The Dusk Watchman: Book Five of The Twilight Reign (40 page)

They were alone now, Isak realised; the Legion of the Damned had not followed them around the ziggurat, though Mihn continued to glance back as though watching for them. Without meaning to Isak conjured the image of hundreds of dead men tramping stolidly through the midnight waters beneath them.

All following Death’s own weapon,
Isak reminded himself.
The dead march in my wake.

He shivered and pushed the thought from his mind. It was not something to dwell on; just that fleeting moment was almost enough to overwhelm Isak with the consequences of what he was doing.

‘We punch through the gate and look for boats,’ Isak declared, pointing to the only other exit from the temple island. They could all see the hundreds of soldiers crossing the bridge to the nearer mainland.

‘And if there aren’t boats?’ Zhia asked.

Isak scowled and looked down at the black sword he carried. ‘Then we may have no choice.’

At the gate Isak sensed a vast gathering of power on either side of him. Fei Ebarn and Zhia both reached out to flay the defensive walls with arcs of flame while Vesna drew on his own Skull and punched the closed gate with raw power. Howls came from inside as stars burst along its length and the gate was smashed inwards, leaving nothing but blood and mangled flesh beyond it.

A great half-dome, the Temple of Alterr, rose behind the guardhouse. It was lit fitfully by ornate silver braziers. A square block stood to the right of that, the open peaked doorway declaring it to be the Temple of Death.

‘That way,’ Isak said, pointing to a break in the walls where a pebbled slope led down to the water, but as they approached Isak realised the wooden posts flanking the slope were clear of boats.

‘Looks like we’ll just have to fucking kill ’em all,’ Daken announced as Isak looked around in vain.

‘There’s got to be another way,’ Isak muttered. ‘Any ideas?’

‘Heretics! Servants of the damned!’ shrieked a voice in the lee of the wall, startling Isak, until he realised he wasn’t being attacked. He peered into the shadows and saw a man sitting in the mud, half hidden by a supporting timber. Hugging his knees to his chest, he stared at them all, his eyes wide with blind terror, and his voice descended into a low, wordless gibber.

‘Perfect,’ Zhia declared and reached out towards the man, who didn’t even have time to cry out as he was dragged through the air. Deftly Zhia grabbed the man by the throat, handling him as if he was as light as a rag-doll, and brought the keening figure up to her mouth to bite hard into his jugular. The man flailed and spasmed in her grip, but the small woman stood as still as a statue while she drank, and then held him up to inspect her handiwork. Trails of blood, black in the moonlight, ran down her chin, and the wound in his neck pulsed darkly down onto the scarf that marked him as a commissar.

With a brush of her finger Zhia sealed up the man’s wound. The man fell limp and she tossed him aside to fall like a dead thing on the moonlit ground.

‘He’ll bring us our horses tomorrow,’ she announced to her companions. ‘I’m sure the city will be in too much chaos for anyone to notice their absence straight away.’

‘Since when did you care about horses?’ Doranei demanded.

She smiled. ‘A girl with skin as fair as mine needs to be prepared. Some of us don’t like to travel light.’ She wiped the blood from her face and licked her fingers clean while Isak skirted further around the temple of Death until he had a better view of the bridge they now had to cross. Thanks to the torches he could see the soldiers had stopped near the centre: the nearer half of the bridge was in darkness. Most importantly, there weren’t Black Swords charging towards them.

‘What’s going on?’ he wondered aloud, and magic burst into life around him as the mages drew on their Crystal Skulls to investigate.

‘Fighting,’ Ebarn reported after a moment. ‘Different factions of commissars?’

Even as she said it they caught the clash of steel rising above the lap of water, punctuated by the sound of distant shouting.

Isak closed his eyes and let his senses rise up through the cool air, borne by the churn of magic inside him. High above the city he felt the invisible dart of bats come to greet him, drawn by their master’s sword. Isak ignored Death’s winged attendants, leaving them to swoop and spiral around his mind while he looked further still. There were daemons out there, keeping to the dark places beyond the light on the city walls, but he feared that might not last if the blood of hundreds was shed and the threat of Termin Mystt left.

‘They’re not soldiers,’ Zhia added, opening her eyes again, ‘that’s a mob. I think the people of Vanach have worked out what the Night Council intend for their saviour.’

