The Dusk Watchman: Book Five of The Twilight Reign (25 page)

The sun had remained consistently warm on their faces as they skirted the Blue Hills and travelled southwest through the unspoiled heartland of the Kingdom of Narkang. At the roadside fruit was ripening amidst a bustle of bees and butterflies, and birds chattered constantly around them, filling the air with song, but Forrow took his new position seriously, and he saw nothing but potential dangers.

‘Where’s Suzerain Cotterin?’ the king wondered aloud as he surveyed the ring of defences surrounding the town of Farrister.

All looked peaceful there, just as they’d been told, but he knew the sight of his standard might change that very quickly. The town was surrounded by a wooden fence, more a barrier to stop untaxed goods than attacking forces. This deep into the kingdom there had never been a need for anything more.

The Menin army currently occupying Farrister hadn’t had time to be picky about where to make their stand. They had been sent to harry the south of the kingdom and lure troops away from the main invasion, but they had fought only one minor battle before the decisive battle of Moorview. When they had realised their lord was defeated they had taken Farrister and barricaded themselves in while their allies from Thotel and Tor Salan fled home. They’d been there for the last few weeks, sending scouts out in search of news and fortifying their position as much as they could as they realised how far from home and supply-lines they now were.

‘Riders, sire,’ Dashain said, pointing east. She was as serene as a standing stone, and nearly as immovable. It had taken a while for the men to get past her beauty and realise they couldn’t dominate her; several had suffered in the process.

While the king waited for the cavalrymen he sent the messenger to order the troops to make camp within the spiked earthworks that protected the besieging army.

‘Your Majesty,’ called Suzerain Cotterin as soon as he came within hailing distance, ‘I’m relieved to see you fit and well. The reports we’ve had from Moorview have been most grave.’

‘Good to see you too, Cotterin,’ the king replied, adding gravely, ‘Unfortunately your reports were no exaggeration. The kingdom mourns many heroes.’

‘Truly? I heard thirty thousand Narkang men marched to the Herald’s Hall.’

‘A shade over,’ Emin confirmed as Cotterin reined in and dropped from his horse to kneel before the king. ‘We took as many as we lost. A few Menin regiments escaped, but none surrendered.’

Cotterin rose but didn’t immediately reply as he looked over to the town he had been besieging. He was a broad man with long fair hair, and only a winter or two older than the king. His accent betrayed the fact he’d not been born into nobility; to many in Narkang that was a sign that he was not a man to trifle with: the king remembered his friends, and many of them greeted the men of the Brotherhood by name.

‘That’s a poor omen for what this lot will do then, your Majesty.’

‘We must hope they’ve had time for their blood to cool. How many do you estimate are in there?’

‘Approaching ten legions-worth, now their allies have abandoned them.’

‘So it’s rather cramped in there now.’

‘Must be. Half the townsfolk had already fled, but the local lord says there’s never been more than four thousand living there at the most.’

Emin looked around at the fortifications before walking up the earth bank the army had thrown up, the suzerain and the bodyguard following closely behind. A river cut through the city, running southwest off the Blue Hills, and the surrounding ground was parcelled into fields growing a whole range of crops. From what he could see, the Menin had not been able to harvest most of it: Cotterin’s troops had arrived too soon for that.

‘But we’re still not going to starve them out in a hurry,’ he commented.

‘No, your Majesty: the town is the wheat market for the whole area. The grain stores will most likely have enough left to keep them fed a good while longer. They’ll be ripe for disease, being confined like that, but there are reports of that from the east anyway, so we might not do much better outside. The common folk are saying a plague followed in their wake. That might not be too far from the truth.’

King Emin looked down at the group waiting for him on the ground. ‘Dashain, go and fetch out an envoy,’ he called. As she hurried to her horse and started off towards the town, Emin caught his mage’s eye. ‘Endine, if they fire on her or anything else, I want a hole ripped in that fence, understand?’

The scrawny mage bowed, one hand on the Skull at his belt. He knew Emin was keen to avoid a fight, so magic would be the best way to persuade the Menin. They might have nowhere to go, but they were largely heavy infantry, the brutal mainstay of the Menin Army, the troops who’d almost slaughtered Emin and his entire Kingsguard at Moorview. Narkang had to march on Byora; they didn’t need to fight any more Menin élite to the death first.

