The Dusk Watchman

CHAPTER 16

Isak crested the hill and a shiver of dread ran down his spine. In the grainy grey light of pre-dawn, Vanach Settlement was slowly unveiled in all its brutal glory. The city on the valley plain below straddled the narrow mouth of a long lake, its arrowhead lines picked out in lanterns along the waterside and on the bridges between the shore and the lake’s two small islands.

‘Reminds me of Tirah,’ Vesna commented from his right, ‘all that old grey stone and dark slate. Just needs a few impossible towers and we’re halfway home.’

Isak nodded slowly. ‘And it’s dwarfed by the lake, like the forest does for Tirah.’

‘There were towers once,’ Mihn said, ‘maybe not as grand as those of Tirah, but still built tall with the work of many mages.’

‘The commissars pulled them down?’

Mihn inclined his head. ‘Before they were called that, yes. It is a common theme of history: people build these monuments, others tear them down. To look down on the Land from upon high… well, men must sometimes be reminded they are not Gods.’

‘Speak for yourself,’ Daken growled from behind them. ‘Some of us got ambitions.’

Isak turned to look at the irrepressible white-eye, who courteously inclined his head at his commander. The man was a handful, but had mostly accepted his second-tier status in the group in a way most white-eyes wouldn’t have. Daken’s boasting and lascivious behaviour was mere window-dressing, Isak had realised; a sop to his innate antagonism and stubbornness that demanded some sort of release.

‘You don’t want to be a God,’ Isak said eventually. ‘You’d get bored.’

Daken laughed. ‘Maybe I would at that,’ he agreed. ‘Anyways, not sure I’ll like the look o’ this Land once you an’ Ruhen are through with changing it. I’m a creature o’ habit, me.’

Isak didn’t have an answer to that, but when he met Vesna’s eyes the Farlan hero turned away, his lips pursed. The pain of Tila’s death remained etched clear in the lines of his face, but Isak could see the man was developing something of Lord Bahl’s timeless air.

How many years will you have to live with this loss? Isak wondered.

Vesna drew his arms a little tighter around his body, almost as if Isak had asked the question aloud. If the Mortal-Aspect had an answer, it didn’t appear to be one he liked.

‘My Lord,’ called a rider in accomplished Farlan: an officer of the Black Swords, coning down the road ahead. ‘Dawn will be upon us soon. Lodgings have been prepared.’

Isak acknowledged him and watched the man ride away. The journey to Vanach had been slow, hampered by the Black Swords accompanying them. For days they had feared an attack; that some rogue part of the Night Council would decide to wipe out the uncertainty of Isak’s presence, but nothing had transpired. It had been a cold sort of relief when they’d discovered the truth, pushing their escort to move as fast as possible and coming across soldiers clearing civilians from their path.

Inevitably some word of the saviour prophecies carved into the Grand Ziggurat’s walls had reached the general population over the years. For people without hope, oppressed by the very Gods they worshipped, Isak’s arrival offered a chance of change, and there were those who were desperate to see if the rumours were true, even as the Commissar Brigade were desperate to prevent any contact that might spark insurrection.

Isak’s heart ached for these people. The dismal air of despair infected even the smallest communities under the ever-watchful eye of the commissars, while the labour camps they passed grew incrementally larger. Two days out of Toristern he had tried to get close enough to one to look in the eyes of these so-called heretics — and to test the limits of their escorts’ orders. The commissars marching with these Black Swords were of low rank, and no one stopped him when he rode up to the camp’s gate, though he had been expecting threats and drawn weapons. When Isak had peered over the gate at the emaciated faces beyond, part of him had hoped it would come to violence; but the result of his action was something he couldn’t defend against.

Shouted orders to the camp guards had been obeyed immediately, without even a request for confirmation: one low-ranked commissar’s word was enough for the camp guards to instantly butcher every slave within sight. Only Mihn’s swift action had stopped Isak from turning on his escort and killing them all.

It was only when he had mastered himself that he realised they too were pushing for a reaction; it appeared that the Night Council was more than willing to sacrifice a few regiments for the chance to muster an army of the Blessed against Isak’s group. After that he was more careful with the lives of innocents.

