by Tom Lloyd
He opened his eyes with a slight gasp – he hadn’t even realised he’d closed them – as the desire washed over him. Looking around him he saw others doing the same, nodding heads and faces awakened to action.
A massive force from Raland – fully thirty thousand battle-ready troops, Knights of the Temples wearing Telith Vener’s device as well as the Runesword emblem of their Order – had been not far behind the Embere Army, and they were now headed to Tor Salan to recruit the city’s ruling Mosaic Council. The entire Order of the Knights of the Temples had answered the call, and Gesh’s heart swelled to be numbered among such men.
Duke Chaist, Telith Vener’s hated neighbour, had not felt the same; he had broken out in quite a sweat at the sight of so many battle-ready Raland troops appearing at short notice, apparently – but the pressure had in the end forced them to put aside their petty arguments. These bickering children, who switched the focus of their bullying and slyness as easily as breathing, were now united under a more noble banner than the Runeswords they carried.
All around the Stepped Gardens Gesh saw movement. The Harlequin guards crouched, hands on sword-hilts, but the people struggling to their feet were not advancing on Ruhen – it was quite the opposite. As Gesh fought the sensation to move himself, white-cloaked disciples and common folk alike began to turn towards the gates of the city.
‘Against faith,’ Ruhen was declaring, ‘fear can have no sway. Those who face the darkness are the most blessed of the Gods – they walk without fear, shielded by the faith of those they protect.’
From the assembled crowds came cries of urgency and desperation as more and more people left, some even picking up loose stones that they might carry as weapons to smite the Narkang heretics. Gesh shuddered and shook himself, trying to fight the mad mood crawling over him, until he was forced to embrace the magic inside him again and open his wings. The reminder of his own strength, the power and will of Ilit that flowed through his bones, cast aside the fervour or spell – he could not tell which – and he saw with fresh eyes the effect on those assembled.
Several of the nearest disciples were lying on the ground, frothing at the mouth or convulsing with apoplexy; many more knelt with arms outstretched, reaching out as though Ruhen truly stood just before them, speaking to them alone, and they could embrace his words. Gesh took a step back as the little boy looked down at the arrayed people, savouring the effect he had had upon them.
‘Face them down, my brothers and sisters,’ Ruhen said softly, almost tenderly, to renewed howls. ‘Let faith sustain you, let faith protect you. Face them with the strength of peace in your hearts – face the heretics and sweep them from this holy Land of Gods and peace.’
As the screaming intensified, Gesh could stand it no more. He leapt into the air, as desperate as the rest to leave that place.
Amber rode towards the castle with no regard for the soldiers attempting to block his path. Behind him was a troop of twenty Menin soldiers, in full armour and caked in dust from the long ride. A cold wind blew from the south and stretched out the banner carried by the man behind him. The black flag had the Menin rune at its centre, with their former lord’s Fanged Skull on one side, on the other a golden bee to signify their new master.
Amber could see the confusion on the faces of Kingsguard; probably the only reason why blood hadn’t yet been drawn. He had marched the remaining Menin legions hard all the way from Farrister, not giving anyone, least of all himself, time to pause. There was dissent still, he could hear the whispers abruptly cut off when he came into view, but the king’s choice had been no real choice at all.
‘Major,’ shouted a voice over those of the young soldiers demanding he stop, and Nai trotted out into the road. The necromancer – perhaps former necromancer, Amber reflected, thinking the king would likely not stand for that continuing – was dressed in functional black like a proper member of the Brotherhood now, and carried an edged mace slung over one shoulder.
‘He’s even got you wearing boots, Nai,’ Amber replied, raising a hand for his troops to halt. ‘What’s the Land coming to? What would your former master say?’
Nai glanced down at the army boots he’d been issued with. He had never worn footwear, not crossing Byoran or Narkang lands, in the whole time Amber had known him. ‘That the king’s a genius?’ Nai muttered. He gave a sniff. ‘Apparently bare feet detract from the mystique the Brotherhood’s aiming for.’
