by Tom Lloyd
‘That one is rather special,’ Morghien agreed. ‘The obsidian side indicates that a path is already taken and Fate herself cannot change a matter. Here, Fate acts as the idea of chance, or suggesting an opportunity to take. When the black side comes up on this particular chain, however, on my chain, I suspect it represents Azaer.’
The word hung in the air between them as Isak stared down at the tiny reflection of Alterr, the greater moon, on the coin’s polished surface. Though he knew little about Azaer - or the shadow, as King Emin called it -he was certain it had been watching him over the last few months. The night normally held no terrors for Isak, who had been walking the Land with only the moons for company all his life, but several times recently he’d felt an unaccountable fear, and found himself fleeing to the light. Even King Emin had been unable to tell him why the shadow did what it did. Isak did not want to be caught up in Azaer’s plans.
Without wasting any further time, Morghien unhooked the clasp holding the chain closed and held the stack of coins above the board. The Mortal was on the bottom. They fell with a clatter onto the stone as the hunter’s moon came out from behind a cloud to cast its tinted light over the stone board.
As Morghien leaned close over them, his hand poised to remove the blanks, a hiss escaped his lips.
Isak looked down himself, and realised that even he could read what the board was saying only too well: just inside the quarter Morghien had called the heavens lay the Mortal, almost entirely covered by the obsidian side of the Lady’s Coin.
‘Azaer did not want you to meet Fedei again, and so I lose another dear friend,’ whispered Morghien to the night, and he bowed his head in grief.
CHAPTER 2
The next day was cooler and overcast, with wide furrowed clouds that darkened towards the horizon and threatened rain. They made for the forest road, riding mostly in silence as every member of the party listened hard for the crash of branches and drum of following hooves. Having abandoned the river, they headed directly north, skirting the borderland between Tor Milist and the lands claimed by the Farlan. Their destination now was the suzerainty of Saroc, a longer journey, but one that avoided the most obvious route home.
One glance at a map made it abundantly clear where the danger lay: on the river that took them up the border between Nerlos and the suzerainty of Tildek, seat of the inordinately powerful Certinse family. Suzerain Tildek and his nephew, the Duke of Lomin, would be overjoyed to catch Lord Isak with only a small force of guards before the young heir could reach Tirah and assert his claim. Their only dilemma would be deciding between themselves as to which of them should become king.
Riding on the fringe of the group, Morghien sat awkwardly atop one of the spare horses, his eyes fixed on the lead Ghost. As there was nothing he could do for Wisten Fedei, Morghien had agreed to Isak’s suggestion that he accompany them to Tirah instead. He wasn’t a natural horseman, and his discomfort added to his misery as the hours crawled past.
Isak had worried that the forest was too quiet, but early in the afternoon, when the forest thinned to the familiar sight of groves and thickets encircled by pastureland that characterised much of Farlan territory, the Land remained deserted. Where they would expect sheep and cattle to be grazing, thus far they hadn’t seen even a rabbit, and the air was empty of birdsong. Isak had spent enough time alone in the wilds to know what a quiet day sounded like; this was the silence that followed a hunting predator.
‘We crossed the Longbow River two hours ago now,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘We should have seen someone by now.’ Like his soldiers, Isak was riding in full armour, his helm upturned in his lap. Jeil and Borl, the rangers, were scouting ahead with Mihn; Isak didn’t believe anyone could catch all three of them unawares, but still he felt better when his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword. There was something nagging at the back of his mind. He looked around again; there were few enough hiding places nearby -and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
‘Do you think we’re walking into a trap?’ Tila asked from behind him. Isak turned in his saddle and gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile. It didn’t seem to have the desired effect; Tila twitched her nose at him and looked away.
‘I hope not,’ he said. ‘I just keep getting the feeling someone’s spying on us.’ A tremor ran down his spine like a ghostly finger and he flinched, unable to stop himself from checking around again. ‘Ignore me, Tila. I’m just being foolish. I’d trust our scouts over anyone else.’
‘Some things they can’t see,’ Morghien said in a distant voice. He closed his eyes for the moment, an inquisitive look on his face. ‘Is it magic you feel?’
‘I—’ Isak stopped. His inexperience counted against him once more. ‘I don’t really know enough about it to be sure.’
‘Isak,’ Carel said, an intent look on his face, ‘what do your instincts say? No, don’t think about it -don’t try magic or anything you’re not so familiar with. I know you, and I trust your instincts; tell me right now: do you think we’re being watched?’
Isak nodded. ‘I think we are.’
‘Right.’ Carel raised a hand to signal the halt. ‘Helms on, lances out. Spare mounts behind us; Tila, Mistress Daran, stay in the middle, and Morghien, stay with them, no matter what happens. The bastards must have a mage scrying for us, which means we are going to be hit, and when that happens I want you getting the women away. You’re not a knight, trained in battle, so you’re the one we can spare in a straight fight.’ He stopped for a moment, suddenly remembering protocol, and looked at Isak, gesturing at his helm. ‘My Lord?’