‘They’re going to be sorely disappointed with me,’ Isak muttered. He looked back at the bridge they had just crossed. There was movement on it already: the first few pursuers were summoning their bravery. ‘More importantly, where do we go now? It won’t be long before we’re cornered here.’

No one had any answer at first, then Veil ran down the tiny pebble beach to the water’s edge. ‘Zhia,’ he called, ‘just how powerful is the sword?’

She laughed. ‘ “How powerful”? What sort of an idiot asks that?’

‘Okay, so I’m an idiot: let me ask instead, how much of its power can Isak safely use?’ he snapped back. ‘The Menin attack on a Narkang border town – I heard they used magic to freeze the moat.’

‘You want to freeze the entire lake? Are you mad? I can’t even see the far end from here!’ Isak exclaimed.

‘Not the whole lake, just enough for us to walk on,’ Veil persisted, pointing with his twin spikes. ‘Rivers and lakes freeze in winter, don’t they, but not completely: we just need a foot or so on the top, just enough to cross on, surely.’

‘Ice?’ Isak said thoughtfully, joining Veil. ‘Why not?’

He touched Termin Myst to the lapping water and closed his eyes. He had never learned how to do such things in the past, but with such astonishing power at his command he guessed finesse wouldn’t matter that much. By focusing the earth-shattering power through the image in his mind, it should be done easily enough.

The wind immediately picked up and someone behind him gasped as the temperature immediately plummeted. Isak felt the cold on his skin: a sheen of moisture on scars that still remembered the heat of the Dark Place. The crisp smell of frost appeared on his clothes as magic began to pour through the black sword and into the water below. Opening his eyes, Isak watched the black surface of the lake grow cloudy, then whiteness spread as quickly as flames through straw, a menacing crackle cutting the tense silence around them. Before long a white path had spread before him, driving like a spear-thrust out across the water towards the far shore.

Vesna came to Isak’s side. ‘That’s a long way,’ he commented, watching the strain on Isak’s face.

‘No choice,’ Isak said breathlessly, his attention never leaving the water. ‘Soldiers on this shore.’

Vesna stepped back as Isak redoubled his efforts. A dull pain appeared in the back of his mind and the Skull of Ruling was hot against his skin, but he knew he couldn’t stop. The ice road continued to surge forward, then he tasted a more familiar flavour on the air and broke off momentarily to look around him. Zhia stood a little way back, her Skull held out before her, her lips moving silently.

Isak didn’t need to ask about this spell; it spoke to the very heart of him: Zhia was calling a storm. Above their heads, clouds started to form, blotting out the light of the stars and moons while weaving a skein of shadows over the island and Isak’s ice road. The longer they had to escape the better, Isak realised, and the thought prompted him to look over to the two bridges where the commissars would be pursuing them.

He narrowed his eyes, momentarily forgetting the task at hand. ‘They’re no closer,’ he commented. ‘Why’s that?’ Unless others were moving ahead of the white torch-lights, the pursuers from the ziggurat island had stalled just beyond halfway across. Just when they were cornered, the pursuit had faltered, but there couldn’t have been enough citizens there to face down the soldiers.

Isak turned to his companions, looking from one to the next. ‘Where’s Mihn?’ he said quietly, and when the small man didn’t speak up or step out from behind someone Isak’s voice became thunderous. ‘Where the fuck is he?’

Legana pointed towards the bridge they had just crossed, and a leaden ball of dread appeared in Isak’s stomach.

‘
A chance taken
,’ she said into his mind. ‘
That’s what he said before he stopped.
’

‘What sort of fucking chance?’ he demanded, moving towards her with murder in his eyes. Vesna put his body between them, but he too looked like a man needing answers.

Legana’s expression didn’t change. If Isak’s sudden advance had alarmed her, the Mortal-Aspect gave no sign. She raised her slate so she could explain to all of them, not just Isak.

–
Recognised someone.

‘Who?’

A shrug. –
Buying time.

Vesna turned back and gripped Isak’s forearm. ‘She’s right, Isak: it doesn’t matter now. Mihn’s made his choice, and we need to move.’

Isak snarled and grabbed the Farlan hero by his throat. ‘Doesn’t
matter
?’ he rasped, lifting Karkarn’s Mortal-Aspect clean off the ground. ‘It fucking
does
matter to me.’

