The Grave thief

CHAPTER 35

Kastan Styrax turned the page as his eyes drifted over the words without even registering their meaning. All around him a heavy silence reigned. There was only one other person in the Fearen House, an elderly woman who seemed oblivious of events beyond the library. The fact that Styrax was dressed in a full suit of armour had prompted a puzzled frown when he first entered the building, but it had been momentary.

Had she recalled the provenance of the armour — forged by Aryn Bwr, stripped from the corpse of Prince Koezh Vukotic — that might have sparked her interest, but he guessed she was not sufficiently engaged in the Land's events to make the connection. He'd discovered that even the sounds of a man moving in heavy armour were not enough to disturb a rather deaf academic.

A few minutes more, Styrax thought with anticipation, and I might just capture your attention.

Without warning the great doors of the main entrance crashed open. Styrax heard Kiallas gasp in shock, but he didn't look up. He knew who it would be, just as he knew what he was about to say. Brisk footsteps approached the desk, a man determined not to run for his lord, no matter how urgent the news might be.

'Lord Styrax,' Larim said, in carefully measured tones. In the stillness the white-eye mage's deep voice carried all around the room, echoing up from the tiled floor.

'Lord Larim,' Styrax acknowledged. At last he lifted his eyes from the book and looked directly at Larim. The man wore the patchwork robes of Larat's Chosen, but unlike his predecessor, he had no objects of power sewn into the cloth. Here and there were patches that were encased in silver frameworks, charms of all sorts, but they were all minor, defensive. 'You bring news?'

'Your wyvern has been loaded and awaits your order.'

'Excellent,' Styrax said with a smile. 'How fares the battle?'

Larim shrugged. 'They attack, we defend.'

Styrax could see the man was surreptitiously trying to identify the open book on the desk and he smiled inwardly. Clearly Larim hadn't realised they had been playing red herrings with him, care-fully choosing which books he would see whenever he was in the room.

How disappointing of you, Larim. Even Amber caught on to that one. Today he had picked a book almost at random to read. He had finished his research and solved the puzzle of the heart, so now he was simply waiting for the rest of the Land to fall into place around him.

'A little more detail, if you please.'

Larim's white eyes gleamed as he fought the urge to retort. The Chosen of Larat remained, at heart, as aggressive and argumentative as any white-eye. The more power they gathered, the less willing they were to accept the authority of any other man.

'My coterie tells me they have prevented Chalat from breaking the line. The reserves have joined the battle. Lord Isak's army has not yet engaged; they are stationed in battle order outside Byora.'

'They will have to join the battle soon,' Styrax said confidently. 'Without them Chalat's troops will be slaughtered.'

'Why would he hold back?'

'Why indeed?' Because there's something in Byora he wants — that can be the only reason we've been promised support from the lovely duchess, and why she will provide it. Our friend the shadow feels the pinch. 'Go and join General Gaur,' Styrax said after a moment of thought. 'I will be along presently.'

'As you command,' Larim said icily. He bowed briefly and strode out through the still-open doors. Styrax looked out for a moment and saw the darkening colour of the clouds above the cliff-wall.

'Isak Stormcaller,' he said softly, 'let me educate you on how a master does it.'

He waited a few minutes to ensure Larim was well on his way out of the valley before closing the book. To his mage's senses the library felt dull and dormant; the air was so dry to the taste that there was barely even a flicker of anticipation in his stomach for what he was about to do.

Are the years catching up with me, or does this lack the sense of occasion I felt on Thotel's Temple Plain? he wondered. He stood and looked around the room, ignoring Kiallas's suspicion look. Gesh, the greatest of the winged white-eyes, had abandoned him for the first time since he had arrived at the library. He was busy overseeing their defences, Styrax imagined, leaving the older but no-less-haughty Kiallas as chaperone. So much the better; Kiallas was by far the stupider of the two.

'Kiallas,' he began, noting the slight widening of the eyes, 'have you ever wondered about the puzzle of the heart?'

The white-eye stared at Styrax for a time, then shook his head. 'I do not waste my time with childish games.'

'Of course you don't,' Styrax agreed, 'the duty of the guardians of the library is too solemn for that. I would appreciate it, however, if you would indulge me.' He gestured towards the column in the centre of the library and as he did so, he saw the Litse's hand tighten on the shaft of his javelin.

With exaggerated care Styrax's hand went to a sheath on his belt and he pulled out a trio of stilettos, which he fanned out in front of him. Styrax watched the Litse's face; Kiallas obviously realised it would be foolish to raise the question of what was and wasn't allowed in the library in terms of weapons.

'Please take one,' he said, offering them over hilt-first. Cautiously Kiallas did so, and Styrax walked over to the black stone column. The golden half-sphere at the top gleamed with a warm yellow light, attesting to the purity of the gold that had been used. Styrax knelt down and pointed with one armoured finger to a rune.

'Do you see this rune? Could you put the tip of that knife to the cross-piece?'

'What is all this?'

'I'm going to solve the puzzle, of course, but it requires three daggers to be used at once and I have only two hands. It would be a little undignified if I have to take my boot off,' he said with an apologetic smile, pointing at his armoured foot.

Kiallas didn't share the humour, but it seemed to do the trick nonetheless. Javelin still at the ready, the Litse knelt and placed the stiletto at the appropriate spot, while still contriving to keep his spine as upright as possible. Styrax walked to the other side and took up position. He took a moment to identify the correct runes, then placed the knife-points at the centre of each, one on a horizontal bar across the rune, the other vertical.

'On the count of three, push the stiletto into the stone,' he said.

Kiallas peered around the monument at him. 'In?'

'It will go easily enough. One, two, three.'

The two men slid the stilettos forward in unison, and both felt something inside give way under the pressure. The thin-bladed knives pushed smoothly into the rock until their hilts met the column.

'Now we will turn the whole column to the right,' he said, 'using the handles.' Kiallas, now intrigued, did as he was told and they found it turned with oiled ease until it came to an abrupt halt. Styrax smiled. 'At this point, if it hadn't been for Major Amber, I might have looked a little silly.' He drew one of the stilettos halfway out and turned the column an eighth of a circle back the way it had come. 'Impatience will do that, I suppose,' he added, watching the column rise very slightly as the base moved onto what looked like a sloped track.

