The Dusk Watchman ttr-5

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘Now there are a few faces I could have gone a few months longer without seeing,’ Doranei called as boys ran out to stable the horses, jostling each other to reach Isak’s huge charger first. ‘But since you’re here, you might as well join us.’

  He gestured expansively to the table while the travellers dismounted and stretched out the stiffness from their bodies.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Mistress,’ Doranei continued as the innkeeper appeared to survey her new guests. ‘I think we’ll need food and a lot more wine.’ He wagged a finger in Daken’s direction. ‘And a whole lot of beer for the fat one.’

  Daken grinned and took up a seat opposite Doranei, his axe slung from one shoulder and saddlebags draped over his thigh. ‘You still being a sore loser then?’ the white-eye replied, taking Zhia’s hand to kiss in a fit of chivalry. He winked at the vampire. ‘Or is his arse just hurting him? How does it look, by the way? Better than before, I’m guessing, with a reminder o’ me in nice big letters.’

  ‘Oh indeed — how could a nicely-sculpted buttock not be improved by your name and a few roses?’

  Doranei spluttered as Daken’s eyebrow rose. ‘Roses, eh?’

  ‘She’s joking!’ the King’s Man protested, ‘there’s no such thing!’

  ‘Oh, come, dear,’ Zhia purred, ‘there’s no need to be embarrassed about your admiration for the general.’

  Daken’s eyes glittered with delight. ‘As the nice lady says, it’s only natural to feel a bit o’ worship for me. You ain’t the first, I promise; you should’ve heard all the lovely things Legana was sayin’ to me only last night!’

  As if on cue Legana arrived at the table, assisted by Fei Ebarn. Her vision was always poorest at dusk. Ebarn’s cheek crinkled as she scowled at the memory and pointed at Daken.

  ‘Your boy here likes to dry off naturally, so to speak. It’s not a sight we’re quite used to yet.’

  — I said I’d cut off anything I saw hanging within reach, Legana added, writing quickly on her slate.

  ‘It’s all in the delivery,’ Daken said with mock wistfulness, ‘as the actor said to Etesia. Makin’ your eyes burn with green fire and wavin’ a knife around, that’s my kind of flirting.’

  The rest arrived, Isak taking the furthest corner where he could wedge his back against the wall of the tavern and observe the rest. Veil went around behind him, struck his fist against Doranei’s before hopping over the bench to sit beside his Brother. Tiniq pointedly inserted himself between Shinir and Daken to prevent anyone getting stabbed while they ate. Leshi took Shinir’s other flank and Fei Ebarn followed Veil around to the far side, Mihn and Vesna taking position on either side of Isak.

  Perhaps having seen white-eye mercenaries before, the innkeeper was remarkably quick at sending out half a dozen pots of beer and as many bottles of wine. Daken descended on two of the former with love in his eyes, and the first had been sunk before they’d finished pouring the wine. While the rest were served, Isak watched a pair of stablehands fetch out lamps and hang them off the building. It wasn’t dark yet, but given what the ghost-hour heralded these days, they clearly wanted as much light in the village as possible.

  ‘We’ll be needin’ a whole lot o’ food out here,’ Daken warned the serving girl as he handed her an empty pot. ‘May be a time before we get decent food again, so you tell your cook if we don’t get the best out here soon, I’ll go in and give ’em a beatin’ before I take over the kitchen.’

  ‘Is that why you brought him, Isak?’ Zhia asked once the serving girl was out of earshot. ‘He’s your chef?’

  ‘Why, you needin’ some domestic service?’ Daken asked cheerfully. ‘Told Doranei he drank too much.’

  ‘I brought him,’ Isak broke in, ‘because someone needs to carry all your spare clothes — and his is a name the Carastars’ll know. Ours might not be so welcome there, after all.’

  ‘But mainly it’s the clothes,’ Veil commented, raising his beer to Daken, who took the comment in good spirits. ‘Does a good turn as a mule, our noble general.’

  ‘You all joked enough?’ Shinir demanded suddenly. The woman’s eyes were suddenly alight as she looked up and down the table. ‘You better all damn well make sure you get it all out of you before we reach Vanach. They ain’t ones for joking or laughter. It’s pretty fucking easy to get the Commissar Brigade after you, but opening your mouth without thinking’s the fastest, and they won’t give a shit if we’re following some prophecy or not.’

