Tom Lloyd - The Twilight herald

'What are you waiting for then?' Isak said under his breath. 'It's a bit late for second thoughts now.'

No answer appeared, and with a flourish Isak sheathed his sword and turned his back on them. He kept his eyes fixed on Count Vesna as he returned to his comrades, keeping his pace steady. He knew he looked unconcerned, assured – the glamour of Siulents ensured that – but inside he was beginning to feel the first strains of panic. A score of men against several regiments was no battle at all, and try as he might, Isak couldn't think of any way out. To have come so far, only to be killed as he crossed the border seemed like a sick joke.

Gods, is this really it? After all those dreams? 1 was sure I knew who was going to kill me, but I guess that was all wrong. Perhaps Aryn Bwr was right when he said I had broken history… perhaps no portent will now hold true for me.

Isak couldn't help but take a quick glance around at the trees on either side. 'Stop it,' he muttered to himself, 'there's no one there. You're being foolish. It's fear playing with you, nothing more.'

'Archers coming forward at slow order,' said Vesna in a neutral tone as Isak reached his guards. The white-eye nodded, not trusting himself

to speak. His hand bunched into a fist as he felt a growing knot in his stomach. He'd been frightened before, many times, but this was the first time he'd had the luxury of time to savour its bitter flavour.

The absence of magic coursing through his body added to t he sensa¬tion, he realised, feeling insubstantial, almost weak as his impending death reared in his mind. Everything else fled before that: here he was, armed with weapons to make a God envious – and there was no help to be found. He was outnumbered, miles from safety, and not so inexperienced that he didn't know that any magic he did use would kill him and his friends as surely as it would those they were fighting.

A flicker of anger appeared at that thought. If I'm going to die, so is that bastard Certinse. I couldn't stand to take my last breath and see his triumphant grin. I'd rather put out my own eyes first. He looked up at the overcast sky. The poacher's moon would have fallen behind the horizon by now. If Nartis was watching, he was obviously content to leave his Chosen to whatever fate was coming.

'More horsemen, my Lord,' someone called, and a soldier pointed off to their left. A group of mounted men trotted in line at the top of the slope, following the path Isak's party had taken, anonymous against the darkness of the tall pines.

'Vesna, do you recognise them?'

Vesna craned his neck, then shook his head. 'I can't tell. They're wearing a uniform I don't recognise, but they're riding hunters, and they're not knights or hurscals, not all in black like that.'

'Their leader isn't,' Carel said, sounding confused. 'Is that-? Gods, it's a bloody chaplain leading them!'

He was right: as the party came closer they could make out the one man not in black was sporting the white robes of a Legion Chaplain. His hood was pushed back to display a bald head and a long grey beard hung down over his chest. As they neared, the chaplain stood up in his stirrups and called something towards the enemy cavalry, swing¬ing his moon-glaive in a wide circle above his head and finishing his statement with a roar and a cackle of laughter.

'Bastard's a bit old to be an active chaplain,' Vesna commented, 'and what's he laughing about-? He broke off abruptly, then exclaimed, 'Oh Gods, of course! He's been waiting the best part of his life for this day, no wonder he's making sure he enjoys it!' He turned to Carel. 'Get our men in the saddle, now – those knights are on our side but they're still outnumbered.'

The men didn't wait for Carel's orders; they were already running for the horses. Isak grabbed Vesna by the arm and demanded an ex¬planation.

'That's Cardinal Disten,' the count said, his eyes shining. 'He's the one who uncovered the whole bloody Malich affair. He's been after the Certinse family ever since, but he never managed to find the proof he needed to have them tried. Now they've delivered themselves to him, both Duke Certinse and Suzerain Tildek, and that's reason enough to round up the rest of the bastards.'

'Who are the knights with him? That's not a cardinal's staff.'

Vesna beckoned one of the soldiers to bring their horses. 'Dark monks, I'd bet, my Lord. The Brethren of the Sacred Teachings them¬selves. Suzerain Saroc has always been known as a bit of a recluse – I think we've just found out why!'