Kiallas didn't reply. He was still staring in wonder at the column which had never moved an inch throughout his entire life. Styrax didn't take the lack of conversation to heart; that would be churlish under the circumstances.

Instead, he was still smiling amiably when he whipped one of the stilettos out of the column and into Kiallas's neck.

The razor-sharp blade slid into flesh and bone even more easily than it had into the stone. Kiallas continued to look surprised as his fingers loosened from the knife hilt and his corpse overbalanced. He sprawled untidily on the floor, trapping one elegant wing under his body.

'Interested yet, dear?' Styrax said quietly to the elderly scholar.

Her head remained bent over a parchment; she appeared to have noticed none of the drama being acted out ten yards from where she sat.

'No? Well, I shall not be deterred,' he said and crouched a little lower. He placed his hands on either side of the column and tensed his massive shoulders. With one smooth movement he lifted the column up a good eight inches and let it fall to one side. The solid block hit the tiled floor with an enormous crash, shattering the tiles underneath and — finally — causing the old woman to shriek in alarm.

Styrax respectfully inclined his head to her before looking down into the hole in the ground. There, nestled in a close-fitting depression and surrounded by markings in the same script as those on the column, was a Crystal Skull.

'The Skull of Blood,' he said to himself. 'Three down, nine to go.' He paused. 'Two of which are about to be delivered to me.'

He reached down and pulled the Skull free. He felt a shudder run through the building, followed by a sudden rushing sound that he sensed as much as heard. He stood, taking a deep breath and filling his lungs, and a gasp of pleasure grew into a great laugh as he felt magic flood through his body.

The cool air shimmered all around him as the spell was broken and magic returned to the valley, rolling down from the heavens to fill the parched ground with tang and fire, swirling around Styrax like a lightning-filled storm-cloud.

He blinked as the colours of the Fearen House blazed brighter and more brilliant, while the weight of his armour disappeared. In the grim winter light, tinted in Styrax's eyes by the aching absence of magic, the Fearen House had looked impressive, but soulless. Now he took a moment to admire the building anew, wondering at the glorious grandeur of the high walls and their vibrant, gold-edged flags, staring up at the intricate carvings on the dome's supporting beams.

A soft sound beyond normal hearing drifted through the room and broke his concentration. His quivering senses immediately snapped to attention as he became aware of a slow sense of vastness coming awake: a mind, huge and ancient, but not yet aware.

'Ah yes, the guardian,' he said, looking down at the discarded stone column. With magic coursing through his body the gold looked dull, insignificant. 'The threat that has stayed countless hands. Zhia Vukotic, let this be an object lesson; I am not like the rest of humanity.'

Styrax pushed the Crystal Skull to his chest and held it there until the object melted into the black whorled metal. That done, he headed for the doorway, collecting his helm as he passed and giving the old woman another respectful nod. 'You might want to stay there and keep quiet,' he advised cheerily. 'The librarian is in something of a mood.'

As he walked outside and saw the first shocked faces, Styrax felt the awakening mind growing stronger and more distinct. Looking over towards the gate he saw more Litse guardians milling in disarray, their panicked voices lost on the wind. Through them raced his wyvern, its powerful legs driving it forward in leaping strides until it had the space to unfurl its wings and push up into the sky. It drove forward thirty yards towards its master, but instead of landing in front of him, the creature hung uncertainly in the air, sensing that strange mind.

'Come here,' Styrax growled, letting a shred of magic roll out with his words, redoubling the charm placed on the creature many months ago. It obeyed without a second thought, darting forward so quickly the beastmaster on its back yelped in surprise.

It landed and dipped its head so low it ran its throat over the grass at Styrax's feet. He reached down and patted it, and the wyvern turned its sinuous neck to watch him mount while the beastmaster scrambled off the other side.

'Run,' Styrax ordered the man, 'run for the gate and try to catch up with Lord Larim. Everyone else is panicking, so don't worry about being stopped, just make sure you're not here in a minute's time.'

'What's happening, my Lord?' the man yelled, and as though in reply the ground trembled and shuddered like an earthquake.

'Something even a lifetime in your profession could not hope to control,' Styrax replied. 'Now run, you damn fool!'

The man didn't wait any longer and scrambled back the way he had come, towards the gate leading to Ismess. Styrax checked his saddle and found Elements and Destruction, the two Skulls he had been made to leave in the guardhouse before he entered the library, along with Kobra, his massive fanged broadsword. Its black surface was dull and faded, for it had been starved of both blood and magic for weeks, but some of the lustre returned when he slipped Destruction over the sword's guard. The other he added to his chest as he clipped his dragon belt onto the wyvern's saddle. Above the valley, the air began to shimmer and tremble as the mountain itself heaved underfoot.

Styrax looked around at the library and gave a grunt of acknowledgement. 'It appears everything has gone to plan,' he commented to the wyvern as he gathered the reins that had been tied to the horn of the saddle.

A shadowy blur flashed past his eyes and his sword was drawn and raised in an instant — but the blur continued past him and stopped beside the monument to Leitah a dozen yards away. His mouth filled with the bitter, coppery tang of magic, but even as he drew on the Skulls fixed to his armour, the dark swirls evaporated to reveal a figure in armour very like his own. The ground shook once again, even harder than before, accompanied by the groan of tortured rock.

The figure turned to look at him. Styrax knew immediately who it was, and why the black whorl-patterned armour completely enclosed the body, hiding it from the weak sun. He looked back and saw another figure on the cliff behind. The distance was too great to make out much more than a black silhouette against the sky, but he did not need to guess its identity.

'Surely not here for revenge?' he murmured, readying his defences.

As though in response the armoured figure turned appraisingly to the great crescent-shaped mound of earth that sheltered the monument.

So, Zhia, what do you do now? Nai wasn't wrong when he said the face on the monument looked familiar, was he? You brought your father's corpse here for a final resting place and set a terrible guard- Styrax stopped dead. Gods. Unless I've underestimated you…

'Leave now,' Zhia called over the sound of a mountain trembling, her voice rolling like thunder around the valley. 'Leave, or we will kill you.'

Styrax looked back at the other figure, who drew his sword to add weight to the point. Both with Skulls, two immortals together? Not the best odds.

Zhia did not wait for a reply but kicked the stone monument. The solid block tipped onto its side as easily as an upturned chair, but Styrax felt the heavy thump reverberate up through the wyvern's body as tonnes of stone were smashed asunder.

