The Dusk Watchman ttr-5

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘It will be dangerous,’ Mihn said quietly.

  ‘I have learned a little of duty in my years, young man,’ Endine snapped, ‘and I’m better able than most to deal with the danger.’

  ‘Who else has them?’

  The Crystal Skulls had been divided up amongst people they could trust — quite apart from the fact that few mages would have the strength to control more than one, the Menin lord had clearly been hunting them all down. King Emin decided it would be far harder for Azaer to steal the greater part if they were not all in one place.

  ‘Camba Firnin has Protection, since you, Lord Isak, did not want it returned, while Tasseran Holtai has accepted Dreams, which should expand the scope of his scrying skills enormously. Morghien will take Joy with him into Byoran territory — more as a Brotherhood joke, I suspect — while Blood has been entrusted to your General Lahk. Unsurprisingly, Fei Ebarn was given Destruction. Knowledge I hold here, and Elements is to go to the man I summon today.’

  Mihn bit back any further questions and left the mage to complete his preparations. Once the thick front edge of the mantelpiece had runic symbols down its length, Endine wrote with a tall, florid script on each side of the mirror before touching the Skull to the glass. Under his breath he started to chant, and Isak found himself holding his breath as the texture of the air started to thicken and the already dim room grew steadily darker.

  The Land contracted around him with the growing gloom and Isak found his hand questing down for Hulf’s reassuring warmth as the walls and ceiling started to fade from his perception. There was a tiny sound, on the edge of hearing, but one that made him shiver all the same — it was too close to the far-off wails of the damned in Ghenna for his liking.

  ‘Damn imagination,’ Mihn muttered, echoing Isak’s thoughts.

  ‘You heard that?’ Endine said softly. ‘That wasn’t your imagination; the boundaries between worlds are weakened while the Gods are drained. Most normal men wouldn’t hear it, but I suppose you would be rather more sensitive to the other side than most, wouldn’t you?’ He paused and looked back at Mihn. ‘Some sounds you never forget.’

  Before Mihn could find a reply Endine had returned to his spell — then the reflection in the mirror moved unexpectedly. Isak blinked, and realised it had become more than just a reflection; the lines of the darkened room had turned into somewhere different entirely, and he could now make out a much larger figure than Endine. Without warning a hand reached forward and pushed through the surface of the mirror, followed swiftly by a man’s head. The man blinked at them, as though checking they were in fact real, before he stepped through onto the mantelpiece and dropped down to the ground.

  ‘Master Endine,’ he said gravely, offering his hand in a perfunctory way, apparently unsurprised when it was ignored.

  The man was no older than forty summers, Isak guessed, with a thin, clipped beard and more jewellery than even most Farlan nobleman would think appropriate. His travelling clothes were expensively cut, and he had rubies dangling from his ears, a fat pearl at his throat, and all sorts of gold rings on his fingers. Both the clasp of his cloak and his belt-buckle were golden dragons with displayed wings and rubies for eyes, while the long dagger on his belt was so ornate Isak could scarcely believe anyone could use it in anger.

  ‘Are all your servants so insolent?’ the newcomer demanded as Mihn, standing closer than Isak, inspected him with obvious interest. The man’s fingers dropped to the garnet pommel of his knife.

  ‘Ah, he is no servant, Master Ashain,’ Endine said quickly, stepping in between the two. ‘This is Mihn ab- Ah, well, I forget the rest, but he is a much respected man by the king.’

  ‘I’m also no servant,’ Isak piped up. Mihn turned and put a hand on the white-eye’s shoulder, hearing the antagonistic tone to his voice, but Isak didn’t take the hint. ‘But I am pretty insolent, so if you’re planning on pulling that knife, stop teasing and fucking well draw the thing.’

  To his credit Ashain didn’t take a step back, merely withdrew his hands and delicately brushed his fingers. There was no fear on the man’s face, just astonishment and disdain as he gazed at the scarred white-eye sitting before him. His eyes were cold and grey, with faint crows-feet at the corners and long dark lashes.

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘Someone who doesn’t like your face.’

