The Grave thief

CHAPTER 26

Suzerain Torl and his troops left Tirah on the first fine morning of the year in Tirah. After weeks of winter misery, the citizens needed no more encouragement than a little sun to fill the streets, however uneasy they were at the sight of unfamiliar uniforms. Mihn stood at his lord's side on a raised stone platform in Bloodletters Square, on the southern edge of the city, watching the troops assemble in the crisp early-morning air.

Only now did Mihn appreciate how sapping to the spirit the weeks of constant rain and gales had been. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders as he felt the morning sun on his skin. People filled the massive square, pressing against each other and against the buildings, to watch the army marching out of the city, and Mihn could see his own smile reflected on everyone's face. The appearance of Tsatach's eye appeared to have done more to diffuse tensions in the city than all of Chief Steward Lesarl's efforts. Even the buildings themselves looked more cheerful as the sun lightened the grey stone and glittered on window-panes.

'How much longer?' growled Lord Isak. He shifted his feet impatiently and his eyes roved over the bustle before him.

'Not long, my Lord,' Mihn replied with excessive cheerfulness. 'Just try to enjoy the sun while it's here.'

'Do I look like I'm enjoying the fucking sun?'

'Not really, but it never hurts to try.'

Mihn's broad smile only made Isak's frown deepen. He'd been unable to sleep further after the meeting in Xeliath's dreamscape and he'd been in a foul mood from the moment he left the Tower. It was only because Mihn knew how volatile Isak's temper was that he was sure the three palace servants would not really be dismissed for this morning's transgressions, and nor would Count Vesna's title be stripped from him because of an argument over a spoon.

'Never hurts to try?' growled Isak. 'It feels like a badger's nesting in my head and this sun really isn't helping.' Isak looked past Mihn to the edge of the large square pedestal they were standing on to watch the troops assembling. 'I could backhand you right off this thing, you know?' he added.

Mihn shrugged and turned back to the sun. 'Perhaps. I'm not sure you're that much quicker than I am, though, not at the moment.'

Isak leaned down so his head was nearly level with Mihn's. 'Think you're so clever? After what you did last night, I don't have to catch you, do I?' The massive white'eye slipped his right hand inside his tunic and smirked coldly. Before Mihn worked out what his lord was talking about, Isak jabbed his thumbnail into the scar on his chest hard enough to break the skin and the smaller man yelped as he felt the same pain.

'Ah, Gods on high!' Mihn gasped as Isak, teeth bared, twisted his thumb in the cut.

'Like that, do you?'

'Shit, ow! No!' Mihn clamped his hand over his own chest, feeling the echo of Isak's scratch magnified by the fact his burn was still blackened and raw.

'Take back what you just said about enjoying the sun?'

'Gods, you're spiteful!' Mihn hissed, moaning as Isak gave another twist of the thumb. 'Ow! Yes, yes, I take it back!'

Isak bared his teeth in a mockery of a grin and lowered his hand. 'Good, now shut up and enjoy the view.'

Mihn winced as the pressure was lifted from his burn and the pain subsided to a hot throbbing. He straightened up, ignoring the puzzled faces of Isak's personal guard who were surrounding the stone block.

'At least I managed to put a smile on your face before you have to speak to the priests,' he muttered, turning away from the irritable thug and to the troop formations ahead.

On the north side of Bloodletters Square was the shrine to Nartis, the only part of the square still serving the purpose for which it had been built. All the grand buildings surrounding it had been extensively converted over the years, and most now housed workers' families. Four thirty-foot-square platforms the height of a white-eye dominated the square itself. They occupied most of the north-eastern corner, leaving space for several thousand men to be formed up on the remaining ground.

During the reign of Lord Atro, Lord Bahl's predecessor, a wealthy nobleman had planned a grand temple complex to overlook the southern gate to the city. The nobleman had died before his plan had come to fruition, and his son had immediately put a stop to the project which would have ruined his family, but the land had already been cleared around the gate and work on the largest of the temples had started. Because space within the city walls was at a premium, Lord Atro's Chief Steward had bought the square soon after, laughingly dubbed it Bloodletters Square and installed the city's principal cattle market there.

