by Tom Lloyd
‘Azaer!’ roared a voice from beyond the circle of flame.
Isak tried to focus through the pain, but his vision blurred as every scar on his body came alive with old hurts. The attackers surrounded the circle now, though not even a Harlequin would attempt to jump these flames. Distantly he could make out Doranei as the black broadsword carved through an Acolyte’s sword and body.
‘Isak!’ shouted someone else, ‘Isak, get up!’
Now he could see Carel, sword and face both bloodied, roaring like a drill sergeant. A Harlequin turned to strike him down, but King Emin was at his side, shouting at Azaer, his face illuminated by red sparks bursting from the edge of his axe. Doranei turned and struck the Harlequin, claiming another life as Emin continued to shout for the dying boy’s attention.
Slowly Ruhen turned Emin’s way, his movements dulled by the poison, but Isak could see the shadow recognised his old enemy. As soon as the boy had turned his way Emin pulled something from his belt and held it up. Isak felt a faint note of recognition as the light caught it: a cracked glass shard with a dark strand within.
Doranei grabbed the king’s hand and before any of the defenders could take advantage, they dropped the shard onto the rocky ground. Black wings burst around them, sweeping from nowhere to envelop the pair in a flurry of movement before melting away an instant later.
Ilumene was already moving to Ruhen’s side as the wings reappeared on the near side of the flames, between the standing stones of Nartis and Tsatach. The Gods, still bowed in obeisance, showed no sign of noticing, but as the wings vanished and the two men staggered back, Ilumene lunged forward. The king parried with a drunken swipe as he fell back against Nartis’ stone.
Isak felt another jolt inside him as Doranei left the king’s side and threw himself at Koteer. Emin slipped around the stone just in time to let Ilumene’s sword raise sparks where his head had been, then responded with a flurry of blows with sword and axe. His former protégé laughed as he battered them away, but Ilumene kept his distance now, using the longer reach of his bastard sword to keep Emin away from the kneeling Ruhen.
On the far side of the circle Doranei was hacking madly at Koteer. The power of his sword more than made up for his opponent’s size and strength, but as Koteer gave ground, his eyes flicked to the figure beside Ilit’s stone, and Venn, unnoticed, drew his own sword as Doranei turned his back to him.
Isak tried to shout a warning, but Tiniq smashed the pommel of his sword down onto his head and he found himself on his hands and knees, once again barely able to see. He blinked hard, trying to focus: Doranei was a blur of furious movement ahead of him, and Venn was stepping forward, his own sword ready.
Through the darkness came another blaze of light and he saw Venn falter as fingers closed on his shoulder. He turned in surprise to see the Wither Queen holding him. Her eyes blazed blue, then faded and turned to emerald and as Isak watched the Black Harlequin shook her off and slashed at her face – but from nowhere she brought up a long-knife and caught the blow.
Then the Wither Queen reached out and took Venn by the throat, green sparks dancing across her fingers. Venn shrieked and wrenched himself around to try and escape her grip, but all he succeeded in doing was dragging the Goddess with him, her ragged cape billowing in an unnatural wind.
Then the rags and tarnished crown melted away into the darkness and suddenly it was Legana standing there instead. Venn tried again to run her through, but the Mortal-Aspect, moving with incredible speed, slapped his sword away. Her face became cold and focused and she closed her grip, her thumb driving into his throat, crushing his windpipe. Venn staggered back, his ruined hand pawing weakly at his neck, but Legana didn’t wait for him fall; with one blindingly quick stroke she slashed his broken neck open and watched the blood gush out.
As Ilumene glanced up and saw his comrade fall he barely avoided an eviscerating stroke from the king. The big man snarled and threw himself forward, hammering down on the king’s axe-shaft and smashing it from his grip. Emin tried to thrust his sword forward, but Ilumene barged into him and the two men became pinned together, their swords trapped between them.
Ilumene drove Emin backwards until he was standing against a standing stone. ‘You’re too late!’ the former King’s Man crowed. ‘There’s nothing you can do to stop Ruhen, and my soul’s a part of him.’
