'What help could some village crone give me?'
The Land is slipping out of balance, driven by power used without thought given to the consequences. The witch draws her power from the Land itself, where there must be balance in all things. I believe she will not stand aside and allow that to be destroyed, and that she
will recognise your own need for balance. I sense she will show you a path through darkness.'
The darkness brightened. Isak felt his limbs, tired and aching, and his eyes caked with tears. Wakefulness insinuated itself, sharp and insistent, though he longed to sink back into the sanctuary of sleep. He felt a bed beneath him, damp and clammy after the cool cradle of empty air. The buzz of conversation stung at his ears before calming into words, and voices he recognised. Slowly, he returned to the Land and its cares.
'We should let him sleep.'
'He needs to be up, so people can see him.'
'How did he survive?'
'How do you think? His first hours as Lord of the Parian – Nartis could hardly fail to watch over him, especially during a storm. What I want to know is how he did what he did. It wasn't just using his magic to create lightning, he actually called the storm on to him. It scared the shit out of the king's mages, and then-'
'But what about his arm?'
That I can't explain. Reckon we'll need a mage or maybe a priest to explain that.'
Isak suddenly gasped for air, as though surfacing from water. The people around his bed jumped back in surprise – he'd been as still as a corpse. Now his heaving gulps of breath sounded like a return to life. Looking up, Isak focused on the roof above. He was in the palace, some corner of a lavishly decorated hall. With an effort he brought his mind into focus: was this the Queen's Hall? It wasn't the main audience chamber; it was a smaller and more elegant room.
'How do you feel?'
Isak had to suppress a laugh at Tila's question. He had not taken stock of his injuries yet, but he did know every bone and muscle in his body hurt. Lifting his head from whatever was supporting it caused a sharp spasm of pain to drive deep behind his eyes and his vision wavered and blurred.
When he opened his eyes again, Tila and Mihn were kneeling at his side, hands on his chest and forehead to keep him still.
'Careful,' Tila warned him softly. The wall collapsed under you; you fell quite a way.'
'What happened?' Isak croaked.
'What happened?' Carel repeated behind her. Isak forced his eyes to focus on his old friend. He saw a battered and weary face, bruised and still bleeding a little down the left-hand side. His arm was in a sling, wrapped in grubby bandages. 'Don't you remember bringing down the wrath of the Gods on those soldiers?'
'1- No, I remember flashes. That's all.'
'Flashes is all there were, boy!' A glint appeared in Carel's eye. 'A whole damn lot of them, more lightning than nature ever cast down in one place. We still don't know how many you killed, but it was hundreds. They had crammed near every man they had into the breach. You had your shield in the air and it attracted the lightning, then channelled it down on to them.'
Isak could feel a dull throb in his hand, but it was mild compared to how the rest of his body felt. He carefully lifted his shield arm – and fought back a scream. To his absolute horror his left arm had changed completely: it felt the same: same size, and weight, but instead of his usual healthy colour it glowed an unearthly white, shining in the bright morning sunlight. The skin was perfectly smooth, and unbroken by even the slightest scratch. It looked as if every drop of blood, every hint of colour, had been leached from his arm. Panicking, he raised his other hand, but that looked normal, although grazed and bruised after the battle.
'It's only the left one,' Tila said softly, soothingly, but her expression betrayed her alarm.
'How far up does it go?' He tried to twist his head sideways to get a better look, but the effort made him wince in pain and he let his head slump back on the pillows.
'Just beyond the shoulder,' Mihn said, appearing behind Tila. 'It ends abruptly – it looks like you've dipped your arm in paint.' He betrayed no emotion now. Isak remembered seeing him fighting on the wall, wielding only his staff. Mihn had surpassed even the men of the Brotherhood for agility and speed. He'd not been hurt, avoiding even the smallest cut, though his tears had flowed freely. He'd vowed never again to use a sword after he failed to become a Harlequin, but he had broken that vow to help rescue Isak from the White Circle; that was one more shame he felt on his soul.
Dipped in paint: that was an accurate description, Isak thought: the bit he could see wasn't translucent, not drained of colour at all, just purely white. He remembered how the lightning had curled lovingly
around his arm, its burning bright light first warming his skin, then seeping down to the very bone. Now he looked closer, he could see the fine hairs, and two moles on his forearm, still there, but snow-coloured. Although he healed exceptionally fast and almost inhumanly well, he had one scar, from when he'd fallen from a tree and nearly lost his arm: now that was barely visible. Isak stared at it in fascination. Blue veins were just visible under the skin. His arm wasn't damaged, just touched by the divine.
He reached for Eolis, lying at his side, and touched the edge of the blade against his forearm. Despite the battle it was as sharp as ever: he watched, mesmerised, as a trickle of scarlet edged its way down his arm. The contrast against his skin was shocking.
'If you've quite finished?' Tila sound exasperated. 'I've just bandaged every wretched cut on your body and you want to make more? Don't mind me, will you.'
Isak looked up at the girl, grinning wider as a reluctant smile crossed her own lips. Her once-elegant green silk dress was now torn and stained with blood, and frayed at the edges where she'd ripped off the flounces for bandages and run a knife from thigh to calf to free her legs enough to move properly.
As he took in her appearance he realised with a jolt that his own chest was bare. His hand immediately went to the scar there.
'Ah, yes,' Carel said quietly, 'and then there's that. What in Nartis's name is it, boy? Why didn't you bloody tell me about it?' Though the words were harsh, his voice remained at conversational level.
'King Emin saw it too,' commented Vesna, moving into Isak's field of vision. Isak was pretty sure the pained expression on his face had nothing to do with the crutch he was resting on.
'Did he say anything?'
'He did, my Lord, and I hope it makes more sense to you.'
Isak narrowed his eyes at the formality. Clearly the count was hurt that he'd not been deemed trustworthy enough to tell.
'He said he wondered why you'd chosen it.'
That's all?'
He nodded.
Isak suddenly felt as though all the energy had drained from his body. He sagged back on to the bed. He didn't even have enough strength to feel guilty yet.
'Well?' Carel demanded.
'Please, not today. There's too much to do, too many to grieve for.' Isak coughed feebly, taking a moment to recover his breath again. 'Can you leave me alone for a while?'
None of them looked happy, but Isak's fatigue was obviously not put on just to get out of an awkward conversation. They moved away silently and crossed the hall to join Mistress Daran, who was supervising the nursing of the wounded Ghosts lying there.
Isak lay back and tried to identify the points of pain in his body. Once his headache had calmed a bit it was easier, using his supernatural awareness, to ensure that no great damage had been done. He had no broken bones; nothing had got past Siulents. There were deep bruises from where axes and swords had pounded against his armour, but his weakness was mainly from the overuse of magic.
A faint smile appeared on his lips as he remembered wielding the power of the storm. A tremor of that power still rang in his bones: an