by Tom Lloyd
The room rose as one, Mihn placing himself in Chalat’s shadow as the Lord was led off. Chalat saw him do so and stopped suddenly, turning sharply to Bahl once again. ‘I do have a request, Lord Bahl.’
Bahl raised an eyebrow.
‘Mihn has some strange sense of honour; he insisted on becoming my bondsman. I’m too old for some pious shit trailing me around, but as your guards can testify, it would be a waste just to kill him.’
‘What is the bond for? Luring Charr out?’ Bahl glanced towards Isak. From what he had seen in the tunnel, Bahl had not expected Mihn to be the quiet unassuming figure he’d appeared as so far. What had been clear was that Mihn carried himself with enormous grace, even more so than Count Vesna who’d been trained as a duellist since he could hold a weapon.
‘Exactly - not as if I liked the bastard anyway. But Mihn doesn’t think my opinion is important. I do know that he’s got some future to play out, though, and that it’s not with me.’
‘Well, we can hardly have a guest inconvenienced. I suggest the bond be transferred to my Krann.’ He turned to Mihn. ‘Your language skills could be valuable on his journey.’
He paused to allow the man to speak, but Mihn merely bowed his head in acceptance. He hardly seemed to care, which made Bahl curious. He’d have to ask Isak to learn what he could of Mihn’s story before they went - only then did it occur to him to ask Isak whether he objected, but a look over the table brought a shrug of acceptance. Isak was about to speak to his new bondsman when Kerin appeared at his side. Rubbing his hands together in affected anticipation, the Swordmaster clapped them down on Isak’s huge shoulders.
‘Right, my Lord Krann, I have a new training regime for you. You’ll be glad to hear I’ve had a pipe filled with lead for your sword, and a suit of armour commissioned specially for you. You’re going to love it.’
Isak groaned and sank back down into his chair. Kerin laughed and gave the chair leg an ineffectual kick. ‘Come on, boy, I’m your Lord for the next week, so jump to it.’
CHAPTER 22
A bright blanket of cloud hung over the city, somewhat lessening winter’s sharp touch on the still air. Isak could hear the city beyond the walls as people took advantage of a lull in the bitter weather. Covered bridges and walkways kept the city alive in the depth of winter. Though there was little fresh food to be found on the stalls, the cold stores beneath the city meant the handful of enclosed markets still did a brisk trade. The crisp afternoon light would not last long and then the city would return to hibernation.
Isak, sprawled on the stone stair, let his practice blade clatter on to the bottom step and stared longingly over at Eolis. The weapon hung in its scabbard from a post nearby. Isak knew he was safe, but he just couldn’t shake the need to have the sword at hand. His feelings were rather more ambiguous about his armour, left under guard in the Duke’s Chapel. Siulents reeked of the last king, both his sorcery and his mind, and since the battle Isak had never quite been comfortable in it. Eolis was different: the sword was an extension of his body, the edge to his anger more than its instrument.
As the Krann sat panting, a group of guardsmen nursed their bruises and laughed with Kerin. The Swordmaster leant on a blunt-tipped spear and tugged a fleece around his shoulder. The rest, Ghosts in full plate armour, removed their peaked steel helms as they also caught their breath. The winter air ached in their lungs, but it was worthwhile for the beating they’d given Isak. Most had fresh dents in their armour, but Isak had definitely come off worst, and they’d all enjoyed themselves immensely.
‘So, my Lord, you’re finally learning some balance,’ commented Vesna from the sidelines. The count had refrained from taking part, but a pair of fencing blades dangled from his fingers for when Isak was exhausted.
Vesna looked at Mihn, standing firmly between Eolis and the rest of the world, who inclined his head in agreement. The small man had interrupted the exercise twice to correct Isak’s movements. Vesna was beginning to wonder what the others of Charr’s ‘bait’ had been like. Each correction had presented Isak with the best range of available strokes - but as far as Vesna knew, Mihn had used no weapon but his staff…
Before he could pursue the thought, Tila trotted down the stair, giving Vesna a courteous nod before crouching next to Isak and quietly asking, ‘Did you hear what happened last night?’
