by Tom Lloyd
‘They can’t all be touched by the shadow,’ Macove muttered in response, ‘there’s too many of them now — unless the shadow’s power has grown vastly. Theatricality perhaps?’
Cedei, the Brotherhood veteran, hawked and spat on the cobbled ground. ‘Sounds about right. Bastard’s always loved a show.’
Cedei was typical of the Brotherhood in Torl’s eyes: an unremarkable man with a weathered face, speckled grey hair and cold, intense eyes. A born street-fighter, that one, Torl thought. Macove’s the nobleman, the knight with height and muscle on his side, but I’d never bet against Emin’s bloody hands of history if it came to a fight.
‘Tell the others to hang back,’ he said out loud. ‘We’re not looking for a fight here, just getting the lie of the Land.’
Cedei nodded and fished out a pipe and tobacco pouch. He filled the bowl and made a show of casting around for a light, checking for their escort of Dark Monks, the religious order both Torl and Macove belonged to. He caught no one’s eye and made no additional gestures, but once the pipe was lit he looked satisfied enough.
‘Shall we then?’
The three men edged a little closer to the preachers, careful to act as they looked: interested merchants who posed no threat to order or the safety of the preachers. Only Torl wore a cloak, and that was pushed back off his shoulders despite the chilly weather and heavy grey clouds — all the better for the Devoted to see they carried only knives for their own protection. His three gold earrings of rank had been removed now they were in enemy territory, as had Macove’s two, though both men found themselves touching a finger to their ear from time to time, then checking the cords around their necks from which the family relics hung.
‘Brothers!’ exclaimed a voice from their left, and Torl almost jumped as a man appeared from the crowd, not dressed as a preacher, but with the exact same expression as those in white. He’d been tasked with rooting out potential dissent in the crowd, Torl realised, meeting the naysayers head on before the white-clad preachers could be dragged into a shouting match.
‘Do you come to hear the peace of Ruhen?’
Cedei nodded enthusiastically, immediately deferential. ‘We do, sir. Passed a good few preachers on the road — and more’n enough signs o’ what war’s done to this Land besides.’
The man inclined his head benevolently and Torl forced himself to respond in respectful kind, Macove following his lead. The ageing suzerain felt his fists tighten as he bent his back to the man; he was unused to considering any commoner his equal, let alone his superior.
‘You are come from Narkang lands?’ he asked with a studied expression of guileless interest.
‘That I am, sir,’ Cedei agreed with a bob of the head, ‘my friends from the north.’
‘Scree,’ Torl said hoarsely, ‘what once was, anyway.’
‘So you have all suffered by the cruelty of avaricious men,’ he intoned. ‘Yours is a common story, brothers.’
‘We’ve seen enough fighting, aye, ta know the horrors of it,’
Cedei said. He looked askance at Torl. ‘Some witnessing more’n others.’
‘Your family?’
Torl bowed his head, trusting Cedei’s instincts for spinning a plausible story. ‘My wife and children,’ he confirmed, ‘we were separated in the rush to escape the firestorm.’
‘And they were murdered by men claiming divine inspiration,’ the man finished for him. ‘The King of Narkang let his army run riot on the defenceless refugees.’
‘Bastard did nothing when the Menin came either,’ Cedei added with venom. ‘Could’ve used some righteous fury when my town was burning.’
‘But he saw no profit in it,’ the white-clad man said sadly, ‘such is the way of men of power. Only Ruhen’s peace will free us of this — only Ruhen is not so clouded by the cares and fears of our mortal life, not corrupted by desires for power or magic only Gods should be able to wield.’
Cedei nodded obsequiously and it was all Torl could do not to gawp at the man’s superb acting. ‘Hoping ta hear a better way, sir. We’ve all heard rumours that King Emin commands monsters, but no matter what, the priests would only sing his praises.’
‘The cults are wedded to their own love of power, the thrall they hold the people in with empty promises of the afterlife.’ The man lurched forward and unexpectedly embraced Cedei, causing several more in the crowd to turn and watch the exchange.