Before Amber could reply he was forced to jerk the reins of his horse out of a young officer’s grip. ‘Hey, try and take them again and you’ll lose your head,’ he growled.
‘Whoa!’ shouted Nai, running between the two men as weapons were drawn, ‘step back, Captain!’
‘He can’t take an armed troop into the castle!’ the captain yelled, struggling fruitlessly against the arm Nai had wrapped around his bicep.
‘That’s not your decision!’ Nai said, loud enough for the captain’s troops to hear too. They all had their weapons out and the only thing now keeping them from the Menin was the bee device on Nai’s collar. He gave the captain a shove and sent him reeling backwards into his troops. Before the man had recovered his balance Nai was already drawing magic into himself.
The Kingsguard were drifting closer from all directions, hands reaching for weapons. The Menin showed no sign of backing down. Nai held his hand out to the captain as though warning him to stop, but instead of speaking he made a sweeping motion with his hand that cast a trail of spitting sparks towards the faces of those about to attack. The soldiers reeled, hands raised to cover their eyes and swat the sparks away from hair and clothes.
By the time the magic had faded to nothing, Nai had made up the ground and grabbed the captain by the collar and hoisted him up one-handed for all to see. Coils of green and black light raced around his hand, growing faster and more intense with every passing moment. The black light left a smoky, sulphurous trace in the air, and Amber realised Nai’s past had to be common knowledge now: he was playing on the fear others felt at the word necromancer. It had the desired effect as the eager troops scrambled back.
‘All of you, sheathe your weapons!’ Nai roared, turning to make it clear he included the Menin in that order. Amber gave a small gesture and his men obeyed, spurring compliance from the Narkang troops.
‘Now, get back to your duties. You, Captain – you and your men see to Major Amber’s horses, you hear me? Amber, please dismount and follow me – just a few officers, please; the rest can wait here or return to your troops, I really don’t care.’
Amber cocked his head at the man. Nai wasn’t really suited to giving orders, but he appeared to be learning the Brotherhood way, expecting commoners and generals alike to jump on command.
‘Since you asked so nicely,’ Amber said before continuing in Menin, knowing the necromancer was the only other able to speak the dialect, ‘Dorom, Kesax, with me. The rest of you wait here and try to not to kill any of the king’s precious troops. Apparently they don’t have many to spare these days.’
With the two colonels as his side, Amber followed Nai to Camatayl Castle. Kamfer’s Ford had grown in the days he’d been absent; now corrals, barracks, tents and warehouses were dotting the plain around the town. There were wagon-trains approaching, laden with food to maintain the army King Emin was building, and beyond he could pick out troops practising manoeuvres.
The Kingsguard inspecting the faces of everyone entering the castle said quietly to Nai, ‘If they’re going in armed, you keep ’em clear of Forrow, eh?’
Nai nodded at the sense of that and waved Amber and the colonels through and across the cluttered courtyard. Amber could see a large feathered hat at the centre of a knot of soldiers. Men instinctively parted for them before King Emin had even noticed their arrival. Nai placed himself square in front of the king’s bodyguard to block his path.
‘Ah, Major,’ Emin said cheerily, ‘I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’
‘It’s General now,’ Amber replied, feeli
ng his hand tighten instinctively into a fist before he could catch himself.
‘General? Ah, the Menin right of challenge? I hadn’t realised that worked in the military too.’
‘It doesn’t – but General Arek could think of no man higher ranked than he now our lord was dead.’
‘Hardly a fair fight,’ Emin said with an appraising look. Arek had been a fighting man, but few reached the rank of general while still in the prime of their life, and Amber was powerful, even for a Menin.
‘He realised that,’ Amber said, his tone of voice making it clear he didn’t want to discuss the matter further. Arek had died like a warrior, in a manner of his own choosing.
‘As you say, General Amber.’ Emin gestured to the men around him. ‘Since you are here, please report on the state of your men for my advisors.’
Amber recognised several faces: Dashain of the Brotherhood, General Bessarei of the Kingsguard and Suzerain Derenin among them, but only the Farlan veteran Carel had given him any sort of proper acknowledgement.
