by Tom Lloyd
I remember a day like this, hawking in the hills of Meyon with my sons and my cousins. The wind smelled the same as today: warm grass and wildflowers on the breeze.
Isak nodded in absentminded agreement with the voice in his head. Count Vesna caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. The handsome nobleman tilted his head up to look at Isak, then gave an almost imperceptible shiver and turned away. Isak had told his com¬panions what happened that night in Llehden, when prophecy had in¬vaded His life and the soul of a dead king had invaded his head. Vesna had said nothing then, and had hardly mentioned it since. Isak could tell he didn't know what to think. The implications were both terrify-ing; and momentous, not just for Isak, but for their entire nation.
Mihn sal quietly behind Isak, watching his lord's every movement. He had accepted the situation with his usual fatalistic manner, while Carel and Tila had taken it on board quickly, momentarily stunned, then interested – they'd found their voices quickly and it had taken Isak an hour or more to calm their fears and reassure the pair that he was in no danger. It was hard for them to accept that the soul of Aryn Bwr had tried to take over his body and failed, but Isak persuaded them that Aryn Bwr's failure was his gain. If the Land expected him to act like a king, then who better to have as an advisor than the greatest king the Land had ever seen? That the dead Elf was also the Gods' greatest enemy was something of a complication, but Isak was sure he was completely under control, even if his companions had yet to be convinced.
The poppies looked like spilled blood on the ground. There were omens in the sky, and over the Land, hut 1 failed them. I failed to see what was in front of me.
Isak ignored the voice as it fell into melancholy, determined not to let the captive spirit ruin his good mood. Unbroken summer sun was a rare thing in the Spiderweb Mountains and the Farlan cherished such days. Foreigners would joke that the Farlan would halt a war for the chance to enjoy the sun, and as Isak sat there and felt the warmth on his cheeks it sounded a perfectly sensible idea to him. The early evening sun hovered a little above the horizon, casting a golden light out over the Land, freezing it in a long moment of peace before twilight would be permitted its reign.
The last king had fragmented his own soul to escape Death's final Judgment, hiding his thoughts and memories inside the Crystal Skulls he'd lorged for that purpose. Now, as those memories returned to the
dead king, Isak felt the echoes of Aryn Bwr's pain. He cast around, searching for something to push the Elf's dismal thoughts from his
mind, but there was little to attract the attention. They were almost at the highest point in the area, but aside from the narrow dirt track they were following there was nothing but a small cairn of stones, some thirty yards away.
In the hills of Meyon I held my heir and watched him die. In the hills of Meyon / cursed the ground where Velere died.
|sak felt a wave of sadness and rage radiate through his body, and He remembered the letter he had carried to King Emin about the place called Velere's Fell. It was no longer a tale of horror on the page for him, but a glimpse of grief and fury so strong it still scarred the Land, seven thousand years later, and its echo left a sour taste in Isaks mouth. Isak sighed and scratched his cheek, waving away the inquisitive fly that was darting around his face. Are you really going to ruin a beautiful view for me? he wondered.
This land is so different to the one I used to know, the voice went on, musing. Its colour has been bleeding out over the long years. Now
it is grey, and marked by the scars of my passing. Aryn Bwr was lost in
HIS OWN thoughts again; only twice since leaving Llehden had Isak actually conversed with the spirit that had taken up residence inside his head.
'That's my good mood gone,' he muttered, and he slid from the saddle.
'My Lord?' Vesna enquired.
'I just need to stretch my legs for a bit,' Isak said with a dismissive wave of the hand. Carel immediately gave the order for the guards to split up, as he did every time they stopped for a break, then he dismounted himself and joined his young lord. Isak forced a smile and draped an arm over the old man's shoulder. As they wandered slowly towards the cairn of stones, Isak felt his smile become genuine. Here was a strange thing: only after it had become unseemly for a man in his position had Isak ever felt the urge to hug the man he thought more of a father to him than Horman had ever been.
