Isak staggered backwards, crashing into Vesna as he did so. He turned, raising his empty sword-arm for a moment before his senses returned. Behind him the figure thrashed and spasmed, but they were the movements of a dead thing.

'My Lord, are you hurt?' Vesna dropped his sword and grabbed at the huge white-eye as Isak lurched again. Finding his feet, Isak gripped his bondsman's shoulder and steadied himself. The surge of adrenalin blurred his sight for a moment, then his vision snapped back into focus. Isak found himself staring at the tattoo on the count's neck. Taut muscles distorted it into a bizarre shape.

Isak sucked in a huge gulp of air and felt his hand tremble as he replied, 'I- I think so.' Looking down at where the creature had been hitting him in the stomach, Isak could see only one tiny break in the armour, and that sealed up as he watched. 'Am I bleeding?'

'You-' Vesna stopped and looked Isak over. The attack had been so fast Vesna had hardly seen the blows, but apart from a deep groove on Isak's arm-guard where the creature had tried to cut his throat, there were no signs of damage. 'No, it doesn't seem to have pierced the armour anywhere.'

'What was it?'

Both men turned to look at the corpse. As they did so, a Ghost ran his lance down into its throat to make sure it was dead. When there was no further movement, the soldier pulled Eolis from the body and offered it over his arm to Isak. The Krann stared at it for a moment, surprised at the formality, but judging by the faces of every man there, they had been impressed with the fight.

That, my Lord,' supplied General Lahk from behind Isak, 'is an Estashanti warrior. It's one of the hybrid races bred by the Gods for the Great War, then discarded when their talents were surplus to requirements.' In the shock of the aftermath, Isak thought he detected an air of bitterness about the general's voice.

'It explains how the enemy managed to kill Duke Lomin. Buggers use them as assassins,' muttered Suzerain Fordan. As he gave the corpse a kick, a golden gorget fell away. The chain had been neatly severed. Isak felt a surge of magic leave the ruined object: that was how it had managed to get past all the guards.

'Gods, if it had got here yesterday… Without Siulents I'd have been gutted in that first attack. If we were not riding to battle this morning-'

'You'd be dead, my Lord. But before you offer thanks to the Gods, we do have another battle to fight. It can only harm our cause to let this delay us further.' General Lahk didn't wait for a reply as he turned to a herald at his side. The herald was several summers younger than Isak and the only one there in light armour. He had a large round shield on his back and a hunting horn in his hands. His job was to stay alive to sound orders for the troops. Isak could see puke on his clothes already – perhaps he'd been thinking about meeting a troll.

'Sound the order to move out,' Isak said, and mounted his horse, which was calm now the Estashanti was dead. Vesna handed him the cold, blank helm that Isak had dropped in the attack. A smear of mud marked the crest.

'My Lord?'

Isak turned to see the general raise his helm slightly. Looking around, he realised they were all watching him. He was leading this army, so tradition dictated the order come from him. Every boy of the tribe shouted the words out as they played; even those without friends felt the words in their heart.

Isak wheeled his horse around, held up his helm for all to see and called out as loud as he could, 'My Lords, we go to war – your

helms!'

Amid a great cheer Isak slid his own helm over his head and felt the lip of the collar meet his cuirass. At his side Vesna rammed home the golden wolf's head and slid the faceplate up to look at his liege lord. The count muttered a few words of shock that were lost in the cheers from all about. Isak didn't wait to hear any more. He spurred his charger ahead, through the rows of mounted Guardsmen, with war cries ringing all about.

CHAPTER 14

As the knights followed the path of the shallow river and reached the ridge, Isak noticed a scent on the wind he couldn't place. Winter had muted every flavour that reached him, and it came only when the breeze momentarily cleared the heavy musk of horse. Whether it was just too faint to recognise, or something new to him, Isak couldn't be sure. These parts were too remote to have been of any interest to a wagon-train. This area looked unspectacular, but still Isak wondered what he would miss as he passed through, how much he would never see of lands that would one day belong to him. Anvee itself was nothing more than a name at the moment, and that was just one suzerainty – what about when he became Lord of the Farlan?

Off to the left fluttered the archer legion's colours; the men around the pennant stood with shoulders hunched against the wind at their backs. As the cavalry approached, one man raised his longbow in a salute and disappeared down the slope to report their arrival to the legion's commander.

'My Lord?'

Isak realised he'd been turning in the saddle, into the wind coming from behind them. It carried elusive snatches of that scent he was suddenly determined to identify. Vesna had followed his gaze and found only soldiers, grave eyes encased in steel and black-iron. Isak sensed his confusion and turned his thoughts away; there was nothing in the air except the scent of men wanting to avoid what was to come.

Isak reached out and gripped Vesna's shoulder-plate. 'I'm fine,' he said, 'just thinking about this place.'

'Don't – it distracts you from the battle. Every man does that the first time. I know what you're thinking and you mustn't. Imagine the enemy, and nothing more. Think of the path your horse will take, the way you'll make your first strike. Picture that rank of enemy crumpling and freeing your path to ride away while Certinse's wing hits the other side. Picture wheeling and forming the line again.'

Isak grinned. 'Yes. I understand.'

In the distance they heard hunting horns – the command calls of the light cavalry – echoed by the drums of the foot legions. Behind Isak, men shifted in their saddles, impatient to be off.

'It begins,' commented General Lahk, from the front. The heavy cavalry was in three groups, to better negotiate the ford, with Isak's Ghosts at the fore. Behind him were another five hundred knights, under Duke Certinse's command, and the final group, led by Suzerain Ked, followed closely behind, a mix of black-and-white-clad Guardsmen and brightly coloured nobles. Once the first two parties were caught up in the fighting, Ked would lead these men hard and straight into the trolls, a final shock movement intended to drive the beasts away.

Seeing the heavy cavalry together in one place brought home to Isak the beauty of the Farlan system. Though the general had grumbled that the turnout should have been significantly higher, it was unlikely any other nation or tribe in the Land could field more than half the number of heavy cavalry that the Farlan could muster. The tribe's entire social structure worked to keep this war machine operating at peak performance.

A knight of battle age who didn't maintain a full suit of armour would be stripped of his title and lands. However impoverished his family might be, the knight's hunter would be well-fed, and ready to carry him into battle at any moment. Any tenant who could shoot an arrow from horseback and hit four out of five times was entitled to a small wage from his landlord, whether he were a landlocked serf or a local poacher. Drilling was of paramount importance for every healthy Farlan male; as children, they play-acted the battles they would fight as men. It was in their blood.

The horns sounded again, over a rising clamour in the distance. High in the patched blanket of cloud, Isak could see birds soaring – scavengers of some sort, kites and buzzards, no doubt. A handful of crows were cawing in the trees to his right, disturbed by the movements below but refusing to be driven off.