The soldier tending his commander pulled a knife from his belt to cut away the sleeve. Carel's once-powerful arm looked white, except for the deep sickly bruise that had begun to reveal itself. Isak could see from the angle that it was a nasty break, and the colour made him think that Jeil would have his work cut out to save the arm at all.

'Gods, it doesn't look good,' said the soldier, unthinkingly.

'I know that, you bastard,' Carel spat. 'Nartis be blessed it's my left.'

'Lord Isak,' called a booming voice and Isak turned to see the man Vesna had identified as Cardinal Disten advancing towards him. He was indeed dressed as the chaplain he had once been but, as he neared, Isak could see the cobalt-blue hems of his robe were faded and patched. The cardinal himself was an imposing man – several years older than Carel, Isak guessed, but standing over six feet tall, and still with a young man's bulk. His long beard and the straggly remains of his hair were completely grey and his lean, lined face bore more than a few scars. Only his eyes belied the impression of age, burning fiercely from beneath thick dark eyebrows.

'My Lord, it's an honour to meet you,' Cardinal Disten said as he dropped to one knee. Isak could see the moon-glaive hooked to his belt was still dripping blood onto the torn grass.

'As it is you. But if you'll excuse me, I'm a bit busy for pleasantries right now.' A groan from Carel made him turn back to the injured man.

'Isak, go and do your job. You are no surgeon, and if you think I'm going to let you touch me, then you must have been brained in the battle.' Carel forced a smile that Isak returned. He touched Carel lightly on his good hand and rose.

'Well, Cardinal, it appears I do have time after all. Please, rise.' He gestured over at the figure of Karlat Certinse being stripped of his armour. 'And now you can at last write the final chapter of your book.'

'Hah,' the cardinal replied humourlessly. 'It's been a long time coming, for certain, but I don't intend to stop until I'm sure I've got them all. Life will be happier when I see his mother off to face the judgment of the Gods. I'll be praying the creatures of the Dark Place find something sufficiently inventive for the lot of 'em.'

To Isak's surprise there was little satisfaction in the cardinal's voice, just a grim determination. He guessed the long years pursuing Malich's followers had been his job rather than his calling. Perhaps the cardinal was just tired of dark secrets and death. Isak was already learning that too much of either could sour any man's soul.

'Would you do me the service of seeing to it? Acting with my au¬thority to bring them all to trial?'

'I will do as I am commanded, my Lord.' Cardinal Disten bowed low, then gestured to a group of men who lingered on foot behind him. 'May I present Brother-Captain Sheln, and Count Macove, a major of our order.'

Both men bowed low to Isak, who nodded as he inspected his newest allies. They were dressed in black studded leather and painted cuirasses and carrying their peaked Y-slit helms. Their heavy cavalry sabres were sheathed. The brother-captain was a grim, craggy-faced man of about fifty summers whose skin had an unhealthy grey pallor. There was a cold immovability about Brother-Captain Sheln that Isak was immediately wary of; there was no compassion in those eyes, and he had a sense of remorselessness, and ruthlessness – not what Isak wanted to see in the face of a religious fanatic, no matter whose side he said he was on. Isak had the impression the man was carved from stone…

Count Macove was younger, and looked like the dour expression worn by most of the dark monks didn't come so easily to him. As if to confirm Isak's first thought, Vesna approached and took the man's arm in a familiar gesture.

'I hadn't expected piety from you, Macove,' Vesna exclaimed, a broad smile cracking across his face.

'Good to see you too,' the man replied in equal cheer. 'As for my piety, we must all grow up and take responsibility for our lives at some point – even you'll find yourself doing so one day.'

Isak opened his mouth to make a comment, then closed it again. He was the Duke of Tirah now, and barrack-room banter was hardly ap¬propriate. Instead, he looked around at the other dark monks nearby.

'Is Suzerain Saroc not with you?'

The brother-captain didn't react to his words, but Count Macove betrayed a flicker of uncertainty that made Isak press the matter.

'Come on, I could hardly expect two forces to be tramping around without at least one alerting the suzerain. Since I see no hurscals or banners, I would guess he's part of your order and just too far away to introduce himself yet. If, however, he is deliberately snubbing his new liege lord, I will have to take offence and replace him with someone a little more respectful unless he steps forward right bloody now!' Isak's voice had risen to a shout.

'My Lord,' called a cowled figure standing twenty yards off. Revealing his face to the daylight, Suzerain Saroc marched forward to kneel before Isak, his cheeks red. The suzerain was a remarkably short man, but powerful, almost a direct opposite to the second man who stepped forward, a pace behind Saroc, and also knelt. Isak glimpsed the devices sewn over their hearts, the only signs of nobility they wore. Saroc's was a red chalice; the other man bore a white ice cobra. Isak recognised it even as the owner spoke.

'Forgive us for not coming to greet you, my Lord,' said Suzerain Tori, his pale face contrasting with the black uniform when he pulled back his cowl. 'It is our policy to keep those with power in the Order from having to confront their lieges as emissaries for the Brethren. Our Order does not play the great game. We have no wish to act as though we were making a show of who our members are, lest it cause complications.'

Isak frowned momentarily, then reached out a hand to take the suzerain's arm in greeting.

'That's the second time you've fought by my side; if such crimes were the only ones I had to forgive, I would be a far happier man. But what are you doing here? You're a long way from your home…'

'I am. I was in the hills on the Danva-Foleh border on business when an associate informed me of Lord Bahl's death. As I came in search of Suzerain Saroc, one of my agents informed me that the Duke of Lomin had left with his hurscals suddenly, so we decided to keep track of them.'

'A welcome decision for me – but how did you find out about Lord Bahl's death so quickly if you've come from the Danva border?'

Tori's expression was grim. 'The Brethren have a number of – we'll call them associates – who use unorthodox methods – and in certain cases, lack sanity. These are not men we have brought into our Order, but we often find uses for them.'

'That's not an explanation,' Isak pointed out. The suzerain looked uncomfortable for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he struggled to match the looming white-eye's stare.

'The College of Magic would describe him as a rogue mage, which he is, but not in an insane or impious way. His methods simply differ from other mages, and that makes him a valuable asset.'

'So why did you hesitate to tell me that? It's a simple enough ex¬planation.'

Torl gave a sigh. 'That may be, but how he knew of the death of Lord Bahl is not. He first saw an image after spending several hours watching sunlight filter through the branches of a yew; then again in the movement of leaves in a herb garden. To most people that sounds like he's some sort of prophet, and 1 wouldn't want to give you that impression of our order.'

'I'm intrigued,' Isak said. 'Perhaps I should meet the man – and when you bring him to Tirah Palace, I look forward to your report on your Brethren as well.'

'My Lord-'

Isak quickly cut him off. 'Your loyalty is not in question, but I must know what other allegiances my nobles hold. The events in Narkang and Thotel mean 1 cannot afford to be ignorant of anything, certainly not the activities of my subjects.'