The Dusk Watchman: Book Five of The Twilight Reign (82 page)

To remind them of Moorview, he removed his feathered hat and tossed it forward to resounding cheers up and down the line. In its place went an engraved golden helm, a band of black-iron lattice-like bee wings covering his eyes and nose. A second cheer rose up as the symbol of their king and greatest of the Gods shone in the pale light.

Emin lowered his sword and there was a renewed bellow from the thousands at his side as they started off towards the enemy, legion after legion marching in unison, the glaives of the Ghosts and halberds of the Kingsguard ready to chop a path through the Devoted. The word had been spread through the officers and sergeants; every man knew his place that day. Not a step backwards would be considered.

Alongside allies whose legend spanned the West, alongside the hated Menin who would never show weakness, the soldiers of Narkang and the Three Kingdoms roared their defiance.

‘Thank you, my friends,’ the king said to those around him, the clamour almost drowning out his words. ‘It has been an honour.’

Before anyone could respond Count Vesna roared out the first line of the Farlan battle-hymn and the sky erupted into sound once more.

Ruhen led his small party to the entrance to the barrow – the place of power to where his shadow soul had once led Aryn Bwr. There the Crystal Skulls had been unearthed, their place in the Land’s fabric revealed and subverted. Isak managed one brief glance back at the Narkang army advancing over the plain and felt a shudder of fear for them. There were thousands of Devoted massed on the hill’s slopes, divisions of archers perched in inaccessible parts, and lines of heavy infantry blocking all the routes to the summit.

The lower rise was similarly covered in troops, serried ranks of infantry on its lower slopes, with channels for the cavalry to surge down. He couldn’t see the fanatical mob of Ruhen’s Children, but something told him the talk of a blood sacrifice was not just some idle reference to battle.

As devoted as they might be, Ruhen’s Children were unarmed and sickly, from what their scryers could discern. Their lord might simply have them driven into a cavalry charge to be obliterated, and the attackers would have no option, no matter how horrific the act.

‘Come on, puppy,’ Ilumene said, yanking Isak’s leash and dragging him to his knees once more. ‘Heel.’

Tiniq gave him no time to rest, kicking Isak’s buttocks and causing the white-eye to cry out in pain, but somehow the survival instinct inside him drove him onwards. The chain binding his chest grew heavier with every step. A whimper of fear crept through Isak’s lips as he took the first step down the wide entrance, set between the two enormous carved stones each more than sixty feet high. His skin crawled under the chain’s touch, and as memories of the Dark Place gripped his mind, suddenly it burned and tore at his skin. It was only the pressure Tiniq maintained on the chain that kept the shuddering white-eye from pitching forward down the steps.

As the darkness surrounded him Isak’s stomach heaved and he bent over; puke dribbling over his lips and piss darkening his trousers.

‘Don’t bring back good memories, eh?’ Ilumene cackled, dragging Isak forward once more.

Isak slipped and fell, moaning and shaking uncontrollably as the scars on his body burned as they had in Ghenna itself. Again he was beaten upright; again his deep instincts drove him onwards. He heaved desperately at the silver chain, but it was imbued with magic stronger than even one of the Chosen. He wrenched round, trying to dislodge it, but more violence brought him back to his knees and he realised the links were bound together behind his shoulder.

Ilumene stopped and smashed a steel covered knee up into Isak’s face, breaking his misshapen nose again and snapping his head backwards in a burst of pain and blood. ‘Do what you’re fucking told,’ he growled at Isak, and when Isak tried to reach out with his free hand, he punched it away, then whipped out a dagger and sliced deep into the muscle of Isak’s forearm as punishment.

‘Listen to me, white-eye,’ he continued, ‘you remember this pain? You remember what the daemons did to you? Aye, you feel it in your bones: you’re crippled by the memories. Well, here’s your one chance; keep quiet and don’t cause us trouble and you’ll not go back there. Hear me? A free pass, like all the Chosen – but don’t you dare fucking cross me! Any trouble, any delaying tactics, any attempts on any of us, and you’ll not even see the slope of Ghain.