  The whole table looked startled. That speech near as much equalled the sum total of what anyone had previously heard Shinir say.

  ‘And that’s bad, right?’ Daken asked, happily needling a woman considered dangerous even among Chief Steward Lesarl’s agents.

  Shinir ignored him and continued to address the whole table. ‘The Commissar Brigade has at least one agent in every village. They enforce the laws and they don’t even answer to the cults. They’re the ones who control Vanach and they kill anyone who doesn’t act like the perfect servants of the Gods.’

  ‘The Commissar Brigade,’ Leshi added, ‘are independent of the cults — have been so for decades now.’ He spoke hesitantly, starting too quiet, before loudly clearing his throat. ‘If they decide you’re a threat, they’ll kill you. We can take down a lot of them, but their numbers won’t run out. Every citizen can be drafted into service, and maybe one in ten is already a brigade agent — they’ll make women and children fight, so it’ll look like the Temple Plaza in Scree, day after day.’

  Leshi was a Farlan ranger and Ascetite, just as Tiniq was, and he epitomised the brave, taciturn warriors who haunted the wild forests east of Lomin. They had little use for conversation, and Leshi’s obvious unnatural skills had made him something of an outcast even within that elite band. Though he verged on gaunt, he was almost as strong as a white-eye, and incredibly fast — but it was his ability to fade into the shadows that had allowed him to infiltrate Vanach on Lesarl’s orders.

  He and Shinir were two of a small number ever to get out of Vanach, and their intelligence had satisfied the Chief Steward, so no more had been sent. The population were permanently on the verge of starvation, and rigid controls on travel and interaction between classes meant Vanach barely functioned as a state. Only the fertile northern regions prevented outright calamity, while the labour camps and executioners prevented any opposition to the commissars.

  ‘No glory in that,’ Daken muttered darkly, looking around at the faces of those who’d been in Scree at the time.

  No one responded; most could not find the words to describe what had happened in Scree and even Zhia’s face went stony. It was unlikely anything would match the horrors of the Last Battle — the Gods’ victory over Aryn Bwr had seen the fabric of the Land permanently frayed — but even the Menin’s efforts to wipe Aroth from the map had not been so effective as the madness and subsequent firestorm in Scree.

  Isak hunched his shoulders a little more and reached out for a cup of wine. ‘I’ve left enough slaughter in my wake,’ he said. ‘I don’t want that added to my tally too.’

  ‘We won’t. This is going to go smooth as you like,’ Doranei replied for the rest of them. ‘Way I see it, this is a Brotherhood operation, and that means we plan from here to the border, rehearse everything we need and leave nothing to chance. We’ll be ready, I promise.’

  Zhia raised her cup. Isak could taste a shred of magic on the breeze as she spoke, just a tiny fragment that tingled warm down his neck and lifted his spirits a touch. ‘Here’s to not killing everyone we meet,’ she declared.

  The assembled company smiled and joined her toast. ‘Not killing everyone.’

  Shinir looked to her right and gave Daken a thump on the shoulder. ‘That means you too.’

  ‘Aye, ’spose so,’ he grumbled and raised his pot of beer. ‘Just you make sure there’s some. I’m a man o’ appetites, me.’

  Mihn yawned and set his wine down unfinished. It was late in the night and half of their party had ret
ired to the rooms they’d taken upstairs. He looked around at those who were left. Zhia, bright-eyed and alert, sat curled in Doranei’s lee, the lovers talking quietly with Legana. Daken was more or less asleep, waking only to growl whenever someone tried to pluck the clay bottles nestled in the crook of each arm from his grip, while Veil sat in silence and mourned his hand. He plainly didn’t want any company beyond the presence of Ebarn, sound asleep on his shoulder, and one of Doranei’s cigars.

  As for Isak… Mihn sat up, suddenly fully awake as he realised Isak was missing. Hulf lifted his head from the old bearskin in front of the fire and sleepily regarded Mihn. Then he too was awake, looking for his master as automatically as Mihn.

  Legana raised a hand to catch Mihn’s attention.