‘Come on,’ Isak muttered eventually, nudging Megenn, the smaller of his two chargers, down the road. ‘One more day and then we enter Vanach. One way or another, this will all be soon over.’

Hulf appeared from the roadside, tongue lolling, after an hour or more out of sight. Isak hadn’t been worried; the ‘heart’ rune had been tattooed on Hulf’s skin along with Mihn’s rowan and hazel leaves. Hulf was a dog bred to hunt, and Isak was certain the connection between them would allow the hound to track him from leagues away.

‘That’s what’s worrying me,’ Vesna said as he took up his position alongside Isak. ‘This whole nation has been built with one purpose: for you to enter the Grand Ziggurat unchallenged and unhindered. What comes after that, we’ve no idea.’

Isak nodded, his eyes on the road before him. ‘Time to find out.’

They were shown into what looked like a large hunting lodge surrounded by a long drystone wall, built on the periphery of a village. It was clearly the retreat of some city official, though there was nothing inside to indicate the nature or rank of its owner: it had been picked clean before their arrival, and only food and furniture had been left by its departing servants.

The upper floors of the lodge afforded them a fine view of both Vanach’s low city walls and the three shrines that separated the lodge and village. A few dozen Black Swords loitered near the shrines in the shade of a row of yew trees, one of which was dead, but covered by a blooming rambling rose, the pink flowers a stark contrast to the dark needles of the other yews and the dour, unpainted shrines.

‘A local tradition?’ Mihn wondered as he saw Isak’s gaze linger on the unusual sight. ‘This is not some recent settlement created to feed the monster on its doorstep.’

‘Maybe. Didn’t think traditions were allowed here.’ Iska shrugged. ‘It seems power’s the same across the Land, always with its own set of rules.’

‘Not quite,’ Mihn said. ‘The commissars have turned their people into tools, or cattle, perhaps. I have no doubt even the rulers spend much of their time looking over their shoulders, but at least they are allowed to be people. That is something denied to most in Vanach. Even the Farlan nobility are not so cruel.’

‘Maybe they just lack the imagination?’ Isak was unable to force a smile at his own joke. ‘No, not even Lesarl’s that much of a bastard.’

Mihn stared at the city in the distance, lurking at the bottom of the great valley like a snake waiting in ambush.

‘Piety, unquestioned certainty and obedience; they have been distilled into a terrible concoction here. For all his flaws I do not believe the Chief Steward would allow anything he had built to take on a life of its own. He would have not allowed this monstrosity.’

‘But then, he is not a monster,’ came a voice from behind them, causing Isak to flinch in surprise.

He turned and saw Zhia at the doorway to a darkened bedroom, still wearing her long shawl over her head.

‘The same cannot be said for my brother.’

‘Is that what you’d call him?’ Isak asked.

She regarded him for a long while, her expression betraying no anger, but otherwise unreadable. ‘My brother’s suffering surpasses my own,’ she said eventually, ‘and I doubt even you know the lengths I will go to.’

‘Even I?’ Isak echoed.

‘Your torment was greater, but was intended to break the soul, to tear it apart and leave nothing but the seeds of daemonhood behind. Mine…’ Zhia hesitated for a moment. ‘My punishment was to become a monster and always to know it — the Gods did not want to destroy my soul but to torture it. If we succeed, you know my price, but I add something to that now: vengeance should never be exacted in anger; that is one thing my long years have taught me. You must ensure the Gods also appreciate that lesson. They should not repeat their mistakes.’

Isak nodded, feeling the weight of responsibility on him increase a fraction more. He put his hand on Mihn’s shoulder and leaned heavily on the small man. Mihn barely moved, despite the effort it took to support a man almost three times his own weight.

The failed Harlequin was transfixed by Zhia’s words; only when the vampire turned away did he return to himself. ‘All these mistakes,’ Mihn muttered, to himself as much as Isak.

‘What’s the saying, “to err is human”?’

Mihn shook his head. ‘And when the sins are of Gods? Who then forgives?’

‘We’ll all need to,’ Isak said in a tired voice. ‘All this enmity and retribution, it cuts the heart from us all. Hatred poisons even the finest soul and lessens us all.’

