by Tom Lloyd
‘To both, my Lord.’ Vesna’s reply was assured and immediate.
‘Both?’ Isak laughed, a little bitterly. ‘You’re remarkably honest, especially when compared to your peers. They watch me like a wolf that’s just arrived in camp.’
‘That’s because they are not from Anvee; they are not your bondsmen. You have no reason to trust them; they have no need to earn your trust.’
‘And you do?’
Vesna smiled and nodded. ‘As my liege and holder of my bond, you could destroy me with a few words. You are also one of the most powerful men in the tribe, so as your star ascends, so will mine. That
means I speak to your title in part, but not all. If I’m going to tie myself so closely to your cause, I might as well try to like you; I can always fall back on being owned by you if that doesn’t work.’
In spite of his mood, Vesna’s words made Isak laugh out loud. He did like the man, for his confidence as much as his honesty. All he needed was a reason to trust him, and this one sounded as good as any. Bahl certainly seemed to approve; Isak was quite sure he’d have made any disapprobation clear if he thought Count Vesna to be a danger. Isak had been glad of his presence over the last week or two: he was proving to be a useful man to have around.
He made a decision and turned to face his bondsman. ‘In that case, Vesna, I would be grateful if you would not forget that I have a real name. It might not be impressive, I might not like it all that much, and it might have been given as an insult, but it’s mine. Isak is who I am. If you’re to be a friend of mine, you had better remember that.’ ‘I will, my Lord. Thank you.’
Isak turned sharply, in case he was being mocked, but found only a broad smile on Vesna’s face. ‘Unfortunately, I suspect I have more enemies than friends,’ he said, quietly. ‘I don’t pretend to understand why I was made Krann, or why I was given these gifts. I’m far from being a Saviour-‘
‘Perhaps it is something you have to become, rather than be born into?’ Vesna didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic.
‘Me? Not in this lifetime!’ replied Isak with a bitter laugh. ‘But it doesn’t matter what I think. Within a few hours of being Chosen, two men I’d never met tried their best to kill me. That’s too much of a coincidence for me.’
Vesna looked surprised. ‘I heard about the training ground, but I met Sir Dirass Certinse several times. I can’t see him offering to be assassin for anyone - and his family would hardly have wanted him to do it that way if they’d been involved.’
I know, which makes me think there’s someone watching from the shadows. They both looked like rabid dogs, like they were not themselves.’
Vesna made a choked sound and his face paled. ‘That sounds like the sort of magic necromancers play with.’
Let’s not get too excited. Half the Land is worried about what I might be - either Aryn Bwr returned to life, or an obstacle to his rise. How many of them would think it better I just died?’
‘True enough. If you weren’t Farlan, I’m sure the Chief Steward would have your murder planned already. Anything else that might make sense of all this?’
Isak hesitated. There were some things he didn’t mean to tell anyone, not until he understood them himself-he had no idea what was significant or not. The Gods didn’t work in obvious ways; the Age of Fulfilment was just that, an Age. It could last centuries. Still he found himself saying, ‘There is one thing. A voice.’
‘A voice?’
‘I hear it in my dreams sometimes, a girl’s voice. I think she’s calling me, but I can’t understand her.’
‘Looking for you? I doubt that would impress Lady Tila.’ He winked.
‘Tila? You’ve never even met her!’
‘You forget that soldiers gossip worse than washerwomen.’ Vesna laughed. ‘From what I hear, your pretty little maid’s taken quite a fancy to you.’
Then you’re as bad as the rest of them,’ he growled. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a white-eye. She isn’t.’
‘She might not mind what you are, not all do.’
‘And not all have parents expecting to marry their daughters off well, and expecting children. I may well live long enough to fight beside your great-grandson, but I’ll never have one of my own.’
‘I’m sorry, my Lord-Isak. I didn’t mean to offend.’
