The question in Lord Isak's voice attracted Lesarl’s attention.The Chief Steward spoke up before Amanas could reply. ‘He means, my Lord, that it's a gross breach of protocol to wear a ceremonial weapon belonging to arother man.'

'Kerin didn't seem to mind,' Isak countered sharply.

'Unlike some present,' replied the Chief Steward, gesturing to the newcomer.

'Enough. Argue when you're elsewhere.' Bahl didn’t look up, but gestured for Lesarl to continue their conversation.

'Well,' continued Isak after a careful pause, 'if you have nothing more to criticise about my attire, Lord Bahl said you needed to speak to me about my crest.'

'Normally, yes my Lord Suzerain. In this case, however, it will not be necessary.' With a flourish, Amanas slipped the covering from the shield and held it up to the light.

A gasp ran sound the; room as the Keymaster held up a polished silver teardrop shield and turned almost a full circle to show everyone present Isak's crest embossed in gold.

Isak gaped at the shield. It was the work of a jeweler rather than a blacksrnith. Even in the faint light, the glitter of the gold momentarily dazzled him. It took him a while to properly take in the image on the shield itself, the crest that he would wear on his clothes for the rest of his life and would fly from his banners when he rode to war.

Rearing high on its hind legs, claws ready to tear and rend, was a dragon of purest gold. Isak could see the fangs curving down from its mouth and a set of horns curling back past its head. He could feel the anger in the set of its shoulders, the sweep of its wings, something he recognised only too well. This was the taste of his own familiar rage

given form.

Then his hand started to tremble as something else drew his eye. He reached out to take the shield from Amanas. A crown hovered above the dragon's head and as he saw that, foreboding sank into Isak's stomach, as heavy as gold.

'Careful, my Lord, the silver is still quite delicate,' Amanas

warned.

That's solid silver? Then why-?'

The Keymaster held up a hand to suppress the question, then bent down and placed the green velvet in which the shield had been wrapped on the floor. He placed the shield face-up on the material, then stepped back.

Isak opened his mouth to speak, but before he could think of anything to say he felt a pulse of warmth come from the pile: magic… He turned to Bahl. The old Lord had also noticed; he fixed his stern

gaze on the shield.

Without warning, the cloth underneath burst into flames. Isak flinched back in surprise, then stepped forward again as he felt no heat coming from the fire. The orange flames turned to green, all the while lasciviously caressing the lines of the shield. A furious cloud of magic grew up around the shield, swirling tighter and tighter as the green flames burned the velvet away to nothing. Isak suddenly realised that the magic was being drawn into the silver of the shield while a finger of energy wormed through the cracks in the flagstones and disappeared into the floor. And then it was over. Amanas was gone, the fire spent; only the shield, astonished faces and confusion

remained.

Tick it up,' Bahl commanded in a distant voice.

'What? But-'

'Do it.'

The Krann shrugged and touched his finger to the silver. An expres' sion of wonder ran over his face as he stroked the mirror surface wit" the palm of his hand, then picked up the shield to show the room-

'It's cool, perfectly cool,' he marvelled. Turning the shield over in his hands, Isak suddenly stopped and rapped his knuckles against the

surface. 'This can't be silver, it's too strong.' He took each side of the shield in his hands and pushed together, gently at first, but then with all the enormous strength he could muster.

'It's far too strong to be silver,' he repeated.

'It's silver.' Bahl's confirmation brought a frown from Isak. 'Silver absorbs magic better than any other substance. That's a gift from the Gods for you, and emerald is the colour of the Lady, Fate herself.'

Amanas had slipped out of the room long before anyone remembered to look for him. He was pleased, and returned to his wife with a satisfied smile on his face and a refusal to discuss what had happened earlier that evening. It was only when the Duke of Tirah paid them a visit the next day that she discovered why.

CHAPTER 8

'I can't do it. I can feel it there, but nothing's happening.'

'Nothing?'

'Nothing. Can't you tell?' Isak struggled to control his boredom. Running through the drills Kerin had devised for the last fortnight was dull enough; standing and staring at a wooden post for a whole hour was infinitely worse.

'To me, it feels like you simply won't relax and let go.' Bahl's voice was irritatingly calm and steady, as if the man was used to spending his days like this. They were out on the training ground. Nearby, a cavalry squadron was perfecting a variety of complicated formations. This one involved a wedge of soldiers of the Palace Guard who stood in the centre, flanked on either side by wheeling lines of light cavalry. The cavalry might not have been professional soldiers like the Ghosts but they were made to work hard for their annual stipend.

'Why would I not let go? This isn't exactly entertaining.'

Bahl's eyes flashed. 'Watch your tone, boy. Even if you did manage to use the magic inside you, I could still cut you down like a child. Do you think I'm trying to teach you conjuring tricks? Magic can turn the tide of the battle; you must be able to command it at will, or you'll be as dead as your men on the field.'

Isak looked up at Bahl's tone of voice and saw his hand tighten slightly. This was the first time it had contained even a trace of anger. He turned and bowed his head. 'I'm sorry, my Lord, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that I don't understand what I'm not doing.'

Bahl didn't reply immediately and an awkward silence descended-When Bahl spoke again, his irritation was entirely absent. Isak knew he was in sore need of learning that particular skill.

'Then we will have to get around the problem. I will ask the High

Priest of Larat to come and see whether he can shed any light on the matter.'

'Larat? No, not a chance-'

'There will be no arguments about this,' said Bahl firmly.

'But what about the light in my dream?'

'I said no arguments. The High Priest is a good man and understands the nature of magic as well as any. If I ask the College of Magic, they will try to turn it to their advantage; the Temple of Larat is poor, so they will be glad to receive our favour.'

'But-'

'Enough. It's lucky for you I am not Atro. He was not so forgiving when questioned.'

'Luck? I don't know whether I believe in that any more.' Isak looked up and stretched his shoulders, flexing muscles that were aching from uncomfortable nights and daily weapons practise. He caught Tila's eye and smiled. She was sitting off to one side, so bundled up against the chill of the wind that only her eyes were visible.

The girl had been reserved around him for the first week, jumping at any sudden movement, but the familiarity of Isak's company soon began to wear away at her resolve not to forget the death of Sir Dirass. Isak had even made her laugh – the first time it had happened he was not sure who had been more surprised, but it was not the only time he had brought a smile to her lips. 'How did you manage?' 'Hmm?'

'With Atro – how did you manage to live around such a bastard?' I kept quiet and ignored what he did. I wasn't like you when I came to the palace; I had joined the Guard as a child, as soon as my family could get rid of me. I was twenty-four when the Tyrant of Mustet appeared at the barbican gate and announced I was Chosen Nartis. While I had no interest in being Atro's tool, I didn't care that he was destroying our tribe either. I was more like General Lahk than you.'