The king grunted under the pressure, but instead of reply he slipped his free hand down to his belt and dragged a dagger from it. Ilumene lifted him bodily so his head was pressed back against the flames in the stone’s alcove and the king cried out in pain, even as he jammed the dagger into Ilumene’s ribs. The big man gasped and released the king, but as he fell back, a bright ruby light burst into being from under his armour and with a shout Ilumene headbutted the king. He released his sword, then pulled out his own dagger as he bashed Emin’s head into the stone.
‘Surprise!’ he shouted, slashing his dagger across the king’s cheek. ‘I always was one trick ahead of you – you never could keep up, old man,’ and he punched Emin until the king reeled under the onslaught and fell back against the menhir.
Ilumene snarled with satisfaction, but the king beat Ilumene back a step, then he hurled himself to the ground and grabbed his discarded axe. He hooked Ilumene’s leg, driving the spike into his calf, even as a second burst of light from Ilumene’s bloodrose amulet absorbed the pain of his wound and the bigger man stabbed down into his shoulder.
‘I don’t need to,’ Emin croaked, dragging the axe towards him and pulling Ilumene’s leg with it.
The big fighter twisted as he fell and drove his knees into Emin, then he tried to fight his way backwards, but he floundered; his leg was caught under Emin and the king was hanging on with every last scrap of strength.
And then Isak moved: with a great scream he drove himself to his feet and drew the power of Termin Mystt inside him. Black flames danced over his skin as the raging torrent of magic ripped through his frail body. The roar of power filled his ears and the Land drew back from around him. Isak could see the small boy going limp ahead of him, creeping like a thief towards Godhood.
He howled, and sent all the shrieking energies of Death’s weapon into his arm. As he dragged up his hand, he felt the chain tighten about his chest, but still he hauled, barely noticing as Tiniq slammed his pommel down onto Isak’s neck again. Fire engulfed him and the pain of the Dark Place welled up from his lost memories as the black sword bit into his shoulder and kept going. Higher and higher it went, and the Land became a white haze of agony before his eyes as he carved through his own collarbone and on into the shoulder. Then the edge caught the silver chain and it burst apart in an explosion of dark power that threw Isak’s sword-arm back.
He let the force drive his arm around in an inexorable sweep as Termin Mystt sheared through Tiniq’s descending sword and kept going. Though he was barely able to see the traitor, Isak swung with all the fury and desperation of a dying man and the black sword caught Tiniq in his belly and sliced through to his spine. If Tiniq yelled out, Isak couldn’t hear it above his own cries, but he let the traitor fall dead while the white light of Aenaris filled his mind.
The Key of Life surged with fresh power in response to its mate, but Isak could barely see it through the fog of his last few breaths. His ruined shoulder was numb, but the pain was absolute and it took his last remaining strength to manage those few steps to Ruhen. The boy’s fingers were loosening around Aenaris’ hilt.
Isak raised the sword high, then fell to his knees, slamming it down and catching Ruhen square in the chest. The boy’s eyes jerked open at the impact, but his grip on Aenaris was beyond mortal strength and the black sword only caused the shadows in Ruhen’s eyes to dance with greater delight. More power flowed as his life seeped away, Azaer’s apotheosis rushing forward like a tidal wave.
‘A shadow you are,’ Isak said, slurring through the agony as blood poured from his half-severed shoulder, ‘and a shadow you’ll remain.’
&
nbsp; He released Termin Mystt and the black sword embraced its new master, its enormous power surging into Ruhen while a hurricane of magic exploded around them. Isak reached out to the dim circle of fire behind, and the pulsing magic in the air raced to obey. The flames rose higher as the Sisters of Dusk fell to their knees all around the circle, but then the river of fire parted, surging up on both sides, and through the gap in the flames came a figure, hands pressed to his belly as blood spilled from a mortal wound. He struggled forward, obviously close to death, but somehow managing those last few steps. His face was briefly visible through the surging storm of light and blackness.
Mihn.
The pain fell away: his shoulder, his scars, the ruined fragments of his mind – Isak felt nothing, and in that last moment he smiled. Then he reached out and put his hand on Aenaris, drawing one last scrap of magic into his body. He felt it fill him and drank deep of the blazing white light.