‘You’ve fallen that way once before and it’ll be damn easy to send you straight into Ghenna a second time. There’ll be no escaping again. This place is halfway to the other lands. The flames of Maram light its heart, so Ruhen tells me, and I’ll gladly toss you in if you cause any trouble, so here’s your last chance: behave, or burn until the end o’ days in the darkest place.’

Isak was too sickened to reply, but his face told Ilumene that he understood the words. The former King’s Man straightened and looked up at Tiniq. ‘Keep a tight rein,’ he said, and started back down the dim, red-tinted darkness of the tunnel. At last Isak found the strength to follow, wheezing and whimpering and stumbling on the stony floor as it sloped forever forward. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Aryn Bwr’s words returned to him and he cringed in terror.

Down into darkness, into the bowels of the Land . . . Deep, so deep I feared going further would bring me to the six ivory gates of Ghenna itself.

Ahead, Ruhen walked on, unafraid and perfectly at home in the dark. From the rock all around distant voices emanated: the voices of the damned, calling him home.

CHAPTER 41

Vesna watched the Narkang cavalry approaching the enemy, the skirmishers between them falling quickly back. Up above, the sky refused to brighten as thick clouds came rolling in on a stiff southerly wind. He checked around him, careful to keep the mounted Ghosts in line with the marching infantry. The left flank were looking ragged already, the battle-clans eager to close with the enemy as the first flights of arrows darted up into the sky.

Ahead, the Green Scarves increased the distance between them and Vesna, looking to entice the Devoted to stand and fight. In their centre were skirmishers, firing thin volleys of arrows, while their tattooed comrades jumped forward into the attack. As he watched, the bait was taken, one legion of Devoted cavalry thinking to drive back the irritant, followed slowly by two further down the line.

The Green Scarves had enhanced their reputation on the advance to Thotel with an eagerness to fight that none of the Devoted cavalry could match. Their banner was a tattooed man holding a green noose, but crucially, those were only being carried by legions harrying the right flank. Thinking they faced lighter opposition, the Devoted drove straight for the heart of them, looking to punish their impetuousness.

Even from his position in the line Vesna heard the answering roar of the Green Scarves, and before the eyes of their savage commander, kept at the king’s side, two legions charged to meet them and the crash of impact echoed out across the plain. The archers sprinted up behind, making up the ground quickly to bring their own swords to bear.

The clash of steel was distant to Vesna’s ears, but the divine spirit in his blood quickened at the faint clamour. With the archers swarming around the left flank, the Devoted were taken by surprise, and when their supporting troops moved to assist, the remaining Green Scarves charged.

‘Colonel Dassai’s giving them a bloody nose,’ Swordmaster Pettir commented. ‘Weren’t expecting a punch right down the centre.’

‘Let’s hope it doesn’t backfire then,’ Sir Cerse, commander of the Ghosts, replied. ‘Dassai’s young and eager to fight, but he’ll get swamped if he stays there too long.’

Vesna watched the fight continue. The legions had dissolved into a senseless mass as Dassai’s men hacked a path into the panicked Devoted, but the enemy had more skirmishers, and cavalry not far away. He checked left, waiting for any activity on the rise to the left, but for the moment there was nothing – no response from the reserve cavalry stationed there.

The centre of the Devoted broke, fleeing back towards their lines, while those on the right peeled back away, seeking the protection of their infantry stationed on the hill. Almost in the same moment the cavalry on the rise started to move, heading down the shallow slope towards the left where there was still fighting. The skirmishers had already turned to join that battle, but they faltered as they saw two fresh legions heading towards them, while the Green Scarves were in chaos still after the fighting.

‘Come on, Dassai,’ Vesna found himself muttering, ‘get your men away.’

The fresh troops charged towards the fighting, swarming around the rear and pressing in on the beleaguered Narkang men. That spurred the rest of the Green Scarves into action, but it wasn’t to withdraw; instead of leaving their comrades to flee as best they could, they charged in a disordered mass towards the fighting, first one legion absorbed into the fighting, then a second, and the skirmishers followed fast on their heels.

‘Fate’s eyes,’ Vesna breathed as the centre of the plain became a broiling storm of steel and screaming horses.

He knew the main body of the army were too far away to be able to help them – their pace was already slow to avoid exhausting the men before the fighting itself. With an effort he tore his gaze away, knowing he had his own work to do, and instead inspected the enemy lines as they came closer.

