you never could keep up, old man,’ and he punched Emin until the king reeled under the onslaught and fell back against the menhir.
Ilumene snarled with satisfaction, but the king beat Ilumene back a step, then he hurled himself to the ground and grabbed his discarded axe. He hooked Ilumene’s leg, driving the spike into his calf, even as a second burst of light from Ilumene’s bloodrose amulet absorbed the pain of his wound and the bigger man stabbed down into his shoulder.
‘I don’t need to,’ Emin croaked, dragging the axe towards him and pulling Ilumene’s leg with it.
The big fighter twisted as he fell and drove his knees into Emin, then he tried to fight his way backwards, but he floundered; his leg was caught under Emin and the king was hanging on with every last scrap of strength.
And then Isak moved: with a great scream he drove himself to his feet and drew the power of Termin Mystt inside him. Black flames danced over his skin as the raging torrent of magic ripped through his frail body. The roar of power filled his ears and the Land drew back from around him. Isak could see the small boy going limp ahead of him, creeping like a thief towards Godhood.
He howled, and sent all the shrieking energies of Death’s weapon into his arm. As he dragged up his hand, he felt the chain tighten about his chest, but still he hauled, barely noticing as Tiniq slammed his pommel down onto Isak’s neck again. Fire engulfed him and the pain of the Dark Place welled up from his lost memories as the black sword bit into his shoulder and kept going. Higher and higher it went, and the Land became a white haze of agony before his eyes as he carved through his own collarbone and on into the shoulder. Then the edge caught the silver chain and it burst apart in an explosion of dark power that threw Isak’s sword-arm back.
He let the force drive his arm around in an inexorable sweep as Termin Mystt sheared through Tiniq’s descending sword and kept going. Though he was barely able to see the traitor, Isak swung with all the fury and desperation of a dying man and the black sword caught Tiniq in his belly and sliced through to his spine. If Tiniq yelled out, Isak couldn’t hear it above his own cries, but he let the traitor fall dead while the white light of Aenaris filled his mind.
The Key of Life surged with fresh power in response to its mate, but Isak could barely see it through the fog of his last few breaths. His ruined shoulder was numb, but the pain was absolute and it took his last remaining strength to manage those few steps to Ruhen. The boy’s fingers were loosening around Aenaris’ hilt.
Isak raised the sword high, then fell to his knees, slamming it down and catching Ruhen square in the chest. The boy’s eyes jerked open at the impact, but his grip on Aenaris was beyond mortal strength and the black sword only caused the shadows in Ruhen’s eyes to dance with greater delight. More power flowed as his life seeped away, Azaer’s apotheosis rushing forward like a tidal wave.
‘A shadow you are,’ Isak said, slurring through the agony as blood poured from his half-severed shoulder, ‘and a shadow you’ll remain.’
He released Termin Mystt and the black sword embraced its new master, its enormous power surging into Ruhen while a hurricane of magic exploded around them. Isak reached out to the dim circle of fire behind, and the pulsing magic in the air raced to obey. The flames rose higher as the Sisters of Dusk fell to their knees all around the circle, but then the river of fire parted, surging up on both sides, and through the gap in the flames came a figure, hands pressed to his belly as blood spilled from a mortal wound. He struggled forward, obviously close to death, but somehow managing those last few steps. His face was briefly visible through the surging storm of light and blackness.
Mihn.
The pain fell away: his shoulder, his scars, the ruined fragments of his mind — Isak felt nothing, and in that last moment he smiled. Then he reached out and put his hand on Aenaris, drawing one last scrap of magic into his body. He felt it fill him and drank deep of the blazing white light.
‘But a shadow must have a master.’
It went racing into his bones, through arteries and veins, up over his skin, until the scars on his body began to shine with pure, blinding light. It covered his almost-severed shoulder, then surged from his mouth and his eyes.
Light filled Isak; it shone out of him like a beacon, and under the assault Ruhen’s shadow soul was cast backwards, stark and black in the radiance, while man and boy were consumed by white flame. It tore the shadows from where they were tethered and burned them with the light of creation.
Death reached out and took them in His cold embrace. Isak felt his own body crumble to ash and scattered by the power of Aenaris radiating through his bones. His mind was suddenly free, set soaring on the storm.
Then the light consumed the last of him and Isak felt a final moment of balance descend. Beyond it was nothingness. Beyond it was peace.
EPILOGUE
Silver kissed the rustling grass as they rode towards the hill. A black-armoured man led the way, but there was no danger; he went out of habit, and a need to be alone with his thoughts. They had left their escort behind and ridden out from the small camp as the sun neared the horizon. It was spring and the air was warm; darting birds chased the last of the day’s insects before they went to roost.
The lesser moon, Kasi, was midway to its zenith in a cloudless sky, but this was Silvernight and another ruled the heavens: the third moon, Arian, cast its silver light over the quiet plain as they continued towards a hill their scouts could not find in the daylight. There were seven of them in total. The armoured man was out front, a man and woman behind flanked a girl riding a Farlan pony who was staring with wide-eyed wonder at the silvery plain stretching out ahead of them. Behind them were three women, their white hooded capes shining in Arian’s light. The sky turned a deep sapphire-blue as the sun passed below the horizon and as the shadows washed over their small group, two of the women began to softly sing.
The girl turned in her saddle to watch them, though she knew not to interrupt. Her mother had taught her these words, years back, but she’d never heard them sung with such irreverence as from the oldest of the three, a scar-faced woman with a mass of crow’s feet around her missing eye. Her reedy voice made it sound more like a sea-shanty than the prayer to dusk.
As she watched, Legana, mouthing the words as she had no voice of her own, took the older woman’s hand. High Priestess Shanas, on Legana’s other side, sang with her eyes closed and a smile of contentment on her face, and the girl found herself whispering them too as Arian’s light settled over the Land.
Soon the only colour to be seen was the mute woman’s emerald eyes, shining from the dark of her hood.
‘Can I ride ahead?’ she asked her mother once the prayer was over.
‘No,’ growled her father from her other side, ‘bad things are out there. You stick close, you hear?’
‘Bad things don’t come out on Silvernight!’ she laughed, smiling sweetly up the bearded man. ‘ Every one knows that!’
‘They do round here,’ he said gruffly, ‘so bloody listen to me for a change.’
She pursed her lips and looked in silent appeal at her mother, but she shook her head. ‘Not this Silvernight,’ she said, touching her daughter’s cheek. ‘This is a special one. You’ll stay with us.’
‘I know it’s special,’ she argued, ‘but I can meet you on the hill — that’s where we’re going anyway-’
‘You’ll be riding back across my lap if you try that,’ her father snapped. ‘I’d rather kill your horse from under you than let it happen.’
‘Doranei!’ her mother said sharply as the girl gasped and hugged her pony’s neck. ‘There’s no need to frighten her.’
‘You think?’ Doranei caught the look in his wife’s blue eyes and turned away.
‘I do. I know we’ve all met him before, but this is a special night for Gennay. Don’t spoil that with your temper.’
He grunted, but Gennay’s fear was already gone; her face was alight with excitement. ‘The Dusk Watchman,’ she breathed. ‘That’s who you mean? Am I really to be his priestess?’
‘Who told you that?’
She turned and pointed. ‘Ardela did — isn’t it true?’