Isak gave a sigh and stretched his arms up into the air, then rolled his shoulders forward and back, attempting to work the stiffness from them. ‘I know, and I’m not, really, but Tila’s nothing to do with all this, so let’s keep her out of it. As for the girl in my dreams, I feel I recognise her, and yet I don’t.’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘What can I do? It’s just another mystery about me that I can’t do anything about. Maybe it’s just designed to drive me insane wondering about it. But I will find out one day, there’s no doubt about that, and all I can do is be ready for whatever’s waiting.’
The following weeks saw the army getting ever smaller as knights and hurscals slipped away in small groups to their own holdings. The rest of the troops searched the horizon for the peaks of Tirah’s towers as the miles passed away beneath their tramping feet. When they reached Fordan, the sombre mood deepened. The new suzerain, a greying man of forty summers, had struggled into his father’s armour despite a deep wound in his shoulder. Now he walked before the coffin, leading the cortege home.
That evening, the suzerain crammed as many as possible into the manor’s great hall and spoke for a few minutes with dignified grief about those they had lost. As a last gesture to his beloved father, he ordered up the contents of their cellars, and barrels of beer and wine were rolled out for the endless toasts to the regiments who’d fought and the men who’d died. Everyone knew the late Suzerain Fordan would have hugely approved of having a hundred drunken soldiers as his memorial.
Isak sat back from it all, feeling out of place, though he’d been as much a part of the battle as any of them. A pang of guilt ran through him as he saw a tear in the new suzerain’s eye as he raised a glass to his father’s memory. That was something Isak would never be able to do - not even if his father managed some great feat of heroism. Isak doubted he’d feel much at all when Herman died.
His hands tightened into fists as part of him cried shame. Rising abruptly, he slipped away from the increasingly drunken mourners, following a servant’s directions to a tight spiral staircase that led away from the hall. He told himself he didn’t belong there, belting out marching songs, and stepped out on to a high terrace overlooking the fields. The crisp quiet of evening, with the hunter’s moon dropping behind the distant pines, was a better place to remember the dead.
Isak idly caressed the emerald set into Eolis’s pommel. The cut surfaces were silky in the sharp winter air; the silver claws that held the stone were wet with cold. The wide river that cut through the neat lines of fields looked calm in the moonlight, but it ran both swift and dangerous. Isak watched the phantom clouds of his breath push out over the crenellations, then they were swept away into nothing.
A finger of cold suddenly flashed down Isak’s spine and he flinched in surprise. Then an icy prickle on his neck made him look abruptly over his shoulder. The terrace was only ten yards long, and it remained resolutely empty. Alterr’s light from high above had cast a deep shadow the wall behind him, but no one - or thing - loitered in it, as far as Isak could see. There was no window where someone could observe him, and when he embraced a sliver of magic, he was assured that there truly was not a soul nearby.
Still Isak felt uncomfortable, as if there were a physical presence standing at his shoulder. The bite in the air crept inside his clothes, and the shadows grew deep and ancient. His hand closed tight about Eolis. Still he could see nothing. A flicker of panic set in. As a cloud moved over Alterr’s face, Isak shuddered: this bitter, dark place was not for mortal breath. He turned and hurried back inside.
From the shadows, the boy’s precipitous flight was noted with some amu
sement. His uncertainty, melancholy and jumbled fears left a sweet aroma lingering in the air.
So blind, still, but have no fear. Not yet. You hardly know who you are - you’re not yet ready to know my name.
CHAPTER 20
Isak was glad of the silk mask covering his face as the column of horsemen clattered their way through the streets of Tirah. The crowds had braved a brisk wind and swirling eddies of snow to line the streets all the way to the palace. Under scarves and caps skin was reddened and raw, but lifted by the smiles and cheers that greeted the troops. A victory parade through the city always brought out the people, if only to gawp at the Parian cavalry in all their colourful finery. Even the Ghosts had made the effort to look their best, and the knights were as gaudy as ever, but it was Isak who drew everyone’s attention.
At Bahl’s request, the Krann was in full armour, the only concession to the cold a bearskin around his shoulders, He managed not to shiver too obviously. No matter how uncomfortable, he could not deny the effect he was having on the people - his people. They might still be fearful of what lay behind these particular gifts, but the sight of Siulents and Eolis, and the proud emerald dragons decorating the flanks of Isak’s hunter, were irresistible.