‘You mean Count Vilan? A terrible shame that,’ Isak replied in a lazy drawl, leaning back against the stone steps. His chest seemed to heave up even further as his breastplate was pushed up by the angle of the steps. Grunting slightly, Isak raised himself up and shifted it into a more comfortable position.
‘How can you be so uncaring about it? A man died last night, on these very steps.’
‘I know, but it was hardly surprising. He had been drinking heavily, and these steps are icy even during the day now.’
Tila narrowed her eyes. ‘Is that all that happened then? You’re acting very strange; was this something of Lesarl’s doing? Oh Gods-‘
‘Hush,’ urged Isak. ‘This isn’t something to be gossiping about, unless you want to help matters by encouraging the maids to gossip about how much Vilan drank last night. Let’s just say this accident was convenient, but there must be no talk that it was anything but an accident.’
Tila’s eyes widened for a moment. This was as close as she’d ever been to the blunt end of politics. Looking down at the steps she was standing on, she pulled her cloak tight about her body and checked the soldiers, but none were close enough to hear. ‘Do you know why?’
‘The count was a traitor,’ Isak replied simply. ‘A legacy of the Malich affair.’
‘But then why not arrest him? There was no call to murder someone, and to push him down these stairs? If he’d survived Vilan could have had the man prosecuted for attempted murder - that would bring the whole scandal down on to Lord Bahl.’
‘I know. That’s why I broke the bastard’s neck before he fell.’
Tila’s hand flew to her mouth. A tiny sound escaped her lips, the careless way Isak had said it shocking her as much as the admission itself. Isak sat up, hurriedly reaching for her arm, but she slapped him away. She swallowed and took a deep breath, trying to force the bile in her throat back down. She held up her hand to stop the Krann from speaking further.
‘Vesna,’ said Isak over his shoulder. ‘Take Tila in, explain to her.’
Revulsion flooded her face and Isak felt a sudden pang of guilt. The count nodded to Isak and took Tila gently by the elbow, but she pushed Vesna away, muttering curtly that she could manage, and turned her back on the pair of them. The door slammed behind her. Isak’s eyes stayed on the quivering oak for a moment and then he looked up at Vesna. The count shook his head and turned back down to the training field.
‘She’ll get over it - she’s a delicate girl, that’s all. Killing isn’t a way of life for her; even soldiers tend to have an opinion on murder.’
‘But- ‘
Vesna held up a hand and Isak let the sentence die unsaid. ‘You two are close; she forgets, as I do, that you are a white-eye. It’s hard to remember that you’re different, and hard not to judge. Give her time to be angry, then I’ll go and speak to her. She’ll remember that she loves you by this evening.’
‘Loves me?’ The remark caught Isak by surprise, but Vesna only chuckled.
‘Of course, my Lord, but only as a brother. I suspect you love her like a sister, you’ve just never known the feeling enough to give it a name. Certainly I hope - ‘ It was Vesna’s turn to flounder now, blanching as he realised he could have been dangerously wrong. To his intense relief, he hadn’t.
‘Don’t worry,’ Isak said, ‘I’ve seen you two together. It’s actually a relief - one less concern in my life.’
‘One less concern?’ Vesna could not hide his incredulity, but Isak merely smiled and wagged a finger in admonishment.
‘Now you’re forgetting I’m a white-eye again. Think about it, my faithful bondsman: in less than a yea
r my life has changed beyond recognition. The Gods only know how many people are actually planning to kill me, let alone those who would like to. Not even the greatest wizards pretend to fully understand the gifts I’ve been given. I murdered a man last night for a cause I have only a vague grasp of, without seeing actual proof. Trying to understand my feelings, or Tila’s, would just …’ Clearly Vesna understood, so he left the sentence unfinished.
‘But are you not disappointed that-‘ Vesna looked up to the sky, wondering how to phrase it without sounding condescending.
‘Perhaps a little, but lacking something I’ve never known? I don’t think white-eyes are made for regrets. Anyway, enough of this. How are the preparations for our little jaunt to Narkang going?’