'Leave!' she commanded with bone-shaking volume. Styrax knew he wouldn't get another warning. He gave the reins a tug, but the wyvern had no wish to linger in the presence of these alarmingly powerful creatures and hurriedly began flexing its pale blue wings before leaping up into the sky. Three strong strokes took them to cliff level and into a rising thermal before Styrax wheeled the beast around so he could watch events unfold beneath him.

The sour taste of having been bested filled his mouth. He watched as Zhia looked once more at the mound of earth beside her, then she punched the underside of the monument with her mailed fist. The stone shattered under the impact and Styrax saw a momentary blaze of white light burst out.

If her father's grave was underneath the monument, she paid it no attention — but that hardly surprised Styrax as he realised what she was doing. She hit the underside of the stone again, and again, and as the shards of stone fell to the ground a massive pulse of energy was expelled.

Even up in the sky Styrax felt a wave of dizziness envelop him, but he still saw as Zhia collected a shining object.

She quickly wrapped it in a length of cloth, binding it tightly, before drawing her sword and stowing the wrapped object on her back instead. There was a strange ripping sound and she turned back as the ground split open like a gigantic chrysalis, ripping further and further along the spine of the mound as something pushed forward from underneath.

A massive soil-coated shape, still indistinct, lifted itself up, one foot, then two, three feet, before dropping again, and Styrax saw a gleam of emerald appear further along the mound as the earth fell away…

Then the mound burst open as the dragon inside drove up and twisted its body to free itself from the constricting earth. Its wings were tightly furled and coated in dirt still, but he could tell the beast was huge, even by the standards of dragons. Its movements were lazy, as to be expected after a magically induced sleep, but with every passing second Styrax felt its presence swell.

Unbidden, the wyvern climbed further up into the sky, desperate to be away from its vastly larger cousin. This time Styrax did not stop it. He was dazed by what he had just witnessed, but after a moment the instinct for self-preservation kicked in and he turned his creature west, towards his army. The puzzle of the heart had been clear: it kept a dragon sleeping, and that beast, if ever awakened, would turn on the one who solved it. There had been no mention of the Crystal Skull, but Styrax had guessed at the mechanism for keeping the dragon asleep and knew perfectly well a dragon's preference for mages. That was why he kept Lord Larim back; experience with the Skulls had shown Styrax they were almost impossible to sense when not being used so it was likely the dragon would go after the nearest powerful mage.

Now, with the Farlan army so close at hand, he had a distraction to serve several purposes.

Yet she fooled me still, he thought with growing wonder and disbelief. He was scarcely able to believe what he had seen — and he was relieved he had not thought to stay and fight Zhia. He had made that decision thinking two immortal vampires bearing Crystal Skulls would probably have proved too much, even for him. But with one of them wielding Aenaris, the Key of Life itself? Not even the Qods could stop them!

The cavalry smashed into the Menin lines and men and horses screamed and roared and fell. Amber found himself beside Captain Hain, huddled behind their shields which were resting on the boundary wall. Behind him infantrymen filled the small patch of ground. The wall was little more than rubble for half of its length now, but that had been enough to blunt the worst of the Farlan charge and now the Menin crossbowmen were making their shots count.

Amber felt a spear bite into his shield and nearly rip it from his grasp. He lunged blindly forward and caught the horse in the throat. The beast reared and threw itself backwards, shrieking as it fell, trying to avoid its rider. The scimitar was torn from his grip, so Amber wrenched the spear out and brandished it at the next man who came for them. Behind him he heard the frantic shouts of the officer commanding the bowmen, and the heavy stamp of another infantry company moving up.

Half of the Farlan were now on foot, charging with remarkable fervour. Amber could see his men were easily getting the better of the ragged mercenaries, but among them were men of an entirely different calibre. A knot of knights smashed their way through the line where the wall had fallen, hacking their way through as their warhorses kicked and stamped a bloody path. Red and white ribbons fixed to their armour danced furiously in the breeze.

'Take them down!' Amber yelled to the arriving infantry. The men levelled spears and charged into the half-dozen knights. The nearest was impaled, but he protected the rest, who turned straight into the company, driving into the ranks to get past the reach of their spears before chopping down on every available target. Two crossbow bolts slammed into the rearmost knight, throwing him from his saddle, but the others ignored him, intent on causing as much damage as possible. At last, enough of the pressing infantry managed to bring the knights down one by one, though taking heavy casualties right to the last moment.

Amber and Haim led the charge to close the gap, running forward with a squad close behind. More troops were running for the breach, led by an unnaturally tall figure swathed in shadows and carrying a pair of long scimitars.

'Piss and daemons, that looks like Haysh!' Amber shouted in shock. The figure was thinner and paler than the icon above the training ground of his youth, but that was no surprise — Haysh the Steel Dancer was a Menin Aspect of Karkarn after all. The Farlan version would reflect its own worshippers.

He threw the spear over-arm at the Aspect, but it slipped out of the way, turning the movement into an elegant double-slash that cut away first shield, then arm, of the nearest man on the other side of the breach. Amber drew his remaining scimitar and swung it in a high circle as he closed on the Aspect.

'With me,' he yelled to Hain, guessing the Aspect would recognise the style of fighting taught in its own temples and see him as the greatest threat. 'Stay tight and go low!'

The men rushed forward together. A sharp cold wind swept around them as they came within feet of the Aspect, but Amber didn't have time to worry about that. Keeping their momentum they charged the Aspect, which aimed a wide cut at Amber, momentarily stopping their run, and then gave ground. The squad rounded Hain, pikes levelled, and Amber lashed out twice, but was parried with ease each time. The squad charged, forcing the Aspect to turn and use both swords to drive them back. Amber struck out again, giving Hain the opening he needed to cut deep into the Aspect's left arm.

Black blood spurted out over the ground and the minor God gave a hiss of pain. Its left arm dropped under the sword's weight, but it didn't slow for even a moment as it cut down on Hain's raised shield. The captain fell, but Amber was already stepping into the fight, cutting into the Aspect's neck, trying to bring it down. As the body hit the ground he heard a scream in the background and glimpsed a priest reeling, then the Aspect exploded into black flames.

Amber grabbed Hain and dragged the man back, letting the squad turn and lock shields as more Farlan soldiers attacked. Overhead the air was filled with a dozen golden arrows; one of Larim's battle-mages stood with hands outstretched, surrounded by a corona of painfully bright golden light.