The people of Tirah cheered their army, and they cheered Isak at its head. Bahl was beside him, but Isak felt their eyes on his back long after he had trotted under the barbican gate. Flaming brands lit the thirty yards of dank stone tunnel, then the column emerged into the familiar surrounds of the palace grounds, to be received formally by the entire staff and residents of the palace and barracks. Guardsmen and recruits, all in full dress uniform, stood in neat ranks off to the left, with the palace staff lined up on the right. Fearful wives and children, still not knowing who had survived and who had died, huddled behind the ranks.
Swordmaster Kerin, standing before his men, saluted, beaming, as the troops clattered past to the sound of his men cheering. Even the noblemen and officials grouped beyond the palace staff added their voices to the tumultuous reception.
Bahl, having acknowledged his Swordmaster, ignored the rest and slipped from his horse as soon as he reached the steps. Lesarl had already broken away from the group of officials, a pair of clerks in his wake, and fell in with Bahl as he strode into the palace. It was left up to Isak to acknowledge the greeting, bestowing on each group a regal wave or a smile before he was able to dismount.
The Swordmaster took that as the signal to dismiss everyone and his curt order was echoed by the bellow of a sergeant-at-arms. The orderly lines melted back to their barracks and duties as a stream of weary knights trotted past and on to the stables on either side of the south gate.
Isak gave his horse one last pat on the neck and smiled at Kerin, who saluted him again as he passed, on his way to Sir Cerse. The colonel of the Ghosts turned with a smile as Kerin patted him on the shoulder, then Isak’s attention wandered to the hundreds of reunions going on across the ground, with friends, families or lovers. A touch of sadness stirred in his belly as he watched some collapsing in tears, others laughing in relief.
He was about to head off to his chambers when he noticed a figure out of the corner of his eye, standing motionless in the teeming crowds. The man was staring straight at him, not moving a muscle, even as a woman behind him bewailed the loss of a husband. With a shout, Isak tore the mask from his face and sprang forward as the man broke into a broad smile and stepped forward to meet the bounding giant.
‘Gods, boy, look at the size of you - I wasn’t sure it was really you for a moment there!’ exclaimed Carel as Isak reached him.
Not waiting for any formal greeting, Isak discarded his gauntlets and reached down to hug him. Carel was now significantly shorter than him. Isak lifted him off his feet with fierce affection.
‘Aargh, put me down, you ox!’ cried Carel as Isak squeezed the breath from his body. He took Isak’s hand in his, feeling the hard muscle under his palms. Looking him up and down, Carel’s expression was one of amazement. ‘Isak, boy, you’ve grown near a foot since I last saw you - and if you fill that armour out the way it looks-Such a change in half a year! Merciful Nartis, your hand feels like it’s been carved from oak!’
‘And you look smaller than ever,’ Isak countered, grinning widely.
Count Vesna walked over from his own horse, a satisfied smile on his lips as he watched the reunion. It was the first time he’d seen the Krann like this.
‘Hah, and I’m softer in my old age too. Don’t hug me like that again, please, you might snap me in two. Don’t think you’ll be feeling the back of my hand any more now either - your skull was always over-thick even before you were Chosen. Gods, even now I can hardly believe I’m saying that. You, one of the Chosen-‘
‘I know, but you can save the jokes for later.’
‘Those’ll wait.’ Carel stopped and reached up to grasp Isak by the shoulders. ‘I’m not joking now, boy. I hope you realise the honour done to you.’
‘The honour of having half the Land after my blood?’ Isak laughed at Carel’s expression and stuck his tongue out at him in mock petulance. ‘Oh don’t scowl at me like that, I know what you mean. I’m just glad you’re here. I was afraid that you’d have gone off on another trip.’
‘No, with the attack on Lomin, work stopped dead. I wouldn’t have gone anyway. I resigned my position; took work as bodyguard for a merchant. All you need’s the white collar to do that without fear, and I knew you’d be needing my help sooner or later.’
