The Twilight herald

He cast his mind back to the battlefield outside Lomin, that winter landscape feeling an age away during this brutal summer heat, and he recalled that scary moment when he literally lost himself in the rampant tides of magic flowing through his body. I refuse to let that happen again, he told himself sternly.

Soothed by the bright night sky, with only the moons for company, he found a moment of contentment – and then, at last, Isak could feel the distant presence of Nartis once more, beyond the western horizon, watching between one moment and the next as the Land continued unaware of the scrutiny. It was nothing like the raging torrent Isak had felt upon Bahl's death – when the looming storm had rushed in to crash over his fragile body and raise him up to where the Gods stood – but something altogether more gentle and comforting. Isak's co

If the God of Storms took note of such a small thing, he did nothing about it. Isak sensed a vigil of sorts, one centred on the black pit of Scree beneath him. Below he fell his body almosl swallowed in the darkness. The weight of the city beneath him was a black stain on the Land; a hole through which the normal order was draining away.

He reached his arms out wide, towards the distant clouds that had been kept at bay for too long. Isak gasped at the vastness of it all, for a moment terribly afraid of the thin shadow of his own soul, spread out over so many miles as the clouds started massing, closing a jealous embrace on the city.

And then here they were: flickering wings and sharp clicks in the darkness, shapes that darted and dodged after insects, flying in long, graceful spirals, drawn ever closer to his light.

He hadn't known what would happen once he was here, but he trusted the witch of Llehden. He remembered when first they met, when the gentry of Llehden had welcomed him as a brother – these creatures that cared nothing for the squabbles of man had recognised in Isak something he didn't quite understand himself. He was no prophesied Saviour – Isak needed no further proof of that, whatever any fool prophecy foretold – but the wilds had always been where he was welcome, and the mark of the Gods had deepened that co

The bats eagerly clustered around him, their sharp hunter minds curious at what they could sense in the air, though they couldn't trace an outline of him against the clouds. They followed him down, spiral' ling towards Scree and the street where Isak's body still crouched, before jinking away at the last moment towards the walls of the Red Palace. He opened his eyes just in time to see the swirling cloud of shadows descend upon the terrified soldiers, a darting fu

Isak took a few steps forward, out into the moonlight where his armour shone brightly, and slid his helm over his head. No warning voices came from the wall; the Fysthrall guards were too intent on hiding from the column of bats that was spi

'What have you done?' moaned the usually reticent Tiniq.

Isak tore his eyes away from the bats for a moment; General Lahk's twin looked like he was about to be sick, He felt a shudder echo through the air from the wall and looked back to see the bats had vanished, to be replaced by a tall figure holding aloft a tall silver standard topped by a stylised sculpted shape.

'What is that?' Vesna asked grimly, loosening his sword. 'Have you woken another elemental?' His tone wasn't accusatory, just deter¬mined.

'Piss and blood,' Tiniq replied, dazed, 'look at the standard.'

They all did so, then Vesna hissed with trepidation, 'Merciful Death, Isak, it's the Gatekeeper.'

'Gatekeeper?' Isak said. He thought he recognised the standard from somewhere – a circle open on one side with a fist pushed in – but the memory was old, indistinct. Suddenly his heart chilled. 'The Herald of Death?' he gasped.

'It must be,' Vesna said, though he sounded scarcely able to believe what he was saying. 'The Herald takes the dead through his hallway, "where only bats and Gods may linger", and on to Death's final judg¬ment. He holds the keys to the throne room of Death.'

'And he's here to help us,' Isak finished. 'Perhaps the Gods have not entirely abandoned this city.' He pointed to the soldiers on the wall. Those that hadn't fled were silent, staring in horror at the motionless figure, completely oblivious to what might be happening in the streets of the city.

'My Lord, you don't understand!' Vesna sounded aghast. 'The Herald of Death does not leave his halls, he does not appear before the living. He isn't a Bringer of the Slain, he's not one of the Reapers

he should not be here!'

'Well he is,' Isak snapped firmly, 'and whatever portent you intend to read into his presence, it helps our cause. This is a city of the dead and we hunt a necromancer, so I think the rules are changed. Now move yourselves!'

Not waiting for the other four, Isak broke into a run towards the wall. There was a deeply set postern gate to the right but he ignored that, instead heading directly for the nearest part of the wall. From the corner of his eye Isak could see the others making for the gate, Shinir first, ready to scramble up and over to unbar it from the inside, as pla

He let energy flood his body, infusing his limbs with a burst of new strength. The wall was ten feel of grey bricks, but he vaulted up onto the walkway effortlessly. The nearest guard turned at the sound of metal on stone and died before his eyes could focus on the massive white-eye. A second died in the next heartbeat, still staring at the black skin and crimson robes of the Herald of Death. Only the fourth managed to raise a weapon in his defence and Eolis sheared through the spear-shaft and into the heart with ease.

Isak caught a glimpse of the Herald as two more Fysthrall, shaken out of their trance, ran down the walkway towards him with spears lowered. The Aspect of Death was taller than he, and had perfectly black skin. There were no eyes nor mouth, only slight indentations in an androgynous face. The smooth curve of its skull was broken only by its ears – and at that, Isak's memory stirred: the Herald could not see the dead and had no words for them, though Death himself saw all in those halls, and His words were as tangible as the pale grey stone walls.

Isak dragged his mind back to the present in time to deflect the two Fysthrall soldiers, turning into one spear with his shield while felling the other with his sword. The rusty-ski

He looked towards the postern; the two corpses above it told him Shinir was already at the gate. That moment of distraction almost cost him dearly as a blow to his shoulder spun him around and almost knocked him off his feet. Looking past the motionless Herald, Isak saw a soldier desperately trying to reload his crossbow, and another spearman on the wall, looking bewildered and terrified. Isak, realis¬ing he couldn't risk being hit by another bolt, flung Eolis overhand twenty yards. The sword buried itself into the crossbowman's chest, as easily as a knife sliding into butter.

Seeing Isak unarmed, the spearman found his courage and rushed forward wildly. Isak didn't bother drawing the dagger at his belt. Balling his hand, he drew a fist-full of warm night air and punched it forwards. The soldier was two yards away when the blow hit him and rocked him back on his heels. He stopped dead, confused by what had happened, and took a moment to look down and check for injuries. The Fysthrall was still bewildered when Isak smashed his shield into his head and dropped him for good.