accurate, and turned aside every one of Isak's blows with practiced ease,stepping with the grace of a dancer. He used his shield as skilfully

as his sword. Now he almost clubbed the sword from Isak's hand with his shield, now he delicately flicked his own blade out to catch Isak off-guard, the in-drawn breaths of the onlookers testament to his skill. His eyes were red, blood-shot with rage, but his experience meant his anger added purpose to his movements rather than recklessness.

The knight stabbed forward, the edge of his sword running along the rim of Isak's shield, then stepped to one side and slashed at Isak's hamstring. His shield, held high, caught the downstroke of Isak's weapon as his own failed to reach.

Isak pulled his weapon back, then thrust fiercely, uncontrollably, and to everyone's surprise caught the knight's sword, twisting so for a moment the blades locked. Sir Dirass disengaged with a savage flick, then smashed his shield into Isak's shoulder. Falling backwards, Isak slammed his heels into the dirt and brought his own shield down as fast as he could. It wasn't fast enough to stop the sword flashing up past his groin, but the stroke missed.

A bellow from Kerin prevented a second: 'Certinse! I said disarm, not mortally wound him!'

Isak crouched on the ground, the knuckles of his right hand ground into the packed earth and his shield covering his body. He had managed to get his foot underneath his body in time to stop him falling flat on his back. Now he forced himself upright again.

Sir Dirass looked unashamed. He kept his sword low. His eyes never left Isak's.

‘That was a coward's chance,' growled Isak. 'Does that run in the family too?' A snort from the assembled men and Sir Dirass's furious glare told him the jibe had hit home. His opponent had a weakness. ‘Watch your mouth, white-eye.'

‘Or what? You'll run away? Hide behind your bitch-mother's skirt?' ‘Enough! This is over!' But Kerin's shout went ignored this time. Isak grinned as he felt a familiar growl of anger stir in his belly. The animal inside him was just warming up. This man needed a lesson.

'Come on then. If you want it, come and get it. Or are you just another example of your worthless family?'

With a howl, the knight threw himself forward, hacking savagely with his slender blade, any pretence of form now gone. The white-eye again suppressed the almost overwhelming urge to charge, instead contenting himself with warding off the blows while waiting for the opening he knew would come. The crowd moved to keep up with Isak's steady retreat.

The knight was beginning to tire now, and finally Isak launched his own attack. He might not have been trained to the rapier, but Isak was young, and immensely strong, and extremely fast. Now he used all that roaring power to direct a flurry of blows at Sir Dirass that stopped the knight in his tracks. His thrusts were clumsy, but they were fierce. Carel had been trained on the battlefield, and that was the way he'd taught Isak: momentum was crucial: the advancing infantry, the charging cavalry – theirs was the victory to take.

For the first time, the knight looked a little uneasy, but then Isak moved forward and suddenly realised he was closer than he had intended. He jumped back quickly, but Sir Dirass had seen it too and lunged as hard as he could. Isak just escaped, arms splayed out wide as he fought for balance, then swung out hard at the knight's neck. Sir Dirass had almost lost his footing in the lunge but he got his shield up in time. Both stepped back unscathed.

There was a smile on Isak's face now. He had the measure of his enemy; now to irritate the knight into foolishness. His darting steps became more pronounced; his shield dropped a little lower and his grin broadened. Sir Dirass's face tightened. A pace forward closed the ground between them. The knight's sword was ready as he waited for Isak to retreat to where a second step would bring the knight close enough to run Isak through. That second step never came.

With an astonished gasp, Sir Dirass looked deep into the cold eyes of his killer as Isak stepped into the feint. No emotion showed on Isak's face as his sword-tip slid between the knight's ribs.

Sir Dirass shuddered and went completely still, his fury turned to disbelief. He took an involuntary breath, and the onlookers gasped with him. Isak's movement had been so smooth that it took them a moment to realise he'd run Sir Dirass through. The knight's arras wavered, then dropped. He fell to his knees. With a quick jerk, Isak

. withdrew the blade. A spurt of blood followed it, splashing on to his borrowed boots. The corpse sagged and crumpled to the ground.

No one spoke. Isak stared down at the body with the rest of them. fjow his stomach felt empty. The addictive rush of violence had been replaced by a palpable absence, a cold ball aching inside. He couldn't regret what he'd done; the man had meant to kill him – even an inexperienced swordsman like Isak recognised that. The breeze brought a taste of bread on the wind, a tantalising smell. He was starving. He wiped the blade clean on his shirt, turned, without a word, and headed back to the Great Hall.

Tila watched him go, sickness and fear welling inside. The bitter taste of bile sat at the back of her throat.

What sort of a man are you? She wanted to scream out the words. How can you be so meek and unsure one moment, then so brutal the next! Are. you no different to the rest of your kind after all?

She had once watched her uncle killed in a duel, but that fight had been wild and ragged. Here, Isak had moved like a Harlequin dancing the steps to an epic poem, but he had been so dismissive when he ran the man through. For certain Sir Dirass had tried to kill Isak, but the vacant expression on Isak's face chilled her. Tila stood and stared with the soldiers until Isak had disappeared through the tall doors of the Great Hall, then the spell was broken and Swordmaster Kerin barked an order – angry sounds that Tila could not form into words. She drifted forward, hardly noticing that she had picked up the scabbard, and went after Isak. She was terrified to face him, but still she followed.

‘Well, Kerin, please explain yourself.' Lesarl's voice sounded cold, but his eyes laughed and danced. 'Our new Krann was in mortal danger, he not?'

‘Yes, Chief Steward.' Eyes downcast, Kerin felt the weight of the day’s events grow darker and heavier with every passing moment. 'I did not foresee Sir Dirass acting that way – we were far from friendly, but I didn't think he would disobey a direct order. Sir Dirass went for a cut to the groin, then Lord Isak began to bait him, insulting his family to get him angry. I think the Krann decided to kill him after that.’

‘And you're surprised?' Bahl's voice was quiet, restrained. Kerin had expected fury, but this disturbed him even more. 'The knight went for a killing blow; Lord Isak's a white-eye, you do remember that? What were you thinking to put him in a duel? You'd not have done that with any of the other white-eyes under your command.'

'I-' Kerin looked helpless, hardly able to explain a decision he himself didn't understand. His memory was dream-like, as though he was not completely sure he had even given the order. 'I thought Isak would keep his temper, I thought Sir Dirass would obey my orders-'

'I think the Swordmaster is showing his age,' Lesarl interrupted. 'Perhaps it is time I organised a quiet pension somewhere; some rich widow out in the country, maybe?'

'My mind is as sound as ever,' snapped Kerin. 'Dirass Certinse was always an impetuous man. Yes, he was desperate for his Eagle, but killing the Krann? He has – had – more sense than that.'

'Then why, my Swordmaster, is that exactly what he tried to do?' Still Bahl was not angry.

'I cannot say. He looked like a man possessed, but-'