by Tom Lloyd
As Isak watched, the Menin cavalry regained some semblance of order and started preparing to repel the Farlan soldiers - then a cry came from behind him as someone shouted, “Ware! Attack - attack from the city!’ The alarm in his voice was plain for all to hear, and Isak turned at once and began to force his way through the crowd, Vesna close behind him, leaving the general to berate hurscals and nobles alike for not reforming quickly enough. Somewhere near the back, a hurscal in Suzerain Foleh’s colours called out, ‘Don’t know how it happened, but judging by the way they’re running, looks like someone’s just torn through that legion.’ The man, who didn’t appear much older than Isak himself, was standing in his stirrups, pointing back towards Byora. Despite his youth he sounded assured, like a veteran.
Isak could see the reserves were already turning; doubtless they’d heard the bugle calls from the legion guarding the entrance to Byora.
‘There’s never a bloody scryer when we need one,’ Isak growled.
He closed his eyes and placed one hand over the Skull fused to his cuirass, drawing deeply on its energy again. A cold wave surged through his mind, making him gasp with shock. He centred himself, breathing slowly and deeply, and closed his mind off to everything but the steady rhythm of his beating heart for a moment before sending his senses soaring high up into the brooding sky. He ignored the angry swirl of clouds and concentrated instead on the Land below. The wind rising up off the ground carried the damp smell of earth and the tang of spilled blood. He could feel the remaining priests and Aspects as a gentle fizz at the back of his mind; Kastan Styrax was a bright burning beacon, his Crystal Skulls causing a spark of sharp pain until Isak managed to block him. He felt a sense of great age wash over him when he looked north: whatever was attacking them was old, very old. At the back of his mind a presence stirred, then all of a sudden there was a rushing sensation and he yelped, throwing up a hasty wall around his mind before realising he didn’t need the defence, he wasn’t under attack. Something had left him - maybe not entirely, for he thought he could still detect a thread of energy connecting them - but it had found the strength to cross the battlefield. The Soldier, he thought, the Aspect of Death who is at his strongest on the battlefield -
He paused, suddenly struck by something: the presences out on the field felt remarkably similar to the Soldier, more like divine than mortal. Before he could investigate further, a stirring in the east grabbed his attention. When he turned in its direction, a vast presence suddenly locked its gaze onto him, and in that instant Isak sensed rage beyond anything he’d experienced before, even surpassing that fury that had almost consumed him in his first battle.
Isak didn’t wait to find out any more but broke the flow of magic and forced his eyes open.
Vesna, his face-plate raised, was peering anxiously at him. ‘Gods, that’s never a good sign,’ he said, not even trying to sound light’ hearted as Isak pulled his helm from his head and tried desperately to suck in air.
Isak shook his whole body, like a wet dog. ‘Wasn’t my fucking fault this time,’ he gasped, ‘but something’s waking up on Blackfang.’
‘What do you mean, waking up?’ Vesna said in dismay. ‘And something! Do you mean another water elemental?’
‘No such luck - whatever it is, it’s far bigger.’ He paused, trying to place the sensation, then a memory stirred in the back of his mind. ‘Gods,’ he breathed, ‘it reminded me of Genedel.’
Vesna blanched. ‘There’s a bloody dragon about to attack us?’
‘Me,’ Isak corrected him; ‘it’s about to attack me.’
‘What did you do to it?’
Isak snapped, roaring, ‘Nothing!’ as he shoved Vesna with such force that he almost toppled from his saddle. ‘For once it’s not my damn fault!’ He looked back at the Menin line and snarled, ‘And it’s not our only bloody problem either - whatever’s attacking from Byora is kin to the Reapers.’
‘Kin?’ Vesna thought for a moment. ‘Piss and daemons; those bastard sons of Death. It’s the Jesters. We hoped they’d died in the fires of Scree, but looks like no such luck. Cockroaches always find a way to survive, don’t they?’
‘I doubt leaving Azaer’s employ is an option either,’ Isak said grimly, ‘dead or alive. But more important: right now we’re surrounded.’ Their plans hadn’t included fighting their way out of a trap - none of the scryers had found enough troops to entrap a mounted army, and the legion stationed at Byora’s gate should have been enough to stop any surprise sorties. ‘Suggestions?’