As Mihn watched, officers began to give orders and the masses coalesced into discrete blocks of troops. He could see Isak's personal guard were nervous — and with good reason; a significant portion of the religious troops in the city were assembling just ahead of them. Whilst there had been no signs of hostility from the mercenaries, Mihn was well aware how quickly such situations could turn. Soldiers were trained to fight, and one of the first lessons was this: the slowest man to respond was usually the one who died. It was a small step from that to anticipating the enemy and drawing first blood yourself.

'Sometimes I wonder if I'm Farlan at all,' Isak said abruptly. 'Their capacity for hypocrisy knows no limits.'

Mihn turned to him, his eyebrows raised.

Isak pressed fingers into the bridge of his nose to ease his headache and began to explain. 'After weeks of what was virtually civil war, during which the laws of civil, military and cult domains were infringed so comprehensively it's impossible to pick out each individual violation, the clerics still have the gall to pretend their penitents are new to all this.' He pointed at the orderly ranks. 'That they can pretend to have reorganised thousands of men into coherent military units overnight — well, it amazes me, and not least because there's been not a word of objection. Suddenly everything's back to normal, all traditions are scrupulously adhered to, and the cults formally request my blessing on their crusade, acting as meek as lambs now they think they've got what they want.'

'Did you expect anything different?'

Isak sighed. 'You're an actor, and I can understand you being able to adopt a role easily, but to see it on such a mass scale — these rabid zealots, all suddenly smiling and polite — it disturbs me. Folk shouldn't be able to change so easily.'

He pointed to the fringes, where the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings divisions were already assembled and waiting to salute their lord before they left. There were two horsemen not in rank; the functional uniform of the Dark Monks disguised their identity, but Mihn knew the knights were Suzerain Torl and Brother-Captain Sheln.

'Those two are talking to Legion Chaplain Dare, and have been for the last twenty minutes. That bastard's personally hanged six of their comrades in the last few weeks, and yet there they are, making small-talk. I'd have cut him in half by now, but I'm a white-eye — we don't civilise easily.'

Mihn looked at him. 'You don't react in the same way to crisis the way normal folk do either. For everyone else, custom and protocol cushion the blow. It gives them time to accept and rationalise what has happened, and the greater the upheaval, the more easily they accept the established structure. It may not last for long, but it doesn't have to. What sets men apart from beasts is the ability to learn, to adapt.'

'And so they suddenly accept my blessing on their crusade?' Isak said, nonplussed.

'Tradition papers over the cracks in society. When an army leaves Tirah, it should do so under the flag or blessing of the Chosen. The zealots are too delighted with the growing size of their army to care about challenging tradition right now.'

Isak glared in disgust. 'Why should they care? They get to tyrannise those they think aren't sufficiently godly.' He pointed again, this time to the opposite corner of the square. 'Look: men in the uniform of the bloody Knights of the Temples, at least a division of them, and under a runesword standard big enough for a legion. The law hasn't changed overnight, Lord Bahl's edicts on the Devoted haven't disappeared, but today they're allowed to gather under arms because we're all dressed in our finest for a parade. It would be considered…' Isak hesitated, groping for the right word for a moment, 'it would be impolite to arrest them right now.' He shook his head. 'I'll never understand rich people.'

Before Mihn could reply, loud voices rang out over the hubbub and they looked up to see a procession of carriages clattering into the square. Six heralds dressed in a livery of white, blue and red rode ahead, standing in their stirrups and bellowing at the soldiers to clear a path. Each held a fluttering banner, like a suzerain's hurscal.

'Those banners have the snake of Nartis on,' Isak said, narrowing his eyes, 'but those knights don't look like penitents to me.'

'The Cardinal Paladins,' Mihn supplied, almost without thinking. 'I remember Chief Steward Lesarl talking about them; he was amused that the Synod had resurrected the regiment that once protected them. It's made up of devout knights, and the cream of the mercenaries they employ.'

He hesitated and lowered his voice. 'My Lord? Speaking of Lesarl- My Lord, where are your advisors? This is a ceremonial occasion, however false the sentiments, and-'

'They're busy,' Isak said abruptly, shutting his jaw with a snap. He stared off into the distance for a few heartbeats, then turned back. There was a rare look of concern on his face. 'I ordered them to stay away. The reason we came early was because I needed to think.'

'Do you wish me to-?' Mihn began before Isak waved the suggestion away.

'No, not at all. You don't disrupt my train of thought. If anything, you've helped. Did Xeliath not tell you about last night?'

