The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (297 page)

The unnaturally beautiful woman kept her eyes on those two while she jerked the blanket from Mihn’s bare shoulders and turned his palms upwards so all present could see the owl tattoos there.

‘Those who choose to serve, let them be as ghosts,’ Shanas repeated for Legana, louder than before. ‘Let their skin be marked with silence and service. It is time to take this war to the shadow.’

King Emin wasted no time. The entire company was ordered to sit, the order rippling back through the ranks outside, and Doranei found a place at his king’s side, placing himself between Emin and the white-eye, General Daken. Morghien sat grumbling on Emin’s other side, while behind him the ranger Tiniq crouched in the shade of the king’s war standard and squinted down at the churned ground below.

Daken’s grin was barely visible behind the swelling and split lips, but the man still managed to express his amusement at the whole proceeding. Doranei tried to forget the bet Daken had won against the Brotherhood, instead looking at the assembled soldiers and trying to estimate how many they were.

The Farlan had been least hurt during the battle, arriving late to catch the Menin unawares, but anyone meeting the grief-maddened Menin heavy infantry had taken losses. He guessed one and a half thousand remained in total; the double-legion of the Ghosts wouldn’t have been quite at full strength, not after the major engagements of the last year, and some had to have remained to man the walls of Tirah Palace. Veil was nearby, looking exhausted, but in less pain now. He gave his Brother a prod with his boot and was rewarded by an obscene gesture with Veil’s remaining hand.

‘You two, swap places,’ said the witch, Ehla, as she assessed the crowd of soldiers. Doranei looked up and realised she was pointing to him and Daken. The white-eye heaved himself up and Doranei reluctantly let him take his place at King Emin’s side.

‘Want the best up front, eh?’ Daken wheezed as he thumped heavily down onto his backside, tipping backwards until Veil shoved him upright again with his boot.

‘Not quite – the last thing we need is that bitch on your chest getting involved and marking any more soldiers.’

Daken lifted his shirt as best he could, exposing part of his tattoo of Litania the Trickster. For once, the blue lines on his skin were perfectly still. ‘Don’t you worry about that. Like most women lyin’ on my chest she’s all tired out. She won’t be movin’ any time soon.’

‘Perhaps,’ the witch said dismissively, ‘but I prefer not to trust her. The power will flow outwards from Mihn. With Doranei as a buffer there she’ll not let herself be carried on it into him.’

‘Why? The boy smells, but so do most’ve us.’

Her eyes narrowed on Doranei. ‘It’s who he smells of Litania will be wary of – yes boy, her. There’s a perfume on the wind that isn’t coming from the Farlan nobles.’

Doranei looked away from them both and the witch moved on, raising her voice so she could be heard by all.

‘All of you – put your palm against the chest of the man behind you, over his heart. You must all be linked; you must all choose to give yourself to this service.’

Doranei felt Daken’s meaty paw thump him on the chest, almost knocking him backwards, and he grabbed it with his left hand and held it over his sternum, where he knew the heart rune had been burned into Mihn’s and Isak’s flesh. Reaching back he felt Veil push forward against his hand and all around them men and women copied them, or followed the king’s example and reached out with both arms.

It took a long while for everyone to link themselves, but the witch – unable to have her own magic turned back on her, Doranei guessed – continued on out through the ranks, neatly picking her way over the outstretched arms towards the back. Finally he saw the witch waving from the far end of the seated soldiers, indicating Legana could start.

As Shanas passed on the message – Legana’s eyesight was too poor to see so far in daylight – Daken clicked the fingers of his free hand towards Isak. ‘Here doggy,’ he whispered as Legana took her place between Mihn and King Emin.

‘What are you doing?’ Doranei said as Hulf pricked up his ears and Isak slowly looked over. The young dog was sitting on Isak’s feet, watching events suspiciously.

‘Come to Uncle Daken,’ the white-eye called, clicking his fingers again. Eventually Isak focused on the man and stared at the gestures he was making. He watched the man a moment, then removed his hand from around Hulf’s shoulder. ‘That’s it, boy, come here,’ Daken called again.

‘Leave the bloody dog alone,’ Doranei whispered. The palm on his chest briefly became a claw as Daken dug his fingers in to shut Doranei up.

‘It’s for the best,’ he said, nodding encouragingly to Isak. ‘That dog was with him on the battlefield – they might not’ve been part o’ the fighting, but it ain’t leaving his side any time soon. You ever seen a dog fight an armed man? It’s gonna need all the protection it can get.’

