have had the arrogance to think he could face down the Lord of the Farlan and win – but therein lay the problem. They were not thinking clearly, and this was indeed a conflict he could ill afford.
'Send your shadow to Certinse,' the last king whispered in a moment of clarity. Isak tensed for a moment, until he realised Aryn Bwr only meant Mihn. 'Have him slip into the cardinal's palace one night, and tell him that the first death in such a war will be his own. He has distanced himself from his own family to save his position, so offer him the chance to keep all he is desperate to hold onto, if only he quietens the voices of his brethren.'
'Right now I'll be happy if we get out of the square without having to kill anyone,' Isak muttered, too softly for anyone else to make out, but Major Jachen still caught the sound of his voice.
'Sir?'
'Nothing, Jachen,' Isak said with a dismissive wave. 'Just make sure your men keep calm out there.'
'They won't start swinging, my Lord, I can assure you of that -Sir Cerse has three Swordmasters out there with him to keep an eye on the guardsmen.'
'Good. I think we're outnumbered.'
'Not badly, my Lord,' Count Vesna said with forced cheer, 'and the Ghosts have faced worse on the battlefield – and let us not forget we've got a second regiment inside this building and a third covering all the surrounding streets. If they do start anything, it'll be us ending it – and you won't even have to touch your blade.'
Isak turned to look at his friend, resplendent in his black silks and full-length coat adorned with gold braid. His long black hair was oiled and immaculately plaited, affording a glimpse of the knighthood tattoos he was so proud of. As well as his golden earrings of rank, Vesna wore a golden lion's head at his throat, an echo of the one on his armour, right down to the ruby in its eye.
Though the famed soldier was still in prime condition – Isak had seen him fight in Scree – he knew the count was feeling his mortality these days. Vesna looked older than when they'd first met, and his familiar roguish grin was occasionally edged with fatigue.
I hope your wedding will change that look, my friend. I don't need an old warhorse; I need a general I can depend upon, Isak thought a little sadly.
'It's a beautiful day, Vesna; let's hope none of us have to touch our blades.'
The weak winter sun was already halfway behind the buildings in the east, but still it cast a pale luminescence over the white tiles of Cold Halls opposite. The Ghosts had cordoned off a square at the entrance to the Temple of Law and were holding back a crowd that appeared as fractious as when Isak had entered two hours previously. Sir Cerse, Colonel of the Palace Guard, saluted Isak from his position just within the cordoned-off area and barked an
order to his men as the Lord of the Farlan walked down the two steps to the square.
The lines of Ghosts pushed into the crowds to drive a wedge through it for Isak to walk behind, but the cheering townsfolk behind the priesthood parted easily and there was no need for the extra weight. Isak was conscious of the protective ring of black-iron glaives surrounding him as he ignored ther shouts ringing out from both sides.
After twenty yards Isak, towering over all his companions, spotted two figures walking onto the square from Hunter's Ride, heading straight for him: a man and a woman; the woman was hooded and anonymous while the man wore a hurscal's livery. Isak paused. Red and white checks. The colours stirred a memory, but it took him a moment to place them.
Tildek, seat of the Certinse family.
'Vesna, that's a Tildek hurscal coming towards us,' he said.
Even before he'd finished speaking the count had slipped past his lord, his hand closing around the grip of his sword. Even if the man was simply looking to make a statement, they didn't want Isak involved.
'Lord Isak!' the hurscal shouted, marching ahead of his companion. Vesna too increased his speed.
Isak looked around; Jachen was ignoring the hurscal and instead scanning the crowds behind them in case this was a feint. Returning his attention to Vesna, Isak was just in time to see the man stop and fall to his knees. Vesna closed the gap as quickly as he could, but he wasn't in time to shut the man up.
'Lord Isak, you shame the tribe and Nartis!' the man called. He was young, not many years older than Isak. He had bushy eyebrows and a diagonal scar crossing his mouth where his broken front teeth were visible.