Vesna hung limply in Isak’s one handed grip – he knew the young man’s temper well enough – but before either could say anything Legana moved around Vesna and gently rested her fingers on Isak’s shaking arm.

‘
Mihn decided to delay them. Do not waste the opportunity he has given you.
’

‘Sounds easy coming from a heartless bitch like you,’ the white-eye snapped.

‘
One who has also tied herself to both of you
,’ she replied calmly. ‘
One who knows he’s not dead yet, and if we get clear, wears no armour. He might still be able to swim to safety
.’

Isak’s face tightened as he fought the urge to lash out. Just the idea of Mihn sacrificing himself again sent his memory back to the floorless prison in Ghenna’s lowest pit; where the pain he remembered in his bones had been allayed only by the sound of Mihn’s voice cutting through the clouds of terror.

‘I have to go back for him,’ he gasped, releasing Vesna and tottering backwards.

‘No,’ Vesna croaked, ‘it’s too late for that.’ He physically pushed Isak towards the ice, and the white-eye was unable to resist for the first few steps. Then he found himself staring dazedly at the white ice beneath his feet. He opened his mouth to argue, but at that moment Doranei and Veil both kissed the knuckles of their sword-hands and saluted, even as they turned and faced the ice road.

‘See you when the killing’s done, brother,’ the two men muttered together.

They joined Isak, the rest close behind, and Isak closed his mouth and put one hand to his sternum where Xeliath’s scar was, the link Mihn bore. Legana was right: Mihn would be able to jump from the bridge – but he would be trying to hold off an entire army. Even with his skill, it was asking too much to see the man alive again, but the least Isak could do was not spend his life in vain.

‘I’ll see you again, my friend,’ he whispered to the night, ‘even if I have to reach into the Dark Place itself and drag you back out.’

With that he turned and strode out across the blackness of the lake.

Mihn slipped around the pillar and pinned the spear against it, stepped in and drove an elbow into the soldier’s face. The man released his weapon and staggered back as a straight kick to his sternum knocked him flying into a colleague and they both collapsed in a heap.

Before anyone could bring a crossbow to bear Mihn had ducked back behind the shrine, a set of three trees no taller than Isak with their branches intertwined. Instead of arrows a voice came from the other side, speaking the local dialect in crisp, precise tones.

‘Stop, all of you – withdraw.’

Mihn waited a moment, checking the figures on the ground nearby. Two were unconscious; a third was pawing at his throat as his crushed throat slowly asphyxiated him. There were more just around the shrine. Three he knew were all dead, and the reason the Black Swords in the front hadn’t rushed around the shrine en masse.

‘Will you not come out, brother?’

Mihn closed his eyes a moment. The voice evoked memories of crisp snow on the ground and incense in braziers, priests chanting slowly and the calm voices of the blademasters who’d trained him. He stepped out from behind the shrine, half-expecting to be killed immediately, but the soldiers had all stepped back.

There were five left waiting for him: a balding and bedraggled Menin wearing dirty mage’s robes of blue and yellow loitered at the back, while Priesan Horotain of the Sanctum was flanked by a pair of Harlequins, a man and a woman. The one who’d spoken stood in front of them all. Like Mihn, the man had once been a Harlequin but was now something more. Both were dressed in black, a colour no Harlequin would wear; both were tattooed to signify new allegiances.

‘We are not brothers,’ Mihn said at last.

Venn cocked his head. ‘True: you were cast out, I believe.’

‘And you abandoned your people,’ Mihn countered. ‘The greater shame is yours.’

Venn laughed and took a step forward. Priesan Horotain looked confused by the exchange, which was being conducted in a language he would never have heard before, but one look from the white-masked Harlequins kept him silent.

‘ “Shame belongs to he who beholds it; child of one’s own envy and malice.”’

Mihn rested the butt of his staff on the ground, ready at a moment’s notice to bring it back up, but right now his counterpart was keen to talk; if that bought Isak more time to escape, he was happy to listen to whatever the black Harlequin might have to say.

‘In my years of wandering I have learned a few things,’ he said to Venn. ‘One is that there is a quotation for every instance, words to fit whatever action one might need to justify. Increasingly, I find the solace of others’ words diminishing.’