Tom Lloyd: The Dusk Watchman

General Amber staggered towards Vesna, one arm slack and trailing blood as he walked. ‘Iron General,’ Amber rasped, forcing himself to stand tall, ‘we stand with you.’

Vesna raised his flaming sword high above his head and the Ghosts cheered raggedly. ‘We welcome you,’ he bellowed, as though his men could regain their strength from the power of his voice alone. ‘Karkarn stands with us.’

‘And daemons hunt us,’ Amber croaked as Nai ran to his side and grabbed the general’s arm.

Amber flinched in surprise, then seemed to realise who was there. Nai carried one of Amber’s own scimitars; clearly he’d picked it up when Amber had been wounded, but he dropped it now and wrapped his hands around Amber’s bleeding arm. A swift burst of magic made Amber cry out with pain.

‘It’s sealed,’ Nai announced, retrieving his weapon, ‘but your ribs are broken. You need to hold back. They need you alive.’

Amber growled a curse at the man and turned away. ‘They need me down there,’ he grunted, ‘but I can’t help them now. Those daemons will tear the heart out of us, and once they do, I’ll have no men left to need me.’

Vesna turned to where he pointed; he couldn’t see the slope itself from where they were standing, but he knew there was fighting all up it. Beyond the base, however, Menin and Narkang soldiers were advancing side by side on the boiling mass of white monsters who had ripped into the very heart of the army.

‘Look — the Dark Monks,’ someone cried, pointing to the low ground between hill and rise. ‘They’re moving to attack!’

Vesna felt a jolt as he saw Suzerain Torl’s cavalry aiming for the rear of Ruhen’s Children, though fresh Devoted cavalry stood in their way. Once he got into that strip of ground there would be little room for Torl’s horsemen to manoeuvre, but the suzerain appeared to have forgotten the tactics he’d championed among the Farlan. Even at that distance Vesna could see this was not a strafing run; the Dark Monks were getting ready to charge directly for the enemy, though they had already fought several engagements and their horses had to be almost blown.

‘He’s trying to buy us time,’ Vesna realised. ‘He knows the pressure needs to be relieved.’

‘He’ll die, then,’ Amber rasped, his arm pressed to his side as he moved up to stand beside Vesna. ‘They’ll get pinned down by the infantry on the rise and crushed.’

‘He’s the best of us,’ Vesna said to shouts of agreement from the Ghosts nearby. ‘Torl doesn’t fear death, only failure.’

Suddenly Amber dropped to one knee, gasping in pain. Vesna half-picked him up but that seemed to only hurt Amber more and the Farlan hero felt a sudden pang of fear for this man he barely knew.

‘You’re hurt badly — get that armour off.’

‘Piss on you,’ Amber growled. ‘If I’m done, I’ll go fighting, not sat on my arse while my men protect me.’

‘Then you’ll die, you fool!’

Amber scowled, straightening up for a moment and looking Vesna straight in the eye. ‘I’m Menin,’ he said angrily, making it clear that was the end of the matter.

Then he added, ‘Promise me one thing.’

Vesna felt the words catch in his throat. They didn’t have time to talk; already he could see more Devoted cresting the hill and moving to attack them.

And yet… and yet what other time do we have left? Might be we’d already have fallen if this man hadn’t killed himself reaching us. He could have seen to his own, led his remaining troops away from this slaughter, but he chose to stay and die with us.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘If any of us live,’ Amber panted, ‘lead them home.’

‘Home?’

The Menin general’s face was now white with pain. Vesna realised in that moment the man’s injuries might be greater than just broken ribs; Amber might be bleeding inside too.

‘You’re their general now,’ Amber whispered. ‘You’re their God. Lead them home. Fulfil my promise.’

Vesna bowed his head in acknowledgement and the movement seemed to instil a flicker of new life into Amber. ‘I’ll die with my sword in my hand,’ the Menin declared.

‘You’re not dead yet,’ Vesna warned as the line of Ghosts parted to incorporate Amber and the handful of Menin with him. ‘We’ll take them together.’

Amber gave a brief nod, still wincing at the injury to his side, but there was no time for further words as the enemy arrived.

A spear shot towards Amber’s cuirass and glanced off, but the Menin appeared not to even notice. With a roar he hurled himself into the melee and Vesna went with him, the two men bearing death in their wake.

They ran as fast as the dark allowed, the ground shaking underfoot, groaning like the Land itself was assailed. The upheaval spurred them on. Legana led with her Crystal Skull in one hand, the flames trailing from it lighting their path. On one side of her jogged Daken, on the other Ardela. Close behind were King Emin and his Brotherhood, Carel and the two Farlan Ascetites, with the eighty remaining Sisters of Dusk following.

After the initial shock and pain of having her clothes set alight, Legana had wrapped her hand in magic and allowed the Skull to burn there, though she was unable to stop and work out why flames licked over the Skull’s glassy surface. Not long after they’d entered the tunnel a God of the Upper Circle had died; as soon as she’d told them, Legana had upped their pace, careless of her own poor balance, the injuries others carried or the chance of ambush. Whatever had been done to the Skulls must be part of Azaer’s plan. Time was running out.

The tunnel widened a shade and up ahead an opening appeared, lit by a faint crimson glow from the chamber behind. Daken didn’t break stride but sprinted ahead of the rest, his movements blurring as a blue shadow-image appeared in front of him. At the opening he checked himself and let Litania’s shadow whip through, to be met by swords flashing out from either side — but they cut only mist. Then Daken smashed one weapon from its owner’s grip while Ardela, beside him, smacked down the other, bringing her Harlequin’s sword back up in one smart movement to cut into the ambusher’s neck. Daken didn’t bother finishing off his; he left the disarmed Acolyte to those behind him.

From the lee of a stalagmite a slender figure danced, diamond patchwork clothes suddenly bright in the light of Legana’s flames. A long-knife flew through the air and caught the Harlequin in the shoulder, slowing its lethal lunge just enough for Daken to be able to parry the sword and bring his axe-blade down on the Harlequin’s leg. Still the white-masked figure turned and slashed at Daken’s face, and the edge scraped across his cheek-guard as Daken barged into the Harlequin’s shoulder. The impact knocked it off balance and Legana moved even faster than a Harlequin to open its throat.

More Acolytes converged on Daken, trying to pick him off, but King Emin and Doranei reached his side in the same instant. The sight of Doranei’s star-lit sword made them hesitate, and then the rest of the Brotherhood had come through, Veil leading the charge.

Out of the darkness on the other side of the cavern a dagger flew towards the king, who reeled away, crying out, as the air around him suddenly filled with white light. The dagger fell harmlessly to the floor and Legana stormed past the Brotherhood before any of them had found the new threat, kicking the knife away as she went.

A pair of dead blue eyes shone out from the darkness of a tunnel entrance, and as Legana advanced, a figure wearing a tarnished crown emerged into the half-light of the chamber.

‘You are too late,’ the Wither Queen rasped, malice shining out from her face. ‘Ilit is dead. They dare not oppose him now.’