‘Open your heart, brother! Come, let us get closer and hear our saviour’s message of peace!’ Torl saw smiles and approval on the faces of the crowd, and more than one echoing the man’s exhortations.
Torl and Macove held their ground as the man led a beaming Cedei away, one arm draped over his shoulders to guide him to the front of the crowd. Torl could sense the envy radiating out from those around them as Cedei was brought to the front of the crowd, the people parting easily before them, but closing up just as quickly afterwards.
The main group of preachers were assembled on a small platform in the centre of the square, next to a large well. The lighter marks on the stone indicated something had recently been removed from there — Torl guessed a shrine to an Aspect of Vasle inhabiting the well — though how the preachers had justified demolishing it he couldn’t fathom. Perhaps the local priests charged for any water drawn; perhaps it was destroyed under cover of dark and King’s Men blamed for the desecration.
‘Brothers,’ began a burly preacher, slipping his white hood from his head, ‘Sisters, blessed children! May the peace of Ruhen embrace you all and cast the fear from your hearts.’
There were muttered responses from the crowd, no one wanting to stand out by speaking up too loudly, but the preacher basked in their attention nonetheless. He fell silent for a few heartbeats and then his expression turned grave. ‘The peace of the child is a blessed thing. We, his children in spirit, were born with purity in our hearts and minds. We too were once free of fear and our hearts yearn for that time of peace, but this Land is one assailed and it cannot be. Only the child, our Lord Ruhen, possesses a purity of spirit that cannot be diminished by the works of daemons and evil men — for his is the quintessence of that first, perfect gift we are each given by the Gods.’
Torl nodded along with the rest of the crowd, though it sickened him to his stomach to hear such words go unchallenged. The Brethren of the Sacred Teachings, called by most the Dark Monks, were an Order dedicated to the preservation of the Pantheon’s majesty. He had spent his life studying religious texts and defending the innocent from all sorts of threats. That he could not draw a sword and strike this man down pained him physically, but he forced down the feelings and continued to listen.
‘In these dark times,’ the preacher continued after the crowd had hushed again, ‘we find ourselves assailed. The Land itself and the Gods that rule us are assailed, estranged from their children by the wickedness of priests in love with power. We choose peace for our hearts, we choose a path of purity for our lives, but it is not always enough.’
He gestured towards the liveried Knights of the Temples standing at the mouth of an alley. ‘Some are forced to take up arms in defence of peace, to fight those who cannot stand to see it flourish in this once beautiful Land. Place your trust in these guardians and place your faith in the child: his peace is a shield against the cares of this life.
‘And still they come, and still the devoted servants of peace are beset. This is the dusk of the Land, brothers and sisters, and a great darkness shall soon be upon us.’
The preacher bowed his head a moment, as though struggling physically with the strain of the darkness, and Torl saw the crowd surge forward as if to support him with all they had. Many of those watching were the poorest of this town, but not all; Cedei’s account of the assault on the Ruby Tower had described a small army of beggars camped outside the gates, waiting for a glimpse of their saviour. Now, it was not only the mad and the desperate finding solace in Ruhen’s promises. He recognised how they would be swayed to Ruhen’s ser
vice even as his horror deepened.
‘The darkness will come in many forms: in the faces of men and on the wings of daemons — but do not fear it; it is fear they crave, terror they seek to inspire. Without oppression and fear, the King of Narkang is nothing but a man ruled by his own vices. Darkness walks this Land, as you have all borne witness. Daemons walk this Land — the voices in the night, the shapes beyond the boundary lines, given freedom to hunt by those enemies of peace, eager for the blood of innocent men.’
The preacher took a step forward, staring directly at the faces of those nearest him, Cedei included. ‘But should we fear them, my siblings under Ruhen?’
‘No!’ screamed several, howling the words back at him and prompting the preacher to incline his head with stern approbation.
‘No, we should not: their power comes from your fear; that is how they become strong over us. When the daemons came to Byora, the child did not fear them. An army of daemons, loosed from Ghenna’s dark pit and sent to kill the child by King Emin himself — but Ruhen did not fear them. He marched out with one disciple at his side, one man walking in the footsteps of a child!
