The Dusk Watchman: Book Five of The Twilight Reign (30 page)

The prisoner whimpered and sagged in the restraining grip of his captors, but his captivity had left him so cowed and feeble he did not even try to fight them and the two had no effort in holding him steady. Shinir raised her bow and let fly in one swift movement.

At that distance the arrow tore right into Commissar Horsh en’s neck, passing a foot out the other side as it threw him to the ground. The man hit the ground, legs kicking in uncontrolled spasms, as the remaining Black Swords immediately drew their weapons.

‘Hold!’ Kestis croaked at them, visibly shocked at a spray of blood that pattered over his boots. He recoiled a pace even as he spoke, distancing himself from the dead body. ‘Sheathe your weapons!’

There was a moment of sullen silence before any complied, but even those under the authority of the Night Council were not willing to disobey the direct order of a commissar. Eventually the soldiers stepped back while one of the prisoner’s guards inspected Horshen, confirming what they all knew: the commissar was dead. The stand-off lasted only a few moments, then a second Sentinel pushed her way forward through the remaining commissars. Isak felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Just from the way she walked he could tell this was not some spiteful, low-ranked fanatic.

Though plain-faced and lacking Zhia’s dark presence, the commissar still reminded him of the vampire. This was someone who knew their own power all too well and had no need to adopt the sort of supercilious air Commissar Horshen had.

‘Clever,’ she commented in accented Farlan, which made Isak assume she was from the north, where the two nations met. She sounded disinterested rather than scornful, as though Isak had not yet merited anything further from her. ‘You kept to the letter of the mystery, at least. But a waste of a loyal servant of the Gods – and for what? A slave?’

She gestured towards the cowering man and one of his guards hauled on his arm to make him stand a little higher. The slave had taken one look at the newcomer and fear took hold of him; urine was trickling pathetically down his bare legs.

‘Sister?’ Kestis said hesitantly. He too recognised the woman’s bearing as that of a superior, but from the way he was peering at her it did not marry with the markings on her scarf band.

‘Sister-Sapesien Fesh,’ she supplied without bothering to look at him. ‘Secretary to the Night Council and here to observe on their express orders.’

Thanks to Zhia’s interrogation, they recognised the different ranks of commissar; Kestis was a Tarasien, the third rank. Sapesien was the fourth rank, but few ever got that high. The difference in power was clearly enormous.

Fesh approached the cringing slave and inspected him for a few moments before turning to Isak. ‘This man is a heretic, condemned to death.’

Without any further ceremony she whipped a thin stiletto from her belt and jammed it into the man’s belly. He wheezed in shock and clutched feebly at the dagger hilt, a tiny cry of fear escaping his lips.

Fesh swatted the man’s hands away from her knife and withdrew it again with deliberate slowness. ‘Now he will die more slowly.’

With a twitch of the fingers she ordered the guards to release the slave and he collapsed to his knees, mewling pathetically. Dark blood trickled out from between his fingers and mingled with the puddle of urine on the ground while his weak cries grew increasingly piteous.

‘You want to test my compassion too?’ Isak growled, his words thick with restrained anger. The white-eye leaned forward over his horse’s head and stared intently at Fesh, while trying not to glance back at Zhia. He could sense a build-up of magic from the vampire; no doubt her Gods-imposed curse was filling her with discomfort at the man’s suffering and hunger at the slowly spilling blood.

‘I do not test,’ Fesh declared, meeting his gaze, and apparently completely unafraid, despite the fact Isak was so much larger. ‘I serve the wishes of the Night Council.’

Isak made a dismissive sound and urged his horse towards where Commissar Kestis had earlier gestured they find their lodgings. He caught Zhia’s eye as he went and called back over his shoulder, ‘Goodbye, Commissar.’

A muted crack broke the hushed night air as Zhia invisibly hastened the slave’s inevitable death, then the rest of the party followed him at a slow pace. Kestis hurried to catch up with his guests and usher them down the wide avenue leading to the heart of the city.

Commissar Fesh did not speak.

They were guided into the centre of Toristern, down a road studded with blockish, functional shrines and onto a tree-lined strip of open ground that formed a ring around a central district. Silver birches had been carefully cultivated to form screens that abruptly hid the slumbering city from view. The ground was covered in some sort of limestone gravel; it was obviously kept scrupulously clear of weeds and it shone in the pre-dawn gloom.

