by Tom Lloyd
‘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 going 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 white-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 remained 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 lack 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 summers 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 noticeably 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, saying, ‘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 fate 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 disheveled 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 battered 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,’ Carel 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.’
‘I heard about Lord Bahl,’ Morghien said, no trace of emotion in voice or face. ‘A shame, but not much of a surprise, with hindsight. Xeliath tells me it was Lord Styrax who killed him. If that’s true we have quite a problem on our hands.’
‘We?’ echoed Isak hotly. ‘And which city do you rule that makes it your problem?’
‘I don’t care for the Lord of the Menin, and if it involves those I call allies and complicates my own plans, I consider it a problem.’ Morghien’s eyes were fixed on Isak and he remained calm and confident - until the seconds stretched on and he became aware of Isak, slowly tapping his fingernail against the emerald set into his sword hilt. Morghien frowned, his normal self-assurance wavering slightly.
Under different circumstances Isak would have been pleased to disconcert Morghien, but there was little to be happy about here. ‘Your friend,’ he said, ‘the Seer of Ghorendt …’
‘Fedei? What about Fedei?’
‘We stopped there on the way back - well, we tried to. The guards made it very clear before we even reached the city walls that we were not welcome.’
‘Not welcome?’ Morghien’s face fell. ‘Is Fedei dead?’
‘We don’t know; Ghorendt is closed to outsiders. All we could discover was that it happened the day after Silvernight. As we left the river we found ourselves staring at the pointy ends of a dozen arrows, so we turned back. There was talk of the Seer being trapped behind locked doors, and every mirror in the house being broken.’
As Isak spoke, Morghien’s face darkened. ‘I know whose handiwork that is,’ he muttered,
‘Why, Fedei didn’t strike me as a major player in your games.’
Morghien shook his head. ‘He wasn’t, he’s simply a warm-hearted academic with a rare skill, the ability to see the shape of future events.’ he broke off, then added, ‘Xeliath has told me something of what happened that Silvernight, of the twist in history that occurred.’
‘One that was in part thanks to your intervention,’ Isak broke in, feeling a little ashamed that he’d not remembered when Carel was threatening to kill Morghien that it had been the wanderer who had given him the key to surviving Aryn Bwr’s assault. ‘Without you, I don’t think I would have survived.’
Morghien waved away the thanks as he stood in silence, frowning at the ground. After a few moments, he came to a decision. ‘You can tell me the rest of the story over dinner. We have more to discuss than I realised, and perhaps I can shed some light on the mystery of Ghorendt.’
&n
bsp; They continued on their way while the light was still good, following the two rangers past the small lake and on towards a spring that ran through the heart of a cluster of ash and elm trees on the periphery of the forest. They hurried past the lake out of habit; still waters were a poor omen, and only to be used as a last resort. Such places attracted all sorts of spirits. This one was little more than fifty yards wide in any direction, but being so close to a disputed border, it would undoubtedly have its share of swords and axes rusting away in its depths; tributes to the greatest of the Gods, he who had already claimed the owners of the weapons. Not every lake was a certain gateway to Death’s realm, but no one wanted to linger.
The sun had sunk below the horizon before they stopped and lit fires. The warmth of the day remained as the darkness drew in, and the little group of travelers ate unhurriedly, then chatted amiably, their backs resting against tree-trunks, looking up at the comforting light of the stars and both moons.
When the soldiers started settling down for the night, Morghien stood and beckoned for Isak to follow him. The white-eye paