The Scroll of Isidor

situation. The emerald orb of light still glowed from the tip of his sword, but now that it was lowered, the cavern was duller.

  'Does this mean we get to eat?' one of Pollock's men called from the tunnel.

  'I want boiled Kabesh,' called another, raising his voice to address Lev. 'Do you have that in Dervine? I hope it's as good as at home.'

  'Our tavern makes a fine roast Kabesh, nice and crispy,' Desma said, defensive at the very assertion that Dervine's meat could be inferior to Peterin's.

  'First things first,' Pollock said, rummaging in the inside of his black tunic. He produced a flattened scroll of parchment, the wax seal still intact. 'Here you go, Deputy Chief. Straight from the quill of King Isidor.'

  As the scroll was pressed into Lev's hand, the hair rose on the back of his neck. He knew the name Isidor well: Isidor of Peterin, the rebel son of King Rowan. The scribes had taught him of the tale: how Rowan had exiled his own son during the war for attempting to instigate a coup d'?tat in the province of Ellence; how Isidor had broken free from his prison in Straida, and now roamed the seas with a band of rogues - a renowned marauder and killer.

  The story flashed through Lev's mind in a fraction of a second. So the exiled rebel Isidor was now King of Peterin ? there was only one way that could have happened, and it certainly hadn't involved a pleasant chat with his father over some boiled Kabesh.

  The rebel Isidor has killed King Rowan, Lev thought. He has taken Peterin.

  And now he wants to take Dervine, and the rest of Flaran.

 

  Lev's fingers fumbled with the wax seal on the scroll, yanking it open. Shivers of adrenaline were racing down his spine, but he kept up a cool face as Pollock watched him, hands akimbo.

  Ink formed narrow, close-together letters on the parchment:

  Magnus

  I send ahead of me one Captain Pavel Pollock to parlay. All arrangements have been made for you in Takara. You will have two hundred hectares, most of it arable land and well suited to either grazing or agriculture as you wish. A thousand head of Kabesh are yours. Upon completion of our arrangement, five thousand gold denarr will also be yours.

  I require your wax seal on this parchment by way of handshake. Once sighted, Pollock's men will arrange your transport to Takara. My troops will then use the new tunnel to occupy Dervine.

  TOTK of Peterin, King Isidor II

  Lev's heart drummed in his throat.

  'I don't suppose you have some kind of portable seal, do you?' Pollock said drily. 'Why'd Magnus send you if you can't sign off?'

  Pollock thinks I'm in on it, Lev thought.

  The white mare neighed softly as Desma pulled back on her reigns; Desma must have read Lev's body language.

  'Magnus sent me to receive you,' Lev said, forcing a casual grin. 'The tavern in town has a crackling fire, much warmer than here, and plenty of salted Kabesh to feed your men. How many are we feeding tonight, just the four of you?'

  'Got 'em on rotation, don't I?' Pollock said. 'The others are camped further down the tunnel; these three are my night shift.'

  So there's only four of them.

  Pollock's eyes met with Lev's just as the flash of triumph went across Lev's face. The smirk on the Captain's bearded face evaporated in an instant, and he reached for his sword.

  'No!' Lev shouted in horror as he realised what was about to happen.

  Adrenaline pulsed through his entire body in a way it hadn't since the war. The instincts were a little rusty, but they came back. Lev unbuttoned his cloak, letting it drop to the ground and freeing up his arms as he leapt to the right, trying to dodge Pollock's blade as it sliced through the air; the tip sliced his gauntlet.

  'TRAITOR!' Pollock roared. 'Men, take them!'

  The three men gave a series of battle cries and launched into the cavern: one came for Lev, another for Desma, and a third for Huck, scimitar in hand.

  Lev spun his own blade around in haste, the orb of emerald light flinging across the cavern; the globule of light connected with the eyes of the man with the scimitar just as he reached the stallion's side; he screamed as it sizzled his eyes, blinding him instantly.

  The orb of light fizzled out, plunging them into semi-darkness broken only by the dim light of the Peterinese men's oil lamps.

  Lev whirled his blade around before his body just as Pollock attempted another jab. Lev blocked it deftly: Pollock was muscular, but heavy-set and slow. Lev spun on his heel and slashed at the Captain, who didn't lean away fast enough: Pollock screamed as the steel sliced his back.