‘This ground is restricted to the Blessed,’ Commissar Kestis announced as he directed the party to walk down the white avenue. ‘The entire inner circle of Toristern is sacred; you will be the first outsiders to ever view this ziggurat.’

‘I hadn’t realised there was more than one,’ Isak said.

Kestis inclined his head solemnly, then looked up at the yellowed bulge of Alterr, high above them. ‘Every core settlement has a ziggurat now – none as remarkable as the Grand Ziggurat of Vanach Settlement, of course, but fitting places of worship all the same.’ He turned, his eyes suddenly bright with fervour. ‘And now you are here, come to fulfil the signs and reveal mysteries beyond those inscribed on the walls of the Grand Ziggurat – perhaps every city in the Land will be blessed with a ziggurat to elevate their worship?’

‘Not sure that would be so popular right now,’ Isak murmured.

‘No doubt,’ Kestis agreed gravely. ‘The wider Land has been forsaken by the Gods for so many years. We of the Commissar Brigade understand the extent of the task ahead of us; unbelievers will not easily accept the embrace of the Gods again.’

‘Lucky you’ve got so many Black Swords, eh?’ Isak commented, noticing yet another troop of soldiers watching them silently from under the trees.

‘The enemies of the Gods are many and devious,’ Kestis replied, a sharpness entering his voice. ‘The faithful must be protected, and more so than ever since the recent rise in daemon attacks.’

‘Rise?’

Kestis blinked at him. ‘We have ever been plagued by daemons roaming the wild parts of our nation; it is our lot as most favoured of the Gods. They enter the minds of mages and weak men, sometimes manifesting in their hundreds and slaughtering entire villages.’ He frowned. ‘It has always been that way – that is why the Shield Council was forced to redistribute the population and ensure they could be protected as they worked for the glory of the Gods. Surely your own people have the same problems?’

‘Oh sure,’ Isak said quickly, ‘daemons with the faces of men: always been a problem where I come from. There’s one growing with power even now, one that wears the face of a child.’ His face became suddenly tight. ‘Don’t even ask me what’s living in the cottage I used to own.’

Kestis went as wide-eyed as a child as Isak confirmed everything he had been told about the Land beyond Vanach’s borders. ‘It is a fight we are ready for, my Lord. The people of Vanach are strong and unflinching; the Commissar Brigade has worked for years to prepare them for what will be required.’

Isak said grimly, ‘It may be you’ll find that fight soon.’ He spoke in Farlan.

‘I’m sorry, Lord – I did not understand you. That was Farlan you spoke? Only very few here know that language, I’m afraid. Could you please repeat it?’

Isak waved it away as unimportant and turned to give Zhia a look instead. ‘Villages “disappearing” because of daemons? The entire population being “readied for war”? Remind me to kill your brother if I see him.’

The vampire indicated the soldiers they had just passed. ‘Have a care, my Lord – Commissar Fesh may have colleagues who speak Farlan.’

‘Oh, right, we wouldn’t want anyone to become suspicious of us,’ Isak snapped. ‘They might try to kill us if that happened.’

‘It was a limited effort,’ Zhia countered, ‘enough to test whether or not we were just some fools who’d chanced upon a way to travel unmolested in Vanach. I don’t doubt we’re in danger from this Night Council, but it doesn’t look like they are the dominant force in Vanach, so they will be cautious about acting publicly.’

Isak scowled and didn’t press the matter. He let Commissar Kestis guide them in silence around the outer ring to a second avenue leading into the heart of the city. As they turned onto it they were immediately confronted by a ceremonial procession of priests, looming like phantoms out of the darkness.

Dressed in white habits and shuffling along behind a circular silver standard, it was clear they were from the Cult of Alterr. Mindful of the position priests occupied in Vanach, Isak nudged his horse to one side and slipped respectfully from the saddle until they had passed.

Strangely, the priests paid him no attention at all. The hoods of their habits hung low over their face, but he knew the effect he had on passers by, so it came as a surprise when there was no apparent reaction at all.

Maybe the mysteries aren’t for the cults to know about,
he mused.
These commissars do seem to like keeping their power close.