Vesna looked down at his wrist, then towards the Menin lines. His mouth opened a little, then closed again as indecision took over.
‘Nothing?’ Isak asked. ‘Do you think we might be able to rout the Menin with an all-out push?’
Vesna gave a helpless shrug. ‘I don’t know. They’re formed up now, so we won’t catch anyone alone out in the open.’
He looked around at the Farlan light cavalry regiments on either side of them. They were able to strafe the enemy lines, whilst remaining maneuverable enough to dodge any potential counterattacks. In the distance, the drums on the Menin lines beat out an ominous tattoo of orders he couldn’t understand.
‘We can’t just stand here,’ Vesna muttered, thinking aloud. ‘If we call a full retreat we’ll have them snapping at our heels, but as long as we can break through the Jesters, it should be manageable. If we push on … Well, I’ve no idea what we’re going to meet.
They know they only need to blunt our attack, and what with the Reavers, the minotaurs and Lord Styrax himself, they’ve pretty much got the weapons to do it.’
‘Fuck,’ Isak breathed as he turned back to the eastern horizon, his mouth dropping open.
For a moment Vesna couldn’t see what had attracted Isak’s attention. He scanned the outline of Blackfang in vain before realising Isak was looking higher: at an indistinct black shape that was climbing, slowly, ponderously, into the sky.
‘Gods…’ Vesna stared at the shape, trying to gauge just how large it was, but he gave up. There was no point. ‘That is what’s coming for you?’
Isak sighed. ‘I don’t think it cares who I am, but it’s angry, and I just waved a bloody great big red rag in front of it.’
‘Can you stop it?’
‘How? With the Skulls? Give me a decade of training and maybe -but right now the only thing I know how to do that will stop something like that is to call down the storm, like I did in Narkang. If I do that, no one near me will survive.’
‘What about your companion?’ Vesna asked, his voice lowered. He looked over his shoulder, checking no one was near enough to hear their conversation.
‘If I gave him the control he needed, I’d never get it back,’ Isak admitted.
‘The last grains are falling,’ whispered a voice at the back of his mind, as if in response to Verna’s question. It sounded gleeful and malevolent. ‘The Master comes for you.’
Isak froze. There was a certainty in the Headsman’s voice that he’d not heard before, like the finality of a tomb door slamming shut.
Gods, this is really it.
He tightened his grip on the reins as a wave of lightheadedness washed over him, making him sway. The clamour of battle seemed to fade away until all he could see was the naked blade of Eolis lying across his lap and the dark shape in the sky as it began to labour towards them.
‘If we stay, we’re all dead,’ Isak stated.
I feel it drawing me. My dreams have drawn me here. The threads that bind me - whether prophecy, fate or a shadow’s scheme - have brought me to this place, and there will be no escape. They hold me too tight -
Vesna unknowingly interrupted Isak’s dark thoughts. He raised his left hand and said clearly, ‘That might not be so, my Lord.’
As Isak looked at him, he struggled with his vambrace and continued, ‘There’s something… I didn’t want to tell you - I was frightened to tell you, but - ‘
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Isak said, cutting him off.
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‘It does!’ Vesna insisted, giving up the struggle and using the edge of his sword to cut the vambrace away. ‘I can create a diversion for you: something that will give the Menin so much to think about that you’ll be able to break through the Jesters.’
‘No, my friend, you couldn’t,’ Isak said sadly. He watched as General Lahk rode through the knights, saluting his lord even now as the men fell silent. They surrounded Isak and Vesna with a ring of steel, and though they couldn’t hear the conversation, they watched the two men, somehow aware that something momentous was unfolding.
‘My Lord,’ Vesna yelled, trying to get Isak to pay attention, ‘listen to me!’
Finally Isak focused on his friend.
