Isak woke with a scream, feeling as if the walls lurched and shuddered around him before reality reasserted itself. He took great gulps of air and tried to open his eyes, but the light streaming through the window made him gasp. Grasping at the unfamiliar sheets Isak battled to regain his wits. A shiver ran down his spine and into his legs; it felt like his soul returning. Every part of him ached, his throat burned and his limbs throbbed, but it was the smell of burnt flesh that scared him most.

He sat up and grabbed the copper mirror from the desk to inspect his reflection, but he had to squint down to see it: a runic shape in stinging scar tissue on his sternum. It wasn't anything he recognised – not that he'd really expected to – but it wasn't even something from his dreams of the island palace.

In the looking-glass he could see it more clearly: a circle of scar tissue with a horizontal bar across its centre, no more than two inches across. The bar did not quite span the width of the circle, but a verti' cal line at either end made that connection, with one going straight down, the other up.

Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the taste of magic emanating from the chimney at the centre of the room: Lord Bahl He grabbed his ragged shirt and quickly pulled it on, making sure the bone thongs were fastened and the scar covered. As Lord Bahl appeared, the scar was covered, but Isak could not hide the haggard look on his face.

'You slept badly. Dreamed badly.'

It was not a question. Isak looked up at his new master with incom- prehension. As he struggled up and propped his body against the wall,

He realised he was shivering uncontrollably. Bahl noticed the cold as well and threw several logs on to the dead fire, then made a flick-ing motion with his wrist. Flames at once sprang up in the fireplace, hungrilv devouring the dry wood. Isak stared in wonder at the fire, but Bahl just waved it off and drew up a chair for himself.

'That's nothing. I'm surprised that you can't do that already, considering how the tower responded to you. But that can wait. Right now, we should speak of what you are.'

Isak struggled to answer, his head still fogged from the dream. 'What I am?' he muttered. 'What else is there? Carel said white-eyes are born to be warriors, to fight for the tribe.' 'Carel?'

Isak opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he realised Bahl's face was uncovered. The reclusive Lord of the Parian rarely went out in public without the blue silk hood tight around his face, and Isak had never before seen Lord Bahl's actual features. He wondered how it could have taken him this long to notice, but after a moment he shook the question from his mind – considering what had happened to him, such a small detail was easily overlooked. Now he saw a powerful man with a harsh face, solid features all sharp lines and blunt corners. His brow was thick and strong, and his nose, but his features had an abrupt look, as if a craftsman had been interrupted in his work. The shape was there, the basic lines hewn with skill, but there had been no time to smooth the edges.

That in turn reminded Isak of the palace in his dreams and its unfinished statues, but before that could distract him further he forced the memory away. This was not a face used to patience.

‘Carel is my friend, a friend of my father's. He was in the Palace Guard before he joined the wagon-train. Sergeant Betyn Carelfolden, Third Squad, Vanguard Company, Eighth Regiment. He was the only one who didn't care that I was a white-eye. He taught me to fight so I could come and take the trials for the Guard.'

‘A squad sergeant, that's good news. He'll have bawled you into the right habits then, so I won't have Kerin whining that he has to teach you the different ends of a sword. But that's not going to be enough now; if you outlive me, you'll be Lord of the Farlan one day. Before anything else, remember that nothing Sergeant Carelfolden -or anyone else – has taught you can prepare you for the life you will now lead- There are dangers that ignore all of your strength, all

of your skill. You are but a child among wolves, blessed by the Gods for the whole Land to resent and envy. You have no friends now; no one you can trust with your innermost thoughts. Over the months to come you will realise that you now stand apart from the rest of the Land, between mortals and the Gods, but kin to neither.'

Isak, following this with some difficulty, broke in and asked, 'But you had someone once. Couldn't you trust her completely?'

Bahl stood silent for a few moments, then a deep breath signalled a victory for control. He answered, as if nothing had happened, 'Her I could trust, yes. She was the only person I could trust completely, and because of that she was used as a weapon against me. Don't speak of her again, unless you want bad blood to come between us.'

Bahl stopped again, but this time it was to gesture towards Isak's trembling hands. 'You're tired, I know; let me explain why. It was Nartis who spoke to you in your dream. Now that you're one of the Chosen, you are his property'- whether you want it or not. White-eyes were created to signal the end of the Age of Darkness; to show that the Gods were once again with us. We are born to rule, to lead the armies of the Seven Tribes of Man. By choosing one of us to lead, the Gods broke the dynasties and the traditions of blood-ties and birthright that had contributed to the Great War. I know the dreams are difficult to endure, but through them Nartis will give you the strength you need to survive. You'll be as big as I am, able to endure pain that would kill any normal man, and still have the strength to fight back afterwards. You'll feel the storm running through your veins-' 'What about the thread of light?' Isak interrupted again. Bahl frowned, leaning closer to Isak to stare deep into his eyes, a mesmerising, unremitting glare like a cobra staring down a rabbit. 'I don't know about a thread of light. You should have been alone with Nartis, becoming part of him.'

Isak shook his head. 'No, we weren't alone, I felt others all around us, other minds. There were whispers I couldn't make out before Naf' tis drove them away.'

'That's all they are,' Bahl said firmly. Isak blinked. 'What?'

'The whispers; that's all they are, just voices. Spirits holding on to a few memories; they're attracted by life, by strength, by magic. They’re distractions, nothing more. You'll learn to ignore them easily enough; As for the light, it's the same: another entity – stronger perhaps,

but not what you were born for. Stay true to your nature and your God.’

This time Isak nodded. Carel had spent many an evening entertaining

them all with tales of mythology: the Land's pantheon of Gods were eternally plotting and feuding. Larat, God of Magic and Manipulation, was particularly famed for stealing the followers of other Gods, and for making reviled traitors out of devoted servants. The pain Isak had felt during the dream must have been a taste of the price of betrayal, and if that was the case, he knew it was not something he ever wanted to experience in full. 'Could it have been another God like Larat? Trying to cause trouble?' he asked.

'That's possible – Larat lives for discord,' Bahl said, although he sounded uninterested in pursuing Isak's theory much further. 'But don't think too hard about it, just stay true to what you are. Only Death is stronger than our patron, Nartis. No other God can offer you more than Nartis has promised you by making you my Krann.'

Isak nodded, his eyes dropping as the sting of his chest intruded on his thoughts. His hand instinctively rose to touch the sore area before he forced it back down, unwilling to draw Bahl's attention there. He wasn't quite sure why, but he didn't want to show the scar to anyone yet.