‘And you can’t undo it?’
Vorizh cocked his head at Isak. ‘Why would I wish to? They would have all returned to dust by now, had they lived mortal lives.’
‘You call that life?’ Isak demanded in disbelief.
Before Vorizh could reply an arrow had flashed out from the darkness to strike the nearest of the undead in the side. A second shot dropped between them, then a third caught one in the shoulder.
The leader snarled and drew his weapon, growling some order, and a dozen more damned rose from the lake, weapons ready, as the first four turned to face the knot of soldiers at the bridge-mouth aiming crossbows at them. They advanced with unnatural swiftness, ignoring the hasty shots that danced between them. Two more were caught, one high in his chest, but they snapped the shafts and continued on regardless.
‘No, wait!’ Isak called after them.
The warriors stopped dead, their leader turning to regard Isak once more.
Whether they understood his words or not, the command was clear enough, but before Isak could work out what to say next Mihn broke the tense silence. ‘My Lord, look at the bridge.’
There were more sputtering lights appearing on the bridge as squad upon squad of Black Swords rushed towards them. The crossbowmen at the front were frantically reloading as a commissar bellowed orders, gesturing furiously in Isak’s direction.
‘I can hear them shouting,’ Mihn said quickly. ‘An army of daemons kneeling to you — Isak, they’re saying you have tricked them: they think you are Aryn Bwr reborn. They have ordered the attack!’
Isak looked around. The Black Swords still on the ziggurat were staring down at them in horror, too bewildered to act, but judging from the numbers massed on the far shore the Night Council had come prepared for any excuse to turn on them. He’d already noticed the massing Black Swords; he didn’t want to find out if that was enough to fight perhaps the most lethal group of individuals ever gathered.
‘Something tells me they’re not going to care about casualties,’ Vesna said, again placing his body between Isak and danger. ‘Do we really want to burn a path through thousands of men just following orders here?’
‘Why not?’ Vorizh asked, his eyes bright with delight. ‘You hold the power of the Gods in your hand — shatter them with a word! Be as Death, walking the battlefield once more.’
Isak didn’t bother replying as he scanned the island for options. There were other bridges, one leading to the far shore, another to the temple island further out on the lake. ‘Anyone see any boats?’ he asked.
‘Not here,’ Vesna replied, ‘and we’re not getting across either bridge without a bloodbath.’
‘You want to defend a temple again? Remember Scree?’ Isak demanded, but he didn’t wait for an answer. Vorizh had silently withdrawn to the great stone ramp and Isak pursued him, determined not to let the vampire from his sight if he could help it.
Meanwhile Zhia had waved back the Legion of the Damned and taken their place facing the Black Swords. She reached out one hand and a nimbus of white light began to circle her. The dark surface of the lake below the bridge seemed to twitch and jump with every intoned word before rising like a leviathan and swallowing the massive bridge. Darkness enveloped it, extinguishing the torches on the nearer half and prompting terrified cries as the men were suddenly struck blind and soaked through.
‘Where are you going?’ Isak called after Vorizh.
The vampire ignored him and went to the statues flanking the ramp, the huge stone wyvern statues that looked so out of place there. He placed a hand on one and began to intone his own spell, but as Isak watched he realised it was not a spell being cast but one being unravelled.
Cracks started appearing on the hind leg of the first wyvern, accompanied by a great creak and the groan of stone under stress. Isak faltered, his left hand pressed against his belly as he remembered another wyvern and another time, but his memories were swept away by a more immediate shock: the grey skin of the statues had started to crumble and fall away, revealing crimson hued scales underneath. The monster looming over Vorizh shuddered and stone cascaded off its flanks like a disintegrating clay mould. Its wings jerked ponderously and stretched up towards the heavens.
Isak turned back to his astonished comrades staring up at the emerging wyverns, except for Zhia, too busy with her delaying spells, and Mihn, whose attention was focused on the dark mass of soldiers on the bridge.
