‘Go then,’ he said eventually, ‘go with my blessing and remember this debt.’
‘My debt to you? How very male,’ Zhia gasped, her arm drawn tight up to her chest. ‘I suppose that’s all the thanks I’ll get for persuading Koezh our chances would be better without the Legion of the Damned.’
She looked down at the corpse of her brother, lying at Styrax’s feet. A faint mist was building over it as his body started to decay and disintegrate.
‘As you wish,’ she said finally. ‘Until we meet again.’
She turned and faced the wall of soldiers. They didn’t move, and she looked back at Styrax, who gestured, parting the Bloodsworn for her. Once a path was clear, the vampire left without looking back once.
Styrax looked down at the putrefying armoured corpse at his feet. Koezh’s Crystal Skull was still attached to the cuirass, and he quickly tugged it free. The armour was already soft and malleable, decaying with Koezh’s body; the metal would melt into nothingness unless it was removed with alacrity, as Styrax had the first time they fought. If not, it would slowly reform with Koezh’s body in the crypt beneath the Castle of Silence, far to the east. Koezh’s sword was similarly indistinct within the mist, and as he watched, it sank into the moorland beneath it, unclaimed yet again.
He looked up at the assembled troops surrounding him. With an effort he smiled. ‘First blood to us,’ he announced hoarsely. The responding cheer was deafening.
‘Enemy’s advancing,’ Veil said, pointing.
King Emin looked up. ‘So it begins,’ he muttered. ‘How about the left flank?’
Veil squinted at where the smaller Menin force had formed up, by the tree-line. ‘Looks like it - I’d need a mage to be sure.’
‘Where are the damn mages?’ Emin growled, seeing nothing but soldiers. The fort contained more than a thousand men, as closely packed in as could be managed without causing complete chaos.
‘There’s the runt,’ Coran said, indicating the diminutive form of Tomal Endine, who was weaving a path towards them, through the Kingsguard and the catapult platforms that stood between the central tower and Emin’s position on the rampart.
The mage laboured up the wooden ramp towards King Emin, and Coran reached down to drag the small man the last yard while he gasped for breath. The King’s bodyguard stood out from the crowd by more than size now - his cuirass and helm were painted a bright bloody red, in contrast to the green and gold livery that surrounded him. The rest of the Brotherhood wore black-painted armour, punctuating the crowd of resplendent Kingsguard like needles secreted in a haystack.
‘Piss and daemons,’ Doranei said, ‘man’s exhausted and the battle’s not started yet!’
Endine gave Doranei an unfriendly look and sparks crackled momentarily across his knuckles.
‘Your Majesty, Mage Holtai reports both sections of the enemy are advancing. Two lines of heavy infantry are moving directly here, with archers and cavalry protecting them, while a mixed force of infantry and cavalry are stationed on their left flank. The smaller force is keeping tight to the forest and they too are protected on their left flank by cavalry.’
King Emin nodded and turned to face his army, the bulk of which was lined up behind the long ditches. They stood in long lines that would be vulnerable on the open field, but these great defensive works would massively reduce the force of any infantry charge.
‘There is more, your Majesty,’ Endine said urgently, ‘I sensed magic used in the enemy camp - not a spell in progress, but energies shaped quickly, with violence meant.’
‘Which means?’
‘That I don’t know, but most likely Lord Styrax fought someone of great power - perhaps he even gave Larat’s Chosen a Crystal Skull to use in battle and had it turned against him.’
King Emin frowned. ‘I doubt that; he will assume he has the advantage there without help from doubtful sources.’
‘I can see no other explanation - the magic expended was considerable — ’
‘And without a Crystal Skull,’ Emin finished for him, ‘what fool would bother?’ He forced a smile. ‘It’ll do us no good speculating. If the enemy is divided, they’ll be less enthusiastic about throwing themselves on our stake-points!’ The king gestured towards the long lines of raised stakes surrounding the fort and provoked a cheer from those nearby.
‘Endine, return to your post,’ King Emin said once the noise had abated, ‘when I need Cetarn signalled I’ll send a runner. In the meantime, keep us safe!’
The sickly mage bowed and scuttled back to the tower in the centre of the fort where the scryer, Mage Holtai, sat watching the enemy’s movements, and three battle-mages waited for the coming assault.
‘Will Cetarn be enough?’ Doranei asked quietly. ‘He’s no white-eye, no matter what they’ve cooked up on that chained mound.’
‘Cetarn will play his part,’ Emin replied distantly, ‘as must we all.’
‘Is that why you’re here, your Majesty?’
Emin gave him a sharp look. ‘Your meaning?’
Doranei edged forward, keeping his voice as low as possible and ignoring the fact that Coran also stepped closer, just in case. ‘The fort is vulnerable; you must see that.’
‘Must I?’
‘Yes,’ Doranei said firmly, ‘the ditches aren’t long enough to be certain we won’t be cut off, yet here’s where you make your stand. Wouldn’t it be better if you moved further back, where the whole army can see your standard and take heart?’
King Emin gave him a more genuine smile than he had Endine. ‘No, my friend, it is best I’m here, on that you must trust me - as I trust you and Coran to keep me safe.’
‘Are you intentionally putting yourself in a dangerous position?’ Doranei asked quietly.
‘Remember this — we are all in mortal danger today,’ Emin said, ‘and it will do the men good to see that I take the same risks they do. In the context of a battle plan, my significance should not be overstated. If Kastan Styrax wishes me dead, he will achieve that goal wherever I stand. My death may be a blow, but the Menin know they must do more than that to win the day.’
‘It’d be a bloody good start though,’ Doranei hissed, prompting a bellow of unexpected laughter from King Emin.
‘Hah, you could be right there! So let’s give them something more pressing to think about, eh?’