‘The daemons were weakened by his resolve and they could not harm him, for peace is anathema to them. A great victory was won that day — not by armies, not by lords or mages, but by common folk like you and me. The people of Byora cast off their fear; they saw the child unafraid and knew they had no need of it. Fear weakens us, but without it no force in the Land can prevail over us!’
The crowd began to cheer and shout, stamping their feet and drowning out the preacher’s next words so he was forced to stop and quieten them before he could continue: ‘Be as the child, in all things. If darkness assails you, stand tall and meet it without fear. As children of a greater cause we shall face them, side by side and armoured by the child’s perfect peace.’ His voice lowered to almost a prayer, and the crowd went suddenly silent, rapt, as he finished, ‘With the blessing of the child, my brethren, we will march out and show them the resolve children of peace possess. Against that no spears can prevail.’
The crowd found their voices again, but now there were no wild calls or shouts; many had sunk to their knees and begun to keen wordlessly. Torl could not bring himself to follow their example. Instead, with his head bowed and hands clasped, he spoke the words of a prayer in his mind, first to Lord Death, then a grace to the Aspects of Vasle. From all sides the voices joined and slowly built into a chorus, a lament and entreaty that was primal. Torl felt it deep inside him.
When the mood finally broke and people started to move from where they stood, some returning to their labours, others to approach the preachers directly, Torl felt Macove put a hand on his arm and lean close in. ‘What was all that about?’ he asked quietly, the words almost lost in the resuming hubbub of daily life. ‘Is the child building an army?’
Torl shook his head and gestured for them to leave. He needed a drink after witnessing that. ‘No, my friend, it’s something more basic than an army.’ He glanced back at the centre of the square, where Cedei was now embroiled in conversation with one of the white-cloaked preachers. He decided to leave the man to it; infiltration was one of his skills, and he would be safe enough on his own. At the last town Cedei had spent an entire evening in the company of one such preacher, acting the convert and ever-keen to hear more of the child’s great works.
They had all left the town by the time the preacher was found dead in a whore’s bed with an opium pipe in his hand. Subtlety, it seemed to Torl, was the one thing not taught to the King’s Men, but the more he watched Ruhen’s preachers the more he wondered what outrageousness would be too much for the credulous, fearful masses.
‘A sacrifice,’ he said with a heavy heart. ‘Ruhen expects an invasion. He does not believe the Devoted can face us in the field, so he portrays King Emin as a monster and godless conqueror.’
‘And still he asks people to face us down?’ Macove’s breath caught as he realised the truth of it. ‘Oh Gods!’
‘Exactly,’ Torl said. ‘To meet Ruhen, the king’s armies will have to march through a river of innocent blood, cutting a path through unarmed fanatics as well as Devoted armies. Ruhen does not care how many we kill; his audience is the people beyond these parts. If we slaughter a hundred thousand of his followers, he will only laugh for we will be playing into his hands. We must hope the king puts a careful man in command of the army he is preparing.’ He sighed, feeling a chill of age and foreboding in his bones. ‘To reach our enemy we will have to confirm these people’s worst fears.’
CHAPTER 21
King Emin leaned forward and looked into Amber’s eyes. The Menin’s eyelids twitched as he came within grasping distance, but his hatred had been dimmed by the king’s return to Kamfer’s Ford. Emin might have commanded the army, but he hadn’t been in control of the one who’d torn Amber’s birthname away; that one had been working a revenge all of his own, and Amber didn’t know what to do about that.
The only one with reason enough to do what he’d done, Amber reflected. That why I don’t feel the same hate for him, or have I just used up all I had left?
‘You’ve been quiet a long time, Major,’ the king commented at last. ‘Do I need to repeat my offer?’
Amber slowly shook his head. They sat a private room in the tavern Amber had been quartered in — well, private once that scowling lump Forrow had cleared the other drinkers from it. Nai, Carel and Ardela were with them at the table, the necromancer scrutinising the floor for reasons Amber couldn’t find the strength to be interested in. ‘You’ll use your influence with the Chetse to secure us passage home if I persuade the legions holed up in Farrister to fight for you,’ Amber said. ‘Don’t see how I can persuade them if their commanders couldn’t.’