Mihn looked down. 'I wasn't in much mood to listen, I'm afraid. I hadn't realised how draining the ritual was going to be. By the time Xeliath, ah, returned to herself, I was asleep.'

Isak put a hand on the small man's shoulder. 'Of course. I'll give you the brief version.' He rubbed a hand over his stubble and Mihn suddenly realised his mood was not just because of a poor night's sleep — and whatever was something bothering him was serious enough make his eyes look haunted. 'I pretty much grew up on a soldier's potted wisdom; you know that, right?'

Mihn nodded. 'Of course — but Carel's no fool, and it's not led you far wrong, has it?'

'Last time I asked him, the old bugger said he had nothing more to tell me.' Isak gave a sour laugh at the notion that there was nothing more for him to learn. 'He just repeated something he's said before to me, "if it's fear guiding your horse you're riding straight to the ivory gates" — but I guess I ignored it the first time he said it. I didn't think it applied to a white'eye. But now… now I realise it's the answer I've been looking for, the one I think you've been nudging me towards for weeks.'

'What was the news?' Mihn asked quietly, keeping an eye on the cardinal's carriages. They had stopped in the centre of the square. The cardinals would, of course, want to inspect their troops — and show they were in no great hurry for Isak's approval.

'Lord Styrax has moved north faster than we could have possibly imagined; he's taken Tor Salan and will be at the gates of the Circle City soon, in days perhaps. For years — years — I dreamed of Lord Bahl's death; and for the last few I always woke in the certainty that the same man would one day kill me. The man who's marching this way.'

'That means nothing,' Mihn protested. 'Whether the dreams are true or not, the Circle City is a long way from Tirah. It would take one order to have Tor Milist under your direct control, and that gives us miles of open ground to exploit our advantage: the cavalry. However good a warrior Lord Styrax is, he cannot win a battle all by himself- and the Farlan cavalry is the finest in the Land.'

'I agree, so isn't it ironic that I'm sending a chunk of my army chasing after him? This isn't something I can stop without inciting civil war, and if I don't give them support I'm throwing away valuable troops.'

Mihn looked puzzled. 'What are you saying?'

Isak pulled a rolled parchment from inside his tunic. 'This is Special Order Seven, one of Lesarl's pre-prepared contingency plans. You want to know where my advisors are? They're off enact' ing my orders. This order puts the Farlan nation into a state of war.'

'You're marching south?' Mihn gaped at him. 'But why?'

'Because I will have to, and that you know better than you're making out, my friend.' There was no accusation in Isak's expression, just a knowingness more suited to Carel's careworn face. 'You said a few weeks ago that I was haunted by prophecies and other forces that have shaped my life. You told me to accept and work around them, to turn them to purpose, just as I have tried to turn the zealotry of the cults to my gain, You know I can't continue to submit to fear, and if I let my dreams dictate my actions, I will die like Lord Bahl, alone and haunted — and faithful bondsman that you are, you're trying to prepare your own contingency plan.'

Mihn opened his mouth to argue but shut it again when he saw the look in Isak's eye. The Chosen of Nartis was in no mood to be contradicted, especially when he knew he was right.

'I will go south because I believe I must. My goal is not to meet Lord Styrax on the field but to buy enough time to get into Byora. Lesarl's agent Legana — well, former agent — she told me that Azaer's disciples are controlling the Duchess of Byora, that the next step of their plan will be enacted there.'

The white-eye paused and checked to see if the cardinals were close enough for his attention yet. He looked at Mihn once more and thumped his fist against his chest. Mihn felt the echo though the rune linking them.

'At the very thought of going I feel fear; a cold, tight band around my heart. That isn't something I'm used to and it terrifies me, but it also tells me Legana's right: Azaer knows I am a danger — I am strong enough to kills Gods, so a shadow would be no great feat. It has survived so far by being unknown, but now it is my enemy it must use the threat of Lord Styrax to ward me off.'

'It has underestimated a white-eye's aggression then,' Mihn muttered.

Isak shook his head. 'Not really. We are born to fight, but we're also born to survive, no matter what. That means we'll fight with every ounce of strength, but a glorious death holds no interest.' His voice became more urgent. 'You know that, don't you? Nothing of this has been by accident; it is all by design. My dreams have imbued this fear of Styrax into every fibre of my body.

