by Tom Lloyd
As they reached the river and slowed to cross it, two riders burst from the trees ahead of them, riding full-tilt. One stood up in his stirrups as soon as he saw them and bellowed at the top of his voice, 'Riders behind! Tildek and Lomin soldiers!'
Isak's hand tightened: the whole Certinse family. Mow long had they been waiting for this opportunity? They reached the cleft in the hill and Isak wheeled Toramin in a tight circle to survey where they would be making their stand. It wasn't perfect, but there were jutting stones that would prevent a full charge, and some cover at least. The two scouts, Jeil and Mihn, reached them at breakneck speed, their ponies hardly slowing as they reached the taller hunters and found gaps between them to slow and turn in. Both men looked flushed and were out of breath.
'Borl took an arrow and fell from his horse,' Jeil gasped. 'We saw banners from at least two different regiments of light cavalry.' He was gulping air down, getting his wind back for the fight ahead as he strug¬gled to control his words. The rangers were ruthlessly loyal, and Jeil was raging inside that he'd not been able to cut the archer's throat before he fled.
'No hurscals, no nobles, but I heard more cavalry not far away.' Mihn looked rather more composed. The sudden ride had forced rare animation onto his normally stony face; he looked truly alive, instead of being a shadow of a man.
'Two regiments, and probably fifty hurscals,' Vesna guessed. 'Right, lances in the ground, form a spike wall. Keep the tips high so they can see what we intend. It might make them hesitate.'
Isak nodded. 'And I need to find those damned mages.'
Harnessing the trickle of power and opening his senses again, Isak quested out, but this time with a purpose that the Skull of Hunting eagerly embraced. The pursuers had reached the tree line, three hundred yards away, but there they stopped. Going further, Isak felt more bodies and smelled the musk of horses on the wind in several distinct places. Within the last he felt some sharp pinpricks of magic and swooped in closer: there! Three of them, protective wards already raised, all taking no chances – Isak could taste the streams of energy surrounding them, bitter in the back of his throat, nothing he recog¬nised, or desired contact with. A wry smile crept onto his lips; their own defences had betrayed them. In his head he heard Aryn Bwr speak with cold dispassion: They can't sense you, kill them quickly and withdraw.
Isak looked around as the rest of his party arrived at the cleft. In the distance he could see the spare horses milling around in fear and confusion, beginning to drift back towards their fellows.
'My Lord, I can see archers,' Mihn said suddenly. Isak jerked his head round – they couldn't let archers close the gap; they had only a few bows themselves and they would never survive an exchange.
Tila, Mistress Daran, get to the back, help hobble the horses, then find a rock to shelter behind. Mihn, tell me if they get closer.'
Isak closed his eyes as everyone took up their positions. The Ghosts were on foot now, kneeling down, axes laid out before them and lances held high. No one spoke. Seeing Isak in the breach at Narkang, emulating Nartis himself in battle, had affected them all profoundly. He would never be treated with the friendly camaraderie of fellow soldiers, for they regarded him with awed devotion. They would follow his orders without question.
In the forest beyond, Isak began to delicately test the defences of the three mages until, in a very short time, he found what he was looking for. He didn't know what any of the spells surrounding them did exactly, but he could sense a gap in one, like an incomplete web. Isak reached out with his left hand, picturing the tips of his dead white fingers slipping between the threads of energy and clamping about the mage's neck. He felt rather than heard a yelp of fear as the mage's shield collapsed inwards. The revolting flavour grew in his mouth, both familiar and yet completely unknown.
Touched by Larat, that one, said Aryn Bwr, ordained then given over to it daemon. Kill him quickly before his new master intervenes.
The white-eye needed no further encouragement. The situation was bad enough as it was without a daemon incarnating. Tightening his hand into a fist, he felt a small snap, then let the corpse drop from his lingers.
'One dead,' he announced. Isak felt rather than saw the question-ing expressions behind their helms; even Carel, his oldest friend, wa a little reluctant to ask what Isak was now capable of, for fear of the answer.
'Any others?' the veteran asked briskly.