‘I command ten battle-ready legions – five heavy infantry, two medium and one of archers – plus one of skirmishers and a legion of cavalry support, if I can secure fresh horses for most of them.’
‘And they will fight under my banner?’
‘They’ll fight for me,’ Amber said stiffly. ‘I have promised them your assistance with supplies and in crossing hostile ground and in return they will fight any troops who try to block their path. But they’ll not fight under your flag any time soon.’
Emin hesitated a moment, most likely picturing a map of the route Amber was planning for his army. It would cut through the heart of Ruhen’s lands and past Thotel to the great high plain that interrupted the mountain line there. It would give him everything he needed.
‘That is acceptable. I thank you, General. Will you permit troops to be attached to your command? The Devoted have many Farlan in their ranks, and I believe their cavalry surpasses your own. I offer a few legions of my own best, the Green Scarves, and mages too, since you are assuming the lead on a dangerous journey.’
Amber turned to the men who’d accompanied him. ‘Green Scarves,’ he muttered to them in Menin. ‘Will you fight with them if they provide support?’
The pair exchanged a look. ‘We heard of them in dispatches,’ Dorom replied, ‘but neither of us have personally encountered these legions. I believe they were a major irritant for our lord’s armies during the advance: brave soldiers led by a God-marked daemon.’
‘Led by a daemon?’ Amber asked King Emin.
The king smiled indulgently. ‘He does get a bit over-excited at times – I believe they’re referring to General Daken. The Green Scarves are currently commanded by Colonel Dassai, but Daken will be rejoining them soon.’
Amber straightened a little. ‘Your mission was a success?’
‘It was. And that leads me to this: Isak Stormcaller will be arriving here soon. You and your men had best keep clear of him.’
‘Clear?’ Amber growled.
‘Well clear. If you need a reason, it’s this: he went to find an object of great power, Death’s own weapon. None of us know the damage he’ll wreak if he’s attacked. You know his mind is damaged; the Gods alone know what toll Termin Mystt is taking, so he may prove indiscriminate.’
‘I shall instruct my men accordingly.’
‘You do that.’ Carel spoke up, ignoring the shocked looks from some of the king’s advisors. ‘All you’ll get is a bad death, and you better believe I’ll be leading the massacre o’ the rest o’ your boys before anyone gets a chance to stop me. Don’t reckon many o’ these boys here will care who’s giving the order if it’s to kill Menin.’
Amber bit down on his lip, fighting the anger that blossomed hot in his stomach. ‘I hear you, Carel,’ he said after a moment.
‘You have my word.’
Emin looked from one man to the other. ‘I think we all understand each other, so let us move on. General Amber, what condition are your troops in?’
Amber kept his eyes on Carel a moment longer before returning his attention to the matter at hand. ‘Their condition?’ he said, ‘tired mostly. Being holed up in a town on short rations hasn’t done any of them much good. I could do with a week to get them back into proper order before they’re ready to fight a drilled army.’
‘You have it: a mile or so north of here there’s a stretch of heath you can camp on. Plenty of water there too.’ He thought for a minute then said, ‘General, the bulk of your troops are heavy infantry. You will not fight alongside my armies – what about an élite force not of either of our tribes?’
‘Got one up your sleeve, have you?’
King Emin inclined his head, smiling slightly as he tugged one braided cuff then the other in the manner of a travelling conjurer. ‘My mage assisting Lord Isak’s swift return tells me we have had an offer of assistance from an unexpected source. I suspect your battle tactics will be to push through anyone arrayed against you and break their order. These troops could provide a breach of the lines on command.’
Amber narrowed his eyes at the king. ‘Just who’re you talking about here?’
‘The Legion of the Damned – I believe you saw them at work in Scree?’
‘Not up close, just from the city walls, but I didn’t much like what I saw. They slaughtered more’n a thousand at the gate itself, gave ’em nowhere to run and never listened for quarter.’
