The stormcaller

he recognised the ancient air that lingered in parts of the palace, like the presence of centuries but alive and aware, and terrifyingly potent.

Bahl didn't reply, but gestured towards the raised part of the floor, where, in the darker parts between the pillars, Isak could just make out a long lump of rock. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a smooth arc against the irregular stone, that became a tail, huge and scaled, with a fat scimitar tip. Isak's mouth dropped open; without warning, the tail was whipped back and into the shadows, then a cold rasping rose from the lump of rock Bahl had indicated. It slid forward, the heavy click of claw on stone and the rasp of its scaled tail dragging along the rough surface announcing its living presence.

Welcome, Lord Isak.

Inside his head the words echoed and crashed, rising in power until Isak started backwards in surprise.

Do not be alarmed. I have promised Lord Bahl I will eat none of his subjects. I am Genedel.

Now a head appeared from the shadows, dipping down the slope with a deliberate lack of speed. It was fully two yards long, with a frill of bone sweeping back from the top of its head, which in turn was flanked by two huge horns that twisted back and up, another two yards long themselves. A wide snout held rows of glittering teeth; the protrusion of nostrils broke its smooth curve, and a pair of tusk-like horns pointed forward from behind the frill of bone, almost as far as the very tip of the snout. Behind that lay two huge eyes, glimmers of deepest red in the underground night. The rest of the body was hidden, visible only in silhouette. Isak guessed at folded wings sitting high on each side and a relatively slender body supported by wide clawed legs.

Ah-' replied Isak in a daze. 'And how about burning them?' As soon as the words came out he realised he was being flippant to a dragon, one that was no more than ten yards from his face. It could probably flame him without even moving.

I have promised nothing there.

'Oh.'

But let no man say a dragon is without a sense of humour. Isak kept his jaw clamped shut; terrified in case his inability to shut up might anger the beast. That was something he didn't want to see. Your gifts, young Krann; that is why you are here, is it not? 'I… yes, it is. We ride for Lomin within the hour.' Your first battle. It will show your true nature to your men; it is how they will remember you, yet I doubt any could forget you. Take the eastern tunnel and you will find what cries for a master.

Isak looked at the inscrutable features of the dragon, then at the two tunnel entrances. Eastern, not left or right. For a second he started trying to picture east in the palace, and then work out which way they had turned to get down here. Then he remembered where he was, and what he was looking for. Starting out towards the tunnels, he felt the keen of his gifts more strongly than ever before. The crunch of broken stone and dirt underfoot danced around the walls, sounding ever louder as his heart hammered inside his chest.

Reaching the tunnel, Isak glanced back for a moment. The weight of Genedel's presence behind him was a burn on the back of his neck he couldn't ignore. Bahl had stepped closer to the beast, only a few yards from one tusk, watching him. With a flick of its head, the dragon – Genedel – could impale Lord Bahl; it seemed impossible that even the famous hero white-eye, the Lord of the Farlan, could succeed in killing such a creature, however many tales there were of lesser men performing such a deed.

Isak tore his attention away from his Master and concentrated on the smell of magic. He took the left-hand tunnel, and found himself having to duck down five yards in as the roof dipped sharply. The stone walls slewed right and spread out wide into a bowl-shaped room. There was a flat ledge against the back wall, almost waist height. Isak shuddered to a halt at the entrance, entranced by the objects before him. He didn't need to be told what they were; there was no mistaking objects constantly mentioned in myth that radiated such power he almost sank to his knees as he laid eyes on them. Only an echo of that same power from his shield kept him standing.

The dark lines of the room melted away. All he saw were the silver curves of Siulents, beautiful as a dream, even laid out in pieces. Each delicate plate and link was a craftsman's joy. The lines of each piece

followed the muscular shape of a warrior's body, but with a sinuous grace that was almost inhuman. The helm was a single piece; its near-blank features showed a weirdly distorted reflection of Isak's face as he held it up to inspect. It looked like a mirror version of Bahl's mask, but not one that would mould to the wearer's face. It had two ridges, running back over the head and cold empty eye sockets, that reminded Isak of the dragon in the chamber behind him, or perhaps the rattlesnake he'd once killed: reptilian; sleek and graceful, with lethal intent.

