And is that what I'm afraid of? Isak wondered. Do I want Carel to continually tell me I'm wrong? Do I want to be the errant child all my life? He turned back to the road ahead, and to the same view they had had for the past two weeks. Only the Palace Guard and one legion of light cavalry were returning with them, and to the casual observer it looked as though every Ghost held the reins of a spare horse. A fog of gloom surrounded them: their losses had been severe, both on the field and in the days following as men succumbed to their wounds. When they arrived home in Tirah, the citizens would have to tread softly for a few weeks.

'And to what do you give your opinion, the man or the title?' There was an edge to Isak's voice that he'd not intended. Uneasy nights as growing pains racked his body coupled with the relentless days of travel were making him irritable and restless. His newly developed muscles were crying out for exercise beyond hacking chunks from unfortunate trees that he passed by. With Bahl in a similar mood – albeit for different reasons – Isak fought extra hard to keep control of his temper, but there was always a trace of pent-up anger when he spoke.

'To both, my Lord.' Vesna's reply was assured and immediate.

'Both?' Isak laughed, a little bitterly. 'You're remarkably honest, especially when compared to your peers. They watch me like a wolf that's just arrived in camp.'

'That's because they are not from Anvee; they are not your bondsmen. You have no reason to trust them; they have no need to earn your trust.'

'And you do?'

Vesna smiled and nodded. 'As my liege and holder of my bond, you could destroy me with a few words. You are also one of the most powerful men in the tribe, so as your star ascends, so will mine. That

means I speak to your title in part, but not all. If I'm going to tie elf _so closely to your cause, I might as well try to like you; I can always fall back on being owned by you if that doesn't work.'

In spite of his mood, Vesna's words made Isak laugh out loud. He did like the man, for his confidence as much as his honesty. All he needed was a reason to trust him, and this one sounded as good as any. Bahl certainly seemed to approve; Isak was quite sure he'd have made any disapprobation clear if he thought Count Vesna to be a danger. Isak had been glad of his presence over the last week or two: he was proving to be a useful man to have around.

He made a decision and turned to face his bondsman. 'In that case, Vesna, I would be grateful if you would not forget that I have a real name. It might not be impressive, I might not like it all that much, and it might have been given as an insult, but it's mine. Isak is who I am. If you're to be a friend of mine, you had better remember that.' 'I will, my Lord. Thank you.'

Isak turned sharply, in case he was being mocked, but found only a broad smile on Vesna's face. 'Unfortunately, I suspect I have more enemies than friends,' he said, quietly. 'I don't pretend to understand why I was made Krann, or why I was given these gifts. I'm far from being a Saviour-'

'Perhaps it is something you have to become, rather than be born into?' Vesna didn't sound particularly enthusiastic.

'Me? Not in this lifetime!' replied Isak with a bitter laugh. 'But it doesn't matter what I think. Within a few hours of being Chosen, two men I'd never met tried their best to kill me. That's too much of a coincidence for me.'

Vesna looked surprised. 'I heard about the training ground, but I met Sir Dirass Certinse several times. I can't see him offering to be assassin for anyone – and his family would hardly have wanted him to do it that way if they'd been involved.'

I know, which makes me think there's someone watching from the shadows. They both looked like rabid dogs, like they were not themselves.'

Vesna made a choked sound and his face paled. 'That sounds like the sort of magic necromancers play with.'

Let's not get too excited. Half the Land is worried about what I might be – either Aryn Bwr returned to life, or an obstacle to his rise. How many of them would think it better I just died?'

'True enough. If you weren't Farlan, I'm sure the Chief Steward would have your murder planned already. Anything else that might make sense of all this?'

Isak hesitated. There were some things he didn't mean to tell anyone, not until he understood them himself- he had no idea what was significant or not. The Gods didn't work in obvious ways; the Age of Fulfilment was just that, an Age. It could last centuries. Still he found himself saying, ‘There is one thing. A voice.'

'A voice?'

'I hear it in my dreams sometimes, a girl's voice. I think she's calling me, but I can't understand her.'

'Looking for you? I doubt that would impress Lady Tila.' He winked.

'Tila? You've never even met her!'

'You forget that soldiers gossip worse than washerwomen.' Vesna laughed. 'From what I hear, your pretty little maid's taken quite a fancy to you.'

Then you're as bad as the rest of them,' he growled. 'In case you hadn't noticed, I'm a white-eye. She isn't.'

'She might not mind what you are, not all do.'

'And not all have parents expecting to marry their daughters off well, and expecting children. I may well live long enough to fight beside your great-grandson, but I'll never have one of my own.'

'I'm sorry, my Lord- Isak. I didn't mean to offend.'

Isak gave a sigh and stretched his arms up into the air, then rolled his shoulders forward and back, attempting to work the stiffness from them. 'I know, and I'm not, really, but Tila's nothing to do with all this, so let's keep her out of it. As for the girl in my dreams, I feel I recognise her, and yet I don't.'

'What are you going to do?'

'What can I do? It's just another mystery about me that I can't do anything about. Maybe it's just designed to drive me insane wondering about it. But I will find out one day, there's no doubt about that, and all I can do is be ready for whatever's waiting.'

The following weeks saw the army getting ever smaller as knights and hurscals slipped away in small groups to their own holdings. The rest of the troops searched the horizon for the peaks of Tirah's towers as the miles passed away beneath their tramping feet. When they reached

Fordan, the sombre mood deepened. The new suzerain, a greying man of forty summers, had struggled into his father's armour despite a deep wound in his shoulder. Now he walked before the coffin, leading the cortege home.

That evening, the suzerain crammed as many as possible into the manor's great hall and spoke for a few minutes with dignified grief about those they had lost. As a last gesture to his beloved father, he ordered up the contents of their cellars, and barrels of beer and wine were rolled out for the endless toasts to the regiments who'd fought and the men who'd died. Everyone knew the late Suzerain Fordan would have hugely approved of having a hundred drunken soldiers as his memorial.

Isak sat back from it all, feeling out of place, though he'd been as much a part of the battle as any of them. A pang of guilt ran through him as he saw a tear in the new suzerain's eye as he raised a glass to his father's memory. That was something Isak would never be able to do – not even if his father managed some great feat of heroism. Isak doubted he'd feel much at all when Herman died.

His hands tightened into fists as part of him cried shame. Rising abruptly, he slipped away from the increasingly drunken mourners, following a servant's directions to a tight spiral staircase that led away from the hall. He told himself he didn't belong there, belting out marching songs, and stepped out on to a high terrace overlooking the fields. The crisp quiet of evening, with the hunter's moon dropping behind the distant pines, was a better place to remember the dead.