Ilumene came towards Isak and before the white-eye had managed to focus on him properly, the man had slipped a leather noose around his neck and yanked it tight.
‘Come my little pet,’ Ruhen said with delight as Ilumene dragged Isak stumbling forward on hand and knees. ‘It is time we went to meet our Gods.’
Standing high in his stirrups, King Emin cast around to check the army was ready. It was an impressive sight by most standards, but nagging doubts still lingered. The bulk of the army was infantry, arrayed in two lines on each side of him and angled like a flattened V, since they would be charging an enemy set at an angle. At the centre of the army was an arrowhead of heavy cavalry, serving as the hinge between their forces, Kingsguard and Palace Guard, with the remaining Ghosts on foot behind, alongside the Legion of the Damned.
Between the three sets of troops were gaps of fifty yards, space enough for the cavalry to manoeuvre or the advance units of skirmishers and light cavalry to retreat. They had already engaged with the Devoted’s ranging cavalry, but neither side was keen to get embroiled in a standing fight and it had been short-lived.
On his right were the four heavy infantry legions of the Kingsguard and the same number of Menin, while the left flank was headed by the mercenary legions and the battle-clans of Canar Fell. Behind both were the Narkang regular spearmen, and cavalry and archers ranged on both flanks. Emin had ordered there be no reserve at all, unable to contemplate retreat or even a protracted battle.
‘Endine, is Nai ready to provide our decoy?’
‘He is, your Majesty. The battle mages know to wait for him to act first. Wentersorn and Morghien are ready too.’
The king took one last look around at the men and woman riding at his side. Count Vesna shone darkly at the head of the Ghosts; Legana was a gleaming emerald thorn amidst her spear-bearing sisters. Doranei and Veil clapped each other on the shoulder and Daken snarled with barely restrained blood-rage, already sinking into the white-eye battle-fury. Carel, a still, silent figure behind him with his face hidden by his helm, was steeling himself for the slaughter to come.
‘Brothers!’ King Emin called, drawing his sword and holding it high for as many as possible to see. ‘Our time has come — our place in history is at hand!’
There was a roar from the soldiers around him, one that was taken up by the savage battle-clans before the rest joined in. Soon even the fanatical Menin added their voices and the air shook with murderous intent.
With Endine’s assistance Emin continued, this time with a voice that echoed like thunder down the assembled ranks. ‘My brothers: the enemy lies before us, the enemy of the Gods themselves! There can be no retreat, no respite or surrender. Here is our moment. This day we determine the future of the Land itself! The songs of heroes will bear your names, each and every one of you feted by the Gods themselves.
‘We go to fight, we go to die. This nameless place shall forever be remembered by those who speak of glory. Your names, your legions, will be whispered with reverence by all peoples to come. This is our war — this is our purpose. Come, my brothers — the Gods await us!’
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.