The white-eye smiled as he remembered a saying he’d heard once: Tradition rules the Farlan, the lord just tells everyone what to do. He pulled the blue hood from his belt and slipped it over his head, then raised the distorting mirror helm over his head. Even on a nondescript day like this the light reflected strangely off it. Isak was glad his enemies were the ones who had to look at that soulless face. ‘Gentlemen, your helms.’
Isak’s party was already diminished, with eight dead and three seriously wounded who had remained in Narkang, so the absence of the scouts was pronounced. Mihn in particular had become a comforting presence, always in Isak’s shadow; in his absence Isak felt unaccountably vulnerable.
Looking around, his eyes came to rest on Carel, organising the spare horses into a train they could abandon if necessary. The old soldier wouldn’t thank him for pointing it out, but it was high time he retired. Isak thought he looked too small for plate-armour now, as if the loss of youth had drained inches and more from the man. The battle in Narkang had been evidence enough; Carel was still undeniably good with a sword, but hours of combat in heavy plate was exhausting for anyone; this time the effort had nearly killed Carel. When we get to Tirah I’ll speak to Lesarl about widows with manor houses and grandchildren he could grumble about, he thought to himself.
‘Lord Isak’s right; the woods are too quiet,’ commented Morghien as Vesna and Carel helped Tila and her chaperone pull shields onto their backs. Neither had armour, of course, but the chances were high that any ambush would be by light cavalry, and while the shields would be useless against a longbow, anything smaller might not penetrate.
‘The quiet could be good for us,’ said the count. ‘There’s no wind, sound will travel well, and any ambush will require more than one regiment - having seen Lord Isak in battle, any force of fewer than a hundred men would be taking quite a risk.’
‘Vesna, find us somewhere to defend,’ Isak snapped, scanning the trees ahead. He could feel movement out there somewhere, movement, and eyes on them. There was magic involved, but this was a predator and the animals of the forest had recognised it.
They broke through a line of high ash trees and moved on to clearer ground. A gentle slope ran down towards a stream which disappeared from view behind higher ground off to the left, but it was steep and thick with tangling hawthorns. Isak didn’t need to be told that that was the wrong direc
tion; they could find themselves cornered fifty yards in.
‘There should be rocky ground there, where the stream comes out,’ Vesna said, pointing to the right. ‘Look at the lie of the ground: those bushes are probably hiding a sharp drop where the stream comes out. We aim for that rocky ground, and if there’s no threat when we get there we move in to the trees behind and find our scouts. We must move fast. If we’re caught in open ground by cavalry we don’t stand a chance.’
As one, the horses moved forward at a brisk trot. Isak sat high and tense in his saddle, straining to detect anything over the rattle of armour and the thud of hoofs on the hard ground. He snapped at the reins irritably, trying to hold in Toramin’s impatient steps, and as he did so his arm brushed the Skull fixed in his breastplate, reminding him of the power the objects gave him. Forged by the last king of the Elves for use in the Great War, the Skulls gave access to more magic than any mortal could naturally summon. With a Crystal Skull, even the Gods of the Pantheon’s Upper Circle could be killed -so he should be able to open his senses to the Land around him while he was running for cover.
Isak touched his mailed fingers to the Skull and through the enchanted silver encasing his body he felt an immediate rush of exhilaration flow through him. The power he could access now was simply terrifying -he’d been nervous about experimenting with the Skulls until he was safe in Tirah Palace, but now he didn’t have a choice. He was careful to allow only a trickle of energy to leak out of the artefact and into his body, but that tiny fraction was enough. A sense of the terrain around them settled over his mind, like a silk cloak descending. The wind rippling through the fat blades of grass on the open slope made him shiver and the chill trickle of water cut sharp through his soul. He focused on the trees ahead and a noise suddenly filled his ears: hoof beats, and the clatter of metal.
‘Riders ahead,’ he called quietly. ‘They’re closing fast. First squad with me, battle order.’
Aryn Bwr stirred hungrily in his mind, but Isak angrily crowded it out. This was Isak’s fight and he didn’t need anything to distract him. At his urging, Toramin leapt forward and the rest followed in two groups, one with him, the second dropping fifteen yards behind to give them space to manoeuvre. They were closer to the river than the far tree line, and fifty yards out Isak saw what he’d been hoping for: large slabs of rock breaking up a hollow in the slope, and a jagged wall of rock and earth, leaving no more than twenty yards of ground to fight on and no space behind them to be encircled by cavalry. Low-spreading yews were dotted all over the crest, and Isak understood why Vesna had aimed for that area in particular. Their attackers would be on horseback, and there was a good chance it wouldn’t occur to cavalrymen to dismount and creep around the back any time soon.
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. How 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 struggled 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 recognised, 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 a 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 fingers.
‘One dead,’ he announced. Isak felt rather than saw the questioning expressions behind their helms; even Carel, his oldest friend, was 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,’ muttered Vesna as he watched the cavalry cross the stream. ‘I 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 I 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.