Dashain returned untroubled half an hour later, in the company of two Menin officers. Both were bearded, their long black curls neatly tied back. Most tellingly, Emin decided, their grey uniforms were clean and in good repair. Grief-stricken madmen were unlikely to take pride in their appearance. Though their invasion had been destroyed, these men maintained their military order.

‘King Emin,’ Dashain called, jumping down from her horse, ‘may I present General Arek and Colonel Dorom?’

‘Gentlemen,’ the king said coolly, inclining his head to the soldiers. With their clipped beards the pair looked similar-enough to be brothers. ‘May I offer you some wine?’

Aside from dismounting, the officers made no gestures of respect, and they ignored the wine that had been brought out. The discourtesy started Forrow growling, until the king stopped him, as he often had Coran. A twitch of the finger proved sufficient.

‘You summoned us, King Emin.’ Arek said at last. ‘Do you offer your surrender?’

‘Not quite,’ the king said calmly. ‘I assume some of your scouts made it back, so you will know of the events at Moorview.’

Arek’s eyes narrowed. ‘Every one of us felt our lord’s name being torn from our minds. A scout found some retreating Byoran soldiers, who spoke of thousands dead and our army broken.’

‘They did not lie,’ Emin said. ‘Your lord is dead; your conquest of the West is ended. What you felt will also have been experienced throughout all the cities you had taken. Most likely your garrisons are all dead.’

‘This much we can guess.’

‘So what now for you? Where does your allegiance now lie?’

Arek looked insulted by the question. ‘To my tribe and my God, as they always have.’ The Menin’s fingers twitched.

Emin reminded himself how fanatically loyal the Menin soldiers had reportedly been to their lord; no doubt they hated him with a passion for what he had done. ‘And to your men?’ he asked.

‘They are Menin, they obey their orders.’

Emin shook his head. ‘No, I did not mean that. Is your loyalty to them, to their survival?’

‘Save your threats. We are Menin.’

‘General Arek, please – put aside your hatred of me for one moment,’ King Emin commanded. He took a pace forward, to the Menin’s surprise, moving within sword’s reach. ‘Do you wish your men to live or not?’

‘I do – but you remain our enemy.’

‘The war is over. You lost.’

‘Not while we still live. You will not take us as slaves.’

Emin exhaled, a long, weary breath. For a while he didn’t speak, then at last he gestured to Forrow, standing beside him. ‘My bodyguard,’ he explained. ‘He’s hoping you will go too far, say something that will allow him to kill you both. Narkang lost many soldiers at Moorview, far more than any general would like when his war is only just beginning.
All
of my soldiers are hoping you will fight, so they can exact revenge for the comrades buried on Tairen Moor, and the civilians murdered by your armies.’

‘Then attack. We are not leaving.’

Emin raised a hand to stop him. ‘
All
my soldiers want to fight, but I would prefer not to. I think there is an alternative that serves us both.’

‘What?’ Arek demanded rudely, his patience obviously wearing thin.

‘We do not fight – not each other, at least. Your mission in the West is over. There is nothing more for you here, but it’s a long way home and you will not make it back without help. I doubt you’d even make it much past Tor Salan, not with the Knights of the Temples consolidating their position there, but if you did get past, I’m damn sure you wouldn’t get further than the road approaching Thotel.’

‘You offer us a way home? Why?’

‘Because I need soldiers. The child Ruhen is my enemy, and I believe the Devoted will soon declare him the saviour their doctrine speaks of. The Order controls Mustet in the south and it will likely sway Sautin as well. In addition, the Order has troops in Raland, Embere and the Circle City. This is a war I can ill afford, but I must pursue it. Troops of your calibre would prove crucial to stiffening my armies.’

‘Mercenaries?’ Arek spat. ‘There is no honour in that life.’

‘Precious little, perhaps, but without my help you will never even make it to the Waste, of that I’m certain. Discuss it with your officers; see how many of them wish revenge for the death of your lord rather than the chance to see your homeland again.’

Endine illustrated the king’s point by affording them a glimpse of the Crystal Skull he carried at his waist. The threat was clear.

‘I will speak to them,’ Arek replied, having exchanged a look with Dorom, his tone noticeably less belligerent. ‘But how can we trust each other? There is too much blood between us.’