‘But a shadow must have a master.’
It went racing into his bones, through arteries and veins, up over his skin, until the scars on his body began to shine with pure, blinding light. It covered his almost-severed shoulder, then surged from his mouth and his eyes.
Light filled Isak; it shone out of him like a beacon, and under the assault Ruhen’s shadow soul was cast backwards, stark and black in the radiance, while man and boy were consumed by white flame. It tore the shadows from where they were tethered and burned them with the light of creation.
Death reached out and took them in His cold embrace. Isak felt his own body crumble to ash and scattered by the power of Aenaris radiating through his bones. His mind was suddenly free, set soaring on the storm.
Then the light consumed the last of him and Isak felt a final moment of balance descend. Beyond it was nothingness. Beyond it was peace.
EPILOGUE
Silver kissed the rustling grass as they rode towards the hill. A black-armoured man led the way, but there was no danger; he went out of habit, and a need to be alone with his thoughts. They had left their escort behind and ridden out from the small camp as the sun neared the horizon. It was spring and the air was warm; darting birds chased the last of the day’s insects before they went to roost.
The lesser moon, Kasi, was midway to its zenith in a cloudless sky, but this was Silvernight and another ruled the heavens: the third moon, Arian, cast its silver light over the quiet plain as they continued towards a hill their scouts could not find in the daylight. There were seven of them in total. The armoured man was out front, a man and woman behind flanked a girl riding a Farlan pony who was staring with wide-eyed wonder at the silvery plain stretching out ahead of them. Behind them were three women, their white hooded capes shining in Arian’s light. The sky turned a deep sapphire-blue as the sun passed below the horizon and as the shadows washed over their small group, two of the women began to softly sing.
The girl turned in her saddle to watch them, though she knew not to interrupt. Her mother had taught her these words, years back, but she’d never heard them sung with such irreverence as from the oldest of the three, a scar-faced woman with a mass of crow’s feet around her missing eye. Her reedy voice made it sound more like a sea-shanty than the prayer to dusk.
As she watched, Legana, mouthing the words as she had no voice of her own, took the older woman’s hand. High Priestess Shanas, on Legana’s other side, sang with her eyes closed and a smile of contentment on her face, and the girl found herself whispering them too as Arian’s light settled over the Land.
Soon the only colour to be seen was the mute woman’s emerald eyes, shining from the dark of her hood.
‘Can I ride ahead?’ she asked her mother once the prayer was over.
‘No,’ growled her father from her other side, ‘bad things are out there. You stick close, you hear?’
‘Bad things don’t come out on Silvernight!’ she laughed, smiling sweetly up the bearded man. ‘Everyone knows that!’
‘They do round here,’ he said gruffly, ‘so bloody listen to me for a change.’
She pursed her lips and looked in silent appeal at her mother, but she shook her head. ‘Not this Silvernight,’ she said, touching her daughter’s cheek. ‘This is a special one. You’ll stay with us.’
‘I know it’s special,’ she argued, ‘but I can meet you on the hill – that’s where we’re going anyway—’
‘You’ll be riding back across my lap if you try that,’ her father snapped. ‘I’d rather kill your horse from under you than let it happen.’
‘Doranei!’ her mother said sharply as the girl gasped and hugged her pony’s neck. ‘There’s no need to frighten her.’
‘You think?’ Doranei caught the look in his wife’s blue eyes and turned away.
‘I do. I know we’ve all met him before, but this is a special night for Gennay. Don’t spoil that with your temper.’
He grunted, but Gennay’s fear was already gone; her face was alight with excitement. ‘The Dusk Watchman,’ she breathed. ‘That’s who you mean? Am I really to be his priestess?’
‘Who told you that?’
She turned and pointed. ‘Ardela did – isn’t it true?’
‘Oh for pity’s sake! Why—’
‘Enough,’ her mother snapped before softening her voice. ‘Yes, my dear, it’s true: you’re to be his priestess if you wish – but the choice is yours, Gennay, you must remember that. You’ll not be getting the tattoos tonight; there’s time enough in the years to come for all that. Right now you’re just here to greet him – that’s honour enough for one day, and one afforded to very few in this Land.’
