each other for support.

  Doranei gasped for air, his heart racing as fast as it had the previous evening. Almost drunkenly he inspected his arms: there was a perfect replica of Mihn’s tattoos, and on his palms too, running unbroken over the various scars he’d acquired over the years in service to his king. The charms of silence and magic to hide him from both men and daemons were now indelibly imbued into his skin.

  ‘Do you reckon-’ Daken wheezed from nearby, one arm still around a distraught Hulf, ‘-do you reckon this means we’ll never find Veil’s hand out here?’

  He gasped for breath and cackled at his own joke while Veil, too drained to do anything more, muttered insults. Doranei forced himself upright and looked around: the magic was still working its way outwards. It resembled a ripple of wind sweeping over a field of wheat as the magic flowed from one man to the next, leaving them toppled and exhausted in its wake.

  Legana sank to her knees, spilling the Crystal Skulls on the ground. Mihn and Shanas caught her befoe she fell flat on her face.

  ‘It’s done,’ King Emin groaned, fumbling at his tunic a while before he managed to open it and look at the rune burned into his chest. Doranei did the same. He could just make out the symbol. It was strange to see it there; since the age of sixteen he’d worn the tiny heart rune on his ear, the mark of the Brotherhood, but this enlarged version looked oddly out of place. The skin was red and blistered and painful to the touch, just as any burn would be.

  Isak began to laugh, awkwardly at first, as though only slowly remembering exactly how to do it. The big white-eye stood up as Hulf ran to his side and jumped up, his front paws resting on Isak’s thigh. Still laughing, Isak ran the fingers of his right hand through the dog’s thick fur while with his left he pushed back the hood of his cloak and let the garment fall open.

  ‘Isak?’ Mihn said quietly.

  The white-eye turned to him with a broad smile that had been entirely absent since even before his death. ‘Think of it as a tradition,’ Isak explained, and Mihn gave a cough that was akin to amusement.

  Doranei frowned, a shadow of memory stirring. Had he heard something about this, when Mihn first linked himself to Isak? There was something about the connection it made between them — ha
dn’t Mihn, while his scar was still raw and sensitive, been able to feel something of Isak’s pain?

  ‘My grave thieves and ghosts,’ Isak announced to the moor at large, turning as he spoke, ‘welcome.’ And before anyone could respond, he jammed his thumbnail hard enough into his own scar to draw blood. All around him men howled, but it only made Isak and Mihn laugh all the harder.

  CHAPTER 3

  Ruhen stood at the window and looked down over Byora. Smoke drifted on the breeze from the armoury where the Menin garrison had been stationed. Even from his high position the boy could sense the activity and turmoil going on below. He could smell the sour tang of fear like a perfume on the wind, but this morning it couldn’t stir pleasure in his ancient, immortal soul.

  As the shadows of his true self raced over the whites of his eyes, Ruhen let his thoughts slowly settle into order. It had been a shock, to be surprised like that. Such a thing happened only rarely in thousands of years. Even rarer, he had underestimated his enemy. Azaer had always been a being of weakness, avoiding direct conflict and keeping to the dark, lonely places where it had been born.

  The King of Narkang possessed a rare mind: still beautifully human, and yet surpassing most Azaer had ever encountered. They had both found the enmity between them, the decades of something approaching intimacy and fascination, had driven them and spurred them to heights they would never have reached alone. Exactly how King Emin had managed this latest feat, this commanding of Gods and crippling of a warrior without equal, Azaer could not guess — but what mattered was the price he had paid.

  Was that Emin’s desperate last move? If so, he would come to regret it. Whatever strength he might have left, he had only improved Azaer’s hand for when the final cards were played.

  The door opened behind him, but Ruhen didn’t turn. He knew it was Ilumene returning.

  ‘Looks like you were right; ain’t a Menin alive left in Byora.’

  ‘With so much fear, they needed someone to blame.’

  Ilumene settled into a chair behind Ruhen and dumped his boots heavily on a delicate table that promptly splintered under the force. ‘Fucking insects that they are: something surprises or unsettles ’em and all they want is someone to hurt.’

  As though highlighting his point the big soldier drew a thin dagger from his boot and began to deftly slide it over the scars on his left hand, just breaking the skin enough to make the runic shapes well bloodily up.

  ‘I’ve sent every man we got onto the streets to break some heads — most of the Byoran Guard are as bewildered as the rest of the quarter, so they’re glad to have orders to follow. Means they don’t think about having a name stolen out their heads.’

  ‘That has always fascinated me,’ Ruhen said, turning to Ilumene, ‘the need to be busy, the desperation for purpose. I have done nothing but watch a tomb for decades at a time. Humans would prefer to spend that time in slavery. It is astonishing, the chaos one can cause with just a man seeking a purpose.’

  Ilumene regarded the little boy, the twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘You saying I should get off my fat arse and get busy?’

  Ruhen matched the stare for a while, unblinking, before turning away. ‘You are a man of action.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m getting the hang of giving orders and watching someone else do the dull bits. I’ve been busy already — time to watch my geese come home to roost, or some such other stupid rural saying. I’ll send a messenger to the Narkang network today; every cell will be active and ready to move in time.’

  ‘Venn arrives today.’

  ‘And I’m ready for him too,’ Ilumene said, reaching for his boot again. He drew out a piece of folded paper and raised it, but Ruhen didn’t bother to look. ‘Two lists and instructions simple enough even Jackdaw couldn’t screw them up.’ Ilumene heaved himself up and headed for the door. ‘I’ll go and check in with Luerce, make sure everything is arranged at his end — Knight-Cardinal Certinse is already primed to move. There’ve already been enough deaths in Akell to change the minds of many.’