‘Well enough, though of course there’s been no time for the messenger to even get to King Emin. We’ll be off within the week, I think. Two horses arrived this morning from Siul, fine beasts, both of them, or so the stablemaster tells me - the best he’s seen in years, he claims. We’ll go and see them once we’re finished here. I’ve picked the escort, Tila’s chaperone has presented her requirements-‘
‘Chaperone?’
Vesna laughed. ‘Oh yes. You forget that Tila’s father is an important man in the city. For her to travel to foreign parts in the company of soldiers… well, her mother is less than impressed, but I’ve informed Lady Introl that it is your specific command. I think she was mollified somewhat when I mentioned that Tila would be your political advisor in all negotiations with the Kingdom of Narkang and the Three Cities.’
‘But is the chaperone to ward off the attentions of the uncivilised white-eye, or the notorious Count Vesna?’ Isak smiled and sat up, tugging at the lead-coated armour with a slight groan. ‘So how many are we going to be?’
‘Well, an escort of thirty soldiers and two rangers to scout for us, you, me, Mihn, Lady Tila and the battle-axe who’s going to carry Tila’s make-up, and Carel. Thirty-eight in total.’
Isak lifted the shoulder plates over his head and tossed them to the ground. ‘That’s too many - we’ll be too slow.’
‘Our speed will be dictated by Tila’s chaperone and the availability of riverships, not numbers. She’s the wrong side of forty summers, and I doubt she’s much of a horsewoman.’
‘Then I’ll leave her behind,’ declared Isak. ‘She’ll ride well enough when she sees us disappear over the horizon.’
‘My Lord, some day we really must teach you about diplomacy, Vesna drawled, an amused smile on his lips.
Isak made a face. ‘Lesarl told me about it - don’t think I want to associate with that sort of thing.’
‘Ah. Like “tact” and “manners”, is it?’
Isak beamed. ‘Exactly. Now, how long is it going to take us to get to Narkang?’
Vesna sat down a few steps up from his Lord so they could speak on the same level. Mihn came and stood at the foot of the stair, his body angled slightly towards the training ground, close enough to be part of the conversation while still on silent guard. Mihn was obviously not simple-minded, but he was certainly monosyllabic.
‘With luck, less than a month. There are several stages we’re planning to do by river - one will take us to Nerlos Fortress, on the border, another should cover much of the Tor Milist territory we’ll have to pass through, and I believe a third could take us much of the last stretch to Narkang itself - but only a few vessels are large enough to carry so many horses, so we’ll have to throw money at the captains.’
‘Less than a month?’ Isak was pleased. ‘Hardly any time at all - by wagon it would take the best part of half a year, I guess. I’ve never met anyone who’s done that route, but that’s one of the reasons we’re going, I suppose. Lesarl is going to brief us on everything tonight, including the disputed lands we’ll have to travel through, but Bahl thinks that my gifts will dissuade attack rather than encourage it.’
‘The Lord’s right. I doubt any of them have the numbers to trouble us. The Ghosts have a fearsome reputation, and there’ll be little more than brigands where we’re going. Alone, we’d see off double our number of horsemen, more of foot soldiers; with your growing skills and magic, I can’t see anyone putting enough men together to get anywhere.’
They were interrupted by the door behind them slamming open and the three men turned to see Carel making his way down the worn steps. ‘Isak, there’s a seamstress looking for you,’ he called.
It looked like Carel had just come from seeing a tailor himself. He wore a long elegant coat the colour of fresh grass, trimmed in sable, with gold-chased ivory buttons. Only the white clay pipe in his hands harked back to former days, but even that was new.
‘What’s this?’ cried Vesna. ‘Don’t tell me we might get our master to look rather more like a nobleman of some substance?’ It was a source of constant amusement to the count that Isak had chosen to dress like the hermit lord they served.
Isak made an obscene gesture as he replied, ‘I didn’t summon one, what does she want?’
‘I believe she was summoned for you - by Tila, I assume.’ He pointed with his pipe to the soldiers Isak had been training with. ‘She had some maids with her, all carrying bundles; I think they’re uniforms for your guards.’
‘Uniforms?’
