'Well I don't understand half of it, but this is no Saviour I'd like to meet,' he growled. 'A shadow rising from the faithful of the West; his twilight reign to begin amid the slain.'
'Comforting, isn't it?' Tila took the book back, placed it on the table beside her and stood up. Automatically, Kerin rose as well. 'But it is better to know what madness our enemies might follow than to wallow in our ignorance.' She presented her arm and nodded towards the door. 'Come on then. If you think I've been locked away in here too long, let's go and find some form of entertainment.'
CHAPTER 13
From one of the towers still standing he saw the damage to his beautiful home. From up there the ruin had an almost glorious quality, an air of decadence. Like paint on canvas, great sweeps of the brush had carved rents in the ground and spread the stones of the fallen towers with careless abandon. He remembered the rage of his return, and the misshapen beasts capering in the destruction. Heavy jutting muzzles gnawed with relish; curling tongues lapped at the dark pools of dirt and blood. They'd screamed as they died, knowing agony for their crimes, and yet there had been so many. Wounds unhealed had been overlaid by fresh burning hurts, and as he lay beside those dear to him, broken and alone, they tasted his blood.
A name had saved him. A single word that hung thick in the air and ate into the stiffening wounds on his body. The sweet stench of corruption and loss lingered still, long after it had twisted his attackers into grotesque ruin. He felt himself contaminated, infected with something there could be no cure for. Desperately he searched about for some means of escape, some possibility of redemption. Running down corpse-strewn corridors he came to a decaying garden – so recently his refuge from the horror of life. Now it was dead, along with the creatures that had once been his beloved pets. Some no doubt had fled, but most lay in stinking heaps, their bones breaking with tiny snaps under his heel as he walked to a clear, serene pool. Looking in, he caught his own reflection – and felt the grip of damnation as he saw a face that was not his own. The face screamed and he heard himself echo that scream as the colour faded to black.
In a tangle of sodden blankets, Isak awoke with a gasp. The clammy touch of early dawn whispered over his skin and a shiver ran down his back while the memory of his wounds from the dream burned hot on
his body. It was dark inside the tent, and distances were treacherous in the weak light, shapes shifting subtly in the corner of his eye. He closed his hand around Eolis – the blade always found its way to his side as he slept – and raised it to see his reflection. The silver gave him a slightly distorted picture, but he'd settle for anything resembling his own face after that dream.
His hand trembled with the effort and when a figure at the entrance twitched at his movement he almost dropped Eolis in surprise. The hairs on Isak's neck prickled with panic and the long blade was drawing back, ready to strike, even as he recognised General Lahk. The white-eye's hands were demurely clasped together, a strange pose for a knight in full armour.
'What're you doing, General?' Isak thought his voice sounded drunk and uncertain, but the general gave no sign that he had noticed.
'It is time. We must ride before dawn.' He was staring intently at Isak, as though he was trying to see what had set them apart – what qualities Lahk was lacking to set this boy above him. 'Do you want me to fetch a page to help you with your armour?'
Isak frowned for a moment, then remembered why he had refused a page in the first place. Grabbing at the blanket, he pulled it high up to his neck, re-covering the scar on his chest. 'No, I'll be fine. How soon do we ride?'
'When you are ready, my Lord. I have told the infantry to be prepared within the half-hour. I received a rider in the night from Suzerain Tori; he engaged the enemy twice yesterday and forced them to change direction both times.'
'We're still going to be badly outnumbered, though.'
'Not greatly. You have not seen disciplined troops standing against a rabble. I would happily form the foot legion of the Ghosts into a square and let five times our number of untrained men attack all sides. The enemy are cowardly and weak. If there are members of different houses, then it is even possible some troops will never engage but abandon the field, take their booty and return to usurp those they abandon.'
'And the trolls?'
The general paused at that. He opened his mouth a fraction, then paused again, before saying, 'They are animals, not soldiers. They were one of the warrior-races created by the Gods during the Great War – they were not intended for sophistication, nor intelligence, only to be driven towards the enemy. They like to destroy; they like to fight. They won't run like the others.'
It looked like he wanted to say more, but nothing came. Isak waited a few heartbeats, then realised they were wasting time. 'Go and see to the men, I'll get ready.'
'Yes, my Lord.' A short bow and Lahk was gone. Isak could hear voices calling for the general's attention, but they didn't intrude on his space and he was glad for it. He relieved himself into the brass pot by his bed, then jammed a dry crust of bread into his mouth and began to fit his body into the under-suit laid out next to Siulents. As Bahl had predicted, the larger one was now a better fit. Once that was on and the toggles fastened, he swallowed the last few pieces of bread and clipped on the mail skirt and codpiece that would lie underneath the main plates of armour.
Carel had said that a cut to the groin was one of the fastest ways to bleed to death. Now that Isak was dwelling on that image, he could feel the hot pulse beating under the leather. Next came the cuirass. He opened the hinge to fit the two plates around his torso. As it snapped shut, a close fit moulded to the curve of his muscles, the seam and hinge melted from view. The fact that he'd grown in size didn't seem to bother Siulents one bit. Isak couldn't resist running a finger down that line one more time, feeling edges that his eyes couldn't detect.
As the pieces came together, a warmth settled into his skin, driving away the morning chill and bringing the hint of a smile to his face. For the moment, trepidation was a distant memory. Shrugging his shoulders inside the plate, Isak felt hardly any restriction or weight. The illusion of a seamless liquid-metal casing over his body increased iiis confidence in his own strength and speed. Passing Eolis through a few strokes, Isak felt his already supernatural skills enhanced even further. The weapon in movement felt like it was fused to his arm.
Even sheathed, Eolis felt alive and hungry for action. Isak strode out with a cold grin on his face. His blue mask was slipped over the padded hood of his under-suit. His armour shimmered in the grim grey light while the dragon symbol on his long cloak danced and raged in the breeze. Though the Ghosts had seen him in Siulents before, the effect on the men he passed was electrifying. He stopped and met their amazed faces, then snapped an order to get back to work and smiled as they jumped like startled rabbits.
He looked around. Neat lines of mounted men waited on all sides while more readied their horses and checked weapons. Pages and servants ran in and out of the forest of tents that covered the ground. Most of the mounted men were Ghosts. Many of the things Lahk had drilled them in were basics, but details like that could mean the difference between victory and defeat, and a general who didn't get bored was ideal to drill men until they were perfect.