'They're paying attention now; I only got one because they weren't watching for me.' Isak slipped on his shield and scanned the ground ahead. Three companies of horsemen had left the cover of the trees and were intent on crossing the river to cut off any escape. They were keeping a respectful distance, perhaps uneasy even now to march on the Chosen of Nartis, but he knew that wouldn't last. Isak allowed himself a moment of pity: the soldiers and sworn bondsmen had no choice but to follow their liege into battle, even when they knew the wrong of it. He shook his head. Time enough for sympathy if he lived, and for that, he must kill as many of them as he could.
'They're just going to form up and stick us like pincushions,' mut¬tered Vesna as he watched the cavalry cross the stream. '1 doubt they'll bother trying to get in behind us now they know we've got nowhere to run.'
'Get the armour off the horses to give us some protection. The longer we're alive the more of them 1 can kill at a distance.'
'There's no time for that – look, those are hurscals.'
Vesna pointed to more troops leaving the trees and Isak recognised the square heraldic flags, present only when the duke or suzerain was on the field. He spotted the barbican emblem of Lomin.
'The whole festering clan is here then,' Isak muttered, 'but how did Duke Certinse get here so fast?'
'Doesn't matter,' Vesna growled. 'What we need to know is how we're going to survive this. Three companies on the left, and one, maybe two, still in the trees? Then we've got heavy cavalry, a good fifty. My Lord, we need those mages dead; we can't afford to have them keep you busy.'
'I can't get to them.' Isak paused, waiting for some sort of response from Aryn Bwr, but the voice in his head was silent. 'I'm just going to ward them off as best I can.'
'While we fight against odds of ten to one? What about what you did on the palace walls in Narkang?'
'That would kill every single one of you; I don't know whether even I would survive it. No, we need some help from somewhere.' Isak's voice tailed off as a memory suddenly appeared in his head. The forest spirits in Llehden – the gentry – if they had called him friend, then perhaps other spirits of the Land would also. It might not be much of an advantage, but he'd take anything. He closed his eyes and took deep, calming breaths to get the anxious drum of his heart under control, then he opened his senses to the Land – which already felt like a seductively natural act.
The two remaining mages noticed immediately, and Isak felt them abandon the smoky ribbon of magic linking them as they scrambled to strengthen their own defences. Whatever spell they had been working on dissipated almost immediately. Instead of probing their defences further, Isak left the mages to their distraction and moved beyond them to run his fingers through the cool heavy earth and listen to the ponderous breath of the trees all around. There was a remarkable stillness shrouding the whole area, once the irritation of humans was ignored. Isak felt his heart slow and relax as his jangling fear seeped away into the black soil beneath him and disappeared. He began to quest out in all directions, nosing at stones, following a ripple dance its way down the stream, blindly weaving his way down the tunnels of rabbits and moles as the sensation of the damp earth grew around him like a protective cocoon. Only then, suffused by a sense of peace, did he notice a difference in one area, like a twisted knot of iron in a haystack. He felt it stir, only the slightest of movements, but enough to make the riverbed where it lay tremble softly.
With great care Isak approached as it stirred again, brightening and expanding, almost like a tree waking slowly into summer. There was a note of muzzy confusion bef
ore the creature shook itself to wakeful¬ness and noticed Isak – and the water suddenly surged, a flurry of movement. He felt a shape arch up out of the water and stretch to its full height. Isak hurriedly retreated back in on himself and cut the How of magic flowing from him, but not before he felt a pulse of pure fury radiate out from the creature.
'Bugger.'
Vesna rounded on him. 'Bugger? What do you mean? What in the name of Ghenna has happened now?'
'Well, it seems things could have been worse after all,' Isak mut-tered grimly. 'I think I just woke something up, and it's not happy.'
Vesna opened his mouth but his retort was cut off as one of the Ghosts in the line gave a bellow.
'Piss and daemons, what's that?' The man pointed a hundred yards down the stream to where something was thrashing under the surface.
Isak strained to see, but all he could make out was furious spurts of water erupting. As the taste of its anger filled the air, Isak, to his horror, recognised it.
'It reminds me- But not the same- Oh Gods, the Chalebrat, from the battle with the Elves!'
'Like a Chalebrat?' spat Mihn from Isak's left, so sudden and unex¬pected that the white-eye jumped at the sound. 'You've just woken a Malviebrat? A water elemental? My Lord, ‹we. are the only ones near the water!'
