reminded him of their presence. ‘“Shadow-eyed”?’
‘Aye, that child’s got shadows in his eyes, drifting like clouds on the breeze.’ The Byoran shivered at the memory.
‘Shadows in his eyes,’ Doranei whispered hoarsely, ‘and Ilumene’s his errand-boy. Fires of Ghenna, the boy’s no instrument-’
‘Nope,’ the Byoran agreed, puzzled by the name he didn’t know but eager to be helpful, ‘the little bastard’s in charge sure enough, and by now I’d guess half the Circle City’s willing to accept him as their saviour.’
Doranei had started running blindly until his brain caught up with him and he tried to work out where King Emin would be at this hour. The Byoran captain followed him like a lost puppy until they came upon a nobleman, who wisely decided not to object when Doranei left the Byoran in his charge. He directed the King’s Man to where he’d seen the king’s party last. Unnoticed by Doranei, more than a few Narkang soldiers had grabbed weapons in his wake, looking in vain for the danger as they followed him, but he jolted to a stop as he passed another Brother, the thief Tremal.
‘The king, you seen him?’
Tremal nodded, his mouth full of the honey-cake he’d procured from somewhere. ‘Heading to the Farlan camp with most o’ the remaining Brotherhood — I just been sent to round up the last few.’
Doranei had to walk to the Farlan camp. It was on the other side of the battlefield, half a mile away and beyond the long defensive ditch now half-filled with corpses. Long before he got there his body was protesting violently. Tremal and the remaining two members of the Brotherhood caught up, but none of them bothered with questions; they recognised Doranei’s expression well enough.
At the Farlan camp it was easy to find King Emin amidst the duller liveries of the Tirah Palace Guard and Suzerain Torl’s Dark Monks. Doranei was so focused on the king that he almost barged the suzerain out of the way, checking himself just in time as he glimpsed a hurscal’s sword leaving its scabbard. The white-haired Farlan was one of a crowd around a large fire and as he made space for Doranei to pass, the King’s Man realised they were all watching a small group sitting inside the circle.
The figure closest was Isak Stormcaller; still clad in his tattered cloak. The white-eye was looking into the flames, paying no regard to those around him. The heat would have been uncomfortable, save, perhaps, for those who’d felt the flames of Ghenna. Close behind him, the Witch of Llehden had one hand tight on the cord around the neck of Hulf, Isak’s dog. She was staring at Mihn and the Mortal-Aspect Legana. The witch noted his presence with a flicker of the eyes, but clearly she wouldn’t be distracted from whatever she was watching between Legana and Mihn.
He didn’t even bother trying to work out what she was seeing around those two; they could have been wearing Harlequin’s masks for all he could make out in their faces. Legana had a shawl shading her eyes from the morning sun as usual, while Mihn was shirtless, for reasons Doranei couldn’t fathom, with a blanket loosely draped around him to cover the leaf-pattern tattoos running from wrist to shoulder. The pair sat silent and still, as close as young lovers.
‘Doranei,’ the king said from the other side of the fire, ‘I’ve not seen you look so glum since you told me you were in love.’
The King’s Man tried to smile at the gentle needling, but he failed as completely as those around him. Their losses had been too great. Instead he ducked his head in acknowledgement and looked around at their allies to check he could speak freely.
‘News, your Majesty,’ he started, ‘from the Byoran prisoners.’
‘Speak it then.’
Doranei hesitated, in case he’d misheard or misunderstood, but he knew it wasn’t so. ‘You’ll want to hear it yourself, but I think we judged it wrong in Byora,’ he said. ‘The child, Ruhen, isn’t a vessel or tool; he’s the one giving orders. Ilumene jumps on his command — the command of a child with shadows in his eyes.’
There was a cold silence, every remaining member of the Brotherhood digesting the information as they remembered their failed assault on Byora’s Ruby Tower.
‘Azaer has taken mortal form,’ King Emin said at last. ‘A mortal body, an immortal soul — but why?’
‘The greatest magic always involves sacrifice,’ Isak said abruptly, looking up from the fire at last, ‘the change from life to death.’
