‘The shadow’s retreated,’ Vesna pointed out, moving carefully around Termin Mystt to point at Isak’s shoulder. The fading edge of the mark had moved away from Isak’s neck, leaving the top of his shoulder only a slight shade darker than the rest of his pale Farlan skin.
‘Stain,’ Doranei broke in, prompting a puzzled look from the Mortal-Aspect. ‘Call it a stain, not a shadow — not when Azaer’s our enemy.’
Vesna nodded his assent. ‘Stain it is: your skin’s still darker, though, Isak — manifesting the sword’s only limited the hold it’s taken on you.’
‘I never expected to master the damn thing, I suppose,’ Isak said at last, ‘even with the Skull this was never going to be longterm.’
‘What happens when it takes over entirely?’ Vesna asked. ‘Do you die? Or become Death’s Mortal- Aspect?’
‘It won’t come to that,’ Isak said firmly.
‘No? Look how far it’s gone already!’
‘Not much a surprise, is it? I’m balancing the scales in my head; the sword in one hand, the Skull of Ruling in my other. One arm’s white — it’s only fair the other balances it out.’
‘Fair?’
Isak waved his free hand dismissively. ‘Not fair then, but fitting, maybe. If you’re worried, we can stop by Llehden on the way back and ask the witch, but I don’t reckon she’ll be surprised. Legana?’
The green-eyed woman observed him for a long while. Her face was as still as a porcelain doll’s and Isak could read nothing in her expression. Eventually she nodded. ‘ You strive for balance,’ Legana said into his mind. ‘ We can’t be surprised if balance is what we get. ’
‘Exactly: so we’ll only start worrying if it goes past that. Now, you said something about visitors, Doranei?’
Before the King’s Man could reply, a guttural voice called out. They all turned, reaching for their weapons.
There were six figures, no more than twenty yards away, each one bearing enormous weapons as pitted and battered as they were themselves. Their leathers were tattered, their mail torn to reveal mortal wounds. What few scraps of plate armour they wore — mismatched pauldrons and vambraces, and one had a holed cuirass — were similarly rusted and ancient.
‘Lord of the Black Sword,’ Zhia said, translating the words for Isak before he could remind himself Mihn was now dead, ‘we honour you.’
Only the colour of their eyes, deep-blue, rusty-brown and amber, stood out against their pale dead skin and mouldering clothes. The colours reminded Doranei that they had been mercenaries somewhere out east, most likely of Menin and Vukotic blood.
Isak advanced to meet the undead mercenaries, Vesna close at his side. If the warriors of the Legion noticed anyone beyond Isak and Zhia, however, they made no sign of it. ‘I thank you for your greeting,’ Isak replied through Zhia, ‘and for hindering the pursuit.’
‘We have pledged ourselves to you,’ one of the mercenaries at the centre of their small group said. ‘We will serve you.’
Doranei gave a start when he realised he recognised the face from Scree: one side of his emaciated face had been mangled by a blow to the head, and his jaw hung loose as though in a mocking grin. The Legion had appeared just before King Emin claimed the Skull of Ruling and left Vorizh’s journal behind, not knowing its value.
Strange, Doranei thought as he, glanced around at the rest of their party, if I’d gone with him into the cellar that night — if I hadn’t been so dazed after we left Rojak to burn — maybe I’d have found the journal and Mihn would still be alive. No way of knowing, but I’m sure there’s a lesson in there somewhere.
‘Will you obey me now?’
‘We will.’
Isak nodded, his movements as heavy as if he was still asleep and dreaming. ‘Go south then, go to the King of Narkang at Camatayl Castle, and obey his orders as you would mine.’
‘And then you will break our curse?’
‘Your service is required,’ Isak growled. ‘Once our war is over, we will break your curse. Perhaps we will even find a way to pull your fallen comrades from the Dark Place.’
‘Isak,’ Vesna said in a warning voice, ‘don’t.’
‘Don’t what?’
The Iron General turned his back on the undead mercenaries so he was almost face-to-face with his stooping friend. ‘Don’t start thinking that way,’ he hissed. ‘Don’t let yourself get distracted. You barely made it out of Ghenna after careful planning and the loss of Xeliath. Don’t start thinking you can mount a raid on the Dark Place to rescue his soul. Don’t waste what Mihn sacrificed.’
Isak leaned a little closer to the Farlan hero. ‘And you don’t pretend you know what I’m thinking,’ he said angrily. ‘I haven’t forgotten the stakes in this game, but those we can save we’re going to. Their souls are linked by this curse, so might be they can all be saved. But don’t you worry; I’ll see this to the end. Mihn’s sitting on Maram’s bank and I ain’t going in to fetch him.’
He pushed past Vesna and again directed his attention to the undead soldiers. ‘What is your name?’ he asked the one who was speaking for them.
‘Ozhern.’
Isak inclined his head to them, and was rewarded with a stiff, wary bow from the soldiers of the Legion.
‘I am Isak Stormcaller, and I require your swords for half a year. Go ahead of us to the King of Narkang, Ozhern, and tell him I come in your wake. We will cross the Crag Hills by mirror-magic and continue south, but you can travel faster and without rest; you will reach the king first.’
‘It is agreed, but mark this,’ Zhia reported back, ‘before six months are out, the Lord of the Silent Castle will return to the west. If you betray us, he will lead our vengeance.’
‘I understand.’
The undead mercenaries turned without further comment and ran back the way they had come, moving in near-silence and with a speed that belied their unhurried movements. The grass was barely disturbed by their passage and the six figures looked like ghosts as they headed back towards their comrades and quickly disappeared from view.
‘Will the king thank me for that?’ Isak wondered aloud.
‘He will,’ Doranei assured him. ‘If the Devoted mobilise against Narkang, he’ll need every soldier he can get — he’ll find a use for them all, even those without their humanity.’
Isak nodded and went to gather up his possessions, any thoughts of breakfast vanished on the wind. Doranei left him to it, knowing Isak wouldn’t want anyone taking Mihn’s place and fussing over him. Instead he went to help his Brother, for Veil was similarly encumbered and unable to tie his belongings to his saddle. As he did so Doranei caught sight of Legana, stepping in to help Isak; he saw the conflict on his face as she did so.
Legana was unsteady at times, unreal and ethereal all the time, and so dramatically changed from the tough young woman he’d first met that Doranei found it hard to remember the two were the same person sometimes. She had been beautiful; she was even more so now, in a terrifying way, and she carried the same weight of centuries that Zhia did. He secured the last of Veil’s saddlebags as Legana ignored Isak’s hesitation and inexpertly gathered his belongings. They were a strange pair together, each marked by the events they were caught up in.
They were all marked, by Mihn’s tattoos and Xeliath’s rune. Legana didn’t quite treat Isak with reverence, but her manner had once been of veiled and indiscriminate contempt towards everyone. Now there was a patient acceptance that the old Legana had never known: they were family now, bound by the magic that had marked them.
You don’t have to be friends too, Doranei thought as Hulf came bounding up to Isak, returned from his regular dawn wanderings. S ome things you do for family and it’s a tie that’ll live with you for ever. He looked down at the owl tattoo on the palm of his hand. And this makes us family, maybe with Legana playing mother to us all. He laughed out loud at the thought, receiving a slap round the head a moment later.
It was Veil, peering at him strangely. ‘You still asleep there?’
‘Eh?’
‘Your mistress calls,’ Veil explained with a nasty grin, ‘but you were daydreamin’ about Legana by the looks of