Amber knelt down and rolled the man onto his back. 'Hain, still with me?' he asked urgently.

'Bastard,' coughed Hain, his face contorted with pain, 'didn't have to drag my face over the ground!'

Amber grinned; swearing was a good sign for an injured man. He leaned over to get a better look at the wounded arm, but it looked as if the pauldron had taken the worse of the blow; the thick steel rim was cut all the way through, as was the shield that had been above it. Blood was running freely from Hain's shoulder.

'Gods, man, you bleed more easily than a virgin in a barracks,' Amber joked. He got to his knees and started to haul the smaller man up. 'You'll live, get that bound up.'

'Aye- Shitfuckingdamn!' Hain gasped, his eyes widening.

Even before he turned, Amber could see the reflected yellow glow in Hain's eyes. A party of horsemen drove into the Menin line, knights and priests alike led by the enormous yellow-robed figure of Lord Chalat himself. The white-eye was silent and focused, striking left and right with a huge copper broadsword, a gauntlet of flame encasing his left hand. As Amber watched, the huge white-eye punched one Menin soldier and the man was thrown back nearly twenty feet, flames spreading over his body before he even hit the ground.

'Gods, where are the Reavers?' Amber called.

As if on cue, a deranged shriek of fury and ecstasy cut the air. In the east he saw a large man crouched almost flat on an enormous blade-edged shield, two more following on in quick succession, but they disappeared behind the mass of cavalry swarming around the enemy lines.

'Shit, they're off target,' Amber realised, looking around him to see what troops he had left to repel the attackers. The newly arrived reserves lost no time in heading towards the beleaguered line, but he realised they wouldn't be enough if there were any more Aspects or breaches. The battle-mage behind him had fallen silent, the golden corona replaced with a faint greenish glow, and his expression was one of total concentration as he focused entirely on the Chosen of Tsatach.

The major turned back to Chalat in time to see a crossbow bolt wing him in the fleshy part of his bicep. The wound wasn't deep, looking at the way he tossed his sword to his left hand, but perhaps it would be enough.

'You can defend against him?' Amber yelled to the battle-mage.

The man looked bewildered for a moment, then nodded. 'Directly; only for a few seconds.'

'Then defend me,' Amber yelled, and without giving the mage a chance to reply he turned and snatched up Hain's long spike-tipped axe in his left hand. With his scimitar in his right Amber sprinted towards the huge white-eye, cutting a bloody path through the defenders. Chalat had kicked a hole in the wall and pushed a few yards past his allies, fighting with all the skill of the Chosen, despite using his left hand. Amber had always been quick, especially for a big man, and now he ignored the fighting to put every last ounce of strength he had into the sprint.

Twelve yards to the breach, eight, five — a warm glow enveloped him as the mage wrapped a protective cloak over him. He saw Chalat glance around at the movement and flick a wrist in his direction. A lance of flame spat out just before he reached his target and was deflected by the battle-mage's protective wrap. Amber flinched, but kept running. One yard away and he launched himself towards Chalat with a scream of triumph, his scimitar whistling around towards Chalat's neck.

The white-eye moved faster than Amber could see and his vision went white as fire wrapped his body. Again it was deflected away, just in time for him to see Chalat had turned right around, his broadsword raised to catch Amber's sword. When the blades connected, with Amber's full weight behind the blow, he felt his body savagely jerked back as Chalat's arm didn't give an inch. Pain flared in his wrist as it snapped, but momentum carried him around. Now with no thought to his own survival Amber thrust the axe forward, slamming it into the centre of Chalat's body.

The spike drove in deep as Amber's face collided with the white-eye's. It felt like hitting an oak tree. He felt the axe head crunch against Chalat's breastbone, then the weapon was knocked from his grip and stars burst in his eyes as gravity embraced him once more. He fell back and the sky turned purple as the weight of his scimitar twisted his broken wrist around, then his head and shoulders hit the ground and sudden, shocking darkness enveloped him.

Advancing at a canter, the Farlan cavalry forded one river, then the next. Ahead of them were screens of light cavalry divisions, who had raced ahead to allow the heavier troops the ease of an uncontested crossing. He could feel a presence behind him, watching his back as they headed towards the battle. Byora had been so quiet all day that it fuelled his paranoia, but Isak knew he could spare no more than the legion of light cavalry he had stationed outside the quarter.

He fought the urge to squirm in his saddle, fearful both of what lay behind and what was ahead, and going against every instinct by marching between them. All around him fluttered the bright clashing colours of the Farlan nobility and their hurscals: six hundred heavy cavalrymen, the centre of the Farlan line. The men were hushed, apprehensive, the nerves wound taut. All around him men were gripping their weapons just a shade too tightly, even Count Vesna, and many were being a little too severe with their horses. The hero of the Farlan was silent, his attention fixed on some vague point in the distance, his visor down, so it fell to General Lahk to keep Isak informed. With every piece of news, and each word of advice, Isak's world grew darker.

On the left flank, Suzerain Torl was fighting a slow and controlled retreat; drawing back from the Menin lines, but taking heavy losses whenever they engaged with the minotaurs. In the centre and on the right flank chaos reigned; the Farlan were being driven back in on themselves by the steady push of the Menin reserves. Though he was being outflanked, Chalat was neither retreating nor regrouping.

The Menin centre had repelled several attacks and were refusing to be drawn off their positions, content to wait for their cavalry as they worked their way around. According to his scryers, without the heroics from the light cavalry, the entire crusade would have been wrapped up and slaughtered by now — but even so, they weren't going to last much longer.

'My Lord, may I order support to Suzerain Torl?' General Lahk asked.

Isak looked at the three divisions of Ghosts and one light cavalry legion. 'You may — send the First Guardsmen and the Fordan-Tebran legion to Torl's command.'

Lahk gave the order and soon troops were wheeling away, the light cavalry leaping ahead of the Ghosts to reinforce Torl's bele-aguered troops as soon as possible. Isak was left with a division of Ghosts on his left flank and three legions of light cavalry on his right, with one of each as rearguard.

'Tirah legions advance to right flank attack?' asked General Lahk, sticking rigidly to protocol.

Isak repeated the command back and the order was sounded. The right-hand legions began to move ahead of the centre, peeling off to attack the rear of the Menin reserves. Isak couldn't see what was happening; he had to trust Lahk's experience, all the while his nerves were jangling like wind-chimes in a gale.