‘Of course. We can’t have them in their usual colours when you meet King Emin.’ As Carel spoke the door opened again and a flurry of white linen burst through, talking rapidly before the door had even fully opened. The men backed off in the face of such bright and busy determination.
‘My Lord Isak, at last I’ve found you. Now, these are not entirely completed and we have the riding garments coming later, but I have the armour drapes for your men. If you could ask them to form up here I’ll start my measurements.’
Isak stood there bemused for a moment, staring down at the ruddy face wrapped in a spotless white headscarf. The seamstress might have been dressed like a servant, but she had the poise of a duchess. Despite Isak’s huge height, he found himself wilting under the sheer force of that impatient stare. Behind her stood five maids, each with a wicker basket clasped tightly to their chest and eyes fixed firmly on the woman at their head.
‘Who are you?’ he wondered aloud in amazement. Vesna had an equally bewildered expression on his face, while Carel smiled approvingly at the lack of fawning usually so prevalent among the servants. Only Mihn matched her gaze with an impassive stare, his eyes running coolly over the woman and her attendants.
‘I, my Lord? I’m the head seamstress. I was instructed that your men would require a uniform to match your crest and colours. We’ve done most of the work, but we now need to take measurements. If it would be convenient, my Lord.’ Her tone indicated that if it were not convenient, she would want to know why.
Isak asked Vesna, suppressing a laugh as he saw the count’s expression, ‘Well, Count, if it would not inconvenience you too greatly?’ As he spoke, he saw the soldiers had formed up in two ranks - as always, it looked like the entire palace knew about his plans before he did. Kerin had drifted away, presumably to fetch the others, while those who had been giving Isak a beating began to strip off their armour.
The maids fanned out among them, ignoring the comments they got from the soldiers as they helped them undress. From the baskets the girls produced cream leather tunics and breeches, decorated with green braiding. Isak’s dragon, outlined in green and flecked with gold, was emblazoned across the chest and shoulders. The dragon itself was an altogether more impressive sight than the austere black and white of the Ghosts. Isak couldn’t imagine the full two legions of the Palace Guard wearing this, but it still affected him to see his personal guards so richly dressed.
The others trotted along now, faces Isak recognised for the main part as the men who’d been attending his rooms or eating with Carel. Clearly the veteran and Kerin had handpicked the thirty who were now his guard, split evenly between hardened veterans and the best of the younger Ghosts. The unit looked tight and confident, appare
ntly delighted at their appointment as they joked with each other and held up their new uniforms to show other Ghosts who’d begun to drift over. Isak felt unaccountably awkward as he saw men discard Bahl’s livery.
He rose and pulled off the sweat-soaked tunic he’d been wearing underneath his armour. His bruised body complained at the movement and the chill air rushed over his skin, prickling up the fine hairs and dancing down his spine. A thick woollen shirt sat rolled up at the foot of the steps. Hurriedly he slipped the dark blue material over his head, tugging it down as fast as he could. The cold didn’t upset him, but showing his torso just highlighted how different Isak was to the other soldiers there. Isak’s muscles were so sculpted it was obvious that the Chosen were not just human. He was careful to hide the scar on his chest, but still there were a few stares. People who’d grown used to his size were still taken aback by the sharp lines of his body.
Isak was now the best part of a foot taller than most of his guards, and more than double their weight. He could only guess at the difference in strength, but even thinking about it worried him. He was used to being different, but living with such strength in his body unsettled him as much as it elated him. It was so easy to forget how much more powerful he was - he had once, and he still didn’t trust himself not to do so again.
He straightened the shirt and took Eolis from Mihn, running a loving finger over the claws that imprisoned the emerald. Drawing the blade a few inches, he stared down at the surface, just able to make out the runes, faint and shifting, even under their master’s gaze.
Snapping out of the trance, Isak looked over at the assembled guard, most now dressed in the new tunics and parading for admiring eyes while the maids tried to check the fit. It was a slight shock to see Carel among them, but the veteran’s look of defiance told Isak that his opinion was not invited. Isak scowled at the Land in general and stalked over to the palace smithy, Mihn at his heel. He could hear muted voices from inside, but they broke off when he gripped the door handle and opened it up.