The stormcaller

'And?'

He sighed. Isak thought it was in irritation for a moment, but the reply was as bland and patient as before. 'And the law states that a bondsman must secure his liege lord's permission before he can leave the shire. Technically, this constitutes desertion. They could be hung.'

Isak's face turned from confused to incredulous.

'And they are actually worried I might do that? Execute my own soldiers? Before a battle, no less?'

'They thought it prudent for me to speak to you first. You are a white-eye.'

Isak felt the general's words sink like a stone in his stomach. It didn't matter that such a decision would be lunacy: they feared the monster inside him. Even General Lahk had not disputed the possibility that Isak might respond that way – it was as if Atro were still alive and every evil rumour about him had been true.

Isak felt too sickened to reply. He waved his hand in the direction of the general, telling him to get on with it, then nudged his horse

away, unable to bear company. General Lahk spurred his own horse into a trot and disappeared behind the ba

How does he live like that? They must think the same about him, worse perhaps. Is there nothing he cares about? Would he disobey any order from Bahl, no matter how obscene? Would he even notice? Maybe what they say is true; maybe Nartis did burn out his soul.

The Chief Steward had told Isak the strange circumstances of the general's birth, and how Bahl had taken him to be tested in the Temple of Nartis. Lahk was far stronger than any other white-eye, but Nartis had rejected him, scarring his body with lightning instead of raising him to the ranks of the Chosen. He was left with two choices: reject Nartis and leave, or become a perfect servant of the God. He had taken the harder path, discarding those parts of his soul that would nurture the pain of his rejection. Isak almost admired him for that, however much the thought horrified him.

A few flakes of snow swirled around Isak as he stared through the ba

With the army now marched a total of eight suzerains, including the Kra

That old rogue Fordan had the honour of the vanguard, ahead of higher-ranking suzerains – a decision of Isak's that had made Sir Cerse, Colonel of the Palace Guard, wince. But Fordan had proved to be both good company and a sensible advisor. Isak was less sure about Sir Cerse, the young ambitious knight from Tori who had surprised

most by earning a Swordmaster's Eagle-blade shortly after he joined the Ghosts. Fordan's Red Keep ba

The swooping Golden Falcon of the newly raised Suzerain Danva fluttered just ahead. His brother was dead only two weeks and a book was already ru

The last suzerain present was foremost in rank, being from the oldest family and one of the richest provinces, but to Isak's surprise, the dour, excessively devout Suzerain Tori had presented himself only briefly before setting off to ride with the ranging scouts. His Ice Cobra emblem was as uncommon as the strange and secretive suzerain himself. Just as rare was his decision to wear simple leathers, with the badge of his family sewn to his breast as a sworn soldier would, instead of the grand armour a knight was expected to be seen in. His plate was carefully packed away, as was that of his hurscals, the unit of knights that acted as his bodyguard.

At first, Isak thought the man was a coward, dressing as a simple cavalryman to avoid making a target of himself like his fellow noblemen, but as he found out more about the man, he was deeply relieved that for once he'd not let his tongue run away with him. General Lahk, not one to overly praise anyone, told Isak that when it came to battle, Suzerain Tori was always to be found fighting side-by-side with the white-eyes of the Guard.

A heavy covering of cloud kept Tsatach's eye well hidden, and a dry wind whistled past the armoured knights and the leather-clad troops to the pack animals trailing behind them. A vanguard flurry of snowflakes held a promise of far worse to come: when the ice on the

road became too dangerous for horsemen, the beasts of burden would have to walk the path first, enduring the worst of the slick ground.

Isak's sharp eyes picked out red-furred squirrels watching the army from a safe distance, their thick rusty coats quivering as they tapped at the oak bark in search of insects hidden underneath. It was comforting that some life continued around them, uninterested and unaffected by the army marching east. The people of the towns they had passed through had been nervous and scared, only hesitantly cheering the soldiers. The fear of the elves had a strong grip; they had seen real anxiety even before they left Danva's borders. Seeing Isak astride his huge white charger, silent apart from the faint jangling of the harness and the chimes of the silver chains, rings and bells that adorned the creature, seemed to inspire confidence – perhaps that was enough; their belief in him was more important that his own. If his soldiers had heart enough, his own fears would go u

It didn't take General Lahk long to return. Trotting beside him was a black-garbed knight, his breastplate worn over his formal silks as was traditional. He was clearly wealthy: a gold damascene pattern overlaid the deep black of his armour, curling around the edge of the lion's head that sat large and proud in the centre of the breastplate. Even in his sleepy state, Isak felt a flicker of recognition. He blinked the blur from his eyes and looked again, this time realising who the man was: the Roaring Lion crest and extravagant black armour were a rare combination, and Isak knew there would be a golden helm shaped like a lion's head hanging from the man's saddle.

As the horsemen came nearer, Isak could make out the two gold earrings: the mark of a count. If his skin didn't heal too fast to make it practical, Isak would have had a similar piercing to hold the three rings of a suzerain. This was not some anonymous noble, but the renowned Count Vesna.