by Tom Lloyd
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 before the creature shook itself to wakefulness 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 flow 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 muttered 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 unexpected 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 smashing 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 faintest 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 remembered Morghien’s words. The vast energy he held would disrupt the elemental’s body, even if nothing showed. Wrapping one crackling 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, sending 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 wearing 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 hundred 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? I 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 the sensation, 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, swinging 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 explanation.
‘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 themselves. 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.
Wherever they came from, they were well trained and led. They swapped bows for lances quickly and neatly enough to have satisfied even that notorious disciplinarian General Lahk, and charged into the disordered cavalry, who were scattering even before the first blow had been struck. Cardinal Disten’s troops didn’t bother giving chase; they reordered their lines and continued on towards the knights across the stream. Duke Certinse hadn’t moved; his men appeared paralysed by indecision. Even when the charge was called and Certinse levelled his sword towards Isak, still more than a few heads were turned towards the dark monks.
Vesna drew Isak’s attention to the other regiment of cavalry, and both men grinned as the captain, incandescent with rage, berated his men, only to be cut off abruptly as one of them shot him and sent him tumbling to the floor.
‘They’ve seen the sense of it,’ Vesna called.
‘And now we finish this,’ Isak said, and kicked his spurs into Toramin’s flanks. The massive stallion didn’t need any further encouragement, slamming his enormous hooves into the ground and charging forward.
The dark monks were closer and once through the stream they crashed into the enemy’s flank, forcing them to slow and turn as Isak led his own small unit to meet them head-on. The monks’ impact threw the hurscals into disarray, and Toramin, moving at speed, missed the target, slamming instead into the Lomin standard-bearer’s horse with such force that it threw the man from his saddle and his animal collapsed on top of him. Isak pulled Toramin away, not wanting the horse cut by a flailing leg, and hacked at the nearest hurscal, catching a hopeful swinging mace on its edge, then using Eolis to cut savagely across the knight’s face, tearing through his visor as if it were made of cotton. Isak laid about himself furiously, spreading chaos through what was left of the enemy ranks as he made for the centre. He caught an axe on his shield and sheared the shaft, leaned forward to punch his shield into the man’s face-plate, then moved on, not waiting to see what damage he’d done. A lance-head scraped past his belly and Isak turned to see a knight in white and yellow reach back for another sta
b. As Isak dropped his shield down to trap the shaft and break it on his thigh, a hurscal dressed in Lomin’s red hacked at his other side. Eolis absorbed most of the force, but the axe-head spun off that unnatural blade and the spike on its reverse stabbed down into Toramin’s shoulder. As the huge horse screamed and reared up, the hurscal, still clinging grimly to his battle-axe, was dragged from his saddle. Toramin stamped down on the man as Isak yanked the spike from the horse’s flesh and let it fall.
A black-cowled monk pushed past them, an edged mace in each hand, and Isak took a moment to look around. He saw Count Vesna trading blows with Duke Certinse nearby, and nearer still, one of the Ghosts was savagely attacking Suzerain Tildek. In the chaos, Isak couldn’t see who it was, but as he deftly worked an opening in the suzerain’s defence and knocked Tildek reeling, there was no doubt the soldier outmatched the nobleman.
Isak had no time to look further as a hurscal came at him head-on. The white-eye slashed at the man’s head but missed; another hurscal came in from his left and as the two attacked Isak together, words came unbidden to Isak’s throat and he felt magic flow out through Eolis. The sword traced a path of blinding light that made both attackers cry out and cover their eyes. The unnatural edge did the rest.