'You want to pray?' Carel asked in a dubious tone. He'd known Isak for most of the white-eye's life; Isak had always resented piety when it was imposed upon him.
Isak shrugged. 'I should probably get into the habit one of these days, now that I'm important.'
'Still, it's not something I'd expect from you,' the marshal said softly, careful to keep his voice low so no one could overhear them. The soldiers were handpicked, men of the Palace Guard and completely trustworthy, but this was too astonishing a secret to entrust to anyone else.
'Nor from him,' Isak reminded him with a smile. 'Stop fretting like an old woman; Tila can do that perfectly well for the two of you.'
'Then what is this about?' Carel said, puzzled.
Isak sighed. 'It's nothing important, I just want to enjoy this view for a few minutes and clear my head. He's been finding his memories, the ones locked away in the Crystal Skulls. While part of him had been with me since I was born, there's much that has been missing for millennia, and it's not all cheering. The defeated have fewer happy memories.' As he spoke, his fingers went automatically to the glassy shape now fused onto his cuirass. Having felt the vast power they con¬tained, he'd been reluctant to test the ancient artefacts but, strangely, their presence was still comforting.
'What sort of memories?'
'Battles, the death of his son, sometimes just senseless fragments, like my dreams, and sometimes things that explain much.'
'Such as?' Carel encouraged softly.
'You remember the day when this all began?'
'Aracnan?'
Anger smouldered in Isak's gut until he smothered it. 'Aracnan. He killed Velere, Aryn Bwr's son and heir. I felt Aryn Bwr's hatred, which is why I wouldn't go with him – and I guess that was why Aracnan didn't come any closer; he didn't know what he was dealing with. When he reached out with his senses, I wasn't just the frightened young boy he expected.'
'And if you meet him again?' Vesna, with Tila on his arm, joined Isak and Carel, both looking anxiously at the white-eye. The religious charms that were fastened to yellow ribbons and plaited into Tila's long hair tinkled gently in the breeze.
Isak scowled. 'I don't have an answer to that.' He looked back the way they'd come, almost as if he expected Aracnan to appear, but the trail was clear. Beehunters skimmed the ground, their crooked green wings spread stiffly as they snapped at prey he couldn't see. The slen¬der birds would have been a good sign if he'd been truly worried about pursuit; they wouldn't hunt if there were men lying hidden in the
grass. 'If I meet Aracnan again I don't what he'll do,' he admitted.
'But what will you do? Will you be able to control – him – before he lashes out like he did at the High Priest of Larat?' Tda asked.
'That was different, 1 wasn't prepared for him then,' Isak said. 'Now I know exactly what danger he poses. You'll all have to just trust me that Aryn Bwr's simply not strong enough to take over now. At the Ivy Rings he had his only chance – and he failed. Prepared, I'm too Itrong for him – and I'm still getting stronger.'
'Still?'
Isak smiled. 'Perhaps not physically, but I've found there are other filings that count – Gods, Carel, can you believe that it was less than a year ago I was driving your wagon and complaining that I'd never even be allowed to join the Palace Guard?' He laughed.
They reached the shrine and Isak ran his fingers over the waist-high cairn. Someone had taken great care fitting the stones together to make it concave rather than conical. It curved around an offering bowl fixed firmly into the structure so half of it was sticking out. The howl itself was made of
rough clay, plain and unfinished, but its con¬tents showed someone valued the shrine. A carved bone comb, a worn but serviceable knife and two small copper coins; they meant nothing In Isak but they were significant enough for whatever shepherd had left them in the first place. Above the howl was a rounded shard of slate on which had been scratched Vrest's horns symbol.
'Aye,' confirmed the veteran with a grim face, 'less than a year since I joked that the Gods might have a plan for you. Careless words in this life.'