Isak could see the fervour in the man's eyes as he pulled a dagger from his belt and held it up for a moment before reversing it and driving it into his own chest. A collective gasp ran around the onlookers as a flash of pain crossed the man's face. Isak saw him sway, his hands still wrapped around the hilt of the dagger.
The hurscal's mouth fell open and his eyes closed, but he jerked the knife out again with a breathless gasp of agony. A jet of scarlet followed it and spurted out across the paving stones at Count Vesna's feet, stopping him in his tracks. Isak felt the Land freeze around him as everyone turned to watch the hurscal. Unbidden came a memory from his year of learning swordsmanship from Carel: a moment is all a soldier can ask for.
He opened his mouth to shout, but before he could voice his warning, the hurscal's companion had raised something up above her head and hurled it down at the dying man's feet. Isak heard it shatter on the stones. Liquid sprayed in all directions as shards of glass flew across the ground and scores of tiny black objects bounced madly about. A dark-red liquid spilled over the pale stones and a bitter taste filled Isak's mouth. For a moment he thought he tasted blood, but then the flavour turned as dry and acrid as ash. The cool air turned frosty as the hurscal pitched forward and started convulsing.
A black burst of magic filled the air as the woman backed away. Her hood had fallen back and he could see the horror on her face.
'Vesna,' he roared, finding his voice at last, 'get back! Everyone, get back!' The power in his voice broke the paralysis and people started to run from the scene.
He drew Eolis and felt a surge of magic run down the blade as the Crystal Skull set into it pulsed with energy. Ahead of him the hurscal gave another violent jerk. The dead man's arms shot out, wrenched in an unnatural direction. Isak took a step back. A war-cry came from his left and Isak watched as one of his guards threw his glaive end-over-end-
– only to have the dead hurscal pluck it clean out of the air. The taste of ash increased in Isak's mouth as he recognised the massive surge of magic swirling around the corpse.
The glaive fell to the ground as the dead hurscal's fingers splayed wide. His hands and arms distended grossly and split open like overripe fruit as grey appendages burst through the skin. From inside each arm came an angular, chitinous limb that grew in a heartbeat to the length of a man. Sharp spurs at the end slammed down into the ground as the corpse's legs erupted in similar fashion. The strange, spiky protrusions drove between the paving stones as if looking to find more secure purchase below. Slowly they flexed, and as they started to raise the torso up, 'it too began to swell horribly.
Screams rang out from the crowd behind, interspersed with shouts from Jachen and the Swordmasters.
As Vesna started forward, his sword raised, one limb lifted and darted out, like a probing spear, and the count, realising he didn't have the reach to get past it, quickly retreated to Isak's side.
'My Lord,' he called, not taking his eyes off the creature, 'we must get you away from this daemon.'
Isak was transfixed in horrified fascination at what the dead hurscal was turning into. 'And let that – whatever it is! – run amok?' he retorted. 'Don't be stupid!'
'This is a trap,' Vesna yelled in reply, but whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a livid screeching sound which filled the air, like the voices of a thousand maddened insects.
The corpse's torso twisted violently and a long-beaked head burst out in a shower of blood, followed quickly by a solid, blockish body slick with oily blood. Two multi-jointed limbs hung from what might have been shoulders, so long that the clawed fingers almost brushed the ground.
The daemon's head moved and it looked around briefly before crouching a little so it could snatch up the thrown glaive. The weapon looked like a toy in its hands, especially compared with the lance-like tips of its legs that were longer than Isak was tall. The savage beak parted to reveal slender stiletto-like teeth. It had a dozen vertically-slit eyes running chaotically from the mid-point of its beak back onto its grey bristling head.
As Isak watched, he could see the randomly searching eyes suddenly moving as one and snapping into focus on him. The daemon tensed and its head flicked forward, as if seeking to discover what he was.
It can see my power, he realised, and it doesn't know what to do. But I do.
He drew on his Crystal Skull and raised Eolis. Vesna gave a cry and staggered away as a blistering flare of crackling white flames surged about Isak's body. He had given in to Tila's urging and wore the cuirass of Siulents,
