As Isak watched them come to an accompaniment of the whistle of arrows, the sight of them evoked an elusive memory of glinting bodies and huge bronze war-hammers shining in the light of an unnatural fire – but he couldn't remember any more. Faces and names eluded him as the present intruded on his thoughts.
Scores of arrows kept the defenders down as the Fysthrall swarmed up to attack. White-eyes stood on the tops of the ladders while they were being raised, ready to leap over the battlements the moment wood met stone, when they started striking out with fierce abandon, brandishing their long-handled battle-axes. The first Ghost to come within range was caught in the armpit, the bronze-inlaid blade cutting deep, but it caught on the inside of his cuirass and fell with the man. The Fysthrall abandoned his axe and pulled a pair of short swords from his belt. He started trading blows with Carel before Ghosts on either side impaled him.
Elsewhere the white-eyes didn't fall so easily and brutally cut the defenders down… but the battle hymn of the Ghosts was taken up by the Kingsguard now and it echoed down the wall.
The captain of the Fysthrall white-eyes charged up and over, heading straight for Isak, screaming a challenge as he battered a path to the new Parian Lord.
Isak waited for him, sword and shield forward to meet the enchanted axes in the captain's hands. The Fysthrall white-eye roared at Isak and began to rain blows down on him. With bodies piling up on the ground and more men coming up the ladder there was little room to move, but Carel managed to slip around to cut at the back of the Fysthrall's leg. The blow glanced off his armour, but it distracted the white-eye enough for Isak to start his own attack.
Now using all his speed and power, Isak hacked away, until Eolis caught the shaft of one axe and sliced through. A burst of red appeared as the magic in the blade suddenly ran wild and, in a cloud of light, the uncontrolled energies wrapped themselves around the captain's arm. Isak heard the sizzle of burning flesh as the man cried out in pain and lowered his guard. The next blow sheared through his throat.
Isak carefully kicked the corpse off into the palace gardens and looked around, spotting Carel as the old man cried out. Throwing himself forward in controlled fury, Isak struck off the offender's arm, then smashed his shield into the man's face. The Fysthrall screamed in agony, but the cry was cut off as Eolis punctured his heart.
The enemy held a small stretch of wall now and were trying to drive a wedge through the Farlan Ghosts. Isak ploughed in, swinging wide strokes they couldn't avoid, so crowded together were they. A sword got through his guard, but was turned by Siulents, and in a heartbeat Isak had kicked out and heard the crouching man's neck snap, all the while he was stabbing through another man's breastplate into his heart.
'Isak,' King Emin called, a way behind him, 'we're being swamped. Pull back to the keep.' As he spoke, another tremor ran though the wall. Isak looked around in confusion. He turned aside the last man's sword and watched agony flower on his face as a Kingsguard stabbed him in the ribs, then stopped and opened his senses. He couldn't feel any mages in the area, but the walls shook again and he realised they wouldn't hold for much longer.
Looking over the battlements he saw the reason for the wall's shaking: a battering ram was being backed away from the wall for another run. Its brass head glowed with magic. It appeared the enemy did not trust any of the king's gates now: they would come in through the walls where no daemons were lurking, waiting to cause even more death and destruction.
Isak smiled grimly, they were probably right not to trust the gates. He cut away all the ladders he could reach again, then shouted back, 'We're going.' He turned to Carel, worried by the way the old man's face was contorted in pain and fatigue.
A horn was sounded and immediately all King Emin's men and Isak's own party turned and ran for the nearest stair. Isak gave Carel a shove, but he stumbled and was caught by one of the Ghosts, who grabbed his arm and helped him on. Mihn didn't move, waiting for Isak.
'Go, I'll follow once everyone is off,' he said, waving Mihn away, but the small man didn't move. 'Do what I tell you!' Isak shouted, wanting him clear. 'Get down that stair now!'
Mihn frowned at Isak for a moment, trying to work out what he was going to do, then bobbed his head. Til wait for you by the gate, but I'll not go in until you do.'
As Mihn left, Isak saw men of the Brotherhood run down the walkway towards the advancing troops. Each one carried bottles with burning rags in the neck. They threw them down the walkway and as the bottles smashed, the stone caught aflame, creating a barrier to protect the fleeing soldiers. That done, the King's Men ran, collecting up the few stragglers yet to leave, cutting down the last few enemies, until they were on their way to safety.
Isak watched them join the crowd clustered around the keep's gate. The wall shook again; it was about to crumble. The pop and grind of splitting stone screamed in the air. He ran to the head of the stair; they were running out of time. The wall would give in the next few blows and Emin's troops would be caught in the open and slaughtered as they gathered at the small gate of the keep, waiting for space to move to safety. Behind him the wall groaned and lurched. Two huge blocks of stone fell inwards and crashed down. Isak grabbed at the battlements as the walkway shuddered underneath him. He looked around: the flames were still too ferocious to cross. There might still be time.
Carel was halfway across the palace gardens when he heard stones falling and he turned back to see Isak balanced precariously, ten yards from the breach – and then only five as another piece collapsed. Through the gap he could see pike-heads, black against the firelight behind. Any more and the mercenaries would walk straight in. He looked around and saw how many were fighting to get into the keep – and here came Count Vesna's companies sprinting towards them from the rear of the palace, desperate to reach the gate in time.
Carel turned back to look at Isak, then drew Arugin again as four men ran towards them from the nearest tower, outstripped by the solders who'd been there. They stopped dead as he stepped forward. Unarmed and dressed in bright colour, they had to be the king's mages.
'You four, do something to help him.'
One looked over at the silver figure on the walls. Isak was kneeling down on the wall with his shield raised above his head. The stair was within reach, but he wasn't looking at it.
'Help him?' another replied incredulously. He was young, little older than Isak himself. His orange and blue robes were expensive; they'd have looked impressive this morning, no doubt. Now they were stained and scorched. 'We've got to get away,' he explained.
'What?' Carel asked. 'Why?'
'He's calling down the storm, using his magic to bring it to him. The lightning will follow anything drawing magic. Please, let us pass!' He sounded desperate, as if he were pleading with every remaining ounce of his strength.
Before Carel could reply, Commander Brandt appeared. 'What's he doing up there?' he asked. The watchman seemed furious more than anything else. His battered armour was covered in blood, but if it was his own the man didn't seem to have noticed.
'Buying us some time. If they breach it now we'll be slaughtered.'
Brandt looked back at the men fighting to get into the keep, then at Isak.
'He's not going to manage it alone. Look.' Brandt pointed to the intact side of the wall where the mercenaries were slowly making their way forward, throwing corpses on to the roaring flames to smother them.
'You.' Brandt grabbed the oldest of the mages. 'The enemy were throwing men up on to the walls by magic – can you do that?'