He did know; anyone could just by looking at Hulf, but Isak’s soul had been tied to Mihn, and now the white- eye looked as though it had been cut out. Anger, even violence, Vesna could understand; that was how a white-eye reacted to loss, but not this: quiet surrender was reserved for those last moments of death, when all was done and all that remained was the spark in their eyes to fade. To see Isak so defeated troubled the Iron General side of Vesna as much as Mihn’s loss wounded the mortal side of him.
‘He had his reasons,’ Vesna persisted.
‘Oh good. Reasons.’
Vesna felt his hand start to shake. His grief at Isak’s death had barely started to wane when Tila’s murder gutted him entirely. Only the spirit of Karkarn had kept him moving, driving him to march west with the Ghosts, but the more he numbly obeyed his duty the more he had felt a part of himself wither.
As I hide from the pain, Vesna realised, and put it aside in favour of duty, less of a man is left. I can feel the God inside me swallowing the loss, but it’s an indiscriminate beast. Tila would never forgive me if I let the man she loved slip away. I have to endure this pain somehow, and so must Isak.
‘You had reasons too,’ Vesna said hoarsely, ‘reasons you didn’t share with me. You left me to mourn your loss, to be the one Carel blamed for your death.’
‘I know.’
‘That’s all you have to say?’ Vesna asked after a long pause.
‘What else is there? This is a war, people die. It’ll claim more before it ends.’ Isak raised the black sword. ‘I hold death in my hand; can it be much surprise when those close to me are lost?’
‘And you can just accept them?’
‘We’re close to the end now. I’ll have time to mourn when I’m dead.’ He tugged his cloak a little more over himself and Hulf and the dog settled down at Isak’s side to share in the white-eye’s body heat.
‘I’m so tired. Please, just let me sleep.’
A part of Vesna wanted to smash his iron fist into Isak’s face, to wake the monster inside him — anything to dispel this meek, empty shell of a man. But the general at the back of his mind told him it was time to retreat and fight another day; there was no point forcing the issue, not so soon after Mihn’s loss.
Feeling like an old man, Vesna rose and left Isak to his sleep. At the fireside Veil and Doranei huddled together on a fallen tree and warmed themselves. They had watched the exchange without comment.
‘Not what you expected, eh?’ Doranei asked.
Vesna glanced back. ‘What I feared, maybe. Mihn was an anchor for him, just as Tila was for me.’ Even speaking her name twisted like a knife in his gut, but the pain was no stranger to Vesna these days and he wouldn’t hide from it, not any more. ‘And Carel too. Without them, he’s adrift.’
‘If he don’t look dead, he’s angry,’ Veil commented, ‘that’s we always said about Coran, the king’s former bodyguard, when someone asked his mood. True enough for lots o’ white-eyes — but Isak ain’t like most of ’em.’
‘He don’t look either,’ Doranei said, ‘and that makes me worry. We might have the means to kill Azaer, but without the will, that could mean nothing. There’s a lot of death ahead of us yet — a whole lot of death, if what those Byoran soldiers said is true. The shadow won’t care how many die to defend it; whole cities could fall and it’d just make us look like the Reapers or daemons it claims we are.’
Veil clapped his remaining hand on his Brother’s shoulder. ‘Aye and Isak can’t follow your example. There are no wine cellars round here for him to crawl into for a month.’
Doranei shrugged the man off, but he made no retort. He wasn’t proud of how he’d dealt with his own mourning, Vesna knew that, but the look on the faces of both King’s Men showed he wasn’t living in shame either. It had happened, then Doranei had found a way through and not let his comrades down. Everything else was just pride.
An object lesson for the rest of us, Vesna thought, seeing once more the last flutter of pain on Tila’s eyelids. Face it all, and overcome. His stomach felt hollow and a sour taste filled his mouth. He fought the urge to bend and retch, to empty a stomach that had barely been able to manage breakfast. The War God’s chosen looked away, hiding the tears that threatened in his eyes as Tila’s voice echoed through his mind.
‘Let’s find some other way then,’ Vesna said in a choked voice, ‘lest the end in sight isn’t the one we’re hoping for.’