‘To the temple island,’ Isak ordered, forcing himself to turn his back on the wyverns. Vorizh clearly had his own plans, whether or not it included the rest of them. ‘All of you, go!’
He shoved Doranei, the nearest, towards a paved path that led around the island to the ornate covered bridge that led to the temple island. There would be guards, of that he had no doubt, but it looked like it might be the least bloody path away from here. The Night Council had clearly been biding their time and looking for any excuse to erase the threat to their control. They would push forward as hard as they could rather than waiting for cooler heads to prevail.
‘My Lord,’ Vorizh called, and Isak turned to see the two wyverns nearly free of the stone that had encased them. One was stepping down from the pedestal where it had stood for so long; the other was struggling to pry the remaining pieces of stone from the leathery membranes of its wings.
‘It is time for us to leave,’ Vorizh said, indicating that Isak should take the second of the beasts.
The monster raised its blade-like muzzle to the heavens and screeched deafeningly, then shook its body and snapped its jaws with ravenous intent as it peered at the figures below. Its head started weaving from side to side as it tried to make out what was happening below it.
‘You think I’ll abandon my comrades?’
‘What choice do you have?’ the vampire laughed. ‘To swim with a sword fused to your palm? And you balk at killing Black Swords — men who are nothing to you, men who have abused and murdered their own, for reasons of twisted nonsense. The cruelty and horror they have inflicted — each one should be punished for their crimes, for joining the oppressors out of cowardice or malice at least. Yet you refuse to make that judgment, you who have killed many times before, no doubt. So if you will not fight, here is your alternative!’
‘I’ll find another choice,’ Isak said, and Vorizh looked contemptuous before he offered Isak a florid bow and barked a command at the wyvern. With one beat of its enormous wings the creature steadied itself, then leapt into the air, closely followed by its fellow.
Isak went to follow the rest of his companions. Mihn was yet to move; the black-clad man still standing beside Zhia and staring out at the confusion on the bridge.
‘Mihn? What are you doing?’
‘I–I thought I saw…’ He looked up at Isak. ‘It does not matter. I am coming.’
They ran together as fast as Isak could manage, Zhia close behind. A squad of Black Swords blocked the way, but Vesna was already leading the charge; his sword cut a scarlet trail through the night. As the air filled with Daken’s roars and the whip-crack of lashing energies, the ten soldiers simply vanished from their path.
The few other Black Swords remaining on the island fled in the face of such effortless slaughter and they found themselves unimpeded until they reached the bridge. It was half the width of the other, and supported by half a dozen arches.
A reinforced gatehouse stood at either end, blocking the way, but Isak stabbed down onto the gate’s hinges with the tip of Termin Mystt. He missed the edge, instead driving the black sword against the wall, but Death’s own weapon tore through the weathered grey stone as if through butter.
Fei Ebarn sent darting arrows of flame to dissuade anyone within the guardhouse from attacking while Isak chopped artlessly with his reversed sword at the listing gate until the way was clear. He led the rest out onto the bridge, ignoring the heavy beat of wings behind them, and attacked the few soldiers still standing their ground. To no one’s surprise, Termin Mystt parted armour, weapons and flesh with as much ease as it had the stone, killing men with brutal sweeping strokes.
The bridge was covered with arches and small, interconnected buildings, which turned out to be small shrines running the length of the bridge. The moonlight illuminated curved letters inscribed into the parapet running the length; Isak guessed it was an extended prayer rather than some incantation of protection. Beyond the torches fixed at set intervals along the walls adjoining the gatehouse he could see little.
They were alone now, Isak realised; the Legion of the Damned had not followed them around the ziggurat, though Mihn continued to glance back as though watching for them. Without meaning to Isak conjured the image of hundreds of dead men tramping stolidly through the midnight waters beneath them.
All following Death’s own weapon, Isak reminded himself. The dead march in my wake.
