The Twilight herald

With a crash, the mob drove into the phalanx. The frontru

The ranks of Devoted were backed onto a fat pillar three times the high of a man. It had a ledge ru

Isak took his cue and slashed forward with Eolis, letting the energy contained in the Skull fused onto the guard burst out and lash forwards into the onrushing figure. The burst of white flames tore the first man in half and continued on into the woman behind. Flickering tongues flashed out to those around her, blackening their skin and throwing them underneath those pushing up behind. The woman managed to keep upright somehow, but she was shrieking with pain as she was pushed forwards into the bottleneck by the reaching hands behind her. A spear jabbed out and tore through her neck. As she fell, a fine mist of blood hung in the air above her for a fraction of a second then dissipated, spattering those around her.

With Vesna's words still ringing in his head, Isak kept himself in check, cutting down any within reach with brutal ease, but keeping his place in the line. Some wielded long knives or hatchets, but they couldn't get close enough to the line of soldiers to use them; swords or spears cut them down like wheal before a sickle.

The fighting raged on relentlessly. As Isak took down yet another – he'd lost count within minutes – he looked around to see the whole phalanx had each impaled an enemy citizen; there was a moment of strange impasse as neither side could get past the standing wall of dead between them.

Then that moment of hiatus fell apart as one soldier remembered his training and used his shield to bludgeon the dying man off his un-barbed spear. He ran through the next and battle was resumed.

Aside from Mariq, who screamed curses and spells as he threw down ruinous fire to slow the press of bodies, the defenders were near-silent. After the initial attack, the men worked almost as one, like a methodical killing unit, beating forward with their shields, lunging at the next target, disengaging, beating forward again… countless hours of training drills paid off as they stood elbow to elbow in tight formation, ranks closed. Very few were yet injured; those few caught with lucky blows were quickly passed to the back and men from the second rank moved forward into any breach, leaving no gaps for the gibbering wretches to exploit.

Again and again Isak felt sprays of blood patter over his armour, and the air was ripe with the stink of loosened bowels and exposed guts, but they couldn't stop to take stock for even a moment. It was just mindless, mechanical slaughter, but their lives depended on their ability to keep stabbing and slashing and smiting their attackers.

'Press forward on my command,' Vesna bellowed suddenly from somewhere nearby.

Isak felt the infantry tense once more. He felt a surge of pride in these men, strangers drawn from all over the Land to a place none of them cared about, yet they remained disciplined and focused, and when Vesna called 'forward!' they stepped out as one man.

The mob reeled a little, surprised at the sudden movement, but there were still too many of them pushing onto the troops and the only real effect it had was to crowd those at the front even further. Vesna called again, and once more the infantry shoved forward, using their tall iron-bound shields to bludgeon their way through, while the second and third ranks of the line dipped their shoulders and added their weight to the movement.

In the next few moments the front line of the mob, now too restricted by their fellows to do much beyond wail, shuddered as spears stabbed forward into their bellies, but as they crumpled, they were replaced by yet more keen fighters who were crushed against the shieldwall. Isak heard one soldier cry out as the pressure on him from front and back grew too much to bear, but as the man's voice broke the night air he seemed to find extra strength from somewhere and it became a roar of frustration, anger and pain. His comrades took up the call and a great howl ran down the line. In response Vesna demanded another foot of ground, then another, to drive the enemy to the ground where they could be slaughtered like the beasts they were.

'Lord Isak!' cried a voice from somewhere behind him. Isak let the man behind him take his place, yelling wordless sounds of bloodlust and eagerly closing the gap. It gave Isak a moment of space in which to turn and look at the large shrine forty yards from Mariq's perch that marked the other end of their defensive line. The shrine had dozens of narrow archways, piled one on top of another in what had probably been a carefully devised pattern until the people of Scree had defaced it sometime recently.

Perched on top of the shrine, oblivious (or uncaring) of the impiety to whichever God was worshipped there, was Shinir. She pointed to the ground behind the mob with the handle of her lash, then low¬ered it and with a savage flick wrapped the chain around the neck of a woman who'd been trying to scramble up the side of the shrine towards her. With a practised movement, Shinir tugged the lash away and the woman's entire body spasmed before falling limp. That done, Shinir returned her attention to Isak, trying to direct his attention to something behind the mob.

She shouted, 'Cavalry, sir, a good regiment of Farlan!'

Isak gri

Isak forced his way to the front of the rank and waded out into the bewildered throng, which had at last recognised the danger. Using both shield and sword to kill anyone near him, Isak began to force his way through the hundreds still left alive. In his wake were the heavily armoured Ghosts of his personal guard, closely followed by the whole line of heavy infantry, driving a bloody path through the mob to the horsemen beyond.

Isak felt a breeze that sent the shadows cavorting all around as the ground grew sticky with blood.

CHAPTER 30

Doranei froze and shrank down beside the splintered trunk of a cherry tree that had fallen into the street. Up ahead he could see Mikiss, the Menin vampire, had stopped and was turning his head from left to right as though searching for a scent. Theirs was the smallest group, with only a handful of the Brotherhood to accompany Zhia, and they were trying to keep as far as possible from their supernatural allies.

The three remaining white-masked acolytes that Zhia had bought from the Jesters padded along nearby. She claimed they would remain completely loyal to her, even if she were fighting the Jesters them¬selves. Zhia's disparate army was completed by Haipar, Legana, the necromancer's servant Nai, and her own man, Panro, who carried a long canvas bag over one shoulder. Doranei guessed that the bag con¬tained a tent, a last resort should dawn catch them still in the open. Both Nai and Panro were armed with brutal steel-tipped clubs, which they had already had occasion to use on the journey here. Despite the fires that had destroyed large tracts of southern Scree, driving the mobs north, there were still packs holed up all over the city.

Doranei thought the people they were encountering now were different to the mobs. They were still frenzied, but tonight he saw human emotions creeping back in. He recognised terror, because of a Land they no longer understood, a fear that was strong enough to drive them to terrible deeds. This horror had a human soul again, and that frightened Doranei more.