‘Apologies, that was not my intended meaning. It would have been more proper to say that we owe much to this village’s destruction.’
‘You’re treading on dangerous ground,’ Lenk growled, scowling at the man.
‘Am I?’
The man’s sword rose with him, so effortless and easy in his grasp. He turned to face Lenk and the young man blanched. The man’s face was cold and stony, a mountain-side carved by eternal sleet. His eyes were a bright and glowing blue, glistening with a malevolence unmarred by pupils.
‘Look at me,’ the man demanded.
‘I am.’
‘You’re not. You look through me. You look around me. You don’t hear me when I try to speak to you and you refuse to do what must be done.’
Lenk rose to his feet. Despite standing the same height as his counterpart, he couldn’t help but feel as though he was being looked down upon.
‘You don’t say anything I don’t already know,’ he retorted.
‘You know nothing.’
‘I know how to kill.’
‘And I have taught you.’
‘I taught myself.’
‘You’re not listening to me.’
‘I am.’
‘Are you aware of what we are?’ the man asked. ‘Are you aware of what we do? What we have done? What we were created to do?’ The man’s eyes narrowed to angry sapphires. ‘Do you see our opponents tremble? Do you hear them scream and beg? Do you remember what we did to the demon?’
‘Only vaguely,’ Lenk replied.
‘Understandable,’ the man said, ‘it was mostly my doing.’
‘I drove the blade into the Abysmyth,’ Lenk replied. ‘I killed it. That’s not supposed to be possible.’
‘Then why will you not say such to your companions? Why will you not answer her?’
‘I don’t want her to worry.’
‘You don’t want to look at her, either. You don’t want to listen to her. If you did, you would know she means to kill us.’
Lenk did not start at the accusation, not raising so much as an eyebrow at the man. Instead, he drew in a sharp breath and looked back over the ridge. Steadbrook continued under the sun, unmoved and unmotivated by the presence of demons or the whisper of swords. He, too, was once so unmoved.
‘Maybe,’ he whispered, ‘that’s not such a bad thing.’
‘What?’
‘Demons can’t be killed by mortal hands.’
‘We are more than mortal.’
‘Exactly my point,’ Lenk replied, looking up sharply. ‘That’s not supposed to happen. She can never know.’
‘Why should she not?’
‘Why should she?’
‘They all should know,’ the man said coldly. ‘They already know we are superior to them.’
‘No, we’re not. I’m just a man.’
‘You? You are weak. We are far more than a man. Why did they follow us? Why do they continue to follow us? Why do we suppress their greed, their hate, their violence and make them do as we say? Even the lowliest of beasts recognise their master.’
‘I don’t want to be anyone’s master,’ Lenk snarled suddenly. He stabbed a finger at the man, accusing. ‘I . . . I want you to go.’
‘Go?’
‘I want you to get out of my head. I want to stop hearing voices. I want to stop feeling cold all the time. I . . . I . . .’ He clutched at his head, wincing. ‘I want to be me, not us.’
The man’s face did not move at the outpour of emotion, did not flinch in sympathy nor blink in scorn. He merely stared, observed his counterpart through cold, blue eyes, his hair unmoved by wind and heedless of sun, just as Steadbrook was heedless of them upon the ridge.
‘Look.’
Lenk blinked and felt cold.
The sun sputtered out like a dying torch, consumed behind a black veil of darkness. The golden fields below were bronzed by the fires engulfing Steadbrook, moving in waves of bristling, crackling sheen. The livestock lowed, their cries desperate to be heard over the roar of fire, their owners and tenders motionless in the red-stained dirt. Shadows moved amongst them and where their black hands caressed, people fell.
Lenk felt his heart go cold, despite the fires licking the ridge. He had seen this happen before, had watched them die before, his mother, his father, his grandfather. He could not recall their names, but he could remember their faces as they fell, nearly peaceful, herded to the darkness upon the whispers of shadows.
‘This . . .’ he gasped, ‘this is—’
‘How we were created,’ the man finished for him. ‘What we were created to stop.’
He caught sight of figures in the distance, out of place against the common folk lying in the streets. These figures fought, resisted the shadows. One by one,