‘Let us not pretend trust is necessary,’ Emin said dismissively. ‘If both our purposes are served, that’s enough to begin with. As a gesture of goodwill, Dashain here can procure supplies, should you be running low. I would appreciate an answer in the morning. General, Colonel, good day.’

CHAPTER 13

‘And here we are,’ breathed Vesna as they rounded a sprawl of young oaks and spied the lights of a fort two hundred yards away. ‘Now we’re the faithful on pilgrimage to the holy city.’

‘I can feel the blessing of the Gods upon me already,’ Zhia commented. She slipped the shawl from her head and shook her hair out loose behind her.

The sun had set behind the hills more than half an hour ago. As twilight lay heavy on the Land they looked an otherworldly collection; the dark gleaming eyes of Zhia and Legana, Isak’s shadowed scars and Vesna’s ruby teardrop catching the last of the light. One thin cloud reminded Isak of a pike’s mouth against the dark sky, but he kept the thought to himself. His companions might not be a superstitious lot, but they were apprehensive about what they would find in Vanach, so no sort of omen would be welcome.

Isak led them to the fort where a regiment of Ghosts was waiting, formed up in two neat company blocks and ready to receive them. The men had been sent on ahead to reinforce the fort’s permanent garrison, ready to provide military support should Isak call for it. It was a compact place, one of a string of six along the Vanach border, too small to cope with the additional hundred soldiers and their horses. Isak counted more than a dozen three-man tents pitched behind the fort; a makeshift corral had been set up within a cluster of ash trees beside that.

‘My Lord,’ called a soldier not wearing the Palace Guard livery; Sergeant Ralen, once one of Isak’s personal guard, approached them and saluted the white-eye he still considered his commander. ‘You’ve made good time. We only got here yesterday.’

‘Where’s Major Jachen?’ demanded Vesna as Isak slipped grimacing from his horse.

Ralen’s expression wavered a fraction. ‘Ah, ill, sir.’

‘Drunk?’

‘Sure it’s somethin’ he ate, sir.’

The Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn advanced on Ralen, who had taken a few steps back before he even realised. ‘I don’t care, Sergeant,’ Vesna said quietly. ‘Moorview hit Jachen hard; we all saw that before you left.’

‘Still sure it’s somethin’ he ate, sir,’ Ralen insisted. ‘Major’s always been prone to thinkin’ too hard, I’ll admit, but he’ll be right next time you see ’im.’

‘That’s good enough for me,’ Vesna said. He turned to the rest of the party as the last of them dismounted. ‘We eat quickly, then we’re off again.’

‘Off?’ Ralen echoed in surprise. ‘But it’s dusk. You’re travellin’ at night?’

‘It is part of our pilgrimage,’ Isak explained, easing his way down to one knee and allowing Hulf to clamber up his thigh. These days he had a permanent frown on his face: partly because of his scars, but also because of a sense of disconnection with the Land around him, one that eased when he felt Hulf’s thick fur under his fingers. ‘If we’re to make it to the Grand Ziggurat we’re going to have to pass bands of Carastars and Black Swords, and the commissars will be watching everything we do. The first step is to travel only under Alterr’s light – to claim the sanctuary of her gaze.’

‘Sounds like jumpin’ through hoops to reach your death,’ Ralen commented, ‘but the Menin lord couldn’t stop you, so this lot don’t have much chance – they’re all fuckin’ starvin’ anyway, so I hear.’

Isak couldn’t help but look past the man to the empty plain beyond the fort. He knew there would be Carastars watching it – the mercenaries were permitted free rein along the Vanach border to dissuade the population from fleeing – but their camps were not near any potential invasion route. They weren’t being paid to defend the state, just to terrorise those parts the commissars didn’t.

The Black Swords, Vanach’s army, was a less known quality. The soldiers served as both religious enforcers and police, under the direction of the commissars, but both Leshi and Shinir said they rarely ventured into the borderlands.

‘Let’s hope they’re not too hungry,’ Isak muttered, raising his still-bandaged left arm. The bite-wounds and burns were much improved, but the scar tissue remained sensitive. ‘I’m not yet healed from the last time something chewed on me.’

Ralen laughed and gestured towards the food being brought out for the party. ‘Don’t worry, sir; all the buggers’ll be after Daken first. Plenty of time to get away while they’re eatin’ him.’