He straightened up as best he could and headed for the stairs, leaving Mihn alone at the window.

‘You’re a better man than I,’ Isak called over his shoulder. ‘Without you in my shadow, it might be Azaer there.’

The road to Vanach followed the path of the river flowing out of the city. Their escorts were two new regiments of Black Swords, dressed in ceremonial uniforms, but with the look of hardened veterans about them. A flotilla kept pace with Isak’s party. The river itself was slow and wide for much of the way, but as it narrowed to enter the city, the road became a large avenue lined with statues. It brought them to an enormous peaked gate set in the grey stone wall surrounding Vanach, where what looked like four hundred or more soldiers — approaching a full division — were lined up in formation, awaiting them.

Huge flags hung from the gate bearing symbols of the Upper Circle of the Pantheon. Isak found himself shocked by the grandeur of the whole scene; he had expected a grim, colourless city dominated by the Grand Ziggurat, but Vanach was far older than its current regime and had much architecturally in common with Tirah, the Farlan capital.

Through the great gate Isak could see the ziggurat, framed neatly within the enormous peaked arch. Even in the half-light of evening, the ziggurat’s torch-defined lines were clearly visible against the glow of the eastern horizon. Isak couldn’t judge the distance to it, but he realised it was as large as any building he’d ever seen, maybe the biggest in the entire Land. Even with many mages involved in its construction, Isak guessed it had been steeped in the blood of slaves long before completion.

Large open shines stood at the foot of each side of the gate, one dedicated to Death and the other to Alterr. As they rode closer, Isak saw a group of men and women clustered about each, kneeling in prayer until he came within fifty yards. From behind they looked like monks of Belarannar, in their voluminous brown robes, but they got to their feet and advanced towards Isak and he saw they were far more richly dressed. The brown robes were edged in some yellow pelt, and they fell open at the front to reveal long white tunics bearing the moon-and-river device of Vanach. Each of them wore a different golden chain. They were ten in total, all Priesans, with fifty or more of lesser rank lingering behind. Some of the ten were old and white-haired, but others looked younger even than Prefect Darass.

As Isak, Zhia and Vesna dismounted and approached them, he noted how the escorting soldiers drew discreetly away. In response a tiny, withered woman started forward to meet him, flanked by two men only a little younger than she, and accompanied by a sudden fanfare from both sides. Isak bowed his head and Vesna offered a more formal greeting. Zhia did absolutely nothing, but the Priesan gave no indication of offence.

‘Lord Sebe, the Faithful of Vanach welcome you to our grand settlement,’ the woman croaked in capable Farlan, continuing to move forward until she was no more than two yards from Isak and could speak without straining her voice. ‘I am Priesan Sorolis, Anointed First of the Sanctum. I am the voice of the Sanctum and the lesser councils of Vanach. These are Priesans Dacan and Horotain.’

She indicated the men on either side of her in turn. Dacan was a bloodless looking specimen with prominent eyes and lips so thin Isak could barely see them, while Horotain, the tallest of the three, had probably been handsome once, when he was thinner and younger, but that was a long way past. In his effort to maintain his looks the Priesan now looked like the painted eunuchs Isak had seen in Tor Salan years back.

‘So you rule Vanach,’ Isak stated after a long pause. He had tasted the air, and he could tell she was no mage, just a frail old woman with kindly eyes — hardly the tyrant he had expected of Vorizh Vukotic’s deranged instrument.

‘That, my Lord,’ she said with the hint of a smile, ‘may yet depend on what comes to pass this night.’

‘You ten are the Sanctum?’

‘We are — the elders of the Fifth Enlightenment, appointed by our own to act in council for the glory of the Gods and the good of Vanach.’

‘Any of you also sit on the Night Council?’

Sorolis wheezed as she turned slightly to the scowling figure of Priesan Horotain.

‘Holding a grudge, my Lord?’ he asked. ‘We heard of the attack only after it had taken place. It was not ordered by sitting members of the council, I assure you.’

‘Do you know what I seek?’

