As the voice faded into the background noise of the camp, Isak tried to work out how to ease himself into a more upright position. His left arm couldn't take any weight, so he had to use his right hand to pull some of the furs up behind him and create some sort of pile to lean on. By the time Vesna poked his bruised face through the opening, Isak lay panting, his head and shoulders elevated so he could at least see who came in.

'My Lord,' Count Vesna greeted him, 'dare I ask how you feel?' He took a step towards Isak's bed, followed by Suzerain Tori, the scowling features of Duke Certinse close behind. Isak looked up at Tori, his light cavalryman uniform apparently untouched by the battle. The grim lines of his face hadn't changed; the dour, pious air he wore was impervious to such things.

'Awful. How long have I slept?'

Three nights, my Lord,' answered Vesna. 'Lord Bahl assured us you just needed the rest, that there was no fatal wound, but we had begun to fear-'

'Well, I'm awake now,' Isak broke in. 'Is Lord Bahl here?'

'He commands the sweeping for elves,' Certinse growled. 'We have all been leading hunting parties to pursue those who fled the field.'

'Except me? Because I've been lazing around on my backside for the last few days? If you have a problem with me, Duke Certinse, just say so.' The sour emptiness in his stomach and throbbing behind his eyes told Isak he'd done more than he should have, but though he felt too drained to argue or fight, a drop of venom remained.

'Your Grace,' interrupted Suzerain Tori before Certinse could rise to the bait, 'I should be riding out in a few minutes, but Lord Bahl requested I take the Krann to him as soon as possible. Would you do me the honour of leading the party in my place?'

Certinse looked surprised for a moment, perhaps at the unexpectedly gracious tone, then grunted agreement. Shooting one last malevolent glare at Isak, he turned and swept out, leaving the wolf's head on his cloak to snarl at those remaining.

Tori watched him go, then turned back to the Krann with a sad shake of the head. 'I hardly think you are in any condition to pick a fight with Duke Certinse,' he told Isak. 'You might be Krann of the Farlan, but that doesn't mean civility to your peers is impossible.'

'Fuck Duke Certinse, and fuck the rest of you too. Now you're my peers, when it gives you a reason to complain. The rest of the time, I'm just some damn white-eye.'

'Only if you behave like one. My son was a white-eye, and he still managed to hold a conversation without throwing insults every few minutes.'

Isak slumped back down on to his bed. 'By the Gods, I'm too tired for this. I'm not going to waste the energy explaining myself to you.'

'Well then, conserve your energy and get dressed. You will have to explain yourself to your Lord. Being just a white-eye, you seem to have forgotten that our nation is only recently rebuilt. Reopening old wounds for no reason hurts us all.'

'Actually, I do remember,' Isak said crossly. 'I just don't intend to deal with it through a veil of pomp and breeding. I was told that in war you play to your strengths – well, politics isn't one of mine. Strength is, and now, authority. If I have enemies within the tribe, that's what I'll use to deal with them.' As he spoke, Isak levered himself up into a sitting position and pointed to his clothes.

Before he could ask, Vesna passed them over and helped Isak to dress. In the thick woollens, he looked more like a monk than a suzerain, but he didn't relish the idea of the tightly buttoned tunic around his ribs. He pulled on a pair of winter fleece boots, then belted on Eolis. He stopped before he reached the tent flap when he saw his white cloak hanging up. It had been cleaned of the mud and gore, but no one had been able to repair the burned material. As he rubbed the charred edges with his fingers, a piece came off in his hand, leaving a swirl of soot. He traced a shape too faint for the others to make out, looked at it intently for a few seconds and then rubbed it away on his shirt.

The sky outside was overcast. Isak blinked as he took in the state of the camp. Long lines of tents were now missing, and the forest of colourful banners much reduced.

'Vesna, isn't that Fordan's banner?' he asked. 'I saw him die, I'm sure of it.'

'He did, my Lord,' the count said sadly, 'but his son was among his hurscals and survived, so the banner remains. As for the others, well, Danva took a spear in the thigh and bled to death on the field, and Amah had his skull crushed by a troll.'

'How many did we lose?' A breath of air on his neck made Isak shiver suddenly. The wind was cold but listless; it felt to Isak as though men had been carried away by the breeze, along with their tents and flags.

'In total? Roughly three thousand. One hundred and fifty of your own men, three hundred Ghosts, counts from Tori, Ked, Tehran and Vere. We've lost another three hundred chasing the survivors down.'

'Did any good come from this?'

'For those who died?' asked Tori icily.

Isak looked over to the suzerain, but Tori obviously had nothing more to add.

'I meant for anyone,' Isak said. He shrugged. Tm famished: I need to eat before I see Lord Bahl.'

He followed a column of smoke around a tent to where a huge pot bubbled over a fire, but when he tried to lean down he winced, clutching his ribs tenderly. 'Can you give me some of that?' he asked the man attending it. The man bobbed his head, eyes wide with fear as he slopped some broth into a sturdy wooden bowl.

Isak accepted the bowl with a broad smile. 'Bread?' The man reached in to the bag hanging from a post and handed him half a loaf. As soon as the man saw Isak's attention return to Suzerain Tori, he began to back away and after a few steps he turned and hurried off, getting out of sight as soon as he could.

Isak frowned and sniffed at the bread suspiciously. 'What was that about?'

Vesna kept silent, eyes on the ground, while Tori stared past Isak's shoulder. 'Ah, Lord Bahl, good morning,' he said smoothly.

'Tori,' acknowledged Bahl, then turned to Isak. 'What that was, my Lord, was your legacy from the battle.'

The old Lord had shrugged off the air of weariness that normally surrounded him. He looked alert, rejuvenated, even in full armour. The crested helm, an ancient-looking bowl-shaped piece of grey metal with a Y slit at the front for eyes and mouth, was tucked under his arm.

Bahl walked up to Isak and placed a hand on his shoulder, a public gesture of comradeship. 'How are you feeling? You've been recovering a long time. We were starting to worry.'

'I feel exhausted. Drained.' He gestured to the bowl. 'And famished.'

'Drained is a better word than you might realise. The more you draw on the magic, the harder it is to resist the flow and stop. If you're not careful, part of you will be swept away with it.'

Isak didn't reply, but nodded as he crammed a soaked corner of bread into his mouth. A murmur of pleasure was the only sound Bahl heard, but he took it as a cue to continue; the boy didn't seem to understand quite how it had looked on the battlefield. 'You forgot yourself out there. The men were expecting to see a white-eye in battle, but they saw worse than that. You fought like a daemon, and more than once you almost killed one of your own men through sheer bloodlust. If you hadn't collapsed, I don't know how we'd have stopped you.'

Bahl kept his voice low but there was no mistaking the anger there. Isak stopped chewing and looked into the Lord's eyes. They said clearly enough: there was one way to stop you, and I was tempted. You didn't just shame yourself there.

'I…1 don't know what to say.' Isak dropped his gaze. 'It felt like my dreams, like I wasn't quite myself.' 'What do you dream of.7'

The question took Isak by surprise. He didn't think the question was as idle as it sounded.