The silver-haired man stepped away from the shrine, hawked up noisily and spat onto the dusty ground. That act earned an admonish¬ing look from Tda, at which Carel hung his head and, after a moment of looking sheepish, he reached into his money-pouch to find a coin for the offering bowl. Tila's reproach vanished into the glittering smile that Carel had never been able to resist. She beamed at the man as though the veteran guardsman was a five-year-old just learning right from wrong. Carel knelt in front of the shrine and said a short, silent prayer to accompany his offering. As the man bowed his head, Isak felt a touch of breeze skitter down his neck like cool breath. He turned instinctively, but there was nothing there, only the certainty in his mind that the local God of this place was close at hand.
Isak reached out with his senses as gently as he could and to his surprise saw a blurred shadowy shape, like a hawk, circling slowly above the shrine. With a start he realised how frightened the spirit was; strange, he'd expected it to keep as far from him as possible. He placed a hand on the shrine and felt a shudder run through the spirit above it. Suddenly it all made sense: the local God hadn't moved away because it couldn't bear to allow him between it and the shrine. The shrine was all it had.
'It's not been consecrated,' Isak muttered.
'Eh?' Carel said. 'The shrine? What about the symbol of Vrest, then?'
'I assume the shepherd who built this doesn't know much about religion. He probably built it to give thanks for finding a lost lamb or something like that, so it made sense to put the symbol there. He didn't realise a priest still needed to consecrate it.'
'I will make a note of it, and we'll inform the nearest border village Unmen,' Vesna said.
'Don't bother,' Isak replied. 'It's over the border, and it won't remain peaceful in Tor Milist for long. There are too many mercenaries – any priest daring to come this way will need an armed escort, and that escort would either be the local suzerain's hurscals – and then we'll be accused of taking part in the conflict – or soldiers wearing neither crest nor colours, and they'd risk attack by anyone who sees them.'
Vesna stared at him before a smile spread over his face. 'Gods on high, perhaps we'll make a lord of you yet!'
Isak gave a snort and grabbed Carel by the scruff of his neck to haul him upright again. 'Perhaps you will at that – and to think all I ever wanted was to join the Palace Guard. You people should leam to pay more attention when you're handing out jobs!'
The comment provoked a burst of laughter from his companions. 'II you'll forgive the observation, my Lord,' Vesna said, his grin widen-Ing, 'you've still not passed the trials. Now I'm willing to admit you've dune a few things on the battlefield some might call noteworthy, but that doesn't mean you can just walk into the Ghosts.'
Isak gave a hiss of mock exasperation and thumped the count on the shoulder in response.
'I can't see Kerin agreeing to it,' Carel agreed, 'but I'm not going to be one to complain about unearned honours; I still don't quite believe I'm now Marshal Carelfolden, and you're still just some snotty-nosed chiId I took pity on a few times. Sweet Nartis, it must be more than thirteen summers since I found you snivelling in that wood, knees and eIbows all scratched up – feels like last month. What'd they done to you again?'
The four of them began to walk back to the horses. Mihn stood With Mistress Daran, Tila's chaperone, holding the reins.
'They led me out to the river,' Isak replied in a small voice, his smile fading somewhat, 'then they pushed me down the bank and left me lost out there.'
'Ah yes, nasty little buggers some of them were. Still, children don't know better and their parents didn't give 'em any reason to think what they were doing was wrong. We got them back though, didn't we? Carel chortled.
the memory restored Isak's cheer. 'Garner berries, still one of the best ideas you ever had. Never felt so happy at the smell of shit as that day he scratched his cheek and looked west towards Scree, where the surviving White Circle and Fysthrall troops were believed to have fled, 'I think it's going to take more than garner berries to get the revenge I need nowadays.'
Vesna gave a nod. Isak had put off the discussion of how he was King to respond to the White Circle's attempt to enslave him, though he had talked freely since leaving Narkang about what had happened in the abandoned temple in Llehden, and his connection with the while eye, Xeliath. The Yeetatchen girl was something else he didn't fully understand, and another decision Isak knew he would have to make soon. He just had to hope that those closest to him wouldn't become too nervous of the company Isak kept in his mind: the Gods' greatest enemy, and the daughter of a foreign nobleman, one of the Farlan's ancient adversaries.