‘I know what you will find.’ She gestured to the other members of the Sanctum. ‘To reach the Fifth Enlightenment is to know the mysteries of the Grand Ziggurat and Vanach itself. We are aware, my Lord, of what lies at the heart of our nation.’

‘And you’re bound to it,’ Zhia broke in suddenly, ‘compelled to obey — I can see the threads of magic that bind the throats of each of you.’

The old woman’s face tightened at that and Horotain purpled, but they could not deny it. ‘You are of the blood,’ Priesan Sorolis choked, fighting to get out each word.

Zhia took a step forward and smiled in a predatory way. The bloodless commissar, Dacan, cringed at her closeness, but he was apparently unable to retreat with her eyes fixed upon him. ‘I am of the blood,’ she confirmed, ‘and you chafe under my brother’s yoke, it appears.’

‘We are bound as his protectors,’ Sorolis confirmed reluctantly, ‘charged to see his will done.’ Her face hardened. ‘It is the sin we bear to see the will of the Gods done.’

‘And what of after?’ Isak demanded. ‘All your different councils, what will they do afterwards?’

‘That depends on your actions,’ she admitted. ‘The Night Council is not alone in fearing this new age; even within the Sanctum we have debated what upheaval this will bring, what new course the Gods will set us. The one that sleeps in darkness may be Vanach’s dark heart, but we remain true servants of the Gods. We will allow no man to divert us from the path of the Blessed.’

Isak bit back his instinctive retort. That she seemed to genuinely mean her words somehow disgusted him more. What little they had seen of Vanach hinted at the nation’s dark heart indeed, but that wasn’t Vorizh Vukotic, it was the cruelty they were willing to inflict on their own. Denunciation, starvation, sleep deprivation, torture, mass execution — Shinir had provided the details they couldn’t see as they rode past labour camps and abandoned villages — and the Commissar Brigade were unrepentant.

If Priesan Sorolis recognised the anger on Isak’s scar-twisted cheeks, she gave no indication. Instead she stepped to one side and gestured through the great gate that led into Vanach Settlement. ‘Come my Lord. The remaining tests await you.’

As she gestured, a dozen litters appeared, carried by unarmed soldiers. They were chairs, rather than the beds used in Narkang, but as with Isak’s visit to King Emin’s city, the lead litter was borne by eight large men, twice the usual number of porters, to account for his great weight. The chairs were all intricately decorated; when Isak saw the one intended for him bore stylised black bees of Death, he realised each displayed the totem animal of one of the Gods of the Upper Circle. He matched them in his mind, taking a moment to recognise the seldom-seen white lynx of Alterr and hare of Kitar. More litters were brought up for the Sanctum members, these painted black, with the same designs in gold.

‘And our horses?’ he asked

The old woman gestured and more soldiers trotted up to collect the reins of each. ‘Only the Black Swords may ride within Vanach Settlement,’ she explained. ‘Your horses will be stabled at their barracks nearby.’

And if you want to escape, you’ll be slower than our soldiers, Isak finished in his mind, but his only response was a curt nod.

With a click of the tongue he brought Hulf to his side. He didn’t want the dog to follow, so he let a sliver of magic race over his skin as he crouched down to pull the dog close. He pushed his fingers deep into the hound’s fur and breathed in his warm scent.

‘Stay,’ he whispered into Hulf’s thick ruff of grey-black fur. ‘Wait in the woods for me.’

He felt the rune on his chest warm as the magic slithered out with his words, installing the command deep into Hulf’s animal mind. The dog whined in response, but Isak repeated his words and ran a palm over Hulf’s muzzle before nudging him away again. The dog sat as ordered, his ears down, his eyes on Isak as the white-eye took his seat in the litter. He knew Hulf would stay there until they were out of sight, but then he would run off as soon as any of the locals tried to go near him. He would be safer than the rest of them, most likely, away from danger and hidden by his tattoos.

Isak watched his comrades, far from surprised when Daken took the crow of Larat and Vesna the dragon of Karkarn — one unconsciously scratching at the Aspect tattoos on his chest as he did so, the other very deliberately touching the ruby tear on his face. To Isak’s surprise, Zhia headed straight for the Goddess of Fertility’s chair, running her fingers over the hare design almost as though testing her bathwater before she got in.

