'Bloody mages,' spat Carel. He was unscathed, and looked younger now. He swung Arugin with ease. 'They keep tossing these dark-skinned monsters at us; bloody things don't know when they're dead.'
Isak didn't have time to correct the veteran as more mercenaries rushed up the ladder. They fought with desperation, and their numbers kept increasing. Isak could feel magic billowing on the wind as blood flew and lingering screams haunted every shadow. He ducked a wildly swung axe and ran the man through, pushing him back off Eolis and over the wall. A sword glanced off his cuirass and he lashed out with his shield, feeling the hard edge crunch into teeth and bone.
There was no time to see how anyone else was faring. He caught glimpses of Emin, shining in the firelight, a dark trail following his axe, and he could hear Coran roaring above the clang of steel and the howl and sob of death. Isak followed the white-eye's lead and threw himself at the attackers. Cutting and stabbing with furious abandon, he closed the few yards to where men continued to spill over the walls. His guards, close behind, drove off the mercenaries to give Isak the respite he needed.
Putting a hand on the stone wall Isak steadied himself, opening his senses and drawing magic in. He could feel the bank of ladders set against the wall and the image of a flame appeared in his mind. Stretching out his hand, Isak felt the fire grow there. The flames rose and expanded as the climbing mercenaries shrieked in fear. Leaning forward he dropped the still-expanding fireball over the wall. It engulfed one man, who screamed and threw himself backwards, flailing desperately as he fell to earth, but the unnatural fire was not yet finished. With malevolent purpose the flames licked out, and where they touched, they stayed, until they had crept slowly out to mark every one of the siege ladders.
The climbers, seeing the fate of their fellows, tried to escape, fighting each other to get away. Some fell, the flames already devouring their clothes; others stared futilely, almost mesmerised, at the fire flashing slowly down towards them.
'Isak,' called King Emin, 'can you see their mages? The wall's weakening.'
As the king spoke the wall shook again, as though some invisible giant pounded its fists against the stone. Isak gave the fire one last burst of strength and released it to surge down the walls, wrapping everything in dancing orange sparks. The ladders were all alight and for a brief moment they had no one left to fight.
'We need to stop them breaching,' Emin told Isak. A thin line of dried blood ran down his face and lay in sticky trails on his armour. 'I don't know how much longer the wall will hold, but if they had any sense they'd realise throwing more soldiers on to the walkway would win them a breach anyway.' Amidst all the chaos, the king still sounded calm and in control.
Isak leaned out as far as he dared behind his shield. He knew Siu-lents was an obvious target now the sun was fading. An arrow sped through the gap he'd left and skimmed off the cheek of his helm. He flinched and withdrew. He had an idea of the ground outside the palace; that would have to be enough; the rest was magic. He knew roughly where the king's mages had been attacking; soon he could sense the enemy as they readied themselves for another assault.
The clouds above were stirring restlessly. They'd been massing since Bahl's death, swarming to salute the new Lord of Storms. Isak could almost feel their animal nature: giants of the air yawning and stretching, growling with barely contained anger. He could taste the anticipatory pressure in the air. Both attackers and defenders felt a tingle down their necks and glanced nervously at the sky.
As the first bolt of lightning crashed down, the soldiers near the enemy mages scattered. Isak perceived what appeared to be their scent on the wind as though it were the musk of a frightened deer. There were three, women, but Ostia was not among them. One was gathering her defences, trying to form a shield about herself, so Isak concentrated down on her first, urging the energy in the air to focus on the ground at her feet. With an enormous effort she managed to redirect the bolts of lightning towards her companions. They, feeling Isak's gaze on her, had backed carefully away, constructing their own defences as white daggers of light smashed down all around them, but one was too slow. She was caught in the teeth of the storm, lashed brutally and cast aside. The third survived for a moment, but she had forgotten about the king's mages; in seconds she was consumed by their fire.
Isak felt a weak note of confidence in the woman he had first targeted as her shield held against the storm. He smiled.
Now Isak pushed his hands together, driving his senses out as the Land obeyed his commands, willingly responding to the touch of the Chosen. Isak could feel earth between his fingers; he could smell the trampled grass. As he spread his palms out, the Land followed his guidance and ripped apart underneath the mage.
She fell, all defences gone, confidence supplanted by horror as she lay crumpled and broken, looking up from her grave at a raging sky. A whimper escaped her lips. She reached out to touch the walls of earth on either side, recoiling from the damp soil as though it had scorched her. Fear paralysed her. Isak closed his hands again.
The defenders had a little time to rest as the mercenaries drew back in disarray, but Isak didn't want it: time brought back the human part of him, the part that thought and mourned. It was cowardly, he knew, but he wanted to escape from his responsibilities, to hide behind the beast that came out in battle. That side of him didn't care who was dead or alive, who was Lord and who was servant. He kept silent about Bahl's death, though guilt gnawed away inside him.
He told himself he had never quite believed that palace by the shore to be real. Even after he'd recognised Bahl, he had refused to ac-cept it. He had deliberately shied away from warning Bahl – he knew the old Lord wouldn't have listened, for Bahl had half-craved the release death would bring, but still it would have meant acknowledging too much. Normal people didn't have premonitions of the future, not even the Chosen. It meant Isak was different, and he was as afraid of that as he was of the dark knight who he himself would one day have to face, and that cold face he'd one day stare upon as he died.
'Isak.' Carel approached carrying a skin of wine and some ripped pieces of bread. 'Get something into your stomach, boy, it'll give you strength.' The old man handed Isak a chunk of bread. It looked rather pathetic in his huge hand, but he recognised the need to eat something, however small.
'What's wrong, lad? Are you injured?'
Isak shook his head. He didn't know what to say. He was keeping more and more from the one man who knew him better than anyone; one of the few people he knew he could trust absolutely; it was beginning to look like there was never a good time for the truth.
'My life has become more complicated,' Isak eventually managed.
Carel frowned, then squatted down next to Isak with his sabre resting on his shoulder so he was close enough to whisper, 'What happened in the arena? Something Mihn said?'
'No, we don't have time right now – and anyway, none of it matters if we don't survive today.' The dark corner of his soul wanted to laugh. If this is all true then it doesn't matter what you do. You'll not die here unless the dark knight appears, and he won't. You know who he is already. You're just too scared to face the truth. Go and cower behind the battlements, watching others die and waiting for your time.
'And that's it,' Isak said aloud. 'There are others, and they matter. Perhaps they matter enough that the truth shouldn't be hidden.'
'Isak? What are you talking about, boy?' Carel sounded bewildered, perhaps worried Isak was losing his mind.
'Nothing.' Isak dismissed the question with a wave of the hand and stood upright again. Now that he'd made his decision, Isak felt new purpose filling him. 'Call the battle hymn. The enemy is coming.'