Isak swung himself into the saddle and looked at the advancing horsemen. 'I never expected to be so glad to see religious fanatics,' he said as the newcomers unleashed a volley of arrows into the suddenly disordered enemy soldiers desperately turning to face the new threat. Isak grinned and drew his own sword. The dark monks didn't make the numbers even, but it was close enough for Isak. He felt the sharp hunger of magic inside his chest as Eolis glittered in the dull daylight, around the lower part of which the Skull of Hunting had wrapped itself. It looked as if the guard and a few inches of the blade had been coated in a thick layer of ice, and the weapon throbbed with barely restrained power.

'Morghien, Mihn, your weapons will do more good here, protecting Tila and Mistress Daran, than in the midst of a cavalry charge.' The wanderer nodded. He was not a natural horseman and controlling his animal in the midst of battle was no easy thing. Mihn looked less impressed, but he didn't argue; his staff would be of little use against plate-armour.

'The rest of you, form line. I'd prefer them alive to put on trial, but dead will do almost as well.'

The men laughed and Carel called out the first line of the Palace Guard's battle-hymn. The voices, few as they were, sang out with lusty vigour as Isak watched the enemy reel from the unexpected assault. Cardinal Disten's manic laughter echoed out and Isak gentled Toramin as he waited for the Ghosts to ready themselves.

He fixed his attention on his prey, seeing the distant Duke Certinse slapping away the hand of the knight next to him – presumably his uncle, Suzerain Tildek – and drawing his sword. Flames burst from the weapon's surface and Isak smiled and raised his own weapon in salute. The slender blade glittered in the dull light, a soft sssshh sounding as it cut the air.

'I'm going to have your head on a spike,' Isak said softly, a promise to the wind. He gestured, and his party advanced a few yards until they were clear of the hollow and standing on firmer ground, where they stood and waited for the monks.

Wherever they came from, they were well trained and led. They swapped bows for lances quickly and neatly enough to have satisfied even that notorious disciplinarian General Lahk, and charged into the disordered cavalry, who were scattering even before the first blow had been struck. Cardinal Disten's troops didn't bother giving chase; they reordered their lines and continued on towards the knights across the stream. Duke Certinse hadn't moved; his men appeared paralysed by indecision. Even when the charge was called and Certinse levelled his sword towards Isak, still more than a few heads were turned towards the dark monks.

Vesna drew Isak's attention to the other regiment of cavalry, and both men grinned as the captain, incandescent with rage, berated his men, only to be cut off abruptly as one of them shot him and sent him tumbling to the floor.

'They've seen the sense of it,' Vesna called.

'And now we finish this,' Isak said, and kicked his spurs into Toramin's flanks. The massive stallion didn't need any further encouragement, slamming his enormous hooves into the ground and charging forward.

The dark monks were closer and once through the stream they crashed into the enemy's flank, forcing them to slow and turn as Isak led his own small unit to meet them head-on. The monks' impact threw the hurscals into disarray, and Toramin, moving at speed, missed the target, slamming instead into the Lomin standard-bearer's horse with such force that it threw the man from his saddle and his animal collapsed on top of him. Isak pulled Toramin away, not wanting the horse cut by a flailing leg, and hacked at the nearest hurscal, catching a hopeful swinging mace on its edge, then using Eolis to cut savagely across the knight's face, tearing through his visor as if it were made of cotton. Isak laid about himself furiously, spreading chaos through what was left of the enemy ranks as he made for the centre. He caught an axe on his shield and sheared the shaft, leaned forward to punch his shield into the man's faceplate, then moved on, not waiting to see what damage he'd done. A lance-head scraped past his belly and Isak turned to see a knight in white and yellow reach back for another stab. As Isak dropped his shield down to trap the shaft and break it on his thigh, a hurscal dressed in Lomin's red hacked at his other side. Eolis absorbed most of the force, but the axe-head spun off that unnatural blade and the spike on its reverse stabbed down into Toramin's shoulder. As the huge horse screamed and reared up, the hurscal, still clinging grimly to his battle-axe, was dragged from his saddle. Toramin stamped down on the man as Isak yanked the spike from the horse's flesh and let it fall.