The Stormcaller: Book One Of The Twilight Reign (63 page)

As Coran gave ground, another Fysthrall landed on the walkway. Doranei darted forward and trapped the man’s sword between his own axe and sword, then stamped hard into the side of his knee. The king’s man jumped back again as Coran swung up the butt of his huge mace and caught the Fysthrall under the chin, knocking him back over the battlements to fall amongst his own troops.

‘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 Siulents 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 accept 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.’

‘Ah, Isak, lad, that’s only supposed to come from Lord Bahl, from the Lord of the Farlan. They’ll sing it for you, but ... it’d be wrong. People might think you meant rebellion.’ Carel sounded anguished as he spoke, his loyalties torn.

It seemed strange to Isak, but he knew the pride Carel set in those few lines of verse.

‘Better that it would, but I
am
Lord of the Farlan now.’ The catch in his voice was unexpected. ‘Carel, Lord Bahl died this afternoon. Pass the word on. Tell them to sing to Lord Bahl’s honour - I’ll not have a defeat as his memorial.’

The word spread quickly. The Farlan soldiers seemed to sag at the news, as though the rock their lives had been founded upon was now gone. Lord Bahl had led their grandfathers and their great-grandfathers into victorious battle. He was the eternal hero who arrived bearing the vengeance of the Gods. And now he was dead. The cornerstone of their nation was suddenly, unexpectedly, gone.

Only Carel, striding amongst them, stopped men from dropping hopelessly to the floor. Whispering fiercely in the ear of one, clapping a firm hand on the shoulder of the next; one by one he roused in them the love they’d had for their lord. In the heat of battle, their passion burned with sudden and terrible intensity. Cold fury showed in their eyes as they waited for the enemy. The battle hymn came softly from their lips. Now they were angry.

When the enemy came, it looked a final desperate attempt. Any remaining mages of the White Circle had fled in fear of Isak, but a division of Fysthrall warriors led the attack. They didn’t look human in the firelight. Their blue-green scaled armour glowed eerily, and they seemed to jerk and shuffle as they raised the ladders.

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 Farlan 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.