‘And the potential for catastrophe,’ the witch added. ‘Azaer does not intend some basic working of magic, but something to unpick the fabric of the Land so it can weave the tapestry anew. Even the Gods are weakened by grand undertakings; whatever power the shadow can bring to bear, it must risk everything in the act.’
She pointed to Isak who flinched slightly at the gesture. ‘Isak knew he would die at the Menin’s hands, their destinies had been entwined long before he was Chosen by Nartis. He would never have managed what he did yesterday without first gambling all he had.’
‘And now Azaer gambles,’ Emin finished, an edge of hunger in his voice. ‘Now the shadow has allowed itself to be vulnerable. If we can choose the time of its passing rather than allowing it to do so, we might yet win this war.’
‘Speaking of gambles,’ broke in a young devotee of the Lady called Shanas standing nearby, a woman barely old enough to be part of this fight, ‘Legana says it’s time to raise the stakes in Vesna’s own effort.’
All eyes turned to Shanas, then to Legana who beamed unexpectedly at the assembled men. With a surprised cough Shanas continued, ‘Ahem, she also wants to say you all look fucking stupid with your mouths open — she’s part-Goddess! Are you surprised she can speak into a devotee’s mind?’
Emin’s laugh broke the hush. ‘A fair comment. But what’s this about Vesna?’
The big Farlan soldier stepped forward. He matched the strangeness of emerald-eyed Legana with a ruby teardrop on his cheek and his left arm permanently encased in black-iron armour.
‘I think she’s talking about the Ghosts,’ he explained. ‘Life back home in Tirah remains fraught, but I knew there was a greater fight coming. Lord Fernal was forced by his nobles to sign a peace treaty with the Menin, so to pursue the war further, the officers of the Ghosts took holy orders so that they would have to be released from their military positions or prosecuted. Following the assassination of Karkarn’s priests in the city, presumably to weaken the God’s powerbase in advance of a challenge by the Menin lord, the soldiers of the Ghosts were only too willing to join us.’
‘You have an army of ordained priests?’ Emin replied, doing his best not to look surprised. ‘All dedicated to the God of War?’
‘A third of the Ghosts,’ Vesna said quickly. ‘The rest are priests of Death or Nartis, so as not to unbalance the Upper Circle of the Pantheon. General Lahk and I reasoned that it would at least buy us time to halt the Menin’s plans.’
Emin turned back to Legana and Shanas. ‘So where do you fit in here, Legana? One Mortal-Aspect helping out another?’
‘Something like that,’ Shanas said, looking nervous as she voiced Legana’s words. ‘They are no longer the Palace Guard of Tirah, but they still call themselves Ghosts.’ The Farlan soldiers in attendance nodded at that and Legana, her green eyes flashing with divine mischief, patted Mihn on the head as though the failed Harlequin was a dog. ‘A precedent has been set: a man bound to service even as he was imbued with powers.’
Legana gestured towards all those present, picking out specific groups in turn while Shanas continued, ‘Those who live in the shadows’ — Legana jabbed a thumb back at Doranei — ‘these dark soldiers’ — as Torl’s Brethren of the Sacred Teachings were indicated — ‘these steel-clad ghosts’. Legana’s gaze fell on Vesna and General Lahk as the leaders of the Palace Guard.
The unnaturally beautiful woman kept her eyes on those two while she jerked the blanket from Mihn’s bare shoulders and turned his palms upwards so all present could see the owl tattoos there.
‘Those who choose to serve, let them be as ghosts,’ Shanas repeated for Legana, louder than before. ‘Let their skin be marked with silence and service. It is time to take this war to the shadow.’
King Emin wasted no time. The entire company was ordered to sit, the order rippling back through the ranks outside, and Doranei found a place at his king’s side, placing himself between Emin and the white-eye, General Daken. Morghien sat grumbling on Emin’s other side, while behind him the ranger Tiniq crouched in the shade of the king’s war standard and squinted down at the churned ground below.
Daken’s grin was barely visible behind the swelling and split lips, but the man still managed to express his amusement at the whole proceeding. Doranei tried to forget the bet Daken had won against the Brotherhood,