  ‘As someone appears to have taken a dislike to yours.’

  Endine took another step forward. ‘Gentlemen, please! Isak, there’s no need for that; he is not the enemy.’

  Now the shock did register on Ashain’s face. ‘Isak? Lord Isak? ’ He looked the white-eye up and down, clearly now registering Isak was bigger than most white-eyes, and so likely to be one of the Chosen. ‘What- How?’

  ‘My servant here,’ Isak said, pointing at Mihn, ‘you can call him Grave Thief if you like.’

  ‘Astonishing! Endine, you will take some time later to let me know how it was done?’ Ashain said, suddenly alight with academic curiosity.

  ‘I shall, as far as I have gleaned the details,’ Endine agreed, ‘but first we have rather more pressing business.’

  ‘And what would that be? As much as I enjoy mirror-travel when someone else capable is doing the work for a change, I have had to come a long way on horseback beforehand. Your master had better have a good reason for dragging me out this way without warning.’

  ‘My master, but the king of both of us,’ Endine warned. ‘That you have a personal dispute with him makes no difference; we are his subjects and he requires your service.’

  ‘My service?’ spluttered Ashain. ‘Has he taken leave of his senses? I’m no mere King’s Man to come running when he clicks his fingers.’

  Isak made a face. ‘Sounds like you are now.’

  ‘Isak is, I’m afraid, essentially correct. He requires your contribution to the war effort. You will be rewarded, but he will not accept no for an answer.’

  ‘Well, that’s all he’s going to bloody get, king or not!’

  Endine raised a hand. ‘Master Ashain, we may have had our disputes, but I respect you as a peer of remarkable skill. However, the king is not interested in respect right now. Our losses have been too great. Because of your dispute, you have been under surveillance for a while now.’

  Ashain narrowed his eyes. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘That we are already certain you hold no allegiances that could compromise us, and at such short notice we don’t have time to make sure about someone else. Your king requires your services to aid the survival of the nation. To refuse him will be considered treason.’

  ‘Treason?’ Ashain growled, ‘this is outrageous — it flouts the very laws the man wrote with his own hand.’

  ‘And as such demonstrates the gravity of the situation,’ Endine said, almost wheezing with the effort of maintaining a calm, diplomatic demeanour. ‘I would rather not spell out what might happen if you refuse him.’

  ‘But it’ll start with someone like me cutting your fucking head off,’ said Isak, who had fewer qualms about that. ‘Don’t know who he’ll send after your family and friends, but the Mad Axe has got a strange sense o’ fun, and Zhia Vukotic is just in the next room, so I’m guessing they’ll be just as screwed.’

  Ashain purpled at what he was hearing, but not even Isak displayed the slightest hint of amusement. He watched each twitch with almost detached interest, wondering how many times a subject of King Emin’s had been pressed into service this way. While most would surely not have required such threats, Ashain was clearly a rich and powerful man in his own right, and obviously one of the few King Emin couldn’t command with a look.

  But this is an age of burning bridges? Isak reminded himself sadly. What else will we sacrifice for this fight? Is there anything we won’t do for victory?

  The mage’s thoughts were writ clear on his face as anger and astonishment gave way to acceptance with the speed only a self-made man could manage. His accent had already betrayed him as a man no
t born to the wealth he now displayed, and it was obvious to the men in the room that he was now calculating what profit could be made from such outrage.

  ‘The king’s terms?’ he asked in a quiet voice.

  ‘To be negotiated when you next see him. He has just left Moorview; you could probably catch him, but your position might be strengthened by proving your worth first.’

  ‘And what is this service he requires? To march with his armies?’

  Endine withdrew a second Crystal Skull from his robe and held it out. ‘For the time being: possession of this.’

  ‘Merciful Gods,’ breathed Ashain, ‘is this a joke? You coerce me into service and then gift me with one of the greatest artefacts in existence?’

  ‘It is not a gift,’ Endine said firmly, ‘it is custodianship. You must be able to use the Skull in battle but most importantly you must guard it.’

  ‘And the king cannot do this himself?’