  Outside, he read off her slate and nodded his thanks. He slipped off his boots out of habit and headed for the door. Hulf beat him there and danced about impatiently until Mihn thumbed the latch. They didn’t have far to go: Isak was sitting in the cool night air, bathed in moonlight and puffing on his pipe. He didn’t turn at the sound of the door opening. He knew who would be looking for him.

  Hulf bounded over and forced his nose onto Isak’s thigh. The white-eye shifted to scratch the dog behind his ears, but as soon as he moved, Hulf was off with his nose to the ground, following some scent. Mihn watched him move into the shadows and vanish from sight. Thanks to Daken’s intervention at the Moor-view ritual, he’d not be able to follow Hulf’s path.

  ‘Should we not keep him near?’ Mihn asked softly.

  Isak shook his head. ‘There are no daemons out there, not tonight. There’s only us.’

  ‘You wanted to be alone?’

  At that he turned and Mihn saw a smile on his abused face. ‘I like the moonlight,’ he said simply, ‘and this tobacco’s good.’

  ‘I remember once you were not so comfortable in the presence of shadows,’ Mihn said, taking his usual position at Isak’s side.

  Isak inclined his head in agreement. ‘I was many things,’ he commented. ‘Some I’ve lost, some I’ve learned to live with. I can’t decide yet, has all this left me unrecognisable, or put me back to where I began?’

  ‘Which would you prefer?’

  A sigh. ‘Dunno. I’ve forgotten enough already so I’d hope there was some of me left.’

  ‘Then I dub you the brat I first met,’ Mihn pronounced with laughter in his voice.

  The night air was soft on his skin, the packed earth pleasingly cool underfoot. From the trees came the rustle of leaves, like a drawn-out sigh of the Land readying for sleep. The rest of the village were long abed and silent, though he could see lamps still lit and hanging from the eaves of houses. The furthest was just a yellow glow against the dark silhouette of a house on the far bank of the River Castir.

  ‘A waiting soul,’ Mihn commented, looking past Isak to the distant lamp, ‘a light that doesn’t move through the darkness, just waiting for the living to perform some task.’

  ‘Or follow,’ Isak added. ‘I know some folklore, and you don’t need to coddle me any longer.’

  ‘As you say, my Lord.’

  Isak gave him a shove at the formality. ‘And enough of that too!’ His tone became serious. ‘You don’t need to worry; I’m not haunted by death any more. That burden’s been lifted.’

  ‘But we are all closer to it, every day closer.’

  ‘Now who’s being morbid?’

  Mihn bowed his head. ‘There are many souls waiting for us these days, so many lights in the dark.’

  ‘Sometimes a light in the dark is a witch, remember? And sometimes it’s just a fucking lamp.’

  ‘Still I feel them waiting,’ Mihn said sadly.

  ‘Well, don’t worry, you’re not dying, not until I let you,’ Isak declared. ‘Any soul doesn’t like it, they can face me. The daemon that owned your death is gone, and I own your life. My death meant a breaking of the prophecies that had me snared, and all that was tied to me, my title included — but you told me yourself: you don’t get off that easy.’

  ‘“The ties that bind”,’ Mihn whispered to the night, ‘“are cut by Death’s pale hand. The ties that make us whole He does not sever.”’

  ‘Exactly; Eolis remained part of me, just as you are while you still live.’ He put a hand on Mihn’s shoulder. ‘Come on, we both need sleep.’ He gave a click of the tongue and in seconds Hulf was bounding from the dark edge of the village and running silently to his side. He followed Mihn inside. The scarred white-eye lingered a moment longer and looked around the empty village as a cool breath of breeze brushed his cheek.

  ‘I am no longer afraid of shadows,’ he whispered to the dark. ‘You hear me, shadow? Your turn to be afraid.’

  A ghost of laughter danced out from the moon-shade of an old yew. Beside it the village’s shrine to Nyphal, God of Travellers, looked grainy and insubstantial, and no match for the darkness.

  ‘ No longer afraid? Oh my brave, foolish boy. You are enough to make a father proud, and who made you more than I? How you escaped Ghenna I do not know, but I am glad my plaything did not fall so meekly. What use will I put you to now? A daemon perhaps, risen from the Dark Place, against which I can rally the armies of the Devoted? A fool even, serving me without realising? Do you remember the words you spoke once to Morghien? “Life is for the living”, you said. Will you recall them at the end, I wonder?’

