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not praying to Nartis this time, just with a look of beaten accusation as his pursuers arrived.
    The youth curled into a ball, bloody hands shielding his head as the men laid into him. Triumphant grunts accompanied each blow.
    One kick rolled him on his back and he couldn’t stop his eyes flickering open for a moment. He glimpsed the face above him, distorted and robbed of humanity and suddenly the face disappeared, thrown sidways as the beating abruptly ended. Isak twitched, tense in expectation of the next blow, but it never came. Carefully, he looked up to see his attackers standing sullen, red-eyed with unspent anger. One was picking himself up from the floor, unhurt, but obviously bewildered.
    Now Isak could see that two palace guards had taken up position either side of him, hands resting on the pommels of their long swords. Their black armour, over which was draped the stark white livery of their Lord, looked fearsome in the half-light. They were dressed for battle, with helms covering their faces. Isak looked to his left, at a door set into the wall. A shield was propped just inside the doorway, an eagle with outstretched wings, painted black on white. Lord Bahl’s coat of arms.
    A gust of wind rustled along the wall, spreading a shiver through the men huddled on the drawbridge. They were wavering, about to turn and run, but then Horman arrived and stiffly forced his way to the front of the group.
    That bastard white-eye just killed a man,’ he shouted. ‘He’s my son and I know the law. Step aside.’
    One of the Ghosts stepped forward. He said nothing as he gestured for Horman to approach. He took his hand off his sword as he reached up to remove his helm. Isak felt a surge of panic. Before the age of eighteen summers, a child remained the property of his or her parents, unless they chose to let that child become an adult earlier. Most parents gave in to their children and declared them adult at sixteen or seventeen summers, but not Horman: he had needed to do nothing to keep Isak a slave, and in the eyes of the law he was still a child. Now Isak could be hung on his father’s word for the man he’d just killed.
    Unhurriedly, the guard standing with Horman bent his head to pull off his helm, so deliberately that Horman almost reached out to take the helm from his outstretched hands. A single soldier’s plait unfurled. The guard looked up to meet Herman’s gaze with eyes as white as Isak’s. Horman still had his mouth open in surprise when the guard hit him.
    The other guard stepped forward, his sword rasping from its sheath. Isak’s pursuers shrank away, then scurried back across the drawbridge until only Carel remained. The guard walked up to him, sword lifted until he spotted the white collar, whereupon he nodded and stepped back. Carel returned the nod and took Horman by the shoulders to pull him to his feet. Horman was unsteady; the white-eye Ghost was Isak’s height, but much bulkier, and his punch had left Horman dazed and shaking.
    Touching a finger to his lip, Horman held the bloody digit up to inspect it. He shrugged Carel off and scowled at Isak. ‘Fine. Don’t come back, ever. You’re dead to me.’
    The words hurt more than Isak could understand: he hated his father. He could think of nothing to say. Horman spat on the floor and turned away, slapping down the hand Carel raised to slow him. Carel looked at Isak and shrugged.
    ‘Remember me when you’re a general, Isak,’ he said, then Carel too turned and walked away. Isak opened his mouth to call after him, but the words wouldn’t come. After a few heartbeats, he clamped it shut. He looked down and saw the mess of blood on his hand. He felt hands underneath his shoulders, lifting him to his feet. The white-eye guard was staring at him, but Isak was too numb to react.
    ‘Can you walk?’ asked the normal guard frowning.
    Isak nodded, gingerly touching the ground with his toes before trusting his weight to them.
    ‘Was that really your