The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (55 page)

The general’s face was in shadow so Isak couldn’t see his reaction,
but his reply was certainly measured. ‘Very well, my Lord. Our group
is small, restricted to men we can trust to pursue the true aims of the Order. The Knight-Cardinal is certainly not one of those - he doesn’t care much about the death of his nephew, but it gives him a pretext to want your head. He has aspirations to be the Saviour,
and he positively drools at the thought of your weapons. The other
members of the Council are growing tired of his megalomania. Two
Councillors are expected to retire this year and when that happens, it
is almost certain that General Diolis and General Chotech will take
their places. That gives me the majority I need to have the Knight-Cardinal replaced, and when I do so we can begin the process of reminding power brokers like Telith Vener and Afasin just what our
Order’s strength should be used for.’

‘So this is a coup, dressed up in doctrine.’

The man shrugged. ‘What we do today will, I am certain, demonstrate that we do not lust for the power.’ Without giving Isak time to
reply the general stepped forward and knelt before Isak. The other
three moved quickly to follow suit, Major Ortof-Greyl stepping swiftly
past Isak to kneel behind his superiors.

Isak looked at his companions in bemusement. They said nothing.
Vesna was smiling as if it was all just a joke. Carel, Mihn and Tila just
looked puzzled.

‘Lord Isak. Here, in our most sacred temple, we pledge ourselves to
your name and banner, to perform those tasks the Gods will require of you as their Saviour. I swear to take control of the Knights of the
Temples only to serve your will, and the will of the Gods. When it is
needed, I shall provide you with the army of Devoted soldiers spoken
of in the prophecies. To prove our faith, we have brought you gifts to aid you in the Age to come.’

The major jumped up and ran to a flat altar-stone in the centre of the temple. Isak had hardly noticed the brass-bound box. It was no
more than a foot across, but the major picked it up reverentially. He
returned with the box held out before him, his arms tense, as if the
weight of the box was nearly too great for him. The general remained
on one knee as he accepted it and turned it towards Isak. There was
a thin film of sweat on his brow, but anticipation shone in his eyes as
he lifted the lid and held it out for Isak to see.

The other Farlan gasped as the contents shone as bright as Siulents
in the moonlight.

Isak was speechless, trembling all over. At first he was too afraid to
believe what he was seeing, then a primal hunger flared inside him, sparked by the eerie glow coming from the box. He felt the damp
touch of pain as his hand clenched so hard he drew blood.

The rest of the Land faded away and he lost himself in the smooth
lines of the two Crystal Skulls. For a moment he could do nothing,
hear nothing, as he stared dumbfounded at what was being offered to
him. He knew their names at once. Unbidden, the memories rose in his head: Hunting and Protection, the Skulls Aryn Bwr had forged for himself that together made him stronger than any mortal - the
weapons that had killed Gods.

With the heady beat of blood pounding in his ears, Isak slowly
fought for control of his senses and at last reached out a shaky hand.
The world grew heavy and textured as his fingers neared the box. He spread his hand to touch both at once. He expected them to be cold, until he felt the power they contained. They were warmer than his fingers - he could see a little wisp of steam curl away from the surface of one. Then they were hotter still, then suddenly scorching.
A wrench of burning pain gripped his arm, growing fiercer with each
passing instant. Then the world went black.

Isak awoke to
a
place of dark twilight, lit by faint stars that faded away
when he looked directly at them but glittered fiercely at the edges of his sight. The air was thin and dry against the back of his throat; it tasted of long memories, bitter and empty. He could see neither trees nor standing stones now, only undulating rocky ground in all directions, underneath a dawn sky of unbroken slate-coloured cloud. Kneeling, Isak removed his gauntlet and touched the desiccated grey
dust underfoot. It felt dead to his fingers, not like the sand of a desert,
but like a wasteland that had been drained of all life. It gave him a
hollow feeling inside, as though a part of him was now missing.

Pulling his silver gauntlet back on, Isak noticed it had lost its lustre.
The silver had faded with the light and now it looked plain and dull, like weathered iron. It was still his armour, yet somehow diminished; when he checked, Eolis was the same. He pulled off his helm and the blue silk hood and drew in deep gulps of thin air. His muscles were weak and stiff, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to
shake off the fatigue.

‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

Isak whirled around, hand on sword, to see an armoured figure standing ten yards away. The knight had a blank helm hiding his face and the teardrop shield on his arm was turned away so Isak could not
see the design on its surface. His sword was drawn, but held behind his
back; the pose reminded Isak of some of the formal duelling positions he’d seen Vesna practise.

Isak could see from the knight’s stance that a challenge was being offered. The air of menace was all too apparent. He drew his own
weapon and planted his feet securely, a shoulder-width apart and with
one slightly ahead of the other, just as Carel had taught him so many
years ago.

‘Where am I? Who are you?’

‘You are nowhere, caught in a moment between your past and the future.’ The voice was male, rich and subtle, like King Emin’s, but with an accent he couldn’t place. Everything about the knight was
threatening, even his words;
your
past, but only
the
future, as if there
was no place for Isak in that future. The thought chilled him, this wasn’t the black-armoured knight of his dreams - the one Isak
knew
would one day kill him - but it reminded him of Morghien’s warning:
that Isak would have to face a death of the mind. A sudden sadness
crept over him. To die in this empty, dead place was somehow worse
than any other fate he could imagine.

‘What do you want from me?’

The knight hadn’t appeared to expect that question, but for reply, he raised his shield and brought his sword around to point it directly
at Isak. Realisation came with a jolt; the knight was wearing Siulents,
and carrying the same blade Isak had in his hand, not copies, but as
real as those Isak himself carried, similarly dimmed yet unmistakable.

‘What do I want from you, boy? Everything, all that you are. Part of me has been with you all your life to make of you the tool I need
for the years to come.’

‘All my life?’

‘Certainly. Events needed to be guided, my investment protected. That priest of Larat for example - he could not be allowed to rum
mage around in your head.’

‘So what happened when I touched the Skulls?’

‘I doubt you would understand even if I told you,’ the knight
sneered.

‘So the prophecies of the last king are really true? You denied Death’s judgement?’ Some part of Isak demanded proof, despite the
growing dreadful certainty in his gut.

The knight eased the helm from his head and let it drop to the
ground. He shook his silvery, almost insubstantial hair loose. It accentuated his thin jaw and sharp cheekbones. Aryn Bwr’s strange beauty made him look delicate, but far from weak; Isak suspected he had a
whipcord strength that could strike like lightning.

‘All this for revenge?’

‘Don’t think to pity me,’ the elf lord spat. ‘You know nothing of my
cause, nothing of the war I fought. My time has come again, and this
time I will not fail.’

In a heartbeat he leapt forward and slashed up underneath Isak’s shield. The white-eye hardly saw the blow coming; he barely caught
it in time. A second overhand cut flashed past his head as Isak twisted
sideways and slashed wildly to deflect a cut to his exposed legs. Somehow he battered Aryn Bwr’s blade away.

Isak scrambled backwards to give himself some space, but the elf pursued and struck again and again. Even Isak’s unnatural speed was
barely keeping up with Aryn Bwr.

The elf stopped suddenly and gave Isak a cold smile. ‘Strange, when
I was looking out through your eyes you seemed faster than this.’ He attacked again, not looking for a killing blow, but content to drive Isak back, confusing and unbalancing the young white-eye, always stepping back at the last moment when Isak could almost feel the bite of Eolis at his neck. He took the moments of respite gladly, then
lunged at the elf with every ounce of strength in his massive body.

Aryn Bwr rode Isak’s clumsy attack like a willow branch flexing in
the wind, then thrust hard. Isak caught the blow on his shield, and as the blade cut down it forced the shield into his shoulder with jarring
force.

Isak tried to retaliate, but again the elf stepped around Isak’s thrust.
This time he smashed his shield down on to Isak’s wrist and pain burst
through his hand as something snapped under the blow. Worse, Eolis
was knocked from his grip. Isak gasped and reeled; he didn’t even see
the elf punch forward with Eolis’s hilt. The blow connected and stars
flared before his eyes.

He fell, sprawled at the last king’s feet. Aryn Bwr stared down at him with contempt. ‘Is that all you have? So it is true, they made you weak; weak enough to be one they could control.’

Isak struggled up on to his elbows. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You do not know?’ Aryn Bwr laughed. ‘Boy, you are not even the
first Saviour this Age has seen, and you are his inferior in every way.
Dare you deny it? You see him in your dreams; you’ve known him your
whole life.’

‘The Saviour? Then-‘ Isak could not begin to find the words for the questions he wanted to ask.