Another hundred yards on, and the view opened out.

Parting before the steady advance, a straggly group of Farlan cavalry broke left as their assailants gave ground to the right. The battered regiments wore the dark robes of penitents, so Isak knew the ordered troops with white lances were Menin cavalry. They were retiring to ensure their infantry weren't encircled, not realising it was Farlan heavy cavalry facing them. As they moved, the Menin infantry units were revealed like the sun through parting clouds. Isak felt his heart quicken.

'Sound the advance!' he roared, not needing Lahk's prompting.

The pace of the heavy cavalry immediately quickened, every knight realising they could shatter the heart of the enemy's reserves. Two hundred yards, the gap closing fast. Some instinct made Isak look up and his heart lurched as he saw the winged shape of a wyvern passing high overhead.

'The sands are falling', crooned the Headsman at the furthest recesses of Isak's mind; 'the hunter is calling.'

Isak shook his head and drove the voice from his mind, flooding his body with the eager fire of magic from his Crystal Skulls. He felt his hands tremble momentarily as the intoxicating energy surged through his veins and wrapped him in a warm cocoon of power.

The enemy ahead snapped into focus, and in the confines of his helm Isak heard his breathing turn to a growl as his muscles tightened with anticipation. His shoulders ached with power begging to be released, and now he was only too glad to oblige. Raising Eolis he roared the order to charge that was echoed by every man with him, and he unleashed the fury of the storm.

A blinding burst of lightning flew from the tip of Eolis, forking in the air and lashing the ground once, twice, before snapping across the front rank of infantry in an explosion of sparks. Isak barely heard it, for he was near-deafened by the hammer of hooves surrounding him, but it had the desired effect for he saw the bodies on the ground and the hole torn in the front rank for the Farlan to charge through.

Toramin barely slowed as they hit the enemy. Isak felt the impact as man after man was smashed to the ground by the huge charger's armoured chest. He cut left and right, shield held low, barely seeing the men he killed. Beside him he heard Vesna bellowing even more wildly as blood flew, weapons glanced off him, men screamed and cried and died.

The Farlan cavalry battered a path into the heart of the enemy legion, leaving only crushed and broken bodies in their wake. As their momentum slowed, many knights dropped their lances and grabbed the weapons hanging from their saddles. Only Vesna and Isak had swords in their hands; the rest hacked at the enemy with axes and maces — heavy, brutal blows that crushed skulls and removed heads. In the centre of it all, Isak roared, putting every ounce of unnatural strength into each cut and revelling in the jarring impacts. Eolis cut steel and bone with equal ease as Isak used his shield to batter weapons away and smash faces to pulp.

In moments or minutes, he could not tell which, the enemy fled under the onslaught. Many threw their weapons down and ran blindly, racing for the safety of the Menin line, which had now turned to face the Farlan. Isak screamed his frustration as he saw them run and drew on the Skull again.

He reached up and brandished Eolis above his head, and in the glittering blade's wake, silvery threads appeared, and spun and spun at a blinding speed until Isak threw the swirl after the fleeing soldiers. Though it barely brushed the first, it ripped his arm and shoulder away, and streaked on past the shrieking man into the main bulk of soldiers. Everyone it touched was thrown to the ground, blood fountaining from a thousand cuts; those it engulfed simply disappeared in a crimson blur.

Isak released the stream of magic and panted for breath. The knights with him were cheering as they watched the enemy flee. He looked lower and saw the brutalised remains of the Menin infantry, a carpet of corpses spread out behind him.

'That's what it's about, my Lord!' yelled a man beside him, his voice ragged from heaving breaths and elation. Isak didn't recognise the crest for a moment before his memory kicked in: rose petals and a dagger; that's Suzerain Lehm.

'Showed the bastards what a heavy cavalry charge can do, eh?' Lehm gestured at the slaughter all around him and Isak realised he was right. Half of the dead would have been killed by the steel-shod, armoured horses.

'We've no time yet for celebration,' General Lahk roared, his voice carrying over the clamour, 'form up!' Men jumped to obey as the familiar repeating warble of the horns rang out. Light cavalrymen rode forward in pursuit of the routed troops, looking to cut them down before they reached safety.

As Isak watched, the Menin cavalry regained some semblance of order and started preparing to repel the Farlan soldiers — then a cry came from behind him as someone shouted, "Ware! Attack — attack from the city!' The alarm in his voice was plain for all to hear, and Isak turned at once and began to force his way through the crowd, Vesna close behind him, leaving the general to berate hurscals and nobles alike for not reforming quickly enough. Somewhere near the back, a hurscal in Suzerain Foleh's colours called out, 'Don't know how it happened, but judging by the way they're running, looks like someone's just torn through that legion.' The man, who didn't appear much older than Isak himself, was standing in his stirrups, pointing back towards Byora. Despite his youth he sounded assured, like a veteran.

Isak could see the reserves were already turning; doubtless they'd heard the bugle calls from the legion guarding the entrance to Byora.

'There's never a bloody scryer when we need one,' Isak growled.

He closed his eyes and placed one hand over the Skull fused to his cuirass, drawing deeply on its energy again. A cold wave surged through his mind, making him gasp with shock. He centred himself, breathing slowly and deeply, and closed his mind off to everything but the steady rhythm of his beating heart for a moment before sending his senses soaring high up into the brooding sky. He ignored the angry swirl of clouds and concentrated instead on the Land below. The wind rising up off the ground carried the damp smell of earth and the tang of spilled blood. He could feel the remaining priests and Aspects as a gentle fizz at the back of his mind; Kastan Styrax was a bright burning beacon, his Crystal Skulls causing a spark of sharp pain until Isak managed to block him. He felt a sense of great age wash over him when he looked north: whatever was attacking them was old, very old. At the back of his mind a presence stirred, then all of a sudden there was a rushing sensation and he yelped, throwing up a hasty wall around his mind before realising he didn't need the defence, he wasn't under attack. Something had left him — maybe not entirely, for he thought he could still detect a thread of energy connecting them — but it had found the strength to cross the battlefield. The Soldier, he thought, the Aspect of Death who is at his strongest on the battlefield-

He paused, suddenly struck by something: the presences out on the field felt remarkably similar to the Soldier, more like divine than mortal. Before he could investigate further, a stirring in the east grabbed his attention. When he turned in its direction, a vast presence suddenly locked its gaze onto him, and in that instant Isak sensed rage beyond anything he'd experienced before, even surpassing that fury that had almost consumed him in his first battle.

