The stormcaller

old to be a mercenary.

'But if a truce could be arranged somehow? Living your life out in Cholos or Lenei would be home enough, wouldn't it?'

Tochet scowled. 'If he forgot himself and did welcome me with open arms, I'd push a blade under his ribs and plant a fat kiss on his lips as the life ran out of him. He had my wife killed, my children, my cousins…' Tochet's voice trailed off and men round the table fell silent. Legna saw anger on their faces, not sadness, and raw murder in their eyes. 'There's no taking back there. No forgiveness. And now I’m for my bed; the fun's gone from the evening and we're marching out tomorrow.' Tochet rose and looked around at the tables of Chetse soldiers. His men had not risen at his departure, but they watched his every movementt with sober eyes. Taking a leather purse from his belt, Tochet tossed it on to the table where it fell with a heavy clink.

. 'There you go; you've all toasted my boys before and you'll do it again tonight. Make sure you can walk in the morning.'

Touching Legana on the arm to say goodbye, he made for the door of the inn. After a moment, she caught him up and slipped an arm under his. She knew she couldn't ease the pain in his eyes, but a friend had to try.

CHAPTER 6

Gradually the darkness gave way to leaden shades of grey and a seeping chill that drained the warmth from Isak's blood. All alone in the •void, he felt his body grow numb and fade until he could hardly sense any part of him.

Then there was pain; a cold discomfort that grew to become a hungry licking flame. The swirls of grey began to thicken and press down on him, swamping his eyes and mouth, causing him to choke in the silence. He tried to struggle free, to fight his way clear, but the cold had sapped his strength and the pressure was all around. There was nowhere to escape to and soon he fell into helpless exhaustion, surrendering to the tug of icy depths that dragged him further down to a place of no light and no memory, only the chill cradle of the grave.

And a voice.

'Isak.

'Raise your head, Isak.

'Raise your head and see me.'

He had scarcely enough strength to obey, but somehow, he did lift his head. He could see nothing, but an image of a figure was imprinted on his mind: a man, tall and powerful, terrifying, and yet almost featureless, with blank eyes, smooth, midnight-blue skin and only the impression of a mouth. The only shape that had any definition was the ornate bow that rested at the man's side. The pitch-black frame was flecked with gold and silver, and set with spirals of jewels.

‘I am your master now. You are the blade I wield; the arrow I send

high into the night. You are my Chosen, you share in my majesty and

the Land will see my glory echo in your deeds.'

Isak tried to flee the voice, to hide from the words crashing through his head. He could sense others all around now, the faint touch of their rnovements and the melodious echoes of their voices, but the

figure swept them all aside – except for one, the softest touch of them all, one that was scarcely noticeable until the others were gone and then it was a thread of pure light, distinct against the dark background and impervious to the figure's palpable fury.

It began to move, caressing the curve of his hip and moving up over his belly towards his heart. Isak relaxed under its soothing touch, then curled tightly as the stench of burning flesh filled his nostrils. Pain blossomed on his chest, then drove so deep the light burst through his body and burned a path through the darkness. In a heartbeat it had dissipated and all that remained was a faint voice: the sound of a girl calling a name, but so distant her cry was lost on the wind.

Isak woke with a scream, feeling as if the walls lurched and shuddered around him before reality reasserted itself. He took great gulps of air and tried to open his eyes, but the light streaming through the window made him gasp. Grasping at the unfamiliar sheets Isak battled to regain his wits. A shiver ran down his spine and into his legs; it felt like his soul returning. Every part of him ached, his throat burned and his limbs throbbed, but it was the smell of burnt flesh that scared him most.

He sat up and grabbed the copper mirror from the desk to inspect his reflection, but he had to squint down to see it: a runic shape in stinging scar tissue on his sternum. It wasn't anything he recognised – not that he'd really expected to – but it wasn't even something from his dreams of the island palace.

In the looking-glass he could see it more clearly: a circle of scar tissue with a horizontal bar across its centre, no more than two inches across. The bar did not quite span the width of the circle, but a verti' cal line at either end made that connection, with one going straight down, the other up.

Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by the taste of magic emanating from the chimney at the centre of the room: Lord Bahl He grabbed his ragged shirt and quickly pulled it on, making sure the bone thongs were fastened and the scar covered. As Lord Bahl appeared, the scar was covered, but Isak could not hide the haggard look on his face.

'You slept badly. Dreamed badly.'

It was not a question. Isak looked up at his new master with incom- prehension. As he struggled up and propped his body against the wall,

He realised he was shivering uncontrollably. Bahl noticed the cold as well and threw several logs on to the dead fire, then made a flick-ing motion with his wrist. Flames at once sprang up in the fireplace, hungrilv devouring the dry wood. Isak stared in wonder at the fire, but Bahl just waved it off and drew up a chair for himself.

'That's nothing. I'm surprised that you can't do that already, considering how the tower responded to you. But that can wait. Right now, we should speak of what you are.'

Isak struggled to answer, his head still fogged from the dream. 'What I am?' he muttered. 'What else is there? Carel said white-eyes are born to be warriors, to fight for the tribe.' 'Carel?'

Isak opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he realised Bahl's face was uncovered. The reclusive Lord of the Parian rarely went out in public without the blue silk hood tight around his face, and Isak had never before seen Lord Bahl's actual features. He wondered how it could have taken him this long to notice, but after a moment he shook the question from his mind – considering what had happened to him, such a small detail was easily overlooked. Now he saw a powerful man with a harsh face, solid features all sharp lines and blunt corners. His brow was thick and strong, and his nose, but his features had an abrupt look, as if a craftsman had been interrupted in his work. The shape was there, the basic lines hewn with skill, but there had been no time to smooth the edges.

That in turn reminded Isak of the palace in his dreams and its unfinished statues, but before that could distract him further he forced the memory away. This was not a face used to patience.

‘Carel is my friend, a friend of my father's. He was in the Palace Guard before he joined the wagon-train. Sergeant Betyn Carelfolden, Third Squad, Vanguard Company, Eighth Regiment. He was the only one who didn't care that I was a white-eye. He taught me to fight so I could come and take the trials for the Guard.'

‘A squad sergeant, that's good news. He'll have bawled you into the right habits then, so I won't have Kerin whining that he has to teach you the different ends of a sword. But that's not going to be enough now; if you outlive me, you'll be Lord of the Farlan one day. Before anything else, remember that nothing Sergeant Carelfolden -or anyone else – has taught you can prepare you for the life you will now lead- There are dangers that ignore all of your strength, all

of your skill. You are but a child among wolves, blessed by the Gods for the whole Land to resent and envy. You have no friends now; no one you can trust with your innermost thoughts. Over the months to come you will realise that you now stand apart from the rest of the Land, between mortals and the Gods, but kin to neither.'

Isak, following this with some difficulty, broke in and asked, 'But you had someone once. Couldn't you trust her completely?'

Bahl stood silent for a few moments, then a deep breath signalled a victory for control. He answered, as if