King Emin clapped him on the shoulder and turned back to the Menin Army. Their progress was difficult to discern, but they were still well outside the range markers the Narkang troops had installed on the moor.
The ground dead ahead was clear and open, but on both left and right were sets of ditches, staggered so six divisions of archers could hurt the enemy before they came anywhere near the Narkang Army. Working in concert with each other and with squadrons of cavalry supporting them, the archers would engage in a fighting retreat, with little fear of being caught in the open.
‘Signal the cavalry to advance,’ he called aloud, and a sergeant below him took up the order and it started repeating at a roar. On the tower, a red flag was run up the pole.
‘That’s not going to be enough, however much we outnumber ’em.’
‘I know,’ King Emin said distantly, ‘but they may yet make a mistake in the heat of the moment. If nothing else, it will give them pause for thought while they attempt to charge through us.’ He started towards a ballistae station on their right, where the rampart walkway bulged to allow easy movement, but before he reached it, the voices within the fort were dropping and faces began to turn his way.
The king faced his men, then swept off his flamboyant hat so his face was visible to all. He gave them a moment to remember the stories, the legend of a king to rival any the Land had yet seen. He had as commanding a presence as any white-eye, and his quiet assurance and cold eyes gave no reason to doubt the reputed genius of his intellect, nor the ruthless ambition that had driven his own conquest two decades previously.
‘Brothers,’ King Emin called in a loud, clear voice, ‘our time of reckoning has come.’
Doranei watched the effect of the king’s piercing ice-blue gaze sweeping over his troops, as the men stood a shade more upright under that imperious stare.
‘The so-called “first tribes” have marched on our lands,’ King Emin announced, raising his arms as though to embrace the army, ‘intent on destroying all we have built and all we hold dear.’
He looked around, catching people’s eyes, so every man thought he spoke directly to him. ‘In their envy,’ he cried, ‘they come to kill us, to murder this dream we share. They see the twilight of their own kind and for that they fear us.’
He raised his voice, little by little, as he went on, ‘They fear our great kingdom, because it stands for an end to the ways of the past - an end to the ties of tradition and ancient prejudice. An end to the dream that they are better than we.
‘Twenty years ago I realised the truth, one I see realised in the faces all around me: I believed that we were equal of any of the seven tribes - but now I see we are greater still!’
He paused, waiting and watching, until the watching soldiers were breathless with anticipation.
‘When the White Circle attacked Narkang, many of you fought alongside me, fought as equals alongside Lord Isak himself, and when the breach came it was his actions that saved the day, and yet - and yet he did not claim the title of hero that day, though he was more than entitled.’
Doranei could feel the expectation building like a tidal wave inside them all.
‘Young as he was, Isak knew his God would protect him as he called the storm down, and secure in that knowledge, he sought to close the breach alone.’
King Emin paused again. The faces were rapt, every man holding his breath until the king slowly raised a finger. Doranei felt the murmurs building from the crowd.
‘But . . . but in that breach he was not alone — ’
He got no further as a roar of approval crashed out around the fort, drowning out all other sounds. The king waited for the tumult to die down again, knowing their pride would eclipse any thing else he might now say. Many of those present had fought on the walls of the White Palace; many friends had died beside them, and they had all known their lives were hanging in the balance when Lord Isak of the Farlan had stayed alone to defend the wall.
‘ — yes, brothers, there was another - one who was neither white-eye, nor favoured of the Gods. Commander Brandt was a man, no different to you or me, and yet he was
a hero
! He was not even a soldier - the City Watch was his mistress, and he served it faithfully, man and boy.
‘When the time came, this simple watchman sacrificed himself for the city he loved, for his wife and children, and to protect this dream we share! And he did so gladly.
‘He stood, back to back with a figure from myth - back to back and unafraid!’
King Emin turned to the advancing Menin Army, then back to his men, a mocking smile on his lips as he made a dismissive gesture.
‘
Equal
to the Seven Tribes? No - not that day, nor for ever more! They come to kill us; they come to conquer us,
because they fear us
! Without the patronage of Gods here we stand, as strong as any of them, and solely through our own endeavour. Even now they dare not face us alone, but with reluctant, fearful allies.’
The king gestured at the faces arrayed below him. ‘The blessed of the War God march on us, yet I see no fear on your faces. They have hurt us, they have razed our towns and murdered our countrymen, yet still I do not see fear. Instead I see a people of one mind, a people of one unstoppable resolve!
‘Together, brothers, we will show them the quality they fear, the true strength of the nation that eclipses them! This day I leave the field as King of Narkang, or not at all, and as a watchman once laid his life down for his wife and children, so shall I, if the Gods demand it!
‘We are steel, tempered in the flames of their disdain. On steel, their ancient bronze will break. Tomorrow we will pity them, for their time is done, but today we will show them only our rage!
‘Rage for the innocents they have slain. Rage for the threat to those we hold dear. Face them, my brothers - face them and show them the strength of free men!’
CHAPTER 36
‘Where is that novice-fucking cripple?’ bellowed a voice from somewhere behind. ‘Osh! Where are you, you cockless relic?’
Hambalay Osh stifled a smile and turned stiffly. He had positioned himself on a small rise, the better to view the troops under his command, and from there he could see a figure forcing its way through the crowd of soldiers. The Mystic of Karkarn was today dressed in a long red robe with bronze-coloured braiding, and a bronze helm covered the grey stubble on his head and cheeks. A long shield rested against his left side, partially hiding the metal brace that encased his leg.
‘Daken!’ he called as the white-eye barged through the assembled soldiers, knocking one infantryman to the ground in the process.
‘That’s fucking General Daken to you,’ the man roared cheerfully, grinning in anticipation of the battle to come. He grabbed the ageing mystic in a bearhug, chuckling madly. ‘Still upright, then?’