The rise on the left had two lines of troops, a thick band of spearmen and a thinner one of archers behind, while more cavalry remained at the peak – no doubt waiting to outflank the Narkang troops and attack their rear. The hill had a double tier, the accessible slopes too constrained for so many soldiers, so before they even started up the hill they would have had to break through a shield-wall. It was a daunting prospect, one made more alarming if the best of their cavalry was in the process of being slaughtered.

‘Are they being driven back?’ Sir Cerse asked, sounding hopeful as he peered forward.

Vesna looked around the fighting for any reference points.
There, the first engagement,
he thought with a flicker of gladness.

There was a stretch of debris-strewn ground leading to the current fighting, surely an indication that the savage Green Scarves were still driving into the enemy. The conflict abruptly collapsed in on itself, the Devoted cavalry fleeing and the Green Scarves holding their ground, content to let them go.

‘Now get out of the way, you bastards,’ called Pettir, sparking cheers and shouts from the Ghosts all around. ‘Clear the way for the real soldiers!’

Vesna nodded. They were closing on the enemy lines; already the first arrows were arching towards their left flank and more would be coming soon. The Green Scarves quickly retreated, bloodied and under sporadic fire from both enemy positions, but their point had been made. Vesna knew Daken would be snarling with a white-eye’s fervour at the display of aggression, but the worst was yet to come for all of them.

‘Two hundred yards,’ he commented, pulling on his helm and lifting his shield to prop the bottom on his thigh.

All around him men were doing the same as they came into range of the enemy bows. Most likely they wouldn’t be targeted, being the furthest from each enemy line and the most heavily armoured, but Vesna knew this would be a day of terrible surprises. There was quite enough to kill him out here without adding complacency to the list.

‘May Nartis be with us,’ he said aloud, a common commander’s blessing among the Farlan.

Pettir cackled at his side. ‘Don’t need ’im!’ the Swordmaster called out to all those within earshot, ‘we got our God o’ War right here beside me – today, boys, we fight like Gods!’

The air became hot in Isak’s throat, each breath a rasping struggle as he staggered on down the tunnel. The slope was shallow, the tunnel wide enough for four Harlequins to comfortably walk abreast, and very high – even had he been able to stand upright and stretch up his arms, Isak wouldn’t have been able to reach the irregular roof of the tunnel. All of a sudden the tunnel opened up and those leading spread out into some sort of cavern without a word. Ruhen walked on into the centre of a space thirty yards across, all dark stone and looming stalagmites. The dull, lambent red glow was stronger in here, but it was still so dark Isak could see only the flow of rock and the barest details of those ahead of him. Stalactites above shone wetly in the faint light. Beyond them the glint of a crystal seam crossed the roof.

‘Are we there yet?’ Ilumene asked, unimpressed with the bare rock chamber.

‘Less than halfway,’ Ruhen replied, facing away from them.

Isak looked past the boy and saw more tunnels leading off into darkness. Which path was the right one, he couldn’t tell, but he felt a flicker of hope as he looked around the room. There still was time for the army to break through; he just had to hope they would do so in time, and that someone like Legana could follow the link between them through these tunnels quicker than Isak was moving.

The room swiftly filled behind him, the Harlequins and Acolytes forming neat squads while they waited for their saviour’s directions.

‘Koteer, leave some Acolytes here,’ Ruhen said suddenly, turning to face the dozens filing briskly in.

As the boy spoke Venn began gesturing with his Crystal Skull, and trails of darkness followed his movements; the magic gave the curling gestures an elusive life of their own as they spread out and lingered faintly on the walls and rocky formations. Koteer spoke a few words in his own dialect and a group of five Acolytes bowed in acknowledgement, followed by a pair of Harlequins who did the same at a gesture from Ruhen.

‘Let them blunder in the dark, led a merry dance,’ Venn intoned, his Crystal Skull pulsing with red-tinted light.

Isak heard a dry whisper race around the edges of the cavern; he wasn’t the only one there to look for the source. The black Harlequin laughed as he saw the surprise on the faces of those around him, but instead of explaining he gave a theatrical flourish and bowed to the assembled figures.