  ‘Good. Time to put on a show and welcome our players back.’

  Nai moved slowly down the alley, listening for movement up ahead. Hearing nothing he glanced back at Amber, who stood at the corner, his eyes on the ground, desperately clutching the staff Nai had found him. Nai had changed the colour of their clothes with a simple glamour, but there was no disguising Amber’s height and bulk. Only the listless bewilderment of the population had allowed them to get so far, but he knew they shouldn’t attempt to head out of the industrial district of Wheel.

  The city walls were intended for defence rather than containment, but once the search for Menin soldiers got organised someone would send out cavalry patrols. The Menin hadn’t mistreated the population of Byora, but Nai certainly didn’t want to be standing next to a high-ranking officer when they decided what to do with their conquerors.

  He beckoned Amber over, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Amber,’ Nai hissed, ‘Amber, come here.’ As always he was careful to use his name as much as possible, the only name the Menin had left now. For his entire career the soldier had answered to ‘Amber’ rather than his birth-name, and that detail was likely all that had saved Amber’s mind.

  Nai shook his head in irritation and went to fetch him, pulling him down the alley by the arm until he started following. When they came to a fork, Nai stopped the big man and fumbled in one pocket for a small silver-backed mirror.

  ‘This takes me back,’ he muttered under his breath as he used the mirror to check around the corner that it was clear. ‘For an erudite man, I think my former master rather enjoyed running from a mob every few years.’

  He gave Amber a smile, but it was lost on the man — perhaps just as well since Nai’s former master, the necromancer Isherin Purn, hadn’t exactly endeared himself to Amber the one time they met.

  ‘Bet you never thought you’d have to rely on my skills at evading a witch-hunt, eh, Amber?’

  Satisfied the way was clear, Nai looked to see what buildings were in view. ‘Right, we’re not far from the city wall now. If they intend searching every house they’ll start at the wall and head back in, so we’ll stay here.’

  Behind one wall of the alley he heard sounds of activity, a hammer and chisel at work. With luck whoever was in there was alone and there would be no need for spilled blood, but Nai was a necromancer. He didn’t see the point in killing without a purpose, but his survival instinct was a strong as any white-eye’s. He pushed Amber out of view of the door and reached into his pocket again.

  The last time he’d seen Amber, they’d fought in a tavern in Breakale. Since then Nai had been lying low, trying to decide upon his next course of action, but he was never without the few essentials any good necromancer needed to escape self-righteous persecution. He withdrew one of these now and held it lightly between thumb and forefinger, ready for use as he rapped on the door and waited for it to be answered.

  With his sometime benefactor, the vampire Zhia Vukotic, off to the West, Nai’s thoughts had been turning towards stepping away from the conflict entirely. It wasn’t his fight, after all, and he owed no one much, but a necromancer knew the value of earning favour. Some instinct told him Azaer would prefer the term master to benefactor, and that could prove lethal to a mage of Nai’s minor skills, but King Emin was sufficiently amoral to be a good alternative.

  The King of Narkang was unburdened by piety and ever the champion of pragmatic business. He would almost certainly be happy to buy Amber, and consequently the magical link he bore to Ilumene, off Nai. He didn’t expect much negotiation to be possible, but anything would be better than staying here. He glanced at Amber. The big soldier was near-insensate.

  Though they’d parted on bad terms and Amber was a man who lived by the sword, Nai had enough respect for him to think he deserved better than a club to the head or a hangman’s noose. He had no idea what sort of life King Emin would offer him, but it co
uldn’t be any worse: they both had to rely on that.

  The workshop door jerked open and a slender Litse poked his head out, pushing back long wisps of blond hair as he peered down at Nai.

  The necromancer gave him his best smile and raised what he was holding to show the man. It was a peach stone, cleaned and smoothed, with three symbols carved into each side. ‘I was asked to give you this,’ he said.

  The man looked from the stone to Nai and back, his mouth opening to speak, but confusion made him hesitate and quick as a snake Nai shoved the stone into the man’s mouth. The Litse recoiled, closing his mouth reflexively as he did. He took a frightened step back and then stopped, his expression of fright fading into glass-eyed blankness. Without waiting, Nai dragged Amber inside with him, nudging the Litse aside and closing the door behind him.

  When a voice quavered, ‘Who are you?’ he turned and saw a young boy frozen in the act of rising, a chisel in his hand as though he was ready to attack Nai. The boy took a second look at Amber and opened his mouth to shout, but Nai already had his knife to the unresisting man’s throat.

  ‘Don’t scream or I kill him,’ he commanded, and ushered the man, clearly the boy’s father, forward. He moved willingly, staring vacantly ahead at the space between them.

  ‘What have you done to him?’ the boy asked quietly, trembling as he spoke.

  ‘I’ve put a spell on him,’ Nai admitted. ‘He’s entirely under my control now. If you don’t want me to order him to put his head in the fire, you’ll not cry out or try to escape, understand?’

  ‘A spell?’

  The necromancer nodded and lowered his knife, pointedly turning his back on the man. ‘Go and stand by the door,’ he ordered. The peach stone was a popular necromancer’s tool, but it was only useful for short periods, unless one had an inexhaustible supply of people: the spell would last until the stone was taken out of his mouth, but the victim could neither do it themselves, nor eat or drink with it in.