He watched the procession as it shuffled away along the tree-line avenue, a hushed drone of prayer on the wind. The man at the rear swung a thurible on a long chain, but no smoke was emitted; there was only a deep
thrum
as air passed through its cut sides, a strange and haunting sound that lingered on the night air even as the priests moved away.

‘No incense?’

‘The Shrine Council removed incense from the list of accepted religious tools,’ Kestis said, careful not to indicate he had any opinion on the subject himself. ‘It was deemed a distraction from the majesty of the Gods and a lure for daemons.’

‘Ah, all that smoke and stink,’ Isak said.
Thought it reminded me of something.

‘Yes, Lord,’ Kestis said, in all seriousness, ‘to echo their home realm is to encourage them into the hearts of men. To cause the faithful to breath smoke is to lower them to the level of a heretic. It is well documented that heretics commonly have disorders of the throat and speech, choking on the evil they spread as it draws the smoke of the Dark Place into their lungs.’

‘This has been documented by the same folk who report daemons causing whole villages to disappear?’ Isak said before he could stop himself.

‘Indeed, Lord.’

‘Oh. And who would that be, then?’

Kestis faltered a little, giving a nervous glance around before he replied, ‘I— My knowledge of the councils is limited, my Lord. I know little even of the one I serve. It is heresy to question those who preserve the majesty of the Gods.’

‘Guess,’ Isak commanded unsympathetically. He took a step towards the commissar and stood a little straighter. ‘I’m not asking you to reveal state secrets, just the name of whichever council issued those reports.’

Kestis stared miserably at Isak’s feet for a few heartbeats, then his resolve broke. ‘It was most likely the Dusk Council – the works of daemons is their purview.’

‘Friendly lot, are they?’

‘I know nothing of them, but they go with the blessing of the Gods,’ Kestis replied, falling back on doctrine in his anxiety. ‘Please, I can tell you nothing more.’

Isak stared at the quivering man a while longer, then let him off. ‘Of course. Please, lead on.’

Kestis scampered ahead while Isak’s party remounted and started down the street. The buildings within the sacred district started out looking as boringly functional as those outside, although more frequently stone-built, but as they penetrated further into the district, Isak saw temples and the ziggurat rising above the rest. Each temple was set in a compound of its own, with an attending network of buildings half the height or less of their corresponding temple.

In the centre was the unmistakable bulk of the ziggurat: four square levels of pale stone topped with a half-dome structure that Isak assumed was the Temple of Alterr. To his surprise the sides of each level bore images, both carved and painted, and ornate statuary stood along the stark edges. The temples too were remarkably grand compared to the rest of the city. High spires and obelisks dominated the view, and the great variety of ornaments and embellishments was in stark contrast to the rest of the settlement’s architecture.

They approached the ziggurat under the watchful gaze of yet more Black Swords. It seemed strange to Isak that their escort consisted of only one man, even though it was likely they were never out of sight of at least one unit of soldiers. He hoped it meant they were trying to keep his arrival quiet until the ruling councils decided how to react, but as Kestis had ably demonstrated, nothing in Vanach could ever be assumed to be predictable.

‘My Lord Sebe,’ Kestis declared, his spirit partially returned, ‘lodgings at the Commissariat await you.’

Their path to the ziggurat was blocked by a large fort-like compound, entirely enclosed by a stone wall and overlooked by low guard-towers. They passed through the gate and found themselves in a large courtyard that had been divided into two. The larger part was behind an iron gate, through which Isak could see a gibbet and narrow, barred windows.

‘A fucking prison?’ he demanded, pointing up at the armed guards peering down at them.

Kestis flapped madly in his haste to correct Isak. ‘A secure station,’ he gabbled, pointing to the right, where the buildings were somewhat less brutal in aspect. ‘Yes, it is next to a prison, but as a result this is our most protected place. The Prefect has decided it best to spare you the curious eyes of the Faithful and Blessed alike; here you may have both privacy and security.’

‘Security from whom? The Dusk Council? The Night Council?’

Kestis couldn’t have shaken his head harder. ‘Insurrectionists, daemon-worshippers – the Faithful are ever under threat of those who have turned from the Gods.’

Isak looked around at his companions. None of them made any comment, but Vesna tapped his wrapped Crystal Skull and urged his horse onwards. The gesture was obvious, and Isak nodded his agreement:
Any trouble and we can carve a path through it.