  ‘We control nine of the Skulls, perhaps ten now. Our enemies will be seeking them, and it would be madness to keep them all in one place when our goal is to deny them to that enemy. The Skulls cannot be tracked or traced except by the inefficient expenditure of energies, but you will have to be on your guard at all times, even when you are with the army.’

  Ashain held the Skull up to catch the light and stared at the slight flaws and colours it revealed. Wonder and delight spread across his face. ‘The king’s service is less onerous than I imagined.’

  ‘Don’t worry, this is as good as it gets,’ Isak said, gingerly lifting himself out of his seat. ‘Unless visiting foreign cities is your thing?’

  ‘That would depend on the city, I suppose.’

  ‘Vanach?’

  ‘Hah! You’d have to be mad to try that.’

  Isak gave him a humourless grin. ‘Daken’s coming, so we’ve got that covered. Fortunately for the rest, we’ve got inside information that should see us to the Grand Ziggurat itself.’

  ‘And you expect me to join you?’ Ashain asked, looking pale.

  The man’s arrogance had its limits, Isak was pleased to note. Ashain wasn’t so foolish as to consider infiltrating a repressive religious state lightly, especially given the recent wave of fanaticism that had swept through the Land following the fall of Scree.

  What news they did have of the state came from those few Carastar mercenaries who had been given free rein to kill and rob along the Vanach border, effectively hemming in the population. The stories were likely to be inflated, but they described nonsensical laws punishable by death, mass mutilations and murder; the reality would be awful enough.

  ‘No, my twelve are already chosen. You’ll come north in our wake, however; your skills with mirror-magic might well be required and Endine’s needed with the army.’

  ‘Just twelve? Will you even get past the Carastars with so few?’

  Isak nodded. ‘There’ll be four Crystal Skulls among us, as well as a vampire and two Mortal-Aspects. However bad the reputation of the Carastars, they’re just mercenaries. Whoever gets in our way will regret it. It’s the competition we need to watch out for.’

  ‘Competition?’

  ‘Our enemy has also seen this information; it’s unlikely we’ll get a free run at it.’

  The mage frowned. ‘What are you looking for there?’

  Isak patted the man on the shoulder and headed for the door, snapping his fingers at Hulf as he went. ‘Think of the stupidest thing I could be hunting; one that could only bring ruin down on us all.’

  He didn’t wait for an answer.

  CHAPTER 9

  Lord Celao went to the balcony and looked out over Ismess, Southern quarter of the Circle City, as the last light of evening faded into nothingness. Three great white structures punctuated the view, even more startling at dusk as the dull mud-brick houses below merged with the shadows. To his right was the great snub-nosed obelisk that loomed tall from the centre of Ilit’s temple, the tallest structure in Ismess, flanked by the two long arched roofs that marked both halves of the temple proper.

  Ahead was Death’s own house, the huge open doorway facing directly towards Celao’s palace. He could just make out a figure in black at the top of the steps. High above was the great dome that covered half the temple floor, a full, rounded tit that served to remind Celao that the priestesses there were all shrivelled, shrill harridans who plagued his every step. In the lee of that was the house of Belarannar, an altogether more pleasing temple of high walls and lush, shaded gardens that he, as Chosen of Ilit, was unwelcome in.

  A gust of wind lifted up from the quarter and Celao’s wings, unbidden, half-opened to feel the press of air against his feathers. It had been a long time since he’d flown, since he’d looked down over the city and watched the normals scurry below.

  He saw it in the eyes of foreign dignitaries when they saw his size, the wonder and incomprehension that turned swiftly into contempt. More than once Celao had though to cut off his wings, have some surgeon incise just there and there — to snip the dead weight from his back and relieve him of one small burden. Chosen of the weakest of Gods, lord of a haughty, empty tribe and set apart even from other white-eyes by a freakish body — Celao longed for release from it all. What little emotion he could summon was quietly directed at the God who’d made him thus.

  ‘And yet I do nothing,’ he said, addressing the squalid misery of his city with a tired voice. ‘I refrain even from following the child’s example. My priests are worthless shits, but they have long ago whipped this tribe into obedience. The only true value of a priest is to provide a different focus for their hatred.’