‘I am told they’ve pledged their loyalty, though obedience might be yours to persuade. Mage Ashain informs me they will arrive soon. They are travelling faster than Lord Isak’s party.’
The big officer scowled. ‘Don’t sound an easy task, but I’ll use ’em, sure. Bastards’ll be worth the trouble.’
‘Good. The bulk of my troops are spread out in an attempt to restore some order to the eastern parts of Narkang. If I need not recall them to support your army I am thankful.’
‘The bulk of your troops?’ Amber asked, gesturing towards the thousands of soldiers encamped beyond the castle walls.
‘The men you see here are largely raw recruits and those mostly inexperienced troops who survived Moorview. I’ve had to divert much of the Canar Thrit reinforcements to the Vanach border to dissuade any expansion of boundaries there, and the legions from Canar Fell are untested in battle. General Bessarei here tells me he needs another month before sending them into battle. We will be marching, I assure you, but it will be in your wake, once the enemy are forced to react to your efforts.’
Amber gave the king a brief bow of acknowledgement. Tense and tentative allies they might be, but still Amber felt the warrior spirit inside him cry out to obey this ruler. Loyalty and duty were beaten into the minds of every Menin warrior. For generations they had had a lord without equal, one worthy of reverence and sacrifice. Though pride and anger kept Amber aloof and disrespectful, in that moment he realised he would always be a soldier in need of a master.
The king’s ice blue eyes glittered knowingly as Amber met his gaze and a chill ran down his spine – did the king realise that too? Had he been counting on it when he sent away the best of his army?
‘Thank you, General,’ said Emin. ‘I’m sure you are keen to see to your men. Gentlemen, we shall reconvene in the morning.’
After King Emin’s meeting with his newest general, both Menin and Narkang commanders swiftly moved on to the many tasks screaming for their immediate attention. Carel found himself alone in the lee of the castle wall while life continued around him. Gusts of wind swirled across the courtyard, invisible but for the leaves and dust they picked up, but they were all Carel could see. Sweeping over men as though they weren’t there, the twists of wind possessed a strange life of their own that perfectly matched the high, urgent calls of the swifts that Carel normally heard only in the northern summer. There was no God here, not even those spirits too weak to be called Aspects; maybe because of that, Carel was entranced. For months the old warrior had felt himself little more tha
n a puff of wind amidst this great storm.
It wasn’t just those who’d died. Mihn had been a source of quiet strength, and not just to Isak; Vesna was a friend he’d relied on. He’d been set adrift from his life on the wagon-train and he couldn’t imagine how he could ever go back, even after Isak’s death. He’d belonged in Tirah Palace, but with the Ghosts marched away and all his friends dead, Carel had found no real place for him there now. The Chief Steward would always have work for trusted veterans, but he had felt like a ghost, walking corridors that echoed with voices of the departed.
‘Is this place any different?’ Carel asked himself. ‘It’s no more of a home for me – or is home just chasing after that surly brat the rest o’ my life?’ He pulled his jacket a little tighter around his body and glanced down at his left sleeve where his arm had once been. The back of his damn hand was itching again, the hand that’d been tossed into a fire, so Mihn had said.
‘Sure someone told me somethin’ about that,’ he muttered as he stepped back to make way for two porters carrying a crate; the men were careful not to notice him talking to himself – there were many around without livery or uniform who’d take exception to being disturbed by a servant. ‘Was it your mother, Isak?’ he asked himself.
He shrugged and forced himself to start off across the courtyard and back to Kamfer’s Ford. ‘Think it might’ve been, superstitious lot, those caravan folk. First time I met her, too – Horman brought her along when I was still in the guard. Man was so alive then, walking well and made taller by love.’
He stopped by the gate and looked around at the bustling inhabitants – soldiers and clerks for the main, little more than boys, wearing the green-and-gold of the Kingsguard.
‘That’s how I remember your father,’ Carel whispered to the small gusts of wind that followed him across the courtyard, ‘so young he still had fluff on his cheeks, but on his arm was this dark-eyed beauty – she was a wild and wilful one, was Larassa. You got more from her than Horman ever let you know.’