‘You are a man of renown, Major Amber — your word carries weight, I suspect. In any case, it isn’t all the troops in Farrister you need to persuade. My mages tell me many of the rank and file would like to take my offer.’
‘Your problem’s General Arek,’ Amber confirmed. ‘Man’s from the outer lands, as I recall; his family died years back.’
‘It seems he is resistant to any form of compromise. He would prefer to fight to the death, and take as many of us with him as he can.’
Amber sighed. ‘That surprises you? There’s nothing you can offer him.’
‘I was hoping sense might prevail. I had thought the Menin officers might feel a duty to their soldiers.’
‘You destroyed his life, his reason to live!’ Amber snapped. Forrow reached forward immediately, but the big Menin soldier ignored the hand on his shoulder. ‘What did you think was going to happen?’
‘That he wouldn’t be ruled by personal feelings,’ Emin retorted angrily. ‘If he wants his men to live, he’ll agree.’
‘And you think I can persuade him? I’ve barely met the man — and he’s got half a dozen officers who outrank me. Or are you hoping I’ll kill him and take command of the army?’
‘I hope you will sway him,’ King Emin said, standing. ‘You leave in the morning under escort. Their supplies are almost out, so if you care about saving any of them you should hurry.’
He marched out, not waiting for a response, and Forrow followed. The king’s bodyguard slammed the door behind him hard enough to shake the room, but once they were gone silence reigned. Amber stared at the vacant seat in front of him, exhausted by the idea of rejoining a Menin army again. He found it unreal to be even thinking of fitting into that structure again, however much he craved a return of order to his life.
‘Well?’ Carel said eventually. ‘You going to let them all die?’
‘War’s over — if they don’t see that, what can I do?’
‘That ain’t what I asked. Are you going to do your damnedest, or just pass on the message and pick up a shield?’
Amber glared at Nai.
The necromancer was unusually still and quiet; his hand twitched and Amber spied the edge of a tattoo under his sleeve.
Ah, that explains it then. Even the necromancer’s chosen a side in this war — we really must be coming to the end of things. Nai of the Brotherhood, eh? Whole Land’s gone over to madness.
‘I don’t get a choice there, do I, Nai?’
The man didn’t answer, but Amber continued anyway, scratching his cheek where Nai had marked him, ‘See, our friend with the odd feet there, he’s still got a hold over me — not just that dead man’s bag to keep me from killing him; he can do worse than that if I don’t come back as ordered. The rune he scratched on my cheek might have healed, but once a necromancer’s got his hooks in you there’s no escape.’
‘Oh stop fucking whining, boy,’ Carel snapped. He rapped the butt of his stick on the floor in irritation. ‘Your war ain’t done, whatever the king says.’
‘You think?’ Amber said with a snort. ‘Maybe Arek’s right then.’
‘Piss on Arek. The man’s a fool looking for a glorious death and he don’t care who he takes with him. One way or another you got to persuade him to take the king’s offer. You think you ain’t a part of this fight? That’s not what I heard from the last days of Scree.’
Amber frowned. ‘Dragged there on some fool’s errand, used as bait for King Emin and left to die by that damn vampire? You drunk again, old man?’
‘Pah, I heard it a different way: you worked as hard as any to save those refugees, the ones not taken by Azaer’s madness. You fought and bled on the barricade, leading from the front rather than looking to save your own skin.’
‘Someone had to take charge or we’d all have died. You think that means I’m at war with the shadow too?’
‘It means you used to give a shit about folk, and I reckon you still do. You’re no friend of Azaer and you don’t like seeing innocents die. Look at me; I’m old and crippled — Death Himself only knows what I got left to give to this life, but I ain’t giving up yet. You’ve got a whole lot more strength left in that arm o’ yours, and if you’ve given up on life, just tell me now and I’ll end it for you — stop you wasting what little drink we got left.’
