Fernal was of a size with Isak but, unlike Isak, he looked far from human – it wasn't just the deep blue of his skin, which faded into the evening gloom; the thick mane of hair that fell from his head and neck, framed a fierce lupine face with blackness and highlighted the white gleam of his eyes and curved fangs. Where Isak was clad in his armour and long white cape, Fernal wore no clothes, save for the tat¬tered cloak that hung loose on his shoulders and served as a reminder to anyone watching – or perhaps to himself – that he was not some mindless creature from the Waste. He carried no weapons, and kept his taloned fingers turned inward, away from Isak.

For a few precious moments the two had regarded each other as proud equals, then they had exchanged a respectful nod. Fernal had bowed low and introduced himself in a smooth, deep voice that had sent a wave of relief rippling out through the watching rank and file. The sound had clearly unnerved Fernal; he straightened quickly with a hunted look in his eye that made the nearest soldiers freeze, as though they had heard the hiss of an ice cobra.

Isak stepping forward to clasp Fernal by the arm had broken the tense moment, but the son of Nartis had been clearly relieved when Isak turned to the other men and he was able to slip back into a dark ‹ i irner where the witch awaited him.

It had been with relief and a welcome smile that Isak had finally taken General Lahk by the wrist after the strange formalities with Fernal. Only then had he seen the troubled look in Lahk's eye, anxiety in the face of a man legendary for his lack of emotion.

Grave news, my Lord.

In that moment he'd felt the air change around him, suddenly laden with boiling energy.

This should have been foreseen and prevented. Chief Steward Lesarl apologies for not pressing the matter further with you.

His throat had dried. Any feeble attempt at a reply went as the general ploughed on, almost as if afraid to pause for breath before he'd finished.

Your father, my Lord, he had said quietly. Your father is missing, taken.

Isak could feel it bubbling under his skin: that restless nag of guilt and anger, made worse by the fact it had no outlet. The only person

he could find to blame was himself. He was the one with the power – he was the one who'd failed to recognise there could be a threat. His father Horman was as wilful and proud as he was. The antagonism between them had been constant, but it hadn't really mattered before Isak had become one of the Chosen. Now their relationship was a matter of state: a tool for insurrection, or for another nation's use against him.

But that wasn't what haunted Isak; it was the damage that followed in his wake. First Carel, lying sick and enfeebled in a bed, missing an arm; and Vesna with that broken look in his eyes – both men were seasoned campaigners, but they had been indelibly scarred by Isak's company. Now his father, who'd not even wanted to be a part of Isak's new life, was paying the price for his association. He was Chosen, and cursed. Would the rare gift of his friendship exact a similar toll on everyone?

Isak winced as the fire behind his eyes threatened again and the insistent spark of magic swelled in his palms. This almost primaeval feeling welled out from his gut, begging to wreak havoc, to tear the house apart, to do anything – just to distract him from the guilt which threatened to drown him.

'Do not blame yourself for the actions of others,' said a voice inside his head. Isak's eyes flew open in alarm. The witch of Llehden was stand¬ing in the doorway, motionless. Even the rise and fall of her breath was imperceptible. Ehla reminded him of the statues from his dreams of the White Isle: timeless and forbidding, yet calming, still.

The dreams of the White Isle, and Bahl's death there… they hadn't returned since they had come true. Nowadays his nights were more fragmented, jagged shapes in his mind, scraps of Aryn Bwr's brutalised memories, mingled with his own fears for the future. Apart from when Xeliath chose to visit him, Isak dreaded his dreams. The familiar trepidation of the White Isle was almost preferable now.

'Who else am I to blame?' he said aloud.

'What use is blame?'

Isak's hand tightened, but he kept his anger contained. 'What in the name of Ghenna do you mean by that?'

'Blame serves no purpose other than to fuel the fire inside you.' Ehla's face softened somewhat. 'Don't focus on who is to blame, or who should bear guilt for what has happened. Care about rectifying the matter, not stumbling over it.'

'I'm Lord of the Farlan,' Isak said in a controlled voice. 'Despite what some think of me I've learned a little of what that means. I know my duty to the tribe is more important, but such things cannot go unanswered or we will appear-'

'Duty to the tribe?' the witch scoffed. 'No wonder there are so few warlocks in the Land if all men are so blind. A man thinks he is a great lord if he sacrifices himself to duty to the tribe, never once thinking that the tribe is better served if he recognises the duty he has to himself.' She squatted down suddenly to be on Isak's level, her fierce gaze seeking his. 'Blind faith in duty will drain you as surely as a vampire, and leave you nothing more than a dead husk. Your lord knew that, did he not? Lord Bahl knew that it would, use him up and spit him out, suck the very marrow of his being and leave only dry, broken bones.'

'"Your blood, your pain, shed for those who neither know of it nor care,'" Isak mumbled, remembering Bahl's warning when Isak had first strapped on the last king's armour. The taste of magic buzzing through that underground chamber, the rasp of a dragon's scales running over the Stone floor. The old lord had warned him that those close to him were in danger, so why had he not listened?

Ehla cocked her head. 'He said that to you? So he knew what it was doing to him, and he warned you against it. Xeliath tells me he died in the Palace on the White Isle, searching for a Crystal Skull.'

'He was driven to it,' Isak said, suddenly desperate to defend Bahl's decision though he knew it had been foolish. 'A necromancer drove him there so that Kastan Styrax could kill him.'

'And before he went, he warned you not to become the same as he, not to make the mistakes he could not help but make. He gave himself to guilt and grief; lost himself in duty until there was nothing left of the man he'd once been, only the lord. He didn't want you to fail in that duty as he had.'

Isak leapt up, Eolis flashing through the twilight as he cried out angrily. Ehla did not back out of range of his sword's terrible gleam but faced him down with an expression of calm determination, raising a hand to stop whoever was behind her in the corridor. Isak felt a flood of magic course through his body as he realised it was Fernal there, watching over the one he'd sworn to protect.

'There is no need for anger; you do not curse him by accepting that as a man he had faults. They are as much a part of a man as his qualities and they tell far more about his character.' She took a step forward, close enough to reach out and put a comforting hand on Isak's arm.

For a moment he thought she was going to touch him, to pass on her serenity, perhaps, but she made no more movement towards him. He lowered the sword, ashamed of his temper.

'Accepting one's own faults is vital for any man, even more so for a lord. Without understanding what is inside you, it is impossible to understand the Land outside your mind; it is the filter through which you see every-thing.' She turned and walked away, so smoothly that she glided like a ghost, the tattered hem of her dress silently brushing the cracked floorboards.

Before she turned to go down the corridor, she paused to give Isak one last considered look. 'Look inside yourself, my Lord. Understand what lies within you first, and then you will look upon the Land with fresh eyes.'