Doranei reached into his tunic and pulled out his pack of cigars. He shook out the last one and lit it from the fire. ‘Give him time,’ he said at last. ‘The fire running through him from that damn sword, the shock of mourning — the man needs time. He came back from the Dark Place, that’s a punch none of us could ride so easily. I’ll never bet against him.’
‘In time to win this war? Azaer’s forewarned, and everything you’ve told us says it’s not one for a single, simple plan but has contingencies built into every scheme.’
‘You want to know one reason why we’re so effective? The King’s Men?’ Veil asked abruptly. ‘Sure, we’re good in a fight, and some of us ain’t got a soul, but that’s not the only reason. We live in a different Land to that of ordinary folk, soldiers too: everything we’ve seen and done sets us apart from the people we protect.’
‘We think different,’ Doranei continued. ‘The job makes you think different, and that’s often the edge that counts. We do the unexpected, tackle problems in a way most wouldn’t, and catch ’em unawares.’
Veil pointed towards Isak. ‘Now just imagine how he thinks now, after all he’s gone through. He saw the holes in his own mind and knew them as a weapon to cripple a man he couldn’t beat in combat — a man none of us could, by design of the Gods themselves. Not even Azaer’s seen that. Not even Azaer’ll see him coming.’
Vesna gaped. ‘And that’s where your faith lies: in the fact that his mind’s been damaged by horrors that might easily have destroyed him entirely? Isak’s my friend, but-’
‘Isak sees the Land different,’ Veil insisted, ‘and King Emin’s genius ain’t for politics, not really. He knows how to use others, how to direct their minds, develop their skills, nudge research or uncover strength they never knew they had. Doranei here, Coran, even Morghien and Ilumene too — we’ve all been refined by the man, all made better and more useful to him. Isak can change the entire Land, and with King Emin’s guiding hand he’ll finish the job.’
‘I’ll never bet against him,’ Doranei repeated firmly, ‘and nor will you, whether you realise it or not.’
Grisat eased his way around the corner table and sat with a view of the door. The evening trade was paltry, just half a dozen others in, along with the landlady. He scowled down at his beer — maybe it was just the stale- smelling piss they served here. The mercenary gingerly sniffed it. Certainly not something to shout about. He took a mouthful and grimaced as he swallowed: piss was just about right.
So much for Narkang folk knowing how to make a decent beer, he thought sourly. I could have stayed in Byora for this sort o’ crap.
Without meaning to, Grisat’s fingers went to the coin hung around his neck. It was still there, lurking under his jacket — a hard presence against the skin over his heart. The First Disciple, Luerce himself, had handed it to him, watched him put it on. It had been some sort of test, Grisat realised now — not of him, but of the coins.
All so eager for the honour now. He took another swig of the beer and shuddered, both at the taste and the memory of the fervent faces within Ruhen’s Children. Their desperate and savage embracing of Ruhen’s message frightened Grisat as much as Ilumene did. He’d not been a willing convert, just a mercenary looking to earn some coin who’d been forced into something more by Aracnan. When that black-eyed Raylin mercenary had died, Grisat had gone into hiding, hoping they would forget about him and the part he’d played in encouraging the Byoran cults’ doomed uprising. The coin he’d taken off, but not daring to throw it away, he’d hidden it in the chimney of the room he’d taken — until Ilumene had tracked him down again.
Should’ve thrown the damn thing away, he thought miserably, prodding again at his chest. Too late now. The leather it was strung on was still around his neck, but it was unnecessary; now the coin stayed where it was, half- embedded in his skin. If Grisat put his finger on the metal surface he could feel the beat of his heart underneath. But some instinct told him to leave it well alone. He had left the leather loop on too, refusing to cut it away out of some desperate hope that he’d wake and find the coin was not slowly being drawn inside him.
If this is a dream, though, what does that make my nightmares?
He swallowed another foul mouthful. In his memory the shadows twitched and moved silently at the corner of his vision — never when he looked directly at them, but he could sense them always behind him. At first he’d thought the shadows some sort of salvation. I suppose in some ways they were.
Aracnan’s mind had been decaying, slowly collapsing in on itself, and the fire of the Demi-God’s increasing
