'Sometimes a man needs secrets. It doesn't have to be because of a lack of trust.'

'It seems to happen more often these days,' said Carel. 'Morghien, for one – you've said less than Mihn about him. What's going on, Isak?'

'Enough!' he roared suddenly.

Tila flinched and looked away, but Carel didn't even blink: Isak might be powerful now, rich even, but he was still the boy Carel had practically raised.

'Not enough!' he bellowed back. 'Do you think yourself so wise now you can do everything alone? I'm not here to run your errands. If you expect me to be some meek little courtier then you can shove my title and Arugin up your arse.'

Isak didn't reply, but clamped his jaws tightly shut.

Carel gave an exasperated snort and clouted the Krann round the head, ignoring the gasps from onlookers. 'What's wrong with you,

boy? Is the magic rotting your brain, or has all this Saviour talk gone to your head?'

This time Isak gave a snarl and swatted Carel's hand away, then reached out and grabbed a handful of his tunic and physically pulled him from his saddle. He brought Carel's face up to his own.

Tila screamed and grabbed at the huge fist, but Isak shrugged her off without a glance.

'Go on then.' Carel croaked. 'Hit me. Prove to the whole Land you're nothing more than an animal. Perhaps I did waste my time on you. Maybe I should have given you to that mercenary on the road after all, rather than gift the Land another monster with more power than sense. You're just one man, Isak. Whatever gifts you have, however big you are, you're still just a man. You can't fight a war alone – you'll fail us all.'

Isak's fist quivered as fury coursed through his body and the hot scent of rage filled his nostrils. Carel looked into his boy's cold eyes and, for the first time, he felt a pang of fear. The white-eye's face was flushed red and his lips were curled back in a snarl. Sparks danced from his tiny black pupils.

The only sound Carel could hear was the savage rush of Isak's breathing as he struggled to speak. 'Don't fail me, boy.' The words were little more than a whispered prayer, but they doused the fire instantly.

Isak jerked in shock, accidentally shaking Carel like a rag doll. He looked around at the others clustered around him, then, with a stunned expression on his face, he lowered Carel to the floor. He clung hard to the pommel of the saddle and bent low over Toramin's neck, trembling uncontrollably. Carel reached a hand out to steady himself against the horse's shoulder, panting as hard as Isak.

The Ghosts had formed a circle around them as soon as Isak started raising his voice, warding them from curious onlookers, but themselves were casting panicky looks at their commander and their Lord.

'I'm sorry.' Isak sounded as weak as a kitten, but human once more. Carel coughed, then reached out to Isak. Though he had no strength to squeeze Isak's hand, his words were clear: 'I know you are, lad.'

As Carel filled his lungs and breathed deeply, colour returned to his cheeks. He held on to Isak's hand and looked up at him, worried. 'But one day, my boy, it might go too far; you might not be able to pull

back in time. If you want advisors who care about you and not your power, remember what that means. It might not be my place as a loyal subject to ask what puts that hunted look on your face, but as your friend, I'm going to, whether I can help or not. If you keep everything to yourself, it'll drive you mad.'

Isak lifted his head, eyes filled with sadness. 'I know, but Carel, I don't understand it myself. As for explaining it to you, I wouldn't know where to begin. I'm not even sure there is a beginning.' He still looked shamefaced, but held up a hand to ward off further questions. 'If we survive today, I promise I'll tell you all I can. I owe you that, I know that, and much more.'

Carel looked at him for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. That'll do, boy. I'll be waiting.' He reached out an arm and Isak helped him back on his horse.

Now Isak turned to the others. Tila was visibly shocked, as was Mistress Daran, who was ineffectually stroking the green silk sleeve of Tila's dress, as much to soothe herself as her charge. Isak opened his mouth to speak, but the words went unsaid. What could he say? That it wouldn't happen again – that he, a white-eye, would never lose his temper again? He tried to catch Tila's eye, but her long hair hid her face.

Touching his heels to Toramin's flank, Isak restarted their advance on the jousting arena. The sun spread thick golden warmth over the trampled grass. Plump cloud rode smoothly on the brisk wind as they raced over the Land. The plain was already crowded and a chorus of songs, shouting, cheers, jeers and laughter filled the air. The public galleries for the jousting were already full as people jostled for a better view. Clearly word of Tila's bet had got around. Five hundred gold coins – emins or any other currency – was a fortune. The people of Narkang wanted to cheer their champion.

Isak watched as a group of children squabbled over a pair of makeshift lances. The two boys who won out each had a cape fixed about his shoulders. One wore black, the other yellow. They were just about to perch on the backs of the two who were being the horses when a smudge-faced little girl noticed the Farlan. She gave a shriek of excitement and in a matter of seconds, the column had grown a tail of wondering eyes and dirty faces, all marvelling not at Isak, but at Count Vesna, resplendent in his battle dress.

Isak tried to smile but couldn't. He knew they were hanging back from him because they were scared of him, and he knew they had reason to be.

'My Lord is well?' the king enquired as Isak took his seat. As the previous day, the queen was absent and Count Antern filled the chair beside the king. To excuse her from the violence likely to follow, the queen had been forced to spend most of the fair secluded in her chambers, apparently suffering from a severe headache.

Isak gave a curt nod and the king pressed no further. His pale face told enough of a tale, enforced by the way Mihn was fussing around his master, pressing him to eat. At first Isak refused anything other than a mug of tea, but soon he started picking idly at the delicacies piled high on platters.

‘The count is well rested, I hope,' Emin prompted, looking at Carel and Tila, both of whom looked as wan as their lord, but they both nodded firmly.

'Most certainly, your Majesty,' the young woman told him, adding sternly, 'he will prove more than a match for Sir Bohv.'

As she spoke, the knight himself trotted out to greet the crowd. He was a particularly tall man, standing a good two inches over his Farlan opponent. He had a friendly, open face, and the wild excesses of his carrot hair were checked by the red-stained helm that matched his armour. Though the knight was a devout member of the Knights of the Temples, he remained an individual, in this case displaying a fine sense of humour. His colours were yellow and azure, but as an affectionate nod to both himself and his Order, Sir Bohv's armour was painted bright red.

'I hope so,' the king chuckled. 'If I'm to win this bet with Lord Isak, I'd hate for any man but my champion to claim victory over Count Vesna.'

'After yesterday's performance, your Majesty, I believe your Sunbee should try to be rather less ornamental.'

Emin laughed at the truth in her words. His champion had been a hair's breadth from serious injury, too busy playing up to the crowd as he tilted against the knight with the Brotherhood tattoo.

'But he is young, and such folly is understandable, wouldn't you agree, Lord Isak?'

The Krann grunted; he'd been deep in his own thoughts. Emin's smile sparked a flicker of irritation, but he suppressed the feeling and