Tom Lloyd - The stormcaller

The stone wall was freezing as he put a hand against it to steady himself. He looked out on to the unnaturally empty beach and recognised where he was. A single sun-bleached rock sat on the smooth,

flat sand, far from the listless encroachment of the tide. He turned from the window and let the faint breeze in the corridor carry him away like a dandelion seed. His thoughts were on the man he knew was about to die, a man he called friend. The man he had feared to tell his dreams to.

He was awake this time, and he knew not to fight the tide of where he was going. His bare feet whispered warnings on the smooth floor, but he ignored them and pushed on to an arched doorway ahead. As he entered the domed chamber his strength almost failed as the immense weight of age inside encircled him.

He dragged his shivering limbs to the statue ahead and one final effort brought his head up to rest on the pedestal. He froze at what he saw before him.

Lord Bahl stood in the centre, as he always had in the dreams, even when he had been just a nameless face. He looked imperious, potent, as magic and anger coursed through his body. He danced and spun with deadly breathless grace when the dark knight attacked, but each strike was met and countered. A deep laughter rumbled through the chamber and Bahl's blows grew faster and more desperate.

Then an opening came and the unknown knight lashed out, faster than Isak could follow. The legendary hooded face dropped and rolled away in a burst of crimson. Isak moaned out loud, as he had every one of the dozen times he'd dreamed of this death. Only this time it was true. Despite everything, it had come true – and he had never warned his Lord…

Guilt seeped into him like poison, and his tears fell like acid on his cheeks.

The knight turned at the moan, his fanged blade rising to meet another challenge. The black armour was of ancient design, and fantastically ornate, with beaded ridges and swirls of silver. The knight's hand was naked, fully exposed to the air, and as pale as a corpse's. The monogram at his throat – the entwined letters K and V – made it clear whose armour this had once been, and which legendary warrior had slain Lord Bahl.

Isak stood, and this time he found Eolis in his hand, but when he looked down at it, he saw the blade was as thin and unsubstantial as morning mist. He struggled to raise the weapon, but despite his fury he could manage to advance only one step. He sank to his knees, exhausted, shaking with grief. Looking at his hands, Isak saw that they were hardly visible in the reflected light, like the sword in his hand, and they were growing fainter with each passing moment.

Kastan Styrax chuckled malevolently and dropped his guard. A trail of blood – Bahl's blood, Isak thought with a near-sob – spattered on the stone. He gave Isak a mock salute and turned, his broadsword resting on his shoulder as he walked away.

He called out to Isak across the hall, 'Another day, boy.'

'Mistress, the ceremony will not work if he's unconscious.'

'Then I will wake it up. Ah, it is already.'

Isak opened his eyes to find the white-eye staring down at him. The duchess stood hunched at her side; Ostia was marking out a circle on the ground with her toe.

'Ceremony?' he muttered through his daze.

'Yes, dog, ceremony. Dangerous animals must be tamed if they are to be of any use.'

New strength surged into Isak's limbs. The air tasted sweeter as he took a deep strong breath. He felt the dizzying miles of air above him and the heavy security of earth and rock beneath his feet. A smile crept on to his lips, despite the death of his friend and Master. His veins sparkled with life as clouds rushed overhead to celebrate his ascension. The day had been clear and fresh, but as Isak sucked in each joyful lungful of air, he drew the storm closer.

Isak could feel Nartis now, not as the terrorising deity of his dream, but as a brother, a father. The air shuddered as the God's divine gaze broke through the clouds and settled like a crown on Isak's head. The God's strength was there to draw on; his anger loaned fire to Isak's drained limbs.

'My people have a saying,' Isak began.

The women stopped what they were doing and narrowed their eyes at him. Isak looked from one to the other, lingering on Ostia for the longest. Suddenly she recognised some change in the air. Concern blossomed on her face as she felt Nartis. Isak could feel his own strength growing, and he saw in Ostia's eyes that she could see it too, but she ignored it, as though it was unimportant to her cause.

It confirmed Isak's thought that Ostia was not the enemy – or maybe it was just that she had no intention of making an enemy of Nartis. Either way, it was one less problem, and now Isak saw how to deal with the others. He grinned at the white-eye above him.

'They say that only a fool tries to cage a wolf.'

The white-eye stared back at him, then snorted in derision, quickly echoed by the duchess.

'Stupid creature,' the white-eye said. 'You call yourself a wolf? Ha! You are a beast, yes, but no one is strong enough to resist this ceremony, whatever grand statements you might make about your spirit.'

Isak continued to grin as his strength grew with every second. He could feel Nartis touch every inch of his skin as the power of divine blessing filled his soul. This was what it truly meant to be a white-eye, to have every fibre humming with rapturous energy. Ostia took a careful step back.

'I'm peasant stock,' he said. 'We don't make grand statements.'

'So?' She tried to affect boredom, but for the first time he could hear slight uncertainty in her voice.

'Wolves never travel alone.'

She didn't even have time to take in his words. Her eyes widened as a jolt of pain hit and her body went rigid. Her mouth fell half-open in a scream that never came. Without breaking stride, Mihn danced past her falling body, smoothly tearing Arugin from her back and bringing it up to meet the guard on Isak's right. Isak spun to his left and slammed his palm into the other soldier's throat. He felt a snap as something gave way under the blow, then reached down to grab the man's sword from its scabbard. The man's skin was also rusty-coloured; Isak briefly registered that his armour was unusually shaped and coloured.

He turned to see Ostia dive gracefully past, gathering up the Crystal Skull as the white-eye fell, then rolling back on to her feet like a street acrobat. Duchess Forell grabbed at the artefact as she straightened up, but Ostia easily slipped the Skull through the duchess's grip, then lashed out with her foot.

Isak thought he heard a bone break. The duchess collapsed, screaming in pain.

In his peripheral vision, Isak caught sight of a man – a mercenary? – darting forward and he turned and lunged, using his unnatural strength to drive through the man's shield and into his belly. He wrenched the blade violently out, snapping it clean in half, and threw what remained at the nearest soldier to give himself enough time to gather up the mercenary's sword.

Now the other mercenaries hesitated. Isak glanced at Mihn and saw two corpses lying at his feet. Tears streamed from his eyes as blood dripped from a weapon he'd vowed never to use again.

Then Isak felt a pulse of magic ripple out from the Crystal Skull as Ostia snarled something. He hurried to find some defence against the spell, whatever it was, before he realised it wasn't directed at him. Tendrils of energy rushed in all directions as crimson claws appeared in the air around the remaining mercenaries. They died without a sound, leaving only three figures standing amongst a heap of twitching corpses.

Isak could feel Eolis, his shield and helm off to one side, drawing him to them. He kept a wary distance from Ostia. 'Who in the name of the Gods are you?' he asked.