them on the board in a starting position that seemed oddly unbalanced to Isak. The set of the starting pieces was up to the individual player; his opponent showed just a flicker of interest in his eyes before he returned to his own pieces.
Isak returned the man’s nod of respect when the last piece was set and said with a frown, ‘How do the little pieces move again?’
Only Sapesian Farray smiled while the spider feet dug a little deeper into Isak’s hand. That time he did feel them properly.
CHAPTER 17
Isak concentrated on the board and tried not to smirk. The young man opposite him slumped in his seat, hugging himself as he stared down in disbelief. Most likely he hadn’t been expecting that — though the sign was for Isak to show a mastery of tactics, to demonstrate understanding and insight.
Zhia had done just that with a slow, measured game for almost half an hour, and then upped the pace of every move. Attacking from three directions, she had started to annihilate her opponent — moving her pieces as soon as he’d set his down, as though his moves were unimportant and carelessly discarding his losses.
And now he had stopped, unwilling to touch his pieces again in case it prompted the immediate loss of another. With a despairing look at an equally shocked Sapesian Farray, he wilted. Hand trembling, he reached out and made a gesture over the board to indicate he submitted. Isak smiled as he stood and felt sensation rush back into his hand.
‘My congratulations, Lord Sebe,’ Farray croaked as he struggled up. ‘That was — ah — remarkable!’
‘What can I say? It’s a gift,’ Isak said with a ghoulish grin. ‘Your man played a good game, though, he did you proud. I don’t often lose more than a handful of pieces.’
Farray’s eyes widened and it took him a moment before he remembered himself enough to translate the words for his protegee’s benefit. It seemed to lift the youth and he shakily pushed himself upright to take Isak’s offered hand.
‘ Time to go, I think, ’ Zhia said into his mind, ‘ before you do a vic tory lap? ’
Isak nodded and glanced at the member of the Sanctum overseeing the game, but he was too busy glowering at the defeated man to annoy further. He headed back to his litter instead, offering his companions a small, theatrical bow that made both Daken and Doranei briefly laugh and applaud like noble ladies at a summer fair.
‘The ziggurat,’ he announced as he took his seat again and gestured for his bearers to move off.
This time the Sanctum members were quick to get ahead, not even waiting for their colleague to retake his litter before the first of them moved off down the road. The last traces of light had faded from all but a sliver of the eastern sky and only now did Isak properly notice the frost in the air: the announcement of autumn that, in the lee of the Spiderweb Mountains, would turn swiftly to winter.
The procession came to a fork in the road as they neared the lakeshore. Ahead was a small grove of aspen, beneath which standing stones were set in two distinct circles. Under a gentle breeze that skipped off the lake, the trembling leaves seemed to whisper a warning to Isak. He found himself transfixed by the half hidden ancient stones they shaded; a flavour of reverence was hanging in the air that reminded him of the Ivy Rings in Llehden.
Bearing right, they reached a large intersection, at the centre of which stood a statue of Alterr in stylised armour with her head piously bowed. Beyond that was a wide bridge that crossed to the ziggurat island. By now their route was lined solely by Black Swords soldiers, all standing silently to attention. Every fifth man was holding a torch to light their way. The bridge was almost thirty paces wide, with an ornate stone parapet down each side and arches composed of Aspects of Alterr touching spear-tips at either end. Compared to the Grand Ziggurat on the far side however, it was insignificant.
The ziggurat of Toristern Settlement was imposing for certain, standing perhaps eighty feet high. But the upper level of the fifth of Grand Ziggurat of Vanach Settlement’s enormous tiers was close to three hundred feet off the ground. The ziggurat’s lowest level was accessed by a long, stepped ramp that reached almost to the island shore. Smaller stairways led up to the other tiers.
On either side of the ramp were massive large stone statues — not religious figures this time, but a pair of wyverns with wings furled, looking up to the sky above. Isak faltered when he stepped between them, feeling an echo of pain in his gut as he remembered the sight of just such a creature on the battlefield outside Byora.
At the very top were three small structures that proved to be the entrance to the interior of the ziggurat, flanked by shrines to Alterr and Death. With night fully descended Isak looked out over Vanach, picked out by faint lights below. The breeze whipped at his cloak and threw back his hood to expose his frayed ear and torn throat to the Sanctum. He didn’t feel any urge to cover the marks of daemonic torment, and it was with a renewed sense of purpose that he turned to face the assembled members of the Sanctum.
A sparkle of life in the breeze and the heavy presence of magic in the stones beneath his feet filled Isak’s limbs with a strength he rarely felt outside battle. He touched two fingers to the Crystal Skull now bound to the bare skin of his stomach then approached Priesan Sorolis, who stood before a closed door no taller than Isak. ‘Shall we proceed?’ he asked.
Sorolis agreed with a bow and raised her hands to the attending eye of her Goddess as though begging her to bear witness.
‘The last of the signs, the final Ziggurat Mystery: the one who comes to claim our secrets may only do so with the blessing of the Gods.’ Her voice was sincere, her conviction absolute. It was enough to stop Isak feeling scornful. The Sanctum were compelled by Vorizh’s magic, but they were not loyal servants of a heretic. Their secrets were hidden by layer upon layer of dogma and devotion — a devotion perverted by the unseen truth and a hunger for power, perhaps, but no weaker for it.
‘The mysteries tell us the one who comes shall walk with the Gods and command them,’ Sorolis intoned, her face a practised mask.
Isak nodded. No doubt they had assumed it would turn out differently — and no doubt Vorizh Vukotic had, too. Vorizh had realised that to be worthy of Death’s own weapon, the claimant would need to know the link bonding Crystal Skulls and God — particularly the connection between Death and the Skull of Ruling that Isak had exploited at the battle of Moorview. Without that understanding, they might wreak devastation, but they could not undo the curse of his family — and that, Zhia had assured him, was her brother’s goal, even more than revenge.
At his signal Vesna and Legana walked to his side. This wasn’t what the commissars would be expecting, he knew, but it was far less perilous. Whether or not it was the demonstration they wanted, to challenge the divine spirit within the War God’s most favoured would be foolish.
He turned to each in turn. Vesna did not hesitate to kneel to Isak, while Legana’s obvious reluctance to kneel to any man only reinforced the point to the Sanctum. This was no bargain: this was Isak commanding their obedience, and while he saw frustration and anger on the faces of many before him, he knew they could not deny the compulsion laid upon them.
There was a long moment of quiet before Priesan Sorolis bowed to him and stepped aside, motioning for the gates to be unbarred and held open. Mihn stepped forward alongside Vesna, but the youngest member of the Sanctum, a burly man with tight curly hair, immediately stepped in front of him.
‘The one who claims our secrets must enter alone.’
Isak reached out with one nailless finger to prod the man in the chest. ‘The rest will stay,’ he said, almost in a whisper, ‘but in dark places, my shadow walks by my side.’
The man shook his head and stepped around Isak’s finger, reaching out himself to grip Mihn by the shoulder. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mihn had intervened before he could, deftly twisting away the man’s hand with a sharp click. The Priesan staggered back in pain, cradling his hand, and Isak tasted a swift burst of magic from Zhia that wrapped its way around his throat and silenced any cries from the man.
Isak barely noticied as the rest of the Sanctum melted silently from their path. He advanced on the near black entrance ahead, where he could see a narrow spiral stair leading down, but nothing else. The closer he got, the more he felt his hands start to tremble. As though sensing his fear and welling memories, daemon voices sang out