Doranei made for Nartis’ snake, while Shinir, appropriately in Isak’s mind, took Amavoq’s wolf and sat glaring at those taking note. The battle-mage Fei Ebarn, Leshi and Veil did not appear to care about which they chose, leaving Legana, Mihn and Tiniq all staring reluctantly at the remaining choices. When at last they too mounted their chairs, the horns sounded again and Isak’s bearers started off, leading the party through the great arch and onto a wide, deserted highway that led directly to the Grand Ziggurat ahead.

Isak looked up at the arch as they passed through. There were arrow-slit windows all the way up the huge stone arch, he realised, though it was so narrow he doubted there would be space within to draw a Farlan longbow.

Large, grand buildings, most several storeys high, lined the highway. Many had colonnaded open walks around the lower floors; the upper floors were supported by pillars, but they looked precarious to Isak as he passed. He noted again that the population was being kept well clear of the foreign visitors, warned to stay away by the constant blaring of the trumpets, perhaps. What Isak found notable about this elegant old city was the lack of life: those few people he had seen wore plain clothes, and only the Blessed were wearing any sort of adornment, while the houses and streets were almost dead, without the chaotic air of any city Isak had seen before. No clothes hung out to dry, no carts, or piles of wood or rubbish lay in the alleys between houses. There were market stalls of a sort around one block of building, but there didn’t look to be much for sale, and there was none of the accumulated everyday clutter a normal market would attract. These buildings might be offices or merchants’ stores, but it was remarkable how abandoned they looked.

‘So that’s the ziggurat,’ Daken commented from behind him. ‘Big bugger, all right.’

Isak looked ahead to the rising shape in the distance. Part of Vanach was built on the water of the lake itself, extending out from the shore towards the two islands that formed the heart of the city. None of Chief Steward Lesarl’s agents had ever returned from Vanach Settlement itself, but Prefect Darass had been more than happy to fill in some of the blanks for Isak.

More than half of the nearer island was covered by the Grand Ziggurat itself, on each of the stepped levels of which were shrines to many Gods, each one as large as the temple of any lesser God in Tirah.

The larger, fortified island behind housed the twelve High Temples, which rivalled any in the Land, according to the Overseer of Toristern.

And furthermore, there were shrines to a hundred more Gods and Aspects scattered throughout the city, each one obliging every passing citizen to speak a prayer there before moving on.

Isak looked away. The ziggurat was a nagging burr at the back of his mind, but the strange state of the city nagged at him even more; it was so unnatural it was almost otherworldly. Though he could see hundreds of the silent, watching citizens of Vanach, they could have been ghosts for all he could touch them, ask their names or understand their lives.

Is this the presence of Termin Mystt? Has it seeped into the city and turned everything awry, or is it just my own fears haunting me still?

‘What’s fucking wrong with all of them?’ Daken wondered aloud, voicing Isak’s own question.

Beyond the streets they caught a trace of the more normal sounds of a city, but the horns continued to blare, and everywhere within sight remained still and quiet. Squads of Black Swords stood at every street entrance; their presence alone was enough to instil a tense, sullen silence in the citizens.

‘They’re frightened,’ Zhia replied. ‘Most people are wary of change and these, well, they no doubt fear change as much as they do life staying the same.’

‘Sounds gutless to me,’ Daken said, turning to stare at the nearest party of armed Black Swords. They were all young, aside from a sergeant who’d likely not seen anyone more scarred than himself until Isak was carried past. ‘Livin’ like frightened rabbits their whole lives.’

‘You think they should choose death instead?’ Zhia asked contemptuously. ‘They have no leaders, no weapons, no safe means of contact with others who might feel the same.’

‘Don’t even look like they’re tryin’,’ Daken grumbled. ‘No kind o’ life if you ask me.’

‘It wouldn’t be your life,’ Shinir said. ‘White-eyes are given immediate advancement in the Black Swords — you’d be one of the oppressors.’

Daken laughed loudly. ‘Aye, sounds more likely. Tough shit fer the rest, then!’