Vesna said out loud the words he had been repeating to himself, over and over again, for so long. ‘The night I was attacked in Tirah, Karkarn came to me and offered me the chance to become his Mortal-Aspect.’ He succeeded in pulling off his vambrace and tore off the bandage on his wrist. He pulled out a teardrop-shaped ruby and held it up. ‘He gave me this. All I need do to seal the bargain is to cut my cheek with it.’
‘And what would you do then?’ Isak asked quietly. ‘Would you take on an entire army by yourself? Would you stand back-to-back with the God of War as the two of you fight his own Chosen and a dragon? You don’t know if it’ll even pay you any attention.’
‘It will give you a chance,’ Vesna insisted, emotion making his voice hoarse. ‘If we stay here and do nothing, then we are all dead!’
‘I know.’ Isak let the words hang in the air for a moment.
He beckoned Lahk over and said, ‘General Lahk, I believe you to be a man who will follow orders, to your death if necessary, is that so?’
The general said nothing, but he inclined his head. His helm was still on, so Isak couldn’t see any expression on his face, but he doubted the man was anything but his usual impassive self.
‘Good. If you do not obey this order, I will kill you where you sit. Do you understand me?’
‘Isak!’ Vesna yelled desperately, but the white-eye raised a hand to stop him.
‘General Lahk, sound the retreat,’ Isak continued. ‘Lead these men back the way we came. Do not - Do not stop, not for anything nor anyone. This battle is lost; all that remains is to salvage what is left. Do you understand?’
Lahk nodded again and turned to his bugler beside him. ‘General retreat to all legions,’ he repeated solemnly.
‘Vesna, my friend,’ Isak continued while the order was being called, ‘no matter what you do, what bargain you make, you cannot buy the army the time it needs. I need you to lead this army from the front - or I will kill you too.’
‘But - ‘
‘No more.’ Isak raised Eolis and took hold of the Skull that was fused around the guard like a coating of ice. ‘Take Hunting with you; there’s no need for both of them to fall into enemy hands.’
‘You can’t,’ Vesna said weakly.
‘I can.’ Isak smiled as he felt the weight of the Land lift from his shoulders. In the distance the dragon was closing, but he still had time. ‘I never was much of a gambler - never had the patience for it - but it looks like I’m going to learn the hard way. Carel used to say a man was measured by the quality of his friends - I’m not sure what that says for my youth because I didn’t have any friends, but now I hope he was right.’
He slipped from his saddle and handed the reins to Vesna. ‘I’m about to take the greatest gamble of all, but at last I’m not afraid. I’ll trust the quality of my friends to see it through.’
Awkwardly, he held out an arm to Vesna, who stared at it in shock for a moment before taking it.
‘Goodbye, my friend,’ Isak said simply. ‘Thank you.’
And with that he turned around and walked towards the Menin line. The Farlan knights parted before him, some staring in bafflement, others saluting the silver-clad giant. He could hear the repeated orders being relayed throughout the legions, and the clamour as his men hurried to obey his last order.
Vesna too heard the sound of the general retreat, but he couldn’t focus on it, not even when a hurscal grabbed his arm and yelled something in his face. He could make no sense of the man’s words…
Then General Lahk roared, ‘Count Vesna, you have your orders! Lead the way, man!’ and Vesna shook himself.
He looked up at the man who’d commanded him all the years he’d served in the Ghosts. His eyes inevitably fell to the ruby sitting in his palm, then he turned back to watch Isak as the white-eye walked calmly towards the enemy army, already wrapped in crackling coils of lightning.
Gods preserve you, my friend, he thought and raised the ruby to scratch the skin below his eye. An unusually sharp sting flared on his face and he instinctively jerked his hand out of the way - before realising that the ruby had stayed there. He tried to pull it away, but realised it was now fixed to his cheek - yet that was the least of his concerns as he felt himself surrounded by shadows. He saw horror on the hurscal’s face before the man was hidden from sight by a swirling funnel of darkness. A fire burst into life in his belly.
All at once he felt every injury he’d ever received, every battlefield scar, cut and bruise flared to life, and Vesna howled at the excruciating pain, his head turned up towards the sky. He felt the shadows surge down his throat, driving him backwards, almost off his horse, before he caught his balance. His nerves burst into life, as if they were a map of sensation tracing every inch of his body. The screams and clamour of past battles echoed in his ears.