Isak didn't wait to find out any more but broke the flow of magic and forced his eyes open.

Vesna, his face-plate raised, was peering anxiously at him. 'Gods, that's never a good sign,' he said, not even trying to sound light' hearted as Isak pulled his helm from his head and tried desperately to suck in air.

Isak shook his whole body, like a wet dog. 'Wasn't my fucking fault this time,' he gasped, 'but something's waking up on Blackfang.'

'What do you mean, waking up?' Vesna said in dismay. 'And something! Do you mean another water elemental?'

'No such luck — whatever it is, it's far bigger.' He paused, trying to place the sensation, then a memory stirred in the back of his mind. 'Gods,' he breathed, 'it reminded me of Genedel.'

Vesna blanched. 'There's a bloody dragon about to attack us?'

'Me,' Isak corrected him; 'it's about to attack me.'

'What did you do to it?'

Isak snapped, roaring, 'Nothing!' as he shoved Vesna with such force that he almost toppled from his saddle. 'For once it's not my damn fault!' He looked back at the Menin line and snarled, 'And it's not our only bloody problem either — whatever's attacking from By or a is kin to the Reapers.'

'Kin?' Vesna thought for a moment. 'Piss and daemons; those bastard sons of Death. It's the Jesters. We hoped they'd died in the fires of Scree, but looks like no such luck. Cockroaches always find a way to survive, don't they?'

'I doubt leaving Azaer's employ is an option either,' Isak said grimly, 'dead or alive. But more important: right now we're surrounded.' Their plans hadn't included fighting their way out of a trap — none of the scryers had found enough troops to entrap a mounted army, and the legion stationed at Byora's gate should have been enough to stop any surprise sorties. 'Suggestions?'

Vesna looked down at his wrist, then towards the Menin lines. His mouth opened a little, then closed again as indecision took over.

'Nothing?' Isak asked. 'Do you think we might be able to rout the Menin with an all-out push?'

Vesna gave a helpless shrug. 'I don't know. They're formed up now, so we won't catch anyone alone out in the open.'

He looked around at the Farlan light cavalry regiments on either side of them. They were able to strafe the enemy lines, whilst remaining manoeuvrable enough to dodge any potential counterattacks. In the distance, the drums on the Menin lines beat out an ominous tattoo of orders he couldn't understand.

'We can't just stand here,' Vesna muttered, thinking aloud. 'If we call a full retreat we'll have them snapping at our heels, but as long as we can break through the Jesters, it should be manageable. If we push on… Well, I've no idea what we're going to meet.

They know they only need to blunt our attack, and what with the Reavers, the minotaurs and Lord Styrax himself, they've pretty much got the weapons to do it.'

'Fuck,' Isak breathed as he turned back to the eastern horizon, his mouth dropping open.

For a moment Vesna couldn't see what had attracted Isak's attention. He scanned the outline of Blackfang in vain before realising Isak was looking higher: at an indistinct black shape that was climbing, slowly, ponderously, into the sky.

'Gods…' Vesna stared at the shape, trying to gauge just how large it was, but he gave up. There was no point. 'That is what's coming for you?'

Isak sighed. 'I don't think it cares who I am, but it's angry, and I just waved a bloody great big red rag in front of it.'

'Can you stop it?'

'How? With the Skulls? Give me a decade of training and maybe — but right now the only thing I know how to do that will stop something like that is to call down the storm, like I did in Narkang. If I do that, no one near me will survive.'

'What about your companion?' Vesna asked, his voice lowered. He looked over his shoulder, checking no one was near enough to hear their conversation.

'If I gave him the control he needed, I'd never get it back,' Isak admitted.

'The last grains are falling,' whispered a voice at the back of his mind, as if in response to Verna's question. It sounded gleeful and malevolent. 'TKe Master comes for you.'

Isak froze. There was a certainty in the Headsman's voice that he'd not heard before, like the finality of a tomb door slamming shut.

Gods, this is really it.

He tightened his grip on the reins as a wave of lightheadedness washed over him, making him sway. The clamour of battle seemed to fade away until all he could see was the naked blade of Eolis lying across his lap and the dark shape in the sky as it began to labour towards them.

'If we stay, we're all dead,' Isak stated.

I feel it drawing inc. My dreams have drawn me here. The threads that bind me — whether prophecy, fate or a shadow's.scheme — have brought me to this place, and there will be no escape. They hold me too tight-

Vesna unknowingly interrupted Isak's dark thoughts. He raised his left hand and said clearly, 'That might not be so, my Lord.'

As Isak looked at him, he struggled with his vambrace and continued, 'There's something… I didn't want to tell you — I was frightened to tell you, but-'

'It doesn't matter,' Isak said, cutting him off.

'It does!' Vesna insisted, giving up the struggle and using the edge of his sword to cut the vambrace away. 'I can create a diversion for you: something that will give the Menin so much to think about that you'll be able to break through the Jesters.'

'No, my friend, you couldn't,' Isak said sadly. He watched as General Lahk rode through the knights, saluting his lord even now as the men fell silent. They surrounded Isak and Vesna with a ring of steel, and though they couldn't hear the conversation, they watched the two men, somehow aware that something momentous was unfolding.

'My Lord,' Vesna yelled, trying to get Isak to pay attention, 'listen to me!'

Finally Isak focused on his friend.

Vesna said out loud the words he had been repeating to himself, over and over again, for so long. 'The night I was attacked in Tirah, Karkarn came to me and offered me the chance to become his Mortal-Aspect.' He succeeded in pulling off his vambrace and tore off the bandage on his wrist. He pulled out a teardrop-shaped ruby and held it up. 'He gave me this. All I need do to seal the bargain is to cut my cheek with it.'

'And what would you do then?' Isak asked quietly. 'Would you take on an entire army by yourself? Would you stand back-to-back with the God of War as the two of you fight his own Chosen and a dragon? You don't know if it'll even pay you any attention.'

'It will give you a chance,' Vesna insisted, emotion making his voice hoarse. 'If we stay here and do nothing, then we are all dead!'

'I know.' Isak let the words hang in the air for a moment.