'Meeting him face to face I'll feel like the frightened little boy I have always been in my dreams. Even at my best, I've been one of the Chosen for only a year. Lord Styrax has ruled the Menin for several hundred. He's beaten Koezh Vukotic in a fair fight, and he killed the last Lord of the Menin with a plain sword! In a straight fight against Lord Styrax, I will die, and that I know with a certainty I cannot even explain. And I don't need someone as skilled as you to tell me what happens when you are certain of failure even before the first blow is struck.'

Mihn didn't speak. He was stunned by Isak's honesty — this raw openness wasn't part of Isak's personality, or the military world he lived in. Somewhere in the distance he heard a cough and realised the cardinals were nearing their position, but he couldn't yet tear his eyes away from the young warrior before him.

Isak forced a smile on his face and clapped a hand on Mihn's shoulder. He sagged under the weight as Isak pulled him closer to whisper, 'I think I've guessed what your contingency plan is — let us hope it never comes to that. I'm not sure what frightens me more.'

Mihn nodded dumbly. For a moment he saw complete under-standing in his lord's eyes, and an acceptance that was chilling to behold.

Then the shroud of politics descended, and by the time Isak turned to greet High Cardinal Certinse, the welcoming smile on his face looked almost natural.

Certinse himself looked harried and drawn, not showing the same pleasure as his colleagues at the prospect of riding at the head of a crusade.

'Your Eminence,' Isak called, 'I have excellent news.' He raised the parchment. 'This is Special Order Seven.'

The day passed swiftly, and Isak watched the chaos he had sparked throughout the city with a vague, sour smile. Mihn kept to his lord's shadow and watched him carefully. By the end of the day he still wasn't sure if that displayed amusement was a politician's ruse or — more worryingly, Mihn thought — what Isak thought he should be feeling, and so displayed as a mask, hiding the fear and emptiness within.

Sunset found the pair of them back at Tirah Palace, perched on Isak's high ledge in the chill evening air and watching the activity on the training ground below. Isak had sent two legions of City spearmen with Suzerain Torl, and promised more to follow. He'd also given Torl seven written orders, with instructions to hand them out to every suzerain he came into contact with. The results would be seven of the nearest suzerains joining him within days, accompanied by whatever troops they could muster at short notice; Lesarl estimated that would add some three thousand men to Torl's division of Dark Monks. There were six thousand mercenaries already signed up under a variety of cult flags.

Another division of Dark Monks waited in Saroc's suzerainty, which would take the initial total to ten thousand fighting men. Depending on how long he waited before following them, Isak would bring anything from five to twenty thousand men — and that could treble once word of his Special Order spread. With a few weeks' notice the second-string troops would be mobilised, and that was another fifty thousand men, half of them cavalry and already trained, before they had even to begin recruiting civilians. There was a very good reason why the Farlan was the most powerful nation in the Land and, as Mihn realised during the day, the tribe's military men were keen to remind the rest of the Land of that fact.

'With a full mobilisation, you could beat the Menin,' Mihn commented once he'd finished the prayer to the setting sun.

Isak made a noncommittal sound. 'His victories have been swift and easy so far because his enemies underestimated him; I don't intend to do that.'

'You're going to offer Styrax a chance for peace?'

'A full mobilisation would mean he's massively outnumbered, it's true, but reports from Tor Salan say he's turned the Ten Thousand to his service. If he has time to raise troops in Tor Salan and all the Chetse cities, our advantage is reduced. Narkang will stand with us, but they're not ready for full-scale war. If we have to fight, best we are better prepared and fighting on ground of our choosing-'

'Are we ready? If you send too many of the standing legions south, who will protect our other borders? You do remember the Elven invasion last winter? If you take the bulk of Lomin's troops to the Circle City, the Elven scryers will discover it soon enough. Will Duke Lomin even permit his troops to leave?'

'I've spoken to Lomin already, through those mages I met with earlier. He will provide troops; I've promised him support of another kind.'

Mihn hesitated. Isak's shoulders had dropped slightly as he spoke, as though there was yet another burden weighting them down. 'What sort of support?' he asked in an apprehensive whisper.

'Something only I can offer.' Isak leaned backwards and rolled his massive frame off the ledge and onto the small walkway that encircled the palace's main wing. 'It's something I must do now, even though it may backfire.' He sounded a little unsure of what he was about to do, which was unlike him.

