‘It’s done,’ King Emin groaned, fumbling at his tunic a while before he managed to open it and look at the rune burned into his chest. Doranei did the same. He could just make out the symbol. It was strange to see it there; since the age of sixteen he’d worn the tiny heart rune on his ear, the mark of the Brotherhood, but this enlarged version looked oddly out of place. The skin was red and blistered and painful to the touch, just as any burn would be.
Isak began to laugh, awkwardly at first, as though only slowly remembering exactly how to do it. The big white-eye stood up as Hulf ran to his side and jumped up, his front paws resting on Isak’s thigh. Still laughing, Isak ran the fingers of his right hand through the dog’s thick fur while with his left he pushed back the hood of his cloak and let the garment fall open.
‘Isak?’ Mihn said quietly.
The white-eye turned to him with a broad smile that had been entirely absent since even before his death. ‘Think of it as a tradition,’ Isak explained, and Mihn gave a cough that was akin to amusement.
Doranei frowned, a shadow of memory stirring. Had he heard something about this, when Mihn first linked himself to Isak? There was something about the connection it made between them — hadn’t Mihn, while his scar was still raw and sensitive, been able to feel something of Isak’s pain?
‘My grave thieves and ghosts,’ Isak announced to the moor at large, turning as he spoke, ‘welcome.’ And before anyone could respond, he jammed his thumbnail hard enough into his own scar to draw blood. All around him men howled, but it only made Isak and Mihn laugh all the harder.
CHAPTER 3
Ruhen stood at the window and looked down over Byora. Smoke drifted on the breeze from the armoury where the Menin garrison had been stationed. Even from his high position the boy could sense the activity and turmoil going on below. He could smell the sour tang of fear like a perfume on the wind, but this morning it couldn’t stir pleasure in his ancient, immortal soul.
As the shadows of his true self raced over the whites of his eyes, Ruhen let his thoughts slowly settle into order. It had been a shock, to be surprised like that. Such a thing happened only rarely in thousands of years. Even rarer, he had underestimated his enemy. Azaer had always been a being of weakness, avoiding direct conflict and keeping to the dark, lonely places where it had been born.
The King of Narkang possessed a rare mind: still beautifully human, and yet surpassing most Azaer had ever encountered. They had both found the enmity between them, the decades of something approaching intimacy and fascination, had driven them and spurred them to heights they would never have reached alone. Exactly how King Emin had managed this latest feat, this commanding of Gods and crippling of a warrior without equal, Azaer could not guess — but what mattered was the price he had paid.
Was that Emin’s desperate last move? If so, he would come to regret it. Whatever strength he might have left, he had only improved Azaer’s hand for when the final cards were played.
The door opened behind him, but Ruhen didn’t turn. He knew it was Ilumene returning.
‘Looks like you were right; ain’t a Menin alive left in Byora.’
‘With so much fear, they needed someone to blame.’
Ilumene settled into a chair behind Ruhen and dumped his boots heavily on a delicate table that promptly splintered under the force. ‘Fucking insects that they are: something surprises or unsettles ’em and all they want is someone to hurt.’
As though highlighting his point the big soldier drew a thin dagger from his boot and began to deftly slide it over the scars on his left hand, just breaking the skin enough to make the runic shapes well bloodily up.
‘I’ve sent every man we got onto the streets to break some heads — most of the Byoran Guard are as bewildered as the rest of the quarter, so they’re glad to have orders to follow. Means they don’t think about having a name stolen out their heads.’
‘That has always fascinated me,’ Ruhen said, turning to Ilumene, ‘the need to be busy, the desperation for purpose. I have done nothing but watch a tomb for decades at a time. Humans would prefer to spend that time in slavery. It is astonishing, the chaos one can cause with just a man seeking a purpose.’
Ilumene regarded the little boy, the twitch of a smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘You saying I should get off my fat arse and get busy?’
Ruhen matched the stare for a while, unblinking, before turning away. ‘You are a man of action.’
‘Oh, I don’t know, I’m getting the hang of giving orders and watching someone else do the dull bits. I’ve been busy already — time to watch my geese come home to roost, or some such other stupid rural saying. I’ll send a messenger to the Narkang network today; every cell will be active and ready to move in time.’
‘Venn arrives today.’
‘And I’m ready for him too,’ Ilumene said, reaching for his boot again. He drew out a piece of folded paper and raised it, but Ruhen didn’t bother to look. ‘Two lists and instructions simple enough even Jackdaw couldn’t screw them up.’ Ilumene heaved himself up and headed for the door. ‘I’ll go and check in with Luerce, make sure everything is arranged at his end — Knight-Cardinal Certinse is already primed to move. There’ve already been enough deaths in Akell to change the minds of many.’
‘Good. Time to put on a show and welcome our players back.’
Nai moved slowly down the alley, listening for movement up ahead. Hearing nothing he glanced back at Amber, who stood at the corner, his eyes on the ground, desperately clutching the staff Nai had found him. Nai had changed the colour of their clothes with a simple glamour, but there was no disguising Amber’s height and bulk. Only the listless bewilderment of the population had allowed them to get so far, but he knew they shouldn’t attempt to head out of the industrial district of Wheel.
The city walls were intended for defence rather than containment, but once the search for Menin soldiers got organised someone would send out cavalry patrols. The Menin hadn’t mistreated the population of Byora, but Nai certainly didn’t want to be standing next to a high-ranking officer when they decided what to do with their conquerors.
He beckoned Amber over, but he didn’t seem to notice.
‘Amber,’ Nai hissed, ‘Amber, come here.’ As always he was careful to use his name as much as possible, the only name the Menin had left now. For his entire career the soldier had answered to ‘Amber’ rather than his birth- name, and that detail was likely all that had saved Amber’s mind.
Nai shook his head in irritation and went to fetch him, pulling him down the alley by the arm until he started following. When they came to a fork, Nai stopped the big man and fumbled in one pocket for a small silver-backed mirror.
‘This takes me back,’ he muttered under his breath as he used the mirror to check around the corner that it was clear. ‘For an erudite man, I think my former master rather enjoyed running from a mob every few years.’
He gave Amber a smile, but it was lost on the man — perhaps just as well since Nai’s former master, the necromancer Isherin Purn, hadn’t exactly endeared himself to Amber the one time they met.
‘Bet you never thought you’d have to rely on my skills at evading a witch-hunt, eh, Amber?’
Satisfied the way was clear, Nai looked to see what buildings were in view. ‘Right, we’re not far from the city wall now. If they intend searching every house they’ll start at the wall and head back in, so we’ll stay here.’
Behind one wall of the alley he heard sounds of activity, a hammer and chisel at work. With luck whoever was in there was alone and there would be no need for spilled blood, but Nai was a necromancer. He didn’t see the point in killing without a purpose, but his survival instinct was a strong as any white-eye’s. He pushed Amber out of view of the door and reached into his pocket again.
The last time he’d seen Amber, they’d fought in a tavern in Breakale. Since then Nai had been lying low, trying to decide upon his next course of action, but he was never without the few essentials any good necromancer needed to escape self-righteous persecution. He withdrew one of these now and held it lightly between thumb and forefinger, ready for use as he rapped on the door and waited for it to be answered.
With his sometime benefactor, the vampire Zhia Vukotic, off to the West, Nai’s thoughts had been turning towards stepping away from the conflict entirely. It wasn’t his fight, after all, and he owed no one much, but a necromancer knew the value of earning favour. Some instinct told him Azaer would prefer the term master to