As the sky darkened, Isak tasted magic on the air and turned quickly to see bright flaring lights appear in the centre of several units of Black Swords. They had encountered no mages throughout their journey, and Zhia had confirmed that none had been watching them from afar, but the exact status of mages there was unclear, despite the construction of the ziggurats and the arch they had just passed under.

‘That answers one question,’ Zhia commented, looking the same way.

Isak nodded. ‘I’d expected Vanach’s Commissar Brigade to be like the Knights of the Temples, to ban magery whenever they can.’ He didn’t have to open his senses to know the hissing torches now carried by each Black Swords squad had been made by mages — the energies leaked out of them like dirty trails of smoke, tasting bitter and ashy at the back of his throat.

‘The Devoted are a blind and stubborn lot, so proud of how the rest of the Land sees them. Here, where the Sanctum and councils rule absolutely, necessity perhaps trumps such lofty ideas. Those torches are not made to last. And look around us.’ Zhia gestured to the city at large, and Isak saw the spitting white lights at every street corner, and forming the perimeter of a circular patch of open ground ahead.

‘There must be hundreds of them — and the ziggurat is similarly lit; I can taste their sparks throughout the city. Somewhere there are dozens of mages hard at work. And considering we’ve not met one in any position of authority…’ She didn’t bother to finish her sentence.

‘Do you mean the Commissars’ll hold any magery against us? A bad example for their slaves?’ Isak asked.

‘I mean nothing as yet,’ she replied. ‘There would be too much speculation involved. But I doubt we’re in danger because of it. Vesna and Legana most obviously look like Raylin mercenaries to the untrained eye, yet they’ve not caused us a problem thus far. You are already keeping a check on your powers. All I can suggest is we continue not to provide anyone with a reason to turn on us. Some contradictions of dogma can be ignored by absolute rulers, but it’s never sensible to push the matter.’

‘So let’s just be thankful we’re not being escorted by a cadre of slave battle-mages,’ Vesna added.

Isak didn’t reply as they came close enough to the open ground ahead to realise it wasn’t entirely empty. There was a large oval table set in the very middle, with six chairs around it. At a reverential distance, hands clasped and heads bowed, were five commissars of varying ages, dressed in the formal black coats that Prefect Darass and his deputy had worn. It was an incongruous sight.

‘Looks like it’s time for the fourth sign,’ Zhia said brightly. This was the one part of this trip she had been looking forward to, whatever the stakes: a challenge for her fearsome mind, and one no doubt designed especially for her.

‘What’s that again?’ Daken asked. ‘Mastery o’ tactics?’

‘Indeed, and given Xeliache is the most widely played game of strategy in the Land, I’m sure Vanach will have assembled some especially skilled players to test our Lord Sebe.’

Isak glanced around at her and saw she was smiling as much as he’d feared. He’d played the game only a handful of times, just enough to know breaking the board over his opponent’s head didn’t count as a win. He hadn’t the patience for games that took a lifetime to master, so he would have to allow a more skilled person to guide his hands here.

Even before the Last Battle and their curse, Vorizh’s little sister had been a master of the game, and Xeliache — Heartland, in the Farlan dialect — had led to her and Aryn Bwr, the last King of the Elves, becoming lovers. To fulfil this sign, Isak would have to allow the immortal vampire into his mind.

‘Let’s get this over with,’ he growled, and got up from his chair.

Two commissars shuffled forward to meet them at the edge of the circle of ground. The crowd spread around the paved circle were largely Black Swords — but not all of them. Isak realised this was as close to the common folk of Vanach as he was likely to get. There was a dull uniformity to their clothing that was echoed in their wary expressions, but he did notice the women were all careful to cover their throats with a scarf.

A vampire’s joke about religious humility? Isak couldn’t help but wonder.

Only the officers of the Black Swords and commissars wore any form of decoration; even devices of the Gods seemed to be restricted to the Blessed. The closest thing to jewellery appeared to be the coloured thread several women had used to tie their hair.

‘My Lord,’ said the leader of the approaching commissars in the Narkang dialect. He was a man of middle years with a prominent wart on his nose. He walked with a stick, half-dragging his left leg, like a soldier carrying an old injury. Isak noticed the younger commissar on his left was keeping his hands free, just in case the older man needed help.