From behind him Doranei heard a snort. ‘Don’t be so surprised,’ Veil said softly, ‘if a dog can’t eat or fight something, it’s only got one use for it – remind you of anyone?’

Isak pushed Hulf towards Daken, and at last the dog padded warily over. The white-eye mercenary let Hulf sniff his fingers before he made to stroke him, but once that was done Hulf went easily enough and Daken hooked an arm over the grey-black dog to hug him close.

‘Now don’t you bite my face, you little bugger,’ Daken whispered as Legana reached out, a Crystal Skull in each hand. One she pressed against Mihn’s chest, the other against King Emin’s. After a moment Doranei heard the king gasp and braced himself.

Mihn had told him acquiring the scar had hurt enough to make him pass out. Legana hadn’t mentioned anything like that, but the erstwhile Farlan assassin had a strange sense of humour at the best of times. If it wasn’t for the fact that she’d grown close to King Emin and he was to be the first recipient of the markings, Doranei thought it an even bet she’d gladly have knocked out more than a thousand men in one go.

Daken’s fingers tightened on Doranei’s tunic and he pulled it against his chest, a moment later feeling Veil follow suit as best he could. Hulf gave a short bark, more puzzlement than alarm, but Doranei couldn’t look to see if Isak had reacted. Instead he closed his eyes and focused on the warm tingle that was building on his chest. His heart began to beat faster as the warmth spread around his chest like a belt, slowly tightening on his ribs.

A furious itch began on his palms and down his arms, the skitter of a thousand tiny spiders on his skin. Carefully he opened his eyes, wincing slightly as the pressure on his chest increased with every second, and turned his free hand over to look at the palm. A white speck of light was dancing madly over his skin, leaving a trail of ink behind it. All around him he heard gasps as others discovered the same sensation, but he only looked up when he heard a gasp of pain from Mihn.

The Crystal Skulls in Legana’s hands shone with a fierce, bright white light, and it looked like the shafts of light had impaled Mihn. His arms and head hung limply behind him; his lips were moving, but whatever he was saying Doranei couldn’t hear.

Then Mihn’s whole body shuddered as though Legana had shaked him like a toy and he moaned, ‘It is given.’ His voice was hoarse from the pressure being exerted. Doranei felt a renewed surge of power wrap around his body and Mihn’s words echoed through his bones. Then the power increased again and Mihn’s words became lost in the storm that filled Doranei’s head. ‘Whatever asked … in darkness a path …’

Doranei howled as the pressure abruptly focused into a burning pain, as though Daken’s hand was a white-hot brand. Distantly he heard others cry out, and Hulf whimpered, but the sounds were lost amidst the stars of pain bursting before his eyes. Though reeling from the agony, he felt impaled by Daken’s hand, nor could he wrench his own hand from Veil’s chest.

A cool gust of wind swept across his face, whipped into life by the magic running through his body. It carried the stink of scorched flesh and Doranei realised with a flash of fear that the smell was him. The itch on his hands, feet and arms intensified. Unable to see through the pain he had to picture the tattoos unfolding on his skin, spun like silk and burned onto his body: circles within circles to keep him hidden and silent, leaves of rowan and hazel on his arms to shield him from magic.

With one final surge the searing magic drove deep into his chest, then went racing down his arm and on into Veil. He heard his Brother cry out even as Daken’s hand fell away and the pain receded. When the magic was gone and through Veil the pair sagged, flopping sideways and clinging desperately to each other for support.

Doranei gasped for air, his heart racing as fast as it had the previous evening. Almost drunkenly he inspected his arms: there was a perfect replica of Mihn’s tattoos, and on his palms too, running unbroken over the various scars he’d acquired over the years in service to his king. The charms of silence and magic to hide him from both men and daemons were now indelibly imbued into his skin.

‘Do you reckon—’ Daken wheezed from nearby, one arm still around a distraught Hulf, ‘—do you reckon this means we’ll never find Veil’s hand out here?’

He gasped for breath and cackled at his own joke while Veil, too drained to do anything more, muttered insults. Doranei forced himself upright and looked around: the magic was still working its way outwards. It resembled a ripple of wind sweeping over a field of wheat as the magic flowed from one man to the next, leaving them toppled and exhausted in its wake.

Legana sank to her knees, spilling the Crystal Skulls on the ground. Mihn and Shanas caught her befoe she fell flat on her face.

‘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.

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.’