‘My general,’ said Karkarn in his ear, so deafeningly loud that Vesna felt the words reverberate through his whole body and remain, shuddering, in his bones. All around him he suddenly felt raw power, both terrible and beautiful in its savagery, and his muscles flooded with sudden inhuman strength. His vision cleared and the whole battlefield stretched out before him so he could see every curve and contour of the ground ahead. He could feel the fear in the eyes of his distant enemy, he tasted the blood on the wind.
‘Raise your sword, my general,’ Karkarn cried, ‘we go to war!’
Isak felt the coursing power increase with every step he took as, unchecked, the magic from the Skull grew into a furious storm.
The air shuddered under the assault and the ground beneath his feet trembled as the grass was slashed and torn by the lashing coils of energy. Up above clouds swirled closer, lowering and rumbling over the plain.
His senses were opened so wide to the Land around him that he could smell the dragon now; its presence was impossible to ignore. Isak was surrounded by a corona of blistering light as he walked towards the Menin troops. Behind him he sensed the sudden divine aura of Karkarn manifesting, but he forced himself to ignore it. He was close enough now that he could see the horror on the faces of his enemy, terrified by the gross display of unrestrained power.
Some nervous eyes began to turn east, to where the dragon was becoming clearer, but most remained on him as the raging corona surrounding him began to form into a cohesive mass. Distantly, Isak felt magic striking his shell of translucent white fire shell, but it spluttered into nothing as it hit the raw power.
As he felt the dragon near him, he raised his shield above his head, sending a wavering column of light up into the massing clouds. The storm responded to him and Isak felt the ear-splitting crash of lightning assail his protective cocoon. He looked up to see the enormous beast check its momentum, throwing its vast tail forward and its head back as another bolt of lightning split the air, then another.
Isak continued onwards; he knew he couldn’t control such a monstrous amount of magic for long without burning his mind out. Fifty paces from the enemy line, a bolt struck the huddled troops, tearing a hole in the ranks. He added his own power to that and heard the screams as magic set a dozen or more alight.
More lightning fell, the frequency and intensity increasing with every strike. Hanging in the air the dragon wheeled and turned, searching for a safe path through the supernatural lig
htning to Isak. It roared in pain, its voice rivalling the thunder that boomed out over the plain. Its scaled body shone with emerald light as the lightning raced over its body.
Driven backwards, the dragon reeled from the blow, but not even the power of the storm was enough to knock the monster from the sky. It had enough height to recover, and it used its gigantic pale green wings to heave its way up again. Isak sensed the beast’s shock, but its rage was undiminished. As best he could, he directed the storm towards it and was rewarded by the sight of the dragon retreating another few hundred yards before it landed heavily.
With his shield and sword raised, Isak marched towards the Menin infantry, and they scattered before him, too scared to face the furious storm of energy surrounding him. A second line of troops lay behind: cavalry and pikemen packed in tightly. Isak didn’t falter, but scanned the field urgently: he didn’t have much time left. The Crystal Skull defended his mind while it fed it with power only the Gods could comprehend, but that torrent of power was too much for any mortal to handle for long - let alone a novice. Soon the weakest link in the chain would snap, and the riot of raw power would react like a whiplash.
Finally he spotted them: a beastman in armour and a large knight with Lord Styrax’s emblem painted in white on his chest, sitting on horseback between the cavalry and infantry: General Gaur and Scion Kohrad, Styrax’s son.
As he pressed on, each step required more and more effort as he felt his own awareness bleeding away. More magic struck him, but still to no effect; more lighting hammered down with the rage of Gods and tore men apart. He saw General Gaur point in his direction, though the words were lost in an ocean of noise, and saw crossbowmen level their weapons. With a sweep of his hand Isak tore a furrow through them, ripping the soldiers open three ranks deep, leaving only corpses behind.
Without warning, he broke into a run, intent on closing the ground while he still could. General Gaur spurred forward to meet him, but Isak swatted both huge warhorse and its rider sprawling as he charged straight at Kohrad.