towns and villages ruled by Ismess; the only recruitment there was a legion raised to fight under a Devoted banner. Most of the Litse white-eyes had gone with the Devoted armies; their gift of flight was invaluable for coordinating movements and watching for invaders.
General Afasin’s Mustet troops had taken recruits from Akell and marched to the Narkang border to meet the threat head-on. A modest force of Byoran and Imess soldiers had accompanied them, enough to escort the half- dozen mages who were unwelcome within the Devoted ranks.
‘This army of the devoted has fought the fear that clouds hearts. In the service of peace, of the Gods themselves, they drive fear from their minds and think only of serving the innocent and weak.’
Ruhen’s voice remained calm, Gesh realised; he never displayed the grand passion an orator would normally use. He spoke to each person individually, leaving righteous fury for those who sought to manipulate their audience. Instead Ruhen’s words were personal, a conversation where one side need only listen, and recognise the wisdom of what they were hearing.
‘This service of peace is a calling none can deny. Those of us blessed by the Gods with wisdom must guide others; those with health must minister to the sick; those blessed with strength must support and protect their brethren.’
Gesh nodded absentmindedly. His own forces might be weak, but an army from Embere was now camped outside the Circle City, ready to defend it. He felt the truth of Ruhen’s words in his bones, cementing in his heart his decision; he had taken the right path by allying the Litse with the child. All the while something tugged inside at him, some deep compulsion that he was not doing enough for his people.
Gesh’s thoughts turned to the bow Ilit had gifted him with, the good it could do to the armies protecting them. He was strong — the greatest warrior of his people. Though he knew his place was in Ismess, the urge to leave and follow the Devoted army momentarily took his breath away.
He opened his eyes with a slight gasp — he hadn’t even realised he’d closed them — as the desire washed over him. Looking around him he saw others doing the same, nodding heads and faces awakened to action.
A massive force from Raland — fully thirty thousand battle-ready troops, Knights of the Temples wearing Telith Vener’s device as well as the Runesword emblem of their Order — had been not far behind the Embere Army, and they were now headed to Tor Salan to recruit the city’s ruling Mosaic Council. The entire Order of the Knights of the Temples had answered the call, and Gesh’s heart swelled to be numbered among such men.
Duke Chaist, Telith Vener’s hated neighbour, had not felt the same; he had broken out in quite a sweat at the sight of so many battle-ready Raland troops appearing at short notice, apparently — but the pressure had in the end forced them to put aside their petty arguments. These bickering children, who switched the focus of their bullying and slyness as easily as breathing, were now united under a more noble banner than the Runeswords they carried.
All around the Stepped Gardens Gesh saw movement. The Harlequin guards crouched, hands on sword-hilts, but the people struggling to their feet were not advancing on Ruhen — it was quite the opposite. As Gesh fought the sensation to move himself, white-cloaked disciples and common folk alike began to turn towards the gates of the city.
‘Against faith,’ Ruhen was declaring, ‘fear can have no sway. Those who face the darkness are the most blessed of the Gods — they walk without fear, shielded by the faith of those they protect.’
From the assembled crowds came cries of urgency and desperation as more and more people left, some even picking up loose stones that they might carry as weapons to smite the Narkang heretics. Gesh shuddered and shook himself, trying to fight the mad mood crawling over him, until he was forced to embrace the magic inside him again and open his wings. The reminder of his own strength, the power and will of Ilit that flowed through his bones, cast aside the fervour or spell — he could not tell which — and he saw with fresh eyes the effect on those assembled.
Several of the nearest disciples were lying on the ground, frothing at the mouth or convulsing with apoplexy; many more knelt with arms outstretched, reaching out as though Ruhen truly stood just before them, speaking to them alone, and they could embrace his words. Gesh took a step back as the little boy looked down at the arrayed people, savouring the effect he had had upon them.
‘Face them down, my brothers and sisters,’ Ruhen said softly, almost tenderly, to renewed howls. ‘Let faith sustain you, let faith protect you. Face them with the strength of peace in your hearts — face the heretics and sweep them from this holy Land of Gods and peace.’