Mihn was worried. 'Isak, shouldn't you rest first?'

'No, twilight's the best time — if you want to stay, keep quiet and don't interrupt.'

Mihn agreed and Isak opened his fleece-lined white cloak and held up one of his Crystal Skulls. Eolis was belted to his waist, and the other Skull was in its usual position, fused to the sword's hilt. Isak was wearing a formal red tunic braided with gold thread underneath the cloak, looking like he'd just stepped out from a banquet.

'Don't be coy, bitch,' Isak muttered, staring into the smooth, dead face of the Skull.

Mihn felt his hand tighten on his staff as the hairs prickled down his neck. Suddenly he couldn't feel the cold night air; a greasy sensation crawled over his exposed flesh instead, as light as a butterfly's touch. He twitched involuntarily and it receded a shade, as an unnatural wind began to whip up from the roof.

'Don't make me draw you out,' Isak snarled. 'You won't enjoy that at all.'

Mihn froze. Oh, Gods, please tell me you're not-

The thought died unfinished as a greenish flicker raced around the rooftop like a lightning bolt. The wind tugged at the corners of Isak's cloak and traced fleeting images of green in the air around the Farlan lord.

A stench of putrefaction and decay came from nowhere, causing Mihn to reel. He covered his mouth, trying not to retch, and flinched as he felt a flash of movement like a rap of knuckles on the inside of his ribs. When he looked up she was there, as beautiful as a shard of blue ice and just as cold, the terrible face of Death's most savage Aspect: the Wither Queen.

Mihn's stomach gave a lurch, out of terror as much as the rancid smell. She took a step towards him, all the tenderness of a conscienceless murderer in her eyes, reaching out to him with fingernails like jagged icicles-

'I didn't summon you here for that,' Isak snarled behind her, making the Wither Queen snap her head around.

Mihn gasped as his heart began to beat once again.

'Why do you call me?' the Wither Queen intoned in a rasping voice. Her limbs were so thin that her bones were plainly visible. In a ragged dress of grey-blue she looked like a corpse come to life.

Her matted black hair was seamed with grey, and on her head she wore a tarnished filigree crown set with unfinished gems. Long scabs marked her deathly-white skin; everything about her spoke of ruin and decay.

'I have an offer.'

She made a sound like a choking man's last breath. Mihn guessed it was a laugh.

'The Reapers do not bargain with mortals, we only hear their pleas.' She took a step forward, her fingers flexing slowly, as though preparing to make a grab at him.

The raised Skull pulsed with bright white light, stopping her in her tracks. 'I'm a busy man,' Isak warned, his voice thick and husky with barely restrained aggression. 'I don't have time for your bluster. You know what this is and you know what I can do with it, so I suggest you listen.'

The Wither Queen continued to watch Isak like a hawk, her fingers constantly in movement, but she didn't refute his words.

After a moment, he continued, 'You are Aspects of Death, tern-porarily beyond His reach, but Aspects nonetheless. Furthermore, you are only one of five. I offer you the chance to become the greatest of the Reapers.'

'You would worship me?' she said mockingly.

'Not only I, but members of my tribe too.'

'Empty promises.'

'Be careful who you call a liar. I can always kill you and make a similar offer to your brothers.'

Mihn saw the look on Isak's face and realised he was half-hoping he'd have the excuse to do just that. He was making no effort to hide his revulsion at the Goddess of Disease.

'What is the price of this worship?' she asked.

'The price is that you scour the forest east of Lomin for a hundred miles; that you take no man, woman or child, but you ensure no Elf walks those parts and survives. I must have the troops that protect the east.'

'What you ask exceeds my power,' the Aspect hissed.

'This afternoon I ordered a temple to your glory to be constructed in Lomin, and shrines built in every town of those parts. The last day of the Festival of Swords shall be your praiseday, when all will worship you for the protection you extend.' Isak hesitated, licking his lips nervously.

Mihn felt renewed fear. There's more? What else is he offering her? Is that not enough?

'If you pledge to protect the Farlan throughout the Great Forest, and hunt down our enemies, I swear that for the rest of my days I shall further your name — the temples funded, the shrines maintained, the people reminded of your plagues.'

'The rest of your days?'