  The smell of blood reached Lev's nostrils as Pollock stumbled aside, clutching at the cavern wall, while a third man barrelled straight for him, shovel held ready to strike. Lev held his ground, then pounced to the right at the last possible second; he whirled his blade around and smacked it into the shovel's handle, sending the man stumbling back. He yanked the sword back, but it was embedded in the wood of the shovel's handle; both men were neutered.

  'For Isidor!' the man roared, ditching the shovel to the ground and charging at Lev with his bare hands.

  Blade still embedded in the wood, Lev abandoned it and brandished his hands together in a smooth motion. A very thin lariat of green light exploded from his palms; he only had time to form a short stick, shorter than a dagger, but it was enough for what he needed. As the man raced at him, Lev raised the stick and jabbed it straight into his throat.

  The man stopped cold, his hands grasping for purchase at Lev's cuirass as his throat gurgled and blood filled his airways. He found an unarmoured stretch of arm and sank in his nails as a final attack, but even the sting of blood couldn't distract Lev. He yanked the stick out of the man's throat; the man sucked for air for a moment, but only a horrible bubbling sound came as he aspirated on his own blood.

  He collapsed to the earth.

  'Poe!' a man's voice screamed across the cavern.

  Lev stepped back from the man at his feet: the fourth man, who had Desma backed into a corner as her mare whinnied in panic, wore a mask of horror as he watched his friend die. Desma took the distraction as an opportunity, whipping the dagger from her side and planting it deftly in the side of his neck.

  She screamed in horror, releasing the dagger as the man collapsed like his comrade, his entire body shaking and fitting.

  Lev hunted for Pollock and found him still slumped against the cavern wall, face in shadow from the oil lamp, blood on his hands as he gingerly touched the wound on his back.

  'This is treason, Pollock!' Lev roared. 'Isidor is a murderer and a usurper! How could you back him?'

  Pollock began to answer, but before he could say a word, there was a scream from behind Lev; the man he had blinded earlier leapt onto his back.

  At once, Lev was dragged to the ground by the man's sheer weight, slamming against a sharp rock. His back cracked painfully, winding him; silver stars burst into his field of vision. Blood burned from a gash on his arm.

  'Isidor is The One True King of Peterin!' the blinded man declared, wrapping his arms around Lev's neck and tightening his grip. 'He will conquer all the lands in the Halo - starting - with - yours.'

  Lev flailed his limbs, but it was useless; the blinded man was wrapping his legs around his own, entwining them and immobilising him with his weight. He struggled for breath, but it didn't come; the muscled arms were crushing his windpipe, pain shooting through his neck.

  Frantic, he reached out his right hand, hoping to close it over the sword's hilt - but it was too far away. His hand touched only a strand of ivy.

  The ivy.

  'Now!' Lev panted, clutching a fistful of ivy and focusing all his magical energy on it.

  At once, the creeping ivy mobilised, rustling along the ground of the cavern towards Lev, slithering en masse in one direction. Lev strained, his vision blackening as the man continued to strangle him - and then he heard it.

  'Augh!' the blind man screamed, ivy leaves rustling as the vines wound over his n
eck once, twice, three times - and then, with a jerk of Lev's hand, they tightened.

  The man's grip over Lev relaxed at once; a second later, a spray of warm blood splattered against Lev's back. The man went limp.

  Lev sat up, panting, his back aching from the fall - but as soon as the stars cleared from his vision, he saw Pollock standing over him, sword held aloft.

  'It's over, Deputy Chief. I just need to know one thing ?'

  Pollock groaned suddenly, wincing with pain from his back. He steadied himself.

  'Either you knew about the arrangement, and Magnus sent you here to double cross us,' he said, 'or Magnus had kept you in the dark, and this was all just a terrible mistake for you. Which is it, before I return you to the earth?'

  Lev gasped for air, unable to even formulate an answer. His sword was out of reach, still embedding in the shovel's handle. He was beaten.

  'Answer me,' Pollock snarled.

  Lev opened his mouth, hunting for some answer to buy time - when suddenly, Desma's shriek rent the air, the brown sleeves of her tunic appearing around Pollock's shoulders, her dagger reaching for his throat, but colliding with his blade.

  Pollock turned just in time to avoid