As the screaming intensified, Gesh could stand it no more. He leapt into the air, as desperate as the rest to leave that place.
Amber rode towards the castle with no regard for the soldiers attempting to block his path. Behind him was a troop of twenty Menin soldiers, in full armour and caked in dust from the long ride. A cold wind blew from the south and stretched out the banner carried by the man behind him. The black flag had the Menin rune at its centre, with their former lord’s Fanged Skull on one side, on the other a golden bee to signify their new master.
Amber could see the confusion on the faces of Kingsguard; probably the only reason why blood hadn’t yet been drawn. He had marched the remaining Menin legions hard all the way from Farrister, not giving anyone, least of all himself, time to pause. There was dissent still, he could hear the whispers abruptly cut off when he came into view, but the king’s choice had been no real choice at all.
‘Major,’ shouted a voice over those of the young soldiers demanding he stop, and Nai trotted out into the road. The necromancer — perhaps former necromancer, Amber reflected, thinking the king would likely not stand for that continuing — was dressed in functional black like a proper member of the Brotherhood now, and carried an edged mace slung over one shoulder.
‘He’s even got you wearing boots, Nai,’ Amber replied, raising a hand for his troops to halt. ‘What’s the Land coming to? What would your former master say?’
Nai glanced down at the army boots he’d been issued with. He had never worn footwear, not crossing Byoran or Narkang lands, in the whole time Amber had known him. ‘That the king’s a genius?’ Nai muttered. He gave a sniff. ‘Apparently bare feet detract from the mystique the Brotherhood’s aiming for.’
Before Amber could reply he was forced to jerk the reins of his horse out of a young officer’s grip. ‘Hey, try and take them again and you’ll lose your head,’ he growled.
‘Whoa!’ shouted Nai, running between the two men as weapons were drawn, ‘step back, Captain!’
‘He can’t take an armed troop into the castle!’ the captain yelled, struggling fruitlessly against the arm Nai had wrapped around his bicep.
‘That’s not your decision!’ Nai said, loud enough for the captain’s troops to hear too. They all had their weapons out and the only thing now keeping them from the Menin was the bee device on Nai’s collar. He gave the captain a shove and sent him reeling backwards into his troops. Before the man had recovered his balance Nai was already drawing magic into himself.
The Kingsguard were drifting closer from all directions, hands reaching for weapons. The Menin showed no sign of backing down. Nai held his hand out to the captain as though warning him to stop, but instead of speaking he made a sweeping motion with his hand that cast a trail of spitting sparks towards the faces of those about to attack. The soldiers reeled, hands raised to cover their eyes and swat the sparks away from hair and clothes.
By the time the magic had faded to nothing, Nai had made up the ground and grabbed the captain by the collar and hoisted him up one-handed for all to see. Coils of green and black light raced around his hand, growing faster and more intense with every passing moment. The black light left a smoky, sulphurous trace in the air, and Amber realised Nai’s past had to be common knowledge now: he was playing on the fear others felt at the word necromancer. It had the desired effect as the eager troops scrambled back.
‘All of you, sheathe your weapons!’ Nai roared, turning to make it clear he included the Menin in that order. Amber gave a small gesture and his men obeyed, spurring compliance from the Narkang troops.
‘Now, get back to your duties. You, Captain — you and your men see to Major Amber’s horses, you hear me? Amber, please dismount and follow me — just a few officers, please; the rest can wait here or return to your troops, I really don’t care.’
Amber cocked his head at the man. Nai wasn’t really suited to giving orders, but he appeared to be learning the Brotherhood way, expecting commoners and generals alike to jump on command.
‘Since you asked so nicely,’ Amber said before continuing in Menin, knowing the necromancer was the only other able to speak the dialect, ‘Dorom, Kesax, with me. The rest of you wait here and try to not to kill any of the king’s precious troops. Apparently they don’t have many to spare these days.’
