The words echoed out from their minds, barely formed thoughts and emotions. Azaer heard them, just as he had heard the silent calls of men like Venn or Witchfinder Shanatin: an echo beyond human ears, a need of basic and primal origins.
‘ One must stay and watch over this city until you are called,’ Ruhen ordered, and the three heads swung down to face the boy who commanded them.
Behind him, Ruhen felt Venn tense at the scrutiny of these inhuman, terrifying beasts.
‘ I am marked by your rebirth, just as you are marked by the devotion of your former selves. One will stay; the others will fly west and fight in my name.’
The largest of the three drew back at that, whether affronted or angered, it was impossible to tell, but Ruhen stared it down. With each passing heartbeat he sensed the latent feelings of the three devotees returning as they remembered their blind obedience, their desperation to serve, their sense of purpose in his presence. He was so much smaller than they, but that resonated deep inside their hearts: the protection of the weak, the service of innocence. They would follow the child to a new form of glory.
Obey.
The dragons leapt into the air one after the other, driving up with their powerful hind legs before sweeping out their huge wings and battering the air down. Ruhen was driven to his knees by the force of their strokes, but once aloft they circled low over Byora with little effort needed.
‘ One to stay, two to go, ’ Ruhen repeated, and the third dragon, the greyest, broke away from its siblings and turned into a long circle that encompassed much of Byora before turning and heading up to Blackfang’s jagged mountaintop. The remaining two beasts watched it go, then they too began to climb high into the sky, until they were indistinct shapes against the distant clouds. There they drifted on the far winds for a time until they caught the scent of those they sought and darted away on long, powerful wing-beats, cutting through the air like the arrows of Nartis.
‘Venn, Rojak,’ Ruhen said to his black-clad disciple, ‘now it is your turn. That Skull of Song you hold: sing a song of fair winds and summer skies. The Stormcaller knows how to ward against dragons. Remove that option from him.’
‘See my power, white-eye,’ Ruhen whispered to the wind as flakes of snow began to sweep past. ‘Match it if you dare. Unleash the horrors of the Dark Place against me — declare yourself the monster the whole Land secretly believes you to be.’
CHAPTER 32
The first winds of winter scoured through the Narkang army, dragging at their raised spears and trying to wrench banners from the grips of their bearers. Tiny snowflakes drifted on the breeze, only rarely falling to the ground. Isak watched the white specks and shivered at a cold he could not feel.
While all those around him were bundled up in coats and furs, Isak wore his usual shirt and cloak only. For him the chill in the air was one of the soul, not of the body; the snow looked like blossom gliding across a dead place. Death’s own blossom: and soon the dead fruit will fall. It was a dismal sight, promising an unnatural harvest.
Now he stood and watched the troops gradually moving into position on the plain in front of him. Orders were shouted, horsemen were thundering in all directions, horns and drums sounded. For once he was surrounded by people, and yet totally ignored. He had no place here, and no rank or unit to impose purpose on him.
In the distance he could see the enemy, already assembled and waiting on the higher ground. Soldiers stood in neat rows halfway up the shallow slope, with staggered knots of cavalry and archers wearing red sashes spread across the plain. In complete contrast, the left flank was a disordered mass of people, thousands of clamouring white-clothed faithful, only held back by the presence of the Devoted cavalry.
‘Isak!’ cried a voice over the chaos, and he turned to see a rider pulling up beside him. The black shield hanging from the saddle had a small bee painted in one corner, and beneath it was a long-handled sword. Isak couldn’t see more than the plain grip and brass scabbard tip, but he knew there would be bluebells on the scabbard, as incongruous as blossom in late autumn.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Doranei called.
Isak gestured at all that was going on. ‘Everyone has orders but me.’
‘My lord-’
The white-eye cut him off. ‘I’m not a lord, no longer even a soldier.’
‘Aye, well, I still thought you’d be with the rest of the Farlan.’ He pointed to the division of Palace Guard in the black and white of the Ghosts assembled on their right flank. Each man was in heavy armour, their horses in full barding. Isak was already picturing what would happen when they rode into that undefended mass of Ruhen’s followers.
‘Most likely I’ll spook the other horses,’ Isak said. ‘Turns out I’m just a danger to those around me.’
‘Hah, could’ve told you that for free,’ Doranei replied with a scowl. ‘Where’s the rest of your bodyguard? Carel can’t ride with the Ghosts, and Tiniq had a bad enough time riding back from Vanach; horses dislike his scent as much as they did Zhia’s — he’d be thrown before he reached the enemy.’
Isak made a show of looking around at the ground nearby. ‘Seem to have lost them somewhere,’ he concluded.
Doranei frowned. ‘Great, one of those days,’ he muttered to himself. ‘Man was bad enough before the sword scrambled his brains.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Isak said, slipping his hand around the Crystal Skull at his waist, ‘I’m here, with the rest of you. Might be I’m not enjoying being on a battlefield again, though. It brings up bad memories.’
‘Aye, well, we all got things we can’t afford to think about right now,’ Doranei growled. ‘You ain’t special in every way, so focus on your job, soldier.’
‘Good advice from a man who carries a reminder of his pain on his saddle.’
Doranei’s face tightened. ‘That’s my business, I still know my duty. Stay where you are and stick with the reserve. General Lopir’s over there with Legana — probably Carel and Tiniq too, just giving you some space.’ He pointed to a group of horsemen a hundred yards off. ‘If we need you and your black sword, we’ll come and find you.’
‘If you need Termin Mystt,’ Isak suggested, ‘when you have wyverns, Crystal Skulls and Mortal-Aspects at your disposal, might be I’ll not need an invite.’
Doranei gave him an angry look. ‘As you say. See you when the killing’s done.’ He didn’t wait for a response, but headed back the way he’d come.
The main line had started their advance: two blocks of eight thousand spearmen apiece flanking the central bulwark of halberd-wielding Kingsguard. There was no manoeuvring such large units of men; they could only advance and attack whatever was in front of them. But with cavalry protecting their flanks, there would be no stopping them, either.
Isak watched them go, and his keen ears detected the clatter of the first cavalry skirmish not long after. He turned to head towards General Lopir’s staff, but took only a step before something brought him up short: a sensation unlike any he’d felt before, skittering down his spine as though an icicle had rolled over it. His mouth fell open, about to speak, until he remembered he was alone, with not even Hulf at his side. He took a deep breath and straightened up, ignoring the familiar tug of his abused muscles, and cast his senses out across the Land.
The tramp of boots echoed through his chest, the rush of wind in his lungs. Isak closed his eyes and felt a song ring out across the copse-studded plain and touch his mind with its silent, soaring cadence. Rising high through the clouded sky were crisp, lingering notes of beauty. His eyes jerked open unbidden as the sense grew stronger, keener, like the piercing cry of a hawk where once there had been only birdsong.
‘Something comes,’ he muttered to the empty ground around him. ‘The bastard’s wasted no time in using it, not now Zhia’s secret is out.’
The magic ringing through the air became more insistent and Isak heard a cry from Lopir’s group: Ardela was calling his name. He turned unsteadily and saw her waving him over.
‘ Isak, what is it? ’ Legana asked as soon as she was close enough to speak into his mind.
