CHAPTER 5
In the grounds of Moorview Castle every possible lantern and torch had been lit to banish the shadows of evening. Ghosts patrolled the walls, barefoot and silent as they savoured the witch of Llehden’s magic upon their bodies. The sky was cloudless and the deepest of blues, punctured by the brightest stars and the lesser moon, Kasi, which lined the stone walls with silver.
‘Not a vessel,’ King Emin whispered to himself. Such was the hush his voice carried to all of the forty or so people there. ‘Not a tool or lamb for the sacrifice, but shadow incarnate.’
‘Still a vessel,’ Isak said, reluctantly looking up from the fire. ‘Azaer’s just a shadow, nothing more.’
‘So how do you kill a shadow?’ Emin asked bitterly. Recalling a conversation he’d had with Legana on the subject, he added, ‘Preferably by giving it everything it wants, then twisting that against it.’
‘What sort of a question’s that?’ Vesna interjected. The Mortal-Aspect flexed his black-iron fingers restlessly and reached for a jug of wine. Just as he touched it he changed his mind and withdrew. ‘A shadow can’t be harder to kill than a God, and we have power enough to do that.’ Karkarn’s Iron General raised his armour-clad hand to emphasise his point. When he’d tried to return the Skull of Hunting to Isak, the white-eye had shaken his head sadly and pushed the artefact back, pressing it against Vesna’s vambrace until it moulded itself around the armour as a clear crystal band. Now, unbidden by its new owner, the band around his wrist shone with an inner light that made the Mortal-Aspect stand out even more amidst his mortal companions.
‘Azaer has taken a mortal form,’ the witch of Llehden said from Isak’s side where she sat close with Legana and Mihn, ‘stolen from its owner while still in the womb, most likely, but that does not make the shadow mortal. More likely it possesses the body in the same way a daemon would, and can give it up with ease.’
‘So what, then? It’s weaker than a God, so how can it be so hard to kill?’
‘Not hard to kill,’ Emin said, ‘hard to find, hard to get to, hard to pin down. How do you catch a shadow that can fade from sight?’ He tossed the remains of his cigar into the fire and reached into his brigandine, from which he extricated a slim grey book bound in tarnished metal. Beside him Doranei watched the book warily, as though expecting it to bite him, while continuing to pour liquor down his throat.
‘However,’ Emin continued, raising the book, ‘we may not have to. There is a final arbiter that no daemon or shadow could run from, that extends beyond the physical. Kill a boy with Termin Mystt and no soul inside will be able to escape its power.’
Vesna regarded him incredulously. ‘Your recklessness with the balance of the Land astonishes me. Coming from Isak I can understand it; he was born to upset the order of things and he’s a headstrong white-eye! But you — don’t you know any restraint or caution?’
‘Can you think of another solution?’
‘Yes! Kill the child and his disciples, set their plans back a decade at least and give ourselves time to prepare properly.’
‘It is too late for that,’ Mihn said unexpectedly from Isak’s lee. His voice carried a strange authority that stopped the argument dead. He stood and looked around at the tired, surprised faces around him. Mihn was normally like a ghost at Isak’s side; silent and observing. It was why the witch of Llehden had tattooed him the way she had, to make greatest use of the man he was. As Emin watched him capture their attention by his stance alone, he reminded himself that Mihn had been trained as a Harlequin; shy and unassuming he might be by nature, but addressing an audience was in his blood.
‘The Gods are weakened, the cults undermined. We cannot allow it to continue this way or we serve Azaer’s purpose. In Tirah the cults almost sparked civil war. From all directions we hear that priests have been murdered — how many other cities will be like Scree and try to drive out the Gods? Reports from Byora say that is the case there; consider how many prayers the Gods would receive if we let this play out for five years more.’
‘But to bring into play the Key of Magic too?’ Vesna protested. ‘The weapon eclipses even a Crystal Skull for power — and it isn’t just Death’s own weapon; it’s a part of the Land’s very fabric.’