‘I am Sepesian Farray, representative of the Silent Council, here to oversee fulfilment of the fourth sign. I welcome you to this arena of study.’

Isak glanced around. The litters carrying the Sanctum moved alongside him, obviously heading into the circle to witness events but to take no part themselves.

‘Silent Council eh? Must be powerful if the Sanctum defer to you.’

The man smiled politely. ‘My Lord is kind to joke.’

‘That was a joke, was it?’

Now he looked faintly stricken. ‘Forgive me, Lord; I did not know how much of our ways you knew. The Silent Council is solely devoted to this moment, the provision of an opponent for the fourth sign. This is our only field of responsibility.’

‘And not one that’s been so useful up to now,’ Isak murmured. ‘Let’s not delay your big moment, then. Where’s this opponent?’

Sepesian Farray bowed as low as he could and gestured expansively behind him. ‘He awaits you, my Lord. Please, take your seat at the table and he will approach.’

Isak tugged his patchwork cloak tighter around his body and stooped further, as if only now aware of the crowd watching him. Zhia followed him, catching Legana’s eye to ensure that she joined them too. The Lady’s Mortal-Aspect was as much a Xeliache player as Isak, but Zhia apparently thought her worth the third chair.

Isak’s opponent was a young man only a handful of summers older than Isak himself, with scrappy stubble and eyes only for the board. Sepesian Farray took the first of the spare seats, unsurprisingly, while a member of the Sanctum, a tall man with a widow’s peak and jutting chin wearing the white clasp of the Night Council, eventually joined them to take the last.

Isak realised the sense in bringing Legana to the table: not only was she stunningly beautiful, with arresting emerald eyes that glowed in the darkness, but her divine blood would be an added distraction to the religious fanatics.

He copied his opponent and stared down at the boards between them. Heartland was played on two hexagonal boards, with lines marking rows of triangles on each. The smaller was called the heavens and stood on a frame above the main board — that was where the Gods fought, each piece moving from one intersection to the next or descending to the main board. The majority of pieces were called soldiers, a handful of those were the Chosen. This was a plain set of old oak and polished stones rather than the ornate figurines the Farlan preferred, but it was elegant in its simplicity.

Instead of reaching for the pieces, Isak folded his hands in his lap and closed his eyes. This close to Zhia he could taste her presence in the air: the iron tang of blood, the sparkle of magic, the sour antipathy of someone cursed by the Gods. He could sense Legana on the other side of him too; it was a strange balance of Gods and monsters.

Between these two Gods-touched women he felt secure and alive, but all the more aware of the call of the grave. One was bearing the last spark of a dead Goddess, the other had been denied death again and again, and around them both he sensed a storm of torn threads — the loose strands of history’s tapestry, surging wildly.

And here I sit, ready to tie another thread off — to bind it to me and those already bound to me.

He felt the delicate, probing touch of spider-feet on his hands, picking their way with the greatest care over the twists of his scars, then skittered down to the tips of his fingers and bit with obsidian sharp teeth into the flesh of his wrists. Though they pushed into his body he could barely feel them, and he knew he would see nothing if he opened his eyes.

Zhia’s magic was running over his body; it carried the scent of a tomb, but it also washed away the stink of the Dark Place at the back of his mind and he found himself relaxing into the sensation. Just the idea of giving up control made the white-eye in him scream for blood, but Zhia’s touch was as deft as a lover’s, her mantle of centuries a salve to his wounded soul.

Before long his right hand was numb, as if absent from the rest of his body, while his left was a mere echo of presence.

At last Isak opened his eyes to find his hands moving with deft assurance, gathering up a dozen pieces to set them on the board in a starting position that seemed oddly unbalanced to Isak. The set of the starting pieces was up to the individual player; his opponent showed just a flicker of interest in his eyes before he returned to his own pieces.

Isak returned the man’s nod of respect when the last piece was set and said with a frown, ‘How do the little pieces move again?’

Only Sapesian Farray smiled while the spider feet dug a little deeper into Isak’s hand. That time he did feel them properly.