Afasin stepped forward and though Bissen stopped struggling, Kosotern had to hold the man up as he sagged under the white-eye general’s gaze.
‘I made no-’ Bissen started, breaking off as Afasin raised a hand.
The general bent down and with his face inches from Bissen’s, he said softly, ‘Light cavalry, horse-archers, and scouts protecting the flanks. That was your report.’
‘Your scouts confirmed it,’ the mage protested. ‘You saw them raiding our lines yourself!’
‘I saw some of them,’ Afasin agreed. He straightened and rearranged the red sash of his order, which had snagged on a link of armour. ‘And yet somehow two legions of heavy cavalry have been routed and slaughtered.’
Bissen opened his mouth to reply, but Afasin never gave him the chance. In one swift movement he drew his sword and ran the mage through.
Mage Bissen staggered back and crumpled to his knees, reaching one hand out to the captain in a desperate, dying plea for help. Misinterpreting the action, Kosotern snarled, drew his own weapon and stabbed Bissen in the chest to finish him off.
Afasin watched the blood drip from his sword a moment then raised his eyes to watch the battle. Even at this distance he could see the line buckling, the right-hand legions disintegrating as they were outflanked.
‘The day is lost,’ he commented, quelling the roiling anger in his belly. ‘Send out the remaining cavalry to cover our retreat.’
‘General!’ came a shout from further down the line, and he and Kosotern turned, swords still drawn, to see a man on horseback racing towards them. ‘A message from Colonel Gittin!’
Without waiting for a response the rider reached them, dropped from his saddle and lurched the remaining steps to fall at Afasin’s feet. The horse was lathered and caked in dust, the soldier himself filthy and exhausted. ‘General, it’s all true!’ he wailed, drawing himself up to his knees.
‘What is?’ Afasin snapped, reaching out and dragging the man upright.
‘What the preachers said — the warnings!’
Afasin glanced back at the knot of white-cloaked followers of Ruhen who stood at the head of a rabble of civilians. He’d barely been able to prevent them from marching out with his troops; the zealots had been quite certain Ruhen’s divine presence would protect them from any harm.
‘Warnings?’
‘The army of daemons,’ the soldier gasped, ‘they march with daemons! Our cavalry are slaughtered, broken entirely.’
‘By daemons? The bloody sun’s shining!’
‘The colonel’s words, I swear it!’ he pleaded. ‘I saw the cavalry charge. They never reached the enemy flank — and in the next moment they were overrun. No humans could move or kill so quickly.’
Afasin threw the man down. ‘Kosotern, sound Full Retreat — we go as we are. Belay my last; they’re on their own. No idea what that fool Gitten’s talking about, but we’re too few to protect the camp once they’ve cover of night on their side.’
‘Full Retreat? What of Ruhen’s Children?’ the captain asked in dismay, glancing back at the preachers. ‘They’ll fall behind, and we’re not positioned to escort them. They’re barely armed, sir!’
Afasin’s lip curled into some form of smile. ‘They want to fight so badly, let the bastards cover our withdrawal. Someone fetch my horse. We don’t have long.’
CHAPTER 26
Darkness came quickly to the forest. They waited in silence as the shadows descended, watching the light of an ill-omened moon play over the distant grass. The creatures of the forest were wary of what walked the Land after sunset.
When a cloud briefly masked Alterr’s yellow eye, Grisat noticed a pale light far out on the moor and shivered. It moved steadily, keeping well clear of Moorview’s ordered boundaries, yet unafraid to be seen. It was well away from the moor road, he knew; nowhere any sane traveller would be at night.
Daemons, Grisat thought to himself, his fingers pressed against the coin charm half-embedded in his skin. He had been finding that coin less of a threatening presence the closer they came to Moorview, seeing what creatures were being drawn to such a place of slaughter. Now the cold shadow settling over his shoulders felt like a greater protection than the steel plates sewn into his jacket.
Most villages he had passed had been draped in mourning cloths, black banners hanging from the gates and long ribbons of cloth fixed to the branches of prominent trees. It was hard to tell if war or daemon predation had started the mourning, but many of the ribbons looked recent, not yet touched by the elements.
The countryside was still and empty for the main part. Even during the day few went too far from home without company. There were a few ancient, vague stories of the Age of Darkness, but now folk’d be scouring their memories for everything they had ever heard of that time, when the Gods had weakened themselves as gravely as now. He’d left a package by the highway leading north from the moor, pretty sure no one other than the intended recipient would stumble across it — but if any did, they’d mutter a charm against Finntrail and their deadly gifts and hurry on.
‘Our friend is coming,’ whispered a voice in his ear.
Grisat bit down onto his lip. He’d not heard Ilumene creep so close; the man had got right up to him without disturbing the forest undergrowth.
‘Where?’ Saranay, the third of their party asked. She was dressed little differently to when Grisat had first met her in that Narkang bar.
Ilumene pointed back into the forest and they both turned to look. The ground undulated for miles up to this ridge abutting Tairen Moor, providing ample cover for anyone approaching. Grisat could see nothing except a mass of black overlaying the chaotic tangle of trees behind them, and he could hear as little as he saw.
‘Who is it,’ Saranay muttered, ‘some bloody Harlequin?’
Grisat flinched and fought the urge to giggle hysterically. He could well guess who it was, and idle comments like that in the company of cruel men often proved to have consequences.
It was a few minutes more before three ghostly faces loomed out of nowhere. Even though he was expecting them, Grisat had to muffle a whimper when he saw the Harlequin masks and Venn’s tattooed face. They wore dark woollen cloaks over their regular clothes, as much for concealment as warmth, Grisat guessed.
They really mean to do this. We’re to steal past hundreds of soldiers — into the castle to murder men who could turn us inside out with a word.
‘Shall we go?’ Venn asked curtly without greeting them.
Grisat’s eyes widened: the black Harlequin had his right arm in a sling, his wrist in a splint. Though he’d never seen the man fight himself, he had heard of him from Ilumene. That someone had injured Venn was as remarkable as Venn betraying no apprehension at assaulting a castle left-handed. He’d heard Venn was a powerful mage, though when he’d asked Ilumene back in Byora he’d just laughed and said, ‘One of ’em is anyway’, without deigning to explain further.
‘You’ve found them?’ Ilumene asked, and Grisat turned his attention back.
‘No. They would notice my efforts to scry the castle,’ Venn admitted.
‘As much as I’d like to kill every soldier here, I don’t think we’ve got time,’ Ilumene said.
‘What do you suggest, then?’
‘I’ve been here more’n once, and I know the ones we seek. They’ll be in the state rooms: Holtai at the top of the tower, most likely, since he’s the scryer, and Ashain in the king’s chamber since he’s an arsehole with a chip on his shoulder. We use the forest gate — there’ll be guards there, but not many. You can’t get troops through this forest without utter chaos, so the road’s the only path to watch on that approach. Holtai’ll no doubt have a web across that and the ground moor-side, leaving the walls and guards to dissuade any coming through the forest.’
‘Easy, when you think about it,’ Saranay scoffed. ‘I don’t know why you even needed us to come along.’
Ah, some sense at last, Grisat thought. Ilumene and Venn might breeze through this mission — we mere