Isak stopped and looked down at the ground, guiltily aware of the length of time since he’d seen his old friend. I’m sorry, I-‘
Carel shut him up with a wave of the hand. ‘Boy, I know your mind better than you do. I’d have been able to tell you on your first day that you’d start it off alone. And now I see you like this - oh Gods, I’m so proud of you. You’ve nothing to apologise for, nothing. You’ve settled in, and now you’ve realised you’re in need of someone to clip your ear from time to time - took your time, but you got there in the end.’
Both men turned to Vesna as the count stifled a snort of laughter. Ahem, my apologies, Lord Isak.’
‘Tsatach’s balls! You’re Count Vesna?’ Carel grabbed the man’s hand and continued, ‘An honour to meet you, my Lord. Wait a moment—’ He looked from Vesna to Isak, then another smile broke over his lined face. ‘You took a bond of service, didn’t you? Because of the College of Magic. You’re from-Hah!’ Carel suddenly laughed so hard the men behind him jumped in alarm. ‘You’re bonded to this great lump of wood?’
‘I have that honour, sir,’ replied Vesna smoothly, his eyes twinkling as he recognised a kindred spirit. ‘But can I suggest we continue this conversation inside, away from the troops?’
‘That’s a good idea,’ agreed Isak quickly, realising that the two were going to get on well, probably at his own expense. He draped an arm over Carel’s shoulder and turned towards the main wing where hot food would be waiting. ‘I see you’re well, then.’
‘As well as can be expected for a man who feels his age around all these boys.’ Carel waved his hand towards the soldiers, unconsciously touching the white collar on his tunic as he looked at them. Only then did it occur to Isak that Carel was better dressed than Isak had ever seen him before. A fine coat of short black fur reached down to his knees, edged in pristine white fox fur. Under this were bleached soft leathers and a fine pair of high green boots, all of which seemed unusually foppish for the former Ghost.
‘You’ve taken advantage of our hospitality then,’ Isak remarked, touching a finger to the coat’s edge.
‘I’ve been here only a few days, but your maid has been looking after me - since you’re the Krann, I thought I’d better get myself some new clothes; didn’t want you to be ashamed of me.’ Carel gestured towards the approaching figure of Tila.
‘Welcome back, my Lord,’ the girl said, curtseying neatly to Isak, then bobbing her head and adding, ‘Count Vesna.’
‘Have you two met be
fore?’ Isak asked, curious.
‘No, my Lord,’ Tila said, ‘but the count’s armour makes him easy to recognise, and of course his reputation precedes him.’
The count hesitated a second, then bowed low to kiss Tila’s hand in formal greeting. ‘My Lady.’
As Tila’s face remained impassive, Isak remembered she wouldn’t share a soldier’s admiration of Vesna’s reputation.
There was a frosty edge to her voice when she at last did speak. ‘Your apartments have been readied, but unfortunately there has been some storm damage to one of the court apartments, and the other two are already allocated. I hope you will not mind using guest chambers instead. I have had your belongings delivered to the rooms beside Sergeant Carelfolden’s, since you are both of Lord Isak’s party.’
Isak gaped at the meek girl he had said goodbye to. The hostility was not open enough to be insulting, but it was obvious all the same. It was the first time he really saw her as a Farlan woman, taught from birth that her position would never be equal to that of a man. For the Chetse, that meant women held no opinions; they were docile, obedient and polite to their masters, never even raising their voices. The Farlan were different, for Farlan womenfolk turned weakness into strength in classic military manner: they ran everything from behind the scenes. It wasn’t shaming for a man’s peers to know his wife made the decisions, and girls with wit and fierce intelligence were well educated and keenly sought in marriage.
‘Who’s in the other apartments?’ Isak demanded when he found his voice.
To his surprise, her gaze never wavered, even in the face of his obvious anger. She stared him down as she replied, ‘Suzerain Tehran is still technically in residence, and Count Vilan has been allocated the other apartment.’