  CHAPTER 12

  Against a background of deep pink curls of cloud, knife-winged birds danced and swooped on their evening hunt. Larim watched their silent flight with rapt fascination, arrested by their swift, sharp turns and rapacious dives. The birds were as fast as any hawk he’d seen, moving with more haste than any fleeing insect could possibly require.

  It’s what they are, he realised with a smile. They are born to fly at such speeds; they revel in their nature. te‘Few appreciate such a quality in a white-eye,’ he muttered just as Govin, his acolyte, appeared around the edge of the abandoned farmhouse.

  ‘My Lord?’ Govin inquired, hearing Larim’s voice, but the expression on the white-eye’s face made him drop the matter immediately. Govin was a man who looked in a permanent state of worry. He was only thirty summers at most but he was already balding, with just a few strands of hair dragged across his oversized head, and he had the air of a man beaten down by life. His rather feeble body and prominent ears prone to turn pink at a moment’s notice were coupled with no surfeit of intellect, giving him the charisma of something normally found under a rock.

  ‘The village?’

  ‘Ah, not the sleepy hamlet you hoped,’ Govin said quickly. ‘A company of soldiers are camped on the common ground there, and sentries are posted on the road.’

  ‘What sort of soldiers?’ Larim asked wearily. If you hadn’t been the only one of my coterie to survive, I’d have killed you the first night for being dead weight.

  ‘Ah, the banners say Knights of the Temples. It doesn’t look like a raiding party or patrol, though. Most of the soldiers are keeping together, and it looks like they’re taking orders from men in white.’

  ‘Ruhen’s Children?’

  Govin bobbed nervously. ‘Could be; looked enough like them, certainly, and who knows what changes our defeat has brought about in the Circle City?’

  ‘Not you, certainly. So the Devoted and Byora’s little saviour have become allies? An interesting turn of events, to be sure.’

  ‘Why?’

  Larim resisted the urge to slap the man across his uncomprehending face. ‘The Devoted? Originally founded as an army of the devoted waiting for their saviour to come and lead them in battle against the last king reborn. Men who might, in troubled times, be looking for a saviour to follow? Is this an alliance or have they declared Ruhen the fulfilment of their prophecies and leader of their entirely military order? If so — do they claim Aryn Bwr is reborn, or is there some other enemy of the Gods to crusade against? “Interesting” barely covers it, and still you ask why?’

  ‘But what is that
to us? We’re leaving the West aren’t we?’

  ‘We are somewhat impoverished of late,’ Larim pointed out. ‘Money is no issue, of course; we just need to murder a few people for that, but who knows what sort of trouble might await us at home, our journey notwithstanding? Spending a few months in Byora is unlikely to make much difference to what happens at home, and we might yet profit from the time. Our soldiers will have to become mercenaries if they are to have any chance of returning home, and we might sensibly do the same, if the pay is better than gold. It will make us stronger.’

  He straightened his robe, tattered and muddy though it was, and indicated the two laden horses tied to a nearby fencepost. ‘Bring the horses. It’s time we sought honest employment — or whatever approximation of it I can be bothered with at any rate.’

  ‘And if they attack us?’

  Larim’s pale lips turned into a thin, lizard-like smile. ‘Then I’ll kill them all, of course.’

  The farmhouse by which they stood had been recently abandoned, but he saw no signs of violence done there. Perhaps they had fled the Menin advance, perhaps daemons had taken them in the night; Larim didn’t care much. This nation meant nothing to him, and the rural eastern parts even less so. Rumour said the city of Narkang was a place of learning and magic, and Larim had hoped to take Narkang for his own private fief once Tor Milist’s mages had been slaughtered, but beyond the city there was nothing here to interest him.

  Not bothering to wait for his none-too-deft acolyte to bring up the horses, Larim walked around the farmhouse and headed for the village. It was a warm evening and still bright, so the first sentry spotted him well before he had neared the village proper. Before he had even reached shouting distance, a pair of riders had galloped out past the picket on the road and, stopping well short of the white-eye, called out, ‘Halt! State your name!’