He took hold of the shaft and lowered the weapon so he could tap the slim blade on the end. ‘This is sharp and hard — people ain’t. You put your shoulder into it, not just prod like a girl, and this’ll go through flesh and bone and out the other side, right through a man. We ain’t made to be hard to kill, and the first time you put a man down you’ll feel the weight of that like a punch to the gut.
‘Afterwards comes the screams and the stink of spilled guts, blood, shit and mud all mixed and filling your nose. Then the chaos of battle comes back and grabs you in its teeth and you’re more scared than ever before — but that’s what battle is: more noise and movement than any mind can keep up with, so keep your mind on the job and don’t let all that distract you.’ He released the spear.
‘Killing a man’s easy,’ Doranei repeated sadly, ‘forgetting the next day that he was just like your brother — that his mother’ll be weeping when she hears, or something’ll break inside his father, never to be fixed — that’s the hard part. Come see me after your first battle, lad, and we’ll drink until we forget those we’ve killed.
‘You don’t get a choice about killing sometime, and not in war, that’s for sure. Just remember to share the burden or it’ll eat you up inside. There’s no shame in sharing; and any man who thinks so can explain himself to me or the Mad Axe — we’ll both — ah, respond — the same. Understanding consequences is what makes us men. Sometimes you got to accept consequences, sometimes you got to know when they’re too great. Without understanding that choice you’re nothing.’
Doranei and Ebarn walked away in silence, leaving a stunned silence in their wake. After fifty paces Ebarn draped a sisterly arm around Doranei’s waist. ‘Fine speech. Inspiring. Really roused them for the fight ahead.’
Doranei sighed. ‘Sorry. Took myself down some unexpected path.’
‘Aye, sounded like it. Dark down there, is it?’ She raised her free hand, showing faint trails of light dancing and swirling. ‘Need some light to show you-’ She stopped, so suddenly that she dragged Doranei to a halt. ‘What’s that?’ she muttered to herself, swinging around.
‘Something wrong?’
‘I, ah — I don’t know.’
‘What the fuck does that mean?’
She looked up at him, eyes wide. ‘It means yes; it has to be!’ She dropped her right hand to the Crystal Skull hanging from her belt and cupped it, reaching her left hand up into the sky. Doranei reeled away just in time, covering his eyes just as a stream of light surged up into the inky night sky.
‘ Ware! To arms! ’ Ebarn roared, sending the column of light a hundred feet in the air before running forward, half dragging Doranei with her.
The light continued to drive up and forwards, arching out beyond the pickets, where it cast a faint starlight over the ground below. He shook himself free as small sparks of magic began to race over his fingers, Ebarn’s chains and shards coming alive with power, and followed blindly, trusting her skill to lead him.
Halfway back to the picket Doranei saw them: small squads advancing on the sentries stationed all around the army. The nearest were closing on the post they’d just been standing at and there was no time: the sergeant didn’t even have time shout as his soldiers instinctively huddled close and levelled their spears.
The men on either end died almost in the same instant. Masked figures with flowing grey hair and double- handed swords danced around the clumsy spears before cutting each down. Ebarn snarled and punched forward with her open palm and a burst of crimson fire smashed into the nearer figure’s chest.
The other white-masked figure ran for them and Doranei moved to intercept, belatedly recognising the figure as an Acolyte. ‘It’s the Jesters!’ he yelled to Ebarn as he aimed a sweeping strike at the swordsman.
The Acolyte stepped to one side, intent on catching Doranei’s blade and deflecting it down, not realising the midnight-black blade was speckled with unnatural light until too late. Doranei’s sword sheared right through the Acolyte’s weapon and he followed it with an upward flick that chopped up into the fighter’s throat.
To his left he heard Ebarn shout; the harsh syllables lit up the night and tore into grey-skinned Acolytes with ease. Doranei pushed on to try and reach the beleaguered squad, but before he could, someone shrieking in agony was driven out of the squad’s line by a tall figure, also white-masked, but the height of a white-eye.
‘Our brother’s sword,’ the figure said in a cold, ancient voice. ‘Are you worthy of it, warrior?’ The Jester raised its sword. The acid-etched blade shone weirdly as it reflected the light of Ebarn’s battle-magics as it saluted him in some formal manner. ‘We shall see.’