He appealed to Isak directly, knowing the decision was ultimately his. ‘Isak, the part of me that’s a God fears Termin Mystt being used by either side in this war — fears it being merely present. It’s a fundamental piece of the Land, older than mortal life, old when the Age of Myths was still young!’
Isak shook his head. ‘That doesn’t matter now; we’re too far gone down the path. This Land will be remade; it only remains to decide who’ll do so and how.’
‘How could we even use it?’ Vesna continued, refusing to give up so easily. ‘Who could wield it, me? You? No mortal can touch it without having their sanity stripped away.’
‘No living man,’ Isak corrected with a mad, crooked smile, ‘but what about one who is only half-alive?’
‘And only half-sane!’ Vesna snapped.
His words made Isak smile, and General Daken laughed out loud from the sofa that had been carried out for him. The white-eye’s injuries had opened up again under the strain of the ritual, but he had refused to be left inside when there was drinking to be done.
‘Half-sane too,’ Mihn agreed, ‘but most importantly, carrying the Crystal Skull aligned to Death. We know already they act as buffers for the mind, and of all the Skulls, Ruling should be best able to protect Isak.’
‘This is all still conjecture surely? Gambles and guesswork with the most powerful object in creation — you’re mad! You have no concept of the power you propose to use as a plaything.’
‘It’s educated conjecture,’ King Emin argued, speaking louder than before. ‘Shile Cetarn and Tomal Endine working together had few rivals in the West. Their work has surpassed anything I’ve ever read bar Verliq’s own writings. Couple that with the power of the witch of Llehden, perhaps the greatest of her kind alive today, the insight of a demi-God and Isak — a man who’s passed through death and was born to be the Gods’ own catalyst of change…’
Vesna hesitated and looked round at the faces of those who’d clearly been party to the plan’s formulation. Morghien, the man of many spirits, was swigging brandy from a bottle he was sharing with Doranei; Legana and Ehla were both as impassive as ever, while Endine himself was still unconscious after his efforts during the battle.
‘So what’s there to worry about then?’ he asked bitterly.
‘Catastrophic failure and death,’ the rather-drunk Doranei supplied helpfully, raising his bottle in toast of the notion. ‘And half-vampire children, maybe.’
Only the men of the Brotherhood and Daken managed to find that funny; to Vesna it was a knife to the gut. He rose to leave, visions of Tila and the life they had planned together filling his mind. Without bothering to bow to the king he headed for the lower gate, suddenly desperate to be outside the confining, crowded walls of Moorview. His chest felt tight and constrained. Just as he passed beyond the lit area of grounds his vision blurred and he stumbled forward on the cut-up ground, barely catching himself in time. When a soldier reached out automatically, the Mortal-Aspect lurched away, unable to bear the touch of another person, even if it meant falling flat on his face.
He walked on and ducked through the sally-port to the grounds beyond. There were Kingsguard camped all around. As he marched on through them towards the lower meadow, planning to cross the ditch to reach the moor proper, he heard a horn sound from one of the pickets. His divine-touched eyes caught movement in the darkness beyond the ditch: not fighting, but confusion of some sort.
At the sounding of the horn, half-a-dozen squads converged on the forward picket, weapons at the ready. Vesna tasted the air and knew in his bones there was no army out there, even as he recalled the king’s scryer, Holtai, tell them exactly that earlier. He stopped. No army, but something strange on the wind; something he didn’t recognise and muted by the enduring stink of the battlefield, but even for a man aligned to the God of War it overrode the shed blood and spilled bowels.
Vesna advanced towards the disruption, barely aware of the complaining voices coming from the Kingsguard’s tents as the horn sounded again. It wasn’t an attack alarm so no one raced from their beds, but it signalled that strangers had been sighted, and it was loud and persistent enough to wake the soldiers who’d turned in at sunset. As he got nearer Vesna saw a party of soldiers was advancing towards him, marching up the path to the castle and escorted by squads of Narkang troops. A larger group corralled by the picket out on the moor itself appeared to be doing nothing but waiting, so Vesna returned his attention to the party in front of him.
When they were some twenty yards off he realised with a start they were Menin officers, judging by their size