All eyes jumped to the drifting water of the stream that ran no more than five yards to their left. Here it was calm and almost clear, about two feet deep and running smoothly over a bed of pebbles, a straight path towards the boiling chaos Isak had stirred up.
'Shit, it's coming this way!'
The churning column of water abruptly resolved into the shape of a tall figure striding down the centre of the stream, water seething and dancing furiously at its feet.
'Mihn, any ideas?'
The small man cast his eyes around desperately as the Malviebrat closed in on them. The soldiers lining up against them had stopped and all eyes were on the creature, exactly as Isak had intended. But there was no doubting the intent in its walk. 'I- Perhaps a show of strength? They are creatures of magic, after all, and however much you're angered it, it must have some sense of self-preservation.'
'Morghien?'
The wanderer's eyes flashed open and his features seemed to flicker for a moment until they became his usual weather-beaten face. Isak felt a moment of hope as he remembered what Mihn had called him once, the man of many spirits. One of those had been a local Goddess bound to a stream.
Morghien shook his head wearily. 'Seliasei cannot reach it; the Malviebrat will not listen to her.'
A show of force?' Isak repeated.
Morghien rubbed his hand over his face to wipe away the sensation of allowing the Aspect control of his body. 'Will probably not work, but it is worth a try. If you fight it, don't worry that your blade passes through it. Elementals use magic to hold their form; the more you cut through that form, the weaker it will become.'
'Worth a try,' Isak confirmed. He felt a wolfish grin creep onto his face as he readied himself and felt the huge reserve of energy inside the Skulls pulse with eagerness. 'Cover your eyes.'
Isak raised his arms, holding sword and shield up to the sky, and blistering light burst into life in an arc beyond his hands. He could feel the heat it gave off; even with his eyes almost entirely closed the light was nearly unbearable. The lashing coils of energy bucked and kicked as he fought to control them. The impact of the magic smash¬ing into itself reverberated down into his massive shoulders. The air shuddered and screamed around him as the streams of energy within the arc writhed about each other, but after a few moments Isak felt the magic reluctantly submit to his control.
He felt as though he were rising up on the air, and all sensation other than the enormous power in his hands fell away. Isak struggled not to cry out at the overwhelming strength flowing through his body; he felt invulnerable, divine. The Malviebrat seemed to recognise his divinity too: its advance faltered, but instead of stopping, a palpable surge of rage radiated out and on it came. Isak watched the fluid motion of its limbs and it stretched out into a sprint. It looked like Siulents as it moved. The white froth of its body was tinted the faint¬est of blues, and it was deceptively quick with the unnatural grace of water come alive.
As the Malviebrat surged towards Isak, fists bunched and ready, he heard screams from behind him as the horses caught sight of the unearthly figure. With a thought, Isak split the weaves of magic running between his hands. The creature was not cowed, but he re¬membered Morghien's words. The vast energy he held would disrupt the elemental's body, even if nothing showed. Wrapping one crack¬ling loop of magic around his shield and another around Eolis, Isak charged forward to get clear of his own men. He readied himself to fight.
The Malviebrat swung wildly towards Isak as he came towards it. The white-eye ducked and spun around, letting momentum carry the blade into its belly and on through its body. The elemental howled as it stopped and turned, raking down with clawed hands onto Isak's raised shield. To Isak it felt like an axe had been slammed down, send¬ing a shower of droplets into his face, blinding him for a moment. He slashed wildly upwards and felt Eolis cut something, momentarily driving the creature off. When he cleared his eyes it was on him again, but this time he was prepared, riding the blow as he cut to the knee, then reversing his blade and ripping it up into the groin, and right through to the elemental's shoulder.
Again the creature screamed, but the cuts, heavy impacts as Isak felt them, seemed to pass through and out without causing any obvious damage other than a blaze in the water of its body as Eolis cut through it. Isak gave steady ground, cutting forward again and again, until at last the elemental seemed to slow and Isak felt his chance come. With every scrap of a white-eye's unnatural speed he slashed and tore at his enemy, using his shield as a club to batter away at it, following each blow with another. The Malviebrat reeled under his furious assault and squealed like a wounded boar before bursting apart into a sudden torrent of water.
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 al
l 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!'