The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (49 page)

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.

‘Not in the name of the Gods.’ She smiled hungrily, looking around at the corpses, and Isak saw elongated teeth behind quivering lips.
She tugged her shawl over her head with a gloved hand. ‘Do you not
recognise me?’ There was a tenderness in her voice that gave him
pause; it reminded him of Xeliath.

‘Should I know you?’ he asked again, but as he said it, Isak felt a
quiver of recognition. Not who, but what. She was fair-skinned, with
dark hair, but with her wide face and small features she was clearly
not Farlan.

The teeth, and the dark patch of skin that had blossomed on her cheek, burnt by the touch of sunlight, he realised. Finally, a name
came.

‘Ah, I see it in your face,’ she said. ‘My name is Zhia Vukotic - but you do not know my face. I had wondered, but no matter.’

‘Why did you kill your men?’

‘If you can guess what I am, then you surely know I need no reason to kill, even by your standards.’ She gave a mocking laugh. ‘Yes, boy, I know that’s not what you meant. I killed them because they would have proved an inconvenience; they were loyal to the Circle.’

‘And you’re not? I don’t understand.’

‘Evidently. Can you guess who they are? Or are you really so dim-witted? Then I should put you out of your misery now.’

‘They-I’ve never seen anyone like them before.’

Then I will explain. Your man has just killed the Queen of the Fysthrall. This is the Age of Fulfilment and the banished have
returned. They have changed so much. Once they were so wonderful
…’ Her voice trailed off, then she shrugged. ‘Now is not the time. The White Circle is their cause, not mine.’

‘So why are you involved? Because they were once your allies?’

‘Nostalgia? Hah.’ Her laughter echoed with the weight of years.
The memory of the island palace stirred in Isak’s mind. Zhia had the
same weary, timeless quality about her. He forced down the memory
of Bahl’s death. That was for later; he could not let himself grieve yet.

‘I leave the obsession with the past to my brother. In any case, they are far from what we once knew. They had no idea who I was, other than that I possessed more skill and knowledge than any other of the Circle. The temptation of a Skull was easily enough for me to play the part of a quiet and faithful servant. I didn’t expect taking it to be
quite so easy.’

That was the only reason you were with them?’

‘You’re showing your innocence now. With an eternity ahead of me, playing at politics keeps me busy even if it comes to nothing.’
Zhia shrugged again, taking care not to dislodge her shawl and expose
herself to the sun’s touch. ‘If it serves a future purpose, all the better.’

‘Future purpose?’

Her garrulousness was making Isak suspicious. They were the very definition of foes: Isak was blessed even beyond most Chosen; Zhia
with her brothers and sister, was cursed above all others.

Time is of the essence for Narkang’s king. I suggest you find a way to join him.’ She blinked, then curled her lip with impatience as Isak still didn’t appear to understand. ‘Look, boy: the Fysthrall are far more your enemies than I. They have one ambition, to take revenge on
the Gods who banished them. Understandably, thanks to the Saviour
prophecies, they see you as a threat to these plans - and it appears you feature in their own prophecies. You are - or have - the key to
ending their exile.’

‘So they are who the Saviour’s supposed to fight?’ Isak wasn’t sure he wanted a true answer to that. Like most, he had assumed that there was some cataclysm to come, so the creeping worry of disaster would be lurking on the horizon until it actually happened.

They believe so, but they are intellectually insular. I suggest you
would be better off having a care of your own shadow more than you
do the Fysthrall. Your friend the king is the man to ask about the Saviour - he has written some excellent essays on the subject. The man is obsessed with history - and making his own mark upon it.

Now, return to your friends.’

Isak sensed her disappointment with him, but he couldn’t work out whether it was because he wasn’t all that she’d expected, or because
Siulents had brought back old and unhappy memories.

‘So what’s your part in this now?’ he asked offhandedly.

‘Don’t banter with me, boy, it’s beyond you.’

‘You said their cause was not yours,’ he explained hurriedly. He was more than aware of the angry prickle of magic surrounding her. ‘What do
you
want - it’s obviously not my death.’

‘Nothing
you
can give me, but it should be easy enough to guess, if you have
any
imagination. Enough of this. Go.’

He didn’t wait to be told again. His friends needed him. Isak saw the main arena gate lying flat as Emin had promised, and bodies - Kingsguard, mercenaries, ordinary people, both noble and peasant - lying everywhere. He couldn’t see Vesna’s distinctive armour anywhere among the fallen, so presumably he had made it through.

A group of horses stood tethered to a rail at the back of the public stand, nominally guarded by a mercenary who’d walked out to a rise in the ground to see what he could of the fighting. The unnatural
vigour of his ascension was still running through Isak’s limbs, and his
aim was true as he threw Eolis thirty yards to impale the man. Like a hunting dog, Mihn padded away to retrieve the sword. As he re
turned, Isak saw the streaking of tears on his face.

‘Thank you,’ he said as Mihn handed him Eolis. He caught Mihn
by the shoulder and held him there, forcing Mihn to look him straight
in the eye, though the man could hardly bear to lift his head.

‘I am your bondsman,’ he said, quietly. ‘It was my duty.’

That’s not what I meant,’ Isak said. ‘I know you don’t fear death, as a sensible man should - and dying bravely would have been easy
there, even though I saw how fast you were: you’re as good a swords
man as I’ve ever seen. That must make it hurt all the more.’

‘I needed Arugin. Dying bravely wouldn’t erase my shame. Your
cause is my life as much as my penitence.’

It was hard to argue with him, but there were things to be done. Isak made a mental promise that he would continue this later and then turned his horse towards the city. ‘Come on, we need to get to the baths. The man who builds one tunnel builds many. I can’t see
Emin’s reinforcements, so this could get desperate, and I don’t intend
to watch from the sidelines.’