Pushing the image from his mind, Isak moved to the sword and closed his fingers around the double-handed grip of Eolis, tightly wrapped in pure white silk and bound with an emerald filigree that emanated from the massive emerald set into the hilt. Six silver claws shaped like talons gripped the emerald securely. The guard was a circular piece of ivory that looked to be fused into the blade itself.

As Isak marvelled at the blade, he realised that the poor working Kerin had claimed was nothing more than the echo of this sword reaching up into Isak's mind. Without knowing it, some part of his soul had recognised Eolis. The smith had given the sword honest praise, but Isak knew now how far short of the mark it had fallen. The weight of the blade was almost imperceptible, yet as he moved Eolis through some basic forms, listening to the soft zip as it neatly cut the air, he felt a surge of strength in his arm. Isak realised that this blade would cut through even the pieces of rock littering the floor in Genedel's chamber.

There was a rough leather sheath beside it, Farlan-designed, of plain black leather, which presumably Lord Bahl or Lesarl had left for him. Pulling off his boots and shirt, Isak quickly dressed in the under-suit Bahl had given him. He hesitated before touching Siulents again, but as he started fitting the armour on to his body, he felt a note of exhilaration trembling; building up as each piece clipped into place. The silver took on a seductive, liquid quality as he flexed his limbs to test the freedom of movement, and even more remarkably he could not see the seams between plates, only an unbroken curve.

A smile broke over his face. This wasn't what he had expected; instead, his body felt cocooned in a second skin, only slightly constrained, and coupled with an intoxicating sense of invulnerability. Isak hesitated when only the helm remained. It was tradition that helms were only for battle; ancient belief held that a hidden face displayed hidden intentions. Wealthy knights would often have their visors made into savage and grotesque faces to further the distinction between a man of war and a person of civilisation.

Though he wanted badly to try it on, the sound of voices in the main chamber broke the spell and, gathering up his clothes, Isak bundled them together and laid them inside the shield, cushioning his helm.

As Isak entered the dragon's lair, Bahl broke off his conversation and stared, almost wavering with shock. 'Gods, Aryn Bwr was well named; quicksilver indeed,' he exclaimed. A rumble from deep inside Genedel's throat echoed agreement.

Isak just stood, unable to put what he felt into words. He held up Eolis, drawing it from the sheath to show Bahl the glitter of white light that shone out, even in the dark, green-tinted depths of Genedel's cavern. His expression was one of bemused helplessness. 'These really are the last king's weapons, aren't they?' Now you know why the elves have come. The Land has envious eyes for such beauty.

'We cannot be sure of that,' interrupted Bahl. You are, as I am. The night of Isak's Choosing was one of unrest in distant parts as much as here. The creatures of the night felt it; the denizens of Ghenna knew his name at that moment. Mages and prophets have also sensed the disturbance, whether they recognise it or not. The elves have been waiting for three thousand years. They know.

Bahl didn't respond. His huge frame suddenly seemed small, deflated, even. His eyes ran down the gleaming blade, over the smooth curves of Siulents – and he gave a small nod. Stepping forward, the Lord of the Farlan reached into his belt. Isak tightened his grip on Eolis, feeling a spasm of shame as Bahl produced a piece of blue cloth.

'I have no such gifts to offer you, but I feel there is something-' He didn't finish the sentence, but held out a hood identical to his own. 'May it keep you safe in other ways.'

Isak nodded his thanks and placed the shield and Eolis carefully down on the ground. He slipped the hood over his cropped scalp. The silk hung loose briefly before tightening around his head, covering his nose and mouth but