Doranei made no response but he fumbled at his belt and ran to meet the Demi-God, tossing a pouch of sparkle-dust in front of him as he went. The Jester dodged with alarming agility, and the pouch passed its head. It didn’t touch the Jester, but some of the dust leaked out and a white-glittering path was traced through the dark just past its eyes. Realising that would do no more than make the Jester hesitate for a moment, Doranei pulled his short axe and went on the attack. Sensing him come the Demi God wheeled right, keeping its long sword between it and Doranei. He caught it with his axe and yanked down, but the Jester dropped the tip and let the axe slid harmlessly off, deflecting Doranei’s follow-up slashes as it planted its feet.
Lashing out with unnatural speed, the Jester directed a flurry of cuts at Doranei. The King’s Man barely blocked the first in time, only his training saving him as the next slashed down at his knee. He caught the third and chopped at the Demi-God’s arm, his axe glancing off the scales of its armour. He stepped forward into the fight and tried to rip his sword across the Jester’s wrist, but it was already moving back.
He kept on, knowing attack was his best option. With the sword he’d taken from Aracnan Doranei could strike as quickly as his enemy, though his reactions remained mortal. The light-speckled sword cut through the air so swiftly it felt like it had a mind of its own. The Jester tried to batter it from his hand, but Doranei rode the heavy blows, deflecting the last upwards with the axe following close behind. Again the edge was turned by the Jester’s armour, but Doranei pressed in behind it.
With his sword he engaged the Demi-God’s weapon, then hooked his axe into the back of the Jester’s knee, hauling back and slamming his head into the Jester’s midriff. The Demi-God fell onto his back; Doranei stumbled himself, but caught himself in time and swung down at the Jester’s feet. The scale-armour couldn’t resist his sword and he chopped right through the Jester’s ankle, swinging up almost blindly to deflect the inevitable swipe of an injured warrior.
The Jester was lying supine, and the strike was weakened by panic and pain, and Doranei was able to batter away the weak blow. He threw himself forward and hacked his axe at the Jester’s face, and as he felt it bite he followed up with a stab to the armpit that drove deep inside the Jester’s body, which suddenly went rigid.
Doranei rolled back to his feet and looked around wildly for the next threat, but none of the attackers were going for him.
The remains of the squad were cringing in a small knot behind their shields, back to back, spear-heads wavering. Surrounding them were five Acolytes, identically dressed, each with blood on their long blades. But none were bothering to look at the infantrymen; their eyes were all on Doranei and the corpse at his feet.
‘Reckon I’m worthy, then?’ Doranei shouted at them, not caring whether they could understand him or not. ‘This good enough for you — a dead God at my feet?’
Any response was precluded by a burst of magic from Ebarn, long slivers of white that flew like daggers at the nearest of the Acolytes, tearing bloody ribbons across its chest and slicing through the sword arm as the Acolyte tried to parry.
The Acolyte dropped, dead before it hit the ground, and the others broke and sprinted off into the darkness. Doranei looked at the corpses on the ground. Only one looked to have been killed by the soldiers. He’d taken down two; that left five Ebarn had dispatched.
‘Oh Gods,’ Doranei breathed as the sergeant threw down his spear and started to check on the fallen. One youth’s frantic, pained breaths told Doranei the dismal news; another howled as soon as the sergeant touched him. The rest were already dead, among them the youngest of their squad, his neck sliced clean open. Blood no longer flowed from the wound; too much had already run out down his studded jacket into the dry earth beneath.
‘There’s no time, Brother!’ Ebarn warned, running to his side and pointing towards the next picket. ‘It’s a coordinated attack.’
‘I know,’ Doranei muttered, unable to tear his eyes from the boy’s sightless eyes. ‘I just-’
‘Shift yourself!’ Ebarn yelled, giving the King’s Man a rough shove, and when that didn’t work she hauled him around and made him look her in the eye. ‘It was a quick death and you can’t ask for more. He’s in Death’s hands now, and we need to see to the living!’
Doranei sheathed his weapon and started to run towards the next post where, without a mage, they most likely hadn’t been faring so well. ‘We see to the living,’ he repeated.