‘Then what happened? Azaer happened. Azaer encouraged their vanity, urged the Gods to be their own undoing, to be divided and distrustful of each other, while I returned to power. The Gods made their Saviour the greatest of men, perhaps even greater than me, but before long the Saviour began to question why he needed to serve
any master.’

Isak lay on the floor, overwhelmed by what he was hearing, but not
so dazed that he did not desperately search for a way to escape. He knew it was futile: Aryn Bwr had been the supreme warrior; he had killed Gods. He had fallen only to Karkarn, the God of War himself.

The elf sheathed his weapon and reached down to haul Isak up.
Bringing him close, the last king stared deep into Isak’s eyes.

Isak returned the look, staring into pale, gold-flecked eyes as though
the answer would be there. He felt a fog about his mind, enveloping his thoughts and slowly draining the strength from his body. The
heavy sleep of the grave called to him, drawing him in to its embrace,
but as his strength faded and his mind weakened, understanding suddenly unfurled in his mind like a bud bursting into flower.
‘Now I know,’ Isak said calmly.

Aryn Bwr hesitated, eyes narrowing as he tightened his grip on
Isak. He had felt the change in Isak’s mind and a flicker of uncertainty
crept on to his face.

‘Tell me, elf, can you remember your own name?’

The last king said nothing.

‘Your name. Can you remember it?’

‘I-‘ Uncertainly blossomed into loss, then fear. Aryn Bwr’s true
name had been struck from history, and like the Finntrail in Morghien’s
mind, that loss weakened his spirit.

‘Can you remember your death?’ As he said that, Isak felt the grip on his throat falter and weaken. ‘Oh yes, that you can remember, that
pain is still inside you. You’re dead; a memory barely beyond Death’s
reach. Without name or form, what are you now?’

Isak smiled and raised his left hand, though his arm was sore, numb
from the fight. Despite his feebleness, Isak took hold of Aryn Bwr’s wrist and prised the fingers from his throat. Lifting his right arm, the hand twisted and curled over the broken wrist, Isak spread his fingers as best he could in front of his enemy’s face and remembered what he’d done to Morghien. Under his touch, the weaves of magic parted
like morning mist.

The last king shrieked and writhed in Isak’s grip, but the white-eye felt his strength rush back into his body. Now the elf spirit was helpless to resist. Isak forced down the snarl that built in his throat as he embraced the magic all around and gathered a storm of power in his hand, determined not to submit to the rage in his belly as he had
outside Lomin.

Reaching out with his mind, Isak cast a net of magic over the dead
king’s soul and savagely bound it, ripping it from the body it had tried
to inhabit. Aryn Bwr howled with terror.

The elf’s soul, held tightly in Isak’s grip, was a feeble thing now. The shadows darkened as Death’s reach crept closer. Aryn Bwr renewed his screams and struggled futilely until Isak pulled the soul away from the darkness and into himself, where part of it had hidden to avoid Death’s constant watch.

Isak stood alone and breathed deeply; the air was fresher now and the weariness had left his limbs. Even the pain was gone now, for the damage was not to flesh and bone but the product of his mind. The sky was lightening, and faintly the scents of heather and wet grass came to him, smelling wonderful to him after the dead land.

In his mind Isak held the spirit of Aryn Bwr, but gently now; the time for force was over. There was no way for the elf to wield power
over him any more.

What have you
done? Isak felt the elf’s voice in his mind, soft and pained, but tinged with fear.

I’ve survived; just like you’ve taught me to every day of my life.

What will you do with me?
Aryn Bwr knew he was closer than at any
other time to the final retribution of Ghenna’s deepest pit.

I’m
not going to kill you, if that’s what you mean. I think I can find a better use for you. If the Land looks to me to be the Saviour, then I think
I’ll
need your brain.

You were never meant to be Saviour—

I know,
Isak interrupted with a smile. ‘
In
silver light born, in silver
light clothed.’ That was never intended to be me; that was your rebirth
tonight. Except now it’s not going to happen. All things have their time;
remember that, my chained dragon. Your time has passed.

You’ve broken history. Destiny had you die this night. Do you realise
what that means?

Isak stretched and felt a cool breath of air drift past his face. He could feel himself returning to the temple inside the trees, to the life that was at long last his own.

It
means we make our own future now. It means no prophecy fits what
is going to happen. All we have is ourselves.

He smiled. The Land awaited him.