Isak stopped and looked around at the stream he was standing in. There was no sign of the elemental; the still air above seemed frozen with shock at the violence of his assault. He noticed his breathing again, ragged through his tight throat, and then the sounds of the Land once more rushed back to him. His toes twitched automatically as he felt the chill of the water invading his boots and that stirred him into action.

Turning back to his soldiers, Isak saw them staring. Most were wear¬ing helms, but Morghien and Mihn stood with their mouths hanging open in astonishment. Isak felt a growl of annoyance as he started back towards them. Just once, it would be nice if people didn't look at him that way after a battle.

CHAPTER 3

Distant shouts reminded Isak that not all the enemy had fled: the cavalry were still formed up on each side of the stream some two hun¬dred yards away, arrows nocked, just waiting for the order. The smaller group of knights between them were noblemen and hurscals in the dull burgundy livery of Lomin, but Isak had eyes only for the man at the centre. The scarlet wolf's head helm would have made Duke Certinse's identity obvious even without the flag of Lomin hanging limply above his head. Isak, still standing in mid-stream, allowed himself a moment to stare at one of the few men in the Land who was his peer, in both age and station.

'What are you waiting for then?' Isak said under his breath. 'It's a bit late for second thoughts now.'

No answer appeared, and with a flourish Isak sheathed his sword and turned his back on them. He kept his eyes fixed on Count Vesna as he returned to his comrades, keeping his pace steady. He knew he looked unconcerned, assured – the glamour of Siulents ensured that – but inside he was beginning to feel the first strains of panic. A score of men against several regiments was no battle at all, and try as he might, Isak couldn't think of any way out. To have come so far, only to be killed as he crossed the border seemed like a sick joke.

Gods, is this really it? After all those dreams? 1 was sure I knew who was going to kill me, but I guess that was all wrong. Perhaps Aryn Bwr was right when he said I had broken history… perhaps no portent will now hold true for me.

Isak couldn't help but take a quick glance around at the trees on either side. 'Stop it,' he muttered to himself, 'there's no one there. You're being foolish. It's fear playing with you, nothing more.'

'Archers coming forward at slow order,' said Vesna in a neutral tone as Isak reached his guards. The white-eye nodded, not trusting himself

to speak. His hand bunched into a fist as he felt a growing knot in his stomach. He'd been frightened before, many times, but this was the first time he'd had the luxury of time to savour its bitter flavour.

The absence of magic coursing through his body added to t he sensa¬tion, he realised, feeling insubstantial, almost weak as his impending death reared in his mind. Everything else fled before that: here he was, armed with weapons to make a God envious – and there was no help to be found. He was outnumbered, miles from safety, and not so inexperienced that he didn't know that any magic he did use would kill him and his friends as surely as it would those they were fighting.

A flicker of anger appeared at that thought. If I'm going to die, so is that bastard Certinse. I couldn't stand to take my last breath and see his triumphant grin. I'd rather put out my own eyes first. He looked up at the overcast sky. The poacher's moon would have fallen behind the horizon by now. If Nartis was watching, he was obviously content to leave his Chosen to whatever fate was coming.

'More horsemen, my Lord,' someone called, and a soldier pointed off to their left. A group of mounted men trotted in line at the top of the slope, following the path Isak's party had taken, anonymous against the darkness of the tall pines.

'Vesna, do you recognise them?'

Vesna craned his neck, then shook his head. 'I can't tell. They're wearing a uniform I don't recognise, but they're riding hunters, and they're not knights or hurscals, not all in black like that.'

'Their leader isn't,' Carel said, sounding confused. 'Is that-? Gods, it's a bloody chaplain leading them!'

He was right: as the party came closer they could make out the one man not in black was sporting the white robes of a Legion Chaplain. His hood was pushed back to display a bald head and a long grey beard hung down over his chest. As they neared, the chaplain stood up in his stirrups and called something towards the enemy cavalry, swing¬ing his moon-glaive in a wide circle above his head and finishing his statement with a roar and a cackle of laughter.

'Bastard's a bit old to be an active chaplain,' Vesna commented, 'and what's he laughing about-? He broke off abruptly, then exclaimed, 'Oh Gods, of course! He's been waiting the best part of his life for this day, no wonder he's making sure he enjoys it!' He turned to Carel. 'Get our men in the saddle, now – those knights are on our side but they're still outnumbered.'

The men didn't wait for Carel's orders; they were already running for the horses. Isak grabbed Vesna by the arm and demanded an ex¬planation.

'That's Cardinal Disten,' the count said, his eyes shining. 'He's the one who uncovered the whole bloody Malich affair. He's been after the Certinse family ever since, but he never managed to find the proof he needed to have them tried. Now they've delivered themselves to him, both Duke Certinse and Suzerain Tildek, and that's reason enough to round up the rest of the bastards.'

'Who are the knights with him? That's not a cardinal's staff.'

Vesna beckoned one of the soldiers to bring their horses. 'Dark monks, I'd bet, my Lord. The Brethren of the Sacred Teachings them¬selves. Suzerain Saroc has always been known as a bit of a recluse – I think we've just found out why!'

Isak swung himself into the saddle and looked at the advancing horsemen. 'I never expected to be so glad to see religious fanatics,' he said as the newcomers unleashed a volley of arrows into the suddenly disordered enemy soldiers desperately turning to face the new threat. Isak grinned and drew his own sword. The dark monks didn't make the numbers even, but it was close enough for Isak. He felt the sharp hunger of magic inside his chest as Eolis glittered in the dull daylight, around the lower part of which the Skull of Hunting had wrapped itself. It looked as if the guard and a few inches of the blade had been coated in a thick layer of ice, and the weapon throbbed with barely restrained power.

'Morghien, Mihn, your weapons will do more good here, protecting Tila and Mistress Daran, than in the midst of a cavalry charge.' The wanderer nodded. He was not a natural horseman and controlling his animal in the midst of battle was no easy thing. Mihn looked less impressed, but he didn't argue; his staff would be of little use against plate-armour.

'The rest of you, form line. I'd prefer them alive to put on trial, but dead will do almost as well.'

The men laughed and Carel called out the first line of the Palace Guard's battle-hymn. The voices, few as they were, sang out with lusty vigour as Isak watched the enemy reel from the unexpected assault. Cardinal Disten's manic laughter echoed out and Isak gentled Toramin as he waited for the Ghosts to ready themselves.

He fixed his attention on his prey, seeing the distant Duke Certinse slapping away the hand of the knight next to him – presumably his uncle, Suzerain Tildek – and drawing his sword. Flames burst from the weapon's surface and Isak smiled and raised his own weapon in salute. The slender blade glittered in the dull light, a soft sssshh sounding as it cut the air.

'I'm going to have your head on a spike,' Isak said softly, a promise to the wind. He gestured, and his party advanced a few yards until they were clear of the hollow and standing on firmer ground, where they stood and waited for the monks.