Mihn could hear the hunger in her voice, a sickening anticipation for what could be hundreds of years of service. How powerful would she be by then? What sort of Goddess would they be serving? Would there truly be only one Reaper?

'For the rest of my days,' Isak confirmed. 'Your service must continue as long as there are prayers spoken in your temple in Lomin, and my life is forfeit if I break this vow.'

'There must be a covenant,' the Wither Queen insisted. 'This bargain must be sealed.' She reached her hand out to Isak-

— and before he even knew what was happening, Mihn found himself shouting, 'No! Don't touch her skin!'

Isak hadn't moved. There was a cold set to his face that Mihn had rarely seen. 'Don't worry,' he said, never taking his eyes off the Wither Queen, 'I saw what she did in Scree. I'll not forget the faces of the men she touched.' With a flourish he drew Eolis.

The Wither Queen cringed, keening softly, but Isak ignored her. 'A covenant is required,' he whispered. He touched the edge of his sword to the index finger of his left hand, where the skin was as white as hers. His blood looked shockingly bright in the stark light. As the trickle began to run down his finger, Isak flicked it in the face of the Wither Queen.

To Mihn's disgust she reacted like a dog snapping at a bone, her dead blue tongue flicking out to try and catch the drops.

'An acceptable covenant,' she rasped.

Without sheathing his sword Isak pulled a small silver box from a pocket in his tunic and dropped it at the Wither Queen's feet. 'The covenant is not yet complete,' he warned. 'Break one of your fingernails and put it in the box.'

'You claim a piece of my body, boy?' the Wither Queen demanded with sudden fury, 'a relic of the divine in the hands of a child?'

'Without it there is no bargain.' Isak's voice was controlled and calm; his concentration absolute. The stubborn nature of a white-eye was to pursue every goal relentlessly; to be unshakable until success was won. Often it made them uncaring, even soulless, but, as the Gods had intended, they were more often than not the victors in any struggle.

The Wither Queen snarled and twisted from side to side, as though trying to shake off the bonds of the bargain, but it would be fruitless. Whatever the limitations, the power Isak offered was impossible to refuse. At last the Aspect of Death, hissing like an enraged cat, tore at one fingernail and threw a fragment into the box.

Isak nodded solemnly. 'Then we have a covenant, my Lady,' he said in a far more respectful voice. 'The first prayer to your name shall be spoken at dawn on the steps of Death's temple. I will leave you to your work.'

The Wither Queen stared at the Lord of the Farlan a long moment before whirling away and melting into the wind. The crawling sensation stayed on Mihn's skin until the wind carried it high over the city and away.

Mihn could barely move. He watched in stunned silence as Isak nudged the silver box closed with his boot and dropped a piece of cloth over it. He swiftly wrapped the box and tied it with some grey cord.

'You…' His voice trailed off. 'That was…'

Isak looked up, his jaw tight with anger, but he couldn't hide the tear that fell. 'It was necessary. They're our enemies.'

'But-'

Isak cut him off. 'I know. There's no hiding from it; I can't even count how many will die from this.' He looked down. 'It's genocide, and one more scrap of my soul withers to nothing.'

Isak and Mihn didn't speak for the rest of the evening. Isak knew the condemnation he felt was his own, but he could not bear to look Mihn, or any other of his friends in the eye. He tried to lose himself in a book, but the effort increased his frustration and only Mihn's incredible reactions saved a rare work from the fire.

He felt sick to his stomach, and even his preferred option of drinking himself to sleep betrayed him as he retched up the first gulp of wine.

As a last resort he tried the forge, hoping to lose himself in the sweat and exertion of hammering, but when that failed he drifted back towards his rooms. As he passed through the Great Hall, something caught his eye. He stopped dead and stared at the heavy double doors that were the entrance to the Tower of Semar. They were framed by the wrought-iron wings and head of a dragon, a clear reminder of a task he had been avoiding for far too long.

'Now's as good a time as any,' he said to himself. 'I can hardly say I've got anything better to do.'

From the stairway there came a cough and Tila moved into Isak's view. 'Xeliath was asking for you,' she said with a smile.

'Is it urgent?'

'I don't believe so — she wasn't swearing, anyway.'

'Will you let her know I'll be there later — I've something that needs doing and I've put it off long enough.' At Tila's quizzical look he added, 'The dragon made a bargain with Lord Bahl, not the Farlan nation. I must try and strike the same bargain.'