  Celao glanced back at the canopied terrace he’d just walked from, lit by ornate, wrought-iron lanterns and a pair of braziers. A vast couch sat at the centre of the sheltered rooftop, big enough for Celao and his two current favourites, currently waiting patiently for his command. He hadn’t bothered to learn their names.

  One was a Litse, long-limbed and elegant, the very picture of pale, porcelain beauty; the other, the older of the two, was a dark, lithe girl from the north. She was athletic to the point of muscular, and he’d had her worked almost to death when he first acquired her to ensure she was no agent of the Farlan. Her small features and sparkling eyes were a long way from the Litse definition of beautiful; it was why he preferred her, and most often made the Litse girl debase herself. After all, that one had been a nobleman’s daughter until Celao bought her. Earning trinkets with a whore’s tricks was what she’d been bred to do, whether or not she’d realised it at the time.

  ‘Wine.’

  The blonde was the first to scramble up and pour him a goblet. Celao smiled as he accepted it; she knew her place and was eager to please him. The fearful eyes and desperate smile caused a stirring in him and once he’d taken the wine Celao caught her arm. A look was all it took and she sank to her knees, fumbling at his trousers. He turned to face the city again, grabbing her by the throat to manoeuvre her around until her back was pressed against the balcony rail and her face obscured by the roll of his belly.

  From somewhere in the city below he heard a mournful wail, carried on the wind from the concealed streets. He peered down, unable to make anything out at that distance, unsure even whether it had been a citizen of Ismess or an echo from the Dark Place. That and other, stranger, things had been reported to him of late — voices in the wilderness and great spiralling flocks of bats skirting Blackfang’s forbidding slopes.

  The whole Circle City was gripped with fervour and fear, but the reports of daemons attacking Byora had only made Celao laugh. At last some misfortunes had taken place outside the stained white walls of Ismess, descending upon some other people than the pathetic remnants of Ilit’s chosen. Slum fever gripped the outer districts, while reports of the white plague from the countryside meant he risked bringing the latter in to the city as he tried to alleviate the former.

  The sound of wings came from the dark above him. Celao yanked at the girl’s hair and she stopped her
softly moaning attentions, refastening his trousers with deft fingers just as a dark shape descended. A servant ran forward even before Lord Celao reached out a hand, offering a scimitar-bladed spear that Celao grabbed hard enough to send the man tumbling.

  Up above he saw the dark shape of outstretched wings, a white-eye circling slowly. Celao hissed with anger: Gesh had been his Krann for mere weeks, and the impudent worm was already presumptuous. Aware he had betrayed his emotions already, Celao lowered his spear and closed his wings. Another disadvantage of the damn things — the first hint of violence and they would open, for balance as much as flight. Even from high above Gesh would have been able to see the effect of his presence.

  ‘My Lord,’ Gesh said as he banked with effortless grace and landed on the rooftop, his white formal robes dancing in the darkness like a moth’s wings, ‘I trust your evening has been pleasant.’

  Celao didn’t reply immediately, letting the man wait as he was inspected. He was armed, of course, but with nothing more than his Ilit-granted bow and a dagger. He was without his ceremonial breastplate, a slender and austere sight, but Celao’s sharp eyes noticed the pearls at his throat and gold pins in his rich blond hair.

  ‘You forget your place, Krann,’ Celao said eventually. ‘You do not land here without an invitation from your lord.’

  ‘Under the circumstances, I thought it prudent.’

  Gesh furled his own wings and let the light of the lamps onto his face. Normally Gesh was impassive to the point of condescension, but tonight the Krann’s expression was tense with anticipation.

  ‘Circumstances?’ Celao tightened his grip on his spear and checked his guards out of the corner of his eye. Both were alert, their weapons ready. He had taken great pains to ensure their loyalty: they were bonded men and the lives of their families were forfeit if Celao died.

  ‘I heard of a plot to assassinate you,’ Gesh announced, hands conspicuously empty of weapons. ‘I thought it best to flout custom.’