He beckoned Lahk over and said, 'General Lahk, I believe you to be a man who will follow orders, to your death if necessary, is that so?'

The general said nothing, but he inclined his head. His helm was

still on, so Isak couldn't see any expression on his face, but he doubted the man was anything but his usual impassive self.

'Good. If you do not obey this order, I will kill you where you sit. Do you understand me?'

'Isak!' Vesna yelled desperately, but the white'eye raised a hand to stop him.

'General Lahk, sound the retreat,' Isak continued. 'Lead these men back the way we came. Do not- Do not stop, not for anything nor anyone. This battle is lost; all that remains is to salvage what is left. Do you understand?'

Lahk nodded again and turned to his bugler beside him. 'General retreat to all legions,' he repeated solemnly.

'Vesna, my friend,' Isak continued while the order was being called, 'no matter what you do, what bargain you make, you cannot buy the army the time it needs. I need you to lead this army from the front — or I will kill you too.'

'But-'

'No more.' Isak raised Eolis and took hold of the Skull that was fused around the guard like a coating of ice. 'Take Hunting with you; there's no need for both of them to fall into enemy hands.'

'You can't,' Vesna said weakly.

'I can.' Isak smiled as he felt the weight of the Land lift from his shoulders. In the distance the dragon was closing, but he still had time. 'I never was much of a gambler — never had the patience for it — but it looks like I'm going to learn the hard way. Carel used to say a man was measured by the quality of his friends — I'm not sure what that says for my youth because I didn't have any friends, but now I hope he was right.'

He slipped from his saddle and handed the reins to Vesna. 'I'm about to take the greatest gamble of all, but at last I'm not afraid. I'll trust the quality of my friends to see it through.'

Awkwardly, he held out an arm to Vesna, who stared at it in shock for a moment before taking it.

'Goodbye, my friend,' Isak said simply. 'Thank you.'

And with that he turned around and walked towards the Menin line. The Farlan knights parted before him, some staring in bafflement, others saluting the silver-clad giant. He could hear the repeated orders being relayed throughout the legions, and the clamour as his men hurried to obey his last order.

Vesna too heard the sound of the general retreat, but he couldn't focus on it, not even when a hurscal grabbed his arm and yelled something in his face. He could make no sense of the man's words…

Then General Lahk roared, 'Count Vesna, you have your orders! Lead the way, man!' and Vesna shook himself.

He looked up at the man who'd commanded him all the years he'd served in the Ghosts. His eyes inevitably fell to the ruby sitting in his palm, then he turned back to watch Isak as the white-eye walked calmly towards the enemy army, already wrapped in crackling coils of lightning.

Qods preserve you, my friend, he thought and raised the ruby to scratch the skin below his eye. An unusually sharp sting flared on his face and he instinctively jerked his hand out of the way — before realising that the ruby had stayed there. He tried to pull it away, but realised it was now fixed to his cheek — yet that was the least of his concerns as he felt himself surrounded by shadows. He saw horror on the hurscal's face before the man was hidden from sight by a swirling funnel of darkness. A fire burst into life in his belly.

All at once he felt every injury he'd ever received, every battlefield scar, cut and bruise flared to life, and Vesna howled at the excruciating pain, his head turned up towards the sky. He felt the shadows surge down his throat, driving him backwards, almost off his horse, before he caught his balance. His nerves burst into life, as if they were a map of sensation tracing every inch of his body. The screams and clamour of past battles echoed in his ears.

'My general,' said Karkarn in his ear, so deafeningly loud that Vesna felt the words reverberate through his whole body and remain, shuddering, in his bones. All around him he suddenly felt raw power, both terrible and beautiful in its savagery, and his muscles flooded with sudden inhuman strength. His vision cleared and the whole battlefield stretched out before him so he could see every curve and contour of the ground ahead. He could feel the fear in the eyes of his distant enemy, he tasted the blood on the wind.

'Raise your sword, my general,' Karkarn cried, 'we go to war!'

Isak felt the coursing power increase with every step he took as, unchecked, the magic from the Skull grew into a furious storm.

The air shuddered under the assault and the ground beneath his feet trembled as the grass was slashed and torn by the lashing coils of energy. Up above clouds swirled closer, lowering and rumbling over the plain.

His senses were opened so wide to the Land around him that he could smell the dragon now; its presence was impossible to ignore. Isak was surrounded by a corona of blistering light as he walked towards the Menin troops. Behind him he sensed the sudden divine aura of Karkarn manifesting, but he forced himself to ignore it. He was close enough now that he could see the horror on the faces of his enemy, terrified by the gross display of unrestrained power.

Some nervous eyes began to turn east, to where the dragon was becoming clearer, but most remained on him as the raging corona surrounding him began to form into a cohesive mass. Distantly, Isak felt magic striking his shell of translucent white fire shell, but it spluttered into nothing as it hit the raw power.

As he felt the dragon near him, he raised his shield above his head, sending a wavering column of light up into the massing clouds. The storm responded to him and Isak felt the ear'Splitting crash of lightning assail his protective cocoon. He looked up to see the enormous beast check its momentum, throwing its vast tail forward and its head back as another bolt of lightning split the air, then another.

Isak continued onwards; he knew he couldn't control such a monstrous amount of magic for long without burning his mind out. Fifty paces from the enemy line, a bolt struck the huddled troops, tearing a hole in the ranks. He added his own power to that and heard the screams as magic set a dozen or more alight.

More lightning fell, the frequency and intensity increasing with every strike. Hanging in the air the dragon wheeled and turned, searching for a safe path through the supernatural lightning to Isak. It roared in pain, its voice rivalling the thunder that boomed out over the plain. Its scaled body shone with emerald light as the lightning raced over its body.

Driven backwards, the dragon reeled from the blow, but not even the power of the storm was enough to knock the monster from the sky. It had enough height to recover, and it used its gigantic pale green wings to heave its way up again. Isak sensed the beast's shock, but its rage was undiminished. As best he could, he directed the storm towards it and was rewarded by the sight of the dragon retreating another few hundred yards before it landed heavily.

With his shield and sword raised, Isak marched towards the Menin infantry, and they scattered before him, too scared to face the furious storm of energy surrounding him. A second line of troops lay behind: cavalry and pikemen packed in tightly. Isak didn't falter, but scanned the field urgently: he didn't have much time left. The Crystal Skull defended his mind while it fed it with power only the Gods could comprehend, but that torrent of power was too much for any mortal to handle for long — let alone a novice. Soon the weakest link in the chain would snap, and the riot of raw power would react like a whiplash.