He wanted to get on with it now. Isak walked into the centre of the room and reached out a hand before stopping himself. Instinctively he had reached towards the symbol on the wall that would carry him up, but for only the second time in his life he needed to go down. He put his hand on the lowest of all the symbols and let it draw a little magic from his body. A torrent of ghostly wings burst into life all around him as he felt the floor rush downwards.

In a moment the swirl dissipated to nothing and Isak found himself in pitch-blackness. He recoiled automatically before creating a ball of light in his palm. Total darkness was a rare thing in his life; it unnerved him. Here in a small, crudely finished stone chamber that more than resembled a tomb, it was worse.

The only exit was a hole in the wall that led onto a long sloped tunnel. As he followed it, walking as quickly as he could without breaking into a run, he remembered the first time he'd walked this way, a little more than a year ago. He found it hard to recognise the youth he had been then: he had changed in every possible way; the snow-white skin on his left arm and shoulder was far from the least welcome.

As he walked he began to detect the strange acrid smell he recalled from his previous visit, and listless threads of dormant magic in the air, drawn to the beast and the magical artefacts that had been entrusted to its care. He reached the cavern sooner than he'd expected and lingered a moment at the crudely cut archway that led in. He allowed the ball of pale blue light to dissipate, blinking to let his eyes adjust. There was the faintest of green tints outlining the room, tracing the flowing line of the ceiling and walls and producing a faint sparkle from the quartz nodules that studded the cavern's central pillars.

'Welcome, Lord Isak,' came the unexpected boom in his head.

He gave a start at the sheer volume, and it took him a moment to gather his wits. He crossed the threshold and entered the cavern, peering around, trying to make out the shape in the gloom that was Genedel. The last time he had been here the dragon had been resting in the centre of the room, between the crystal-studded columns, but he could not see it there now.

'Ah, thank you,' Isak said eventually.

'What brings you to my cavern?' There was a shuffling sound in some far distant corner of the cave which prompted Isak to peer forward.

'I- Where are you?'

'Where I choose to be. The sound you heard was a gargoyle; there are a number of entrances to this cavern system and more than one sort of carrion-eater comes down here.'

Isak froze. It was hard to tell whether there had been rebuke or insult there, but even so, Genedel's words had sounded less than friendly.

'Do they bother you?' he asked tentatively.

T am a dragon; do you think much bothers me for long?'

He swallowed, remembering the sight of Genedel in battle. 'No, no I suppose not. Why do they come down here then?'

'They have their reasons. Some to pick over the bones of my prey, others to escape the dangers of the city. Your breed does not welcome others to its city, and of late I have sensed even daemons walking the Land.'

Isak nodded. 'It's not been a lot of fun for anyone up there.'

'Yet you appear to have thrived. Why have you come down here, young lord?'

Isak hesitated. He was growing increasingly nervous of the fact that he still couldn't see the dragon anywhere. Since it was speaking directly into his mind the only source of echoes were his voice and whatever carrion-eaters were lurking in the dark.

'You had an agreement with Lord Bahl, one that appeared to benefit both the Farlan and yourself.'

'And you come to negotiate?' The edge of hostility in Genedel's tone suddenly magnified. 'Bearing weapons that have killed Qods, you come to my cavern to strike a bargain?'

'I- No! No, that wasn't the reason!' Isak blurted out in protest. He looked down. While he wasn't wearing Siulents, Eolis was buckled to his hip as always and fused around the guard was a Crystal Skull. 'Gods, I didn't even-'

'Those objects have been used to kill and enslave my kind over the millennia,' the dragon snarled, causing Isak to wince and clutch his head. The darkness above him suddenly changed into a swift flowing movement. Isak retreated a pace as the silent swirl of dark curved back on itself and a huge horned head appeared barely two yards away from his own.

'They are not welcome here, and neither are you,' Genedel growled. 'Leave now or negotiations shall be swift!'

Isak heard the low rushing sound of an enormous pair of lungs drawing in breath and took another step back.

'But I didn't-'

'Go!'

Isak stared a moment longer at the dragon's opening mouth and enormous teeth before his survival instinct kicked in and he threw himself to the right, barely managing to stay on his feet as he stumbled through the dark up the slope and back to the palace. As he ran, the roar of an enraged dragon rumbled down the tunnel after him.