'A wagon-brat shouldn't have to make this sort of decision,' Isak sighed.
Tila shook her head. 'Better a wagon-brat with some sort of a brain than half of those bred for the job.' Her vehemence took them all by surprise, but Tila carried on regardless, 'Read a history of the Litse sometime and you'll see what I'm talking about. The Farlan have re¬mained strong because of the new blood it brings into the aristocracy. The other tribes might mock us for our rigidity in tradition, but the Litse's biggest problem has always been the fact that commoners can never amount to anything. The ruling elite has always been weak and bickering, while the armies are led by men with the right family background, not any skill at the job. You might not have the training for your title, but we'll rectify that – and at least you don't have the baggage a proud family history always brings.'
'Well, that's very sweet of you to say so,' Isak said with a smile.
'I mean it,' Tila said, ignoring his levity. 'You'll learn what you need to and Lesarl will manage the details, just as he did for Lord Bahl. The most important thing is that you have the strength to make the decisions, and your strength is one thing I'm happy to rely on.'
'So I was bred for the job after all,' Isak admitted after a pause. 'Stronger and bigger than normal men, and unable to have children except with my own rare kind. White-eyes are born to lead, and born to Iack those' family ties you're talking about.'
Tila nodded, 'And you more than others, it appears. Since the battle in Narkang, and what happened at Llehden, you've reminded me of a line from one of the old tribal sagas, when King Deliss Farlan, father of Kasi, the first white-eye, says, "History echoing in his footsteps".'
'Now there's a curse,' Carel muttered, the lines on his face more pronounced as he frowned.
'No it isn't,' she insisted. 'It's a burden, yes, but think of all you've achieved since you left the wagon-train; you've only eighteen sum¬mers and already you've done things that wouldn't disgrace the heroes of myth. White-eyes were created by the Gods to fight and to lead in their names, but most will never have such a marked effect on the Land.'
Isak pointed at Mihn as they approached the waiting horses. 'What about him? He killed the Queen of the Fysthrall, a white-eye, and one carrying a Crystal Skull at that.'
Mihn ignored the finger jabbing towards him, though his eyes took in every detail. The only non-Farlan in the group, Mihn was notice¬ably smaller than the other men, and his nondescript clothes and tidy manner made him easy to ignore sometimes. Only his eyes belied his unassuming appearance; they were too bright and observant, the eyes of a predator.
Isak lowered his hand as Mihn stepped forward to join them, say¬ing, 'A deed that will haunt me my entire life.'
'Why?'
'You are a white-eye, and one born for great deeds; I am not of such consequence to the rest of the Land. The fat
e of common men who stumble into great events is never so happy.'
Before any of them could contest the claim a voice called out from behind them, 'Happiness is such a relative thing; it's the lack of reward that annoys me.'
Isak jumped, hand closing around his sword hilt as he turned, but in the next instant he recognised the speaker and raised a hand to stop his guards closing. Morghien was looking as dishevelled as the first time they had met, and wearing that same mocking, infuriating smile. his weathered face looked as though the years had been hard on him,
but Isak was one of the few who knew just how supernaturally well the man of many spirits had aged.
'You,' exclaimed Carel angrily, tugging his black-iron scimitar free of THE scabbard as he strode forward. Morghien didn't pull the bat¬tered axe from his belt or let the loaded pack on his back slip off his shoulders but waited beside the shrine and watched Carel come towards him, his expression unchanged.
'You're going to have to be more careful who you sneak up on next time,' ('arel snapped at the man. 'I don't like bloody surprises 'cept on my birthday, so next time you creep up on us my boys will kick seven shades of shit out of you.'
'oh come now, is that any way to treat an ally?' it is nowadays,' Carel said with feeling. He hadn't put his sword up 'In case you're not up with current events, surprises aren't welcome any more.'