These are General Diolis, General Chotech in the middle, with Major Irien back there,' General Gort said. 'Major Ortof-Greyl has explained that we are not here as officials of our Order.'
'He told me something that I didn't believe,' Isak said, 'but you didn't bring any mages with you, and I think the gentry would have dealt with any army-'
The gentry?' the general cut in. 'So that's what's been making such an infernal racket at night.'
They were probably arguing about how they wanted to kill you. In any case, I've been brought to a strange place that I don't much care for; to meet people I care much less for, for a reason I don't believe, and on my birthday. Consider me annoyed and get to the fucking
point.'
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.
ENDGAME
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.