Finally he spotted them: a beastman in armour and a large knight with Lord Styrax's emblem painted in white on his chest, sitting on horseback between the cavalry and infantry: General Gaur and Scion Kohrad, Styrax's son.

As he pressed on, each step required more and more effort as he felt his own awareness bleeding away. More magic struck him, but still to no effect; more lighting hammered down with the rage of Gods and tore men apart. He saw General Gaur point in his dir-ection, though the words were lost in an ocean of noise, and saw crossbowmen level their weapons. With a sweep of his hand Isak tore a furrow through them, ripping the soldiers open three ranks deep, leaving only corpses behind.

Without warning, he broke into a run, intent on closing the ground while he still could. General Gaur spurred forward to meet him, but Isak swatted both huge warhorse and its rider sprawling as he charged straight at Kohrad.

Kastan Styrax's son was no coward. The young white-eye roared a challenge, slipping from his horse, and swung both axe and sword at Isak, who lunged forward, using his own weapons to deflect Kohrad's. He hit Kohrad, only a glancing blow but it drove the smaller white-eye back, and a bolt of lightning crashed down between them. Kohrad howled and attacked again, feinting high then cutting at Isak's legs. He tried in vain to knock Eolis from Isak's grasp, but the Farlan lord dodged and smashed his shield into Kohrad's face. Kohrad rode the blow and slashed at Isak with both his weapons, bearing down so that Isak was forced backwards, but he caught the blows on his shield and lashed out with Eolis, a volley of cuts that had Kohrad defending desperately-

— until a blast of thunderous power gouged a great furrow in the ground between the two, forcing them apart.

Isak turned and saw a wyvern leap forward over the heads of the cavalrymen who had been watching the fight in stunned silence, too awed to intervene in this clash of giants. The storm suddenly focused and lightning began to target the black-armoured figure atop the winged beast, but Kastan Styrax held his white hand above his head, projecting a steel-grey shield of magic. Though the lightning thrashed ferociously about the shield, it was to no avail — but it gave Isak all the time he needed.

He drew deeply on the Skull and sent wild tendrils of energy in all directions, before suddenly concentrating them on Styrax himself. Under the assault, the air between them seemed to distort and rip. He heard the mocking, exultant laughter of the Reapers in his shadow, and the groan of the Land itself as he let loose more magic than he could ever have even conceived of.

Styrax twisted his shield down, somehow fending off the attack once again, and the wyvern disappeared behind a curtain of blinding sparks.

Now barely able to see, working entirely by instinct, Isak loosed his hold on the magic, tightened his grip on Eolis and abruptly turned. He swept back the sword, and in one smooth motion, he threw Eolis…

… and the sword, moving as if in slow motion, pierced the incandescent chaos…

… and struck its target dead-centre…

Isak's legs gave away underneath him and he crumpled, falling almost simultaneously with Kohrad as the force of Eolis smashing into him made him stagger backwards before he fell to the ground.

In the next moment the storm of magic disappeared and pain engulfed his body. Isak forced himself to one knee, almost shrieking with pain. His lungs were wheezing agony, his throat a ball of flame inside his body.

Distantly he heard an animal cry of grief.

'Kohrad!' someone screamed, and a black-clad figure raced past. Isak lurched almost drunkenly, unable to focus his eyes, his body twitching in distress. He tried to turn his head, but his body refused

to obey. More shouting, then a blow to the side of his head that laid him out, face-down in the ruined earth.

Hands grabbed him and dragged him upright, pulling the helm from his head. A face appeared, contorted with rage and hatred, shouting something, but he couldn't understand a word. Then he heard, in heavily accented Farlan, 'You will burnl You will suffer agony with no end!'

Isak managed to choke out a laugh. 'You think so? I'm dying,' he whispered, the effort of speaking bringing tears to his eyes.

'Not before I'm finished with you!' Styrax roared. He knelt down next to Isak and smashed his mailed fist into the side of Isak's head.

Stars burst before his eyes as an explosion of pain overrode the previous agony, but Isak forced a smile onto his face. 'Paradise awaits me,' he wheezed. 'I am one of the Chosen — and now I die.'

A dark veil appeared around them all and through the one eye still working, Isak could see the Land suddenly appeared darker and colder. Death's hand rested on his shoulder.

'I will not allow it!' Styrax screamed in frustration and fury, smashing Isak once more to the ground.

At a signal, his men laid out the Farlan lord on his back, pinning down his arms and legs, though he was too weak even to stand.

Isak coughed torturously, trying to turn his head as he vomited up stinking black blood.

'You will never see the Land of No Time,' Styrax snarled, digging his black-iron-clad fingers into Isak's flesh, 'you will see no Last Judgment!' He ripped the Crystal Skull from Isak's cuirass and tossed it aside almost carelessly, then punched Isak in the face, shattering his nose. With a thought he called his black sword and Kobra flew into his hand.

Isak felt the Menin lord open himself to the awesome power contained within his own Skulls, and a whirlwind of dark flames sprang up around them. His vision cleared a little as his body gratefully drank in the wild surging magic, but it did nothing to assuage the pain running through his blood and bones. His damaged eye bled freely down his cheek, and the fire in his throat continued unabated.

He heard Styrax howling words he didn't recognise, and he felt the earth writhing and shaking underneath him.

'Pain I promised you,' Styrax spat, 'and pain you will receive!'

He lunged forward and the fanged sword split Isak's cuirass and drove deep into his stomach. Isak screamed hoarsely as the blade split his gut, both searing hot and burning cold. Styrax yanked the blade up and down, trying to make it as excruciating as he could, ripping Isak open from groin to sternum and driving the breath from his body. The air around them filled with a terrible chittering sound, the voices of daemons sweeping in.

The darkness grew thick and cold as Styrax gave Kobra one last twist. He was rewarded with another cry, and that won, he raised his boot and stamped down on Isak's broken face.

'Think of the life you took,' he said, his own voice jagged with grief, 'as your skin is torn from your body in Ghenna! The Dark Place welcomes you.' He jerked out Kobra and Isak fell, feeling the earth give way beneath him as he plunged deeper and deeper. The darkness enveloped him and the cries of daemons became deafening.

He screamed.