Gennay beamed at the two of them. ‘Manayaz will be so jealous – I’m the special one for a change, not him.’
‘Aye, well, it’s not something to be bragging about,’ Doranei warned her. ‘The Sisters of the Dusk are a secret cult, and don’t you be forgetting it. If you’d been born into a different family you might never have heard of them your entire life – and if you can’t keep a secret, you don’t belong.’
‘Yes, Father,’ she said with a smile.
‘Good. Now you’ll wait here while I go on ahead and see an old friend,’ he murmured, and spurred his horse on to catch up with the lead rider just as he reached the base of the hill.
They paused there together, looking around at the ground beneath their feet, then the rock-studded hillside ahead. A flicker of movement caught their eyes and both turned to watch a silver shape bound across the stony ground then pause and survey them. It was thick-furred, and larger than any deerhound, and it watched them silently, barely visible within the silver-edged gloom of twilight. After half a dozen heartbeats it broke into a run again before vanishing into thin air, only to reappear away to the west, where it skirted warily around the last members of their party.
The pair followed the ghost-dog’s movements until it headed out across the open ground they had crossed and vanished completely from sight.
‘Hard to picture, ain’t it?’ Doranei commented quietly as they found themselves staring back down the bare slope. ‘How this once looked.’
Vesna sighed and slipped from his horse. ‘Sadly, all too easy,’ he said at last. ‘Doesn’t matter if the bodies are buried; some of us still hear their cries a decade on.’
‘It’s more than a decade, my friend,’ Doranei said, also dismounting. ‘It’s what, sixteen winters now? We’re getting old.’ He paused and looked the Mortal-Aspect up and down. ‘Well, some of us, anyways.’
Together they started on up the hill, both walking with their hands on their hilts as though unable to let go the savagery done in that place. They were halfway to the top before either spoke again, lost in the memories of friends lost.
‘She’s a pretty little thing,’ Vesna said, glancing back at the riders below. ‘Got her mother’s eyes.’
Doranei laughed loudly. ‘Aye, well, never much chance of anything else now, was there? She’s a holy terror, that girl, to her brothers and me besides. It’s hard to stop her
when she’s got such a look of her mother about her; the Watchman might regret making that one his priestess.’
‘Don’t be so sure,’ said a third voice from up ahead, ‘I have never been one for excessive reverence – witness at my Mortal-Aspect back there.’
The two warriors stopped and stared up at the face smiling down from the top of the slope. He wore a bright white cape that swirled about him and carried a staff of perfect darkness in his hand. A silver dog darted out from behind his cape with the wariness of a wild thing, only to retreat back into the shadows a moment later.
‘Gods, I’ll never get used to that!’ Doranei exclaimed as he rushed forward to grab the newcomer in a hug. ‘Another one who’s not aged a damn day, but I’m glad to see you all the same.’
‘Well, now, a little silver in your beard gives you a distinguished air, so you have not suffered greatly on that front,’ said the smaller man with a laugh. ‘More fitting to your position in life, one might say, my Lord.’
‘Hah! Lord Protector of the Realm? All that means is holding General Daken’s leash until King Sebetin’s old enough to do it himself.’ Doranei stepped back and inspected the white-cloaked man. ‘Gods, but look at you, Mihn: better than you ever were in life – and holding that black staff in your hand like it was nothing more than a twig.’
‘Thank you, my friend,’ Mihn replied. ‘You are too modest, though: Lord Protector is not bad for a man of the Brotherhood, and Narkang thrives under your stewardship. The queen herself told me so. That was a kind thought, by the way, putting the shrine in the Royal Baths so I could see Emin once more before he died. If you can only stop King Sebetin marrying one of your daughters, he will have an untroubled reign, I suspect.’
Doranei shook his head. ‘He’s had a warning on that front,’ he said darkly. ‘The cocky little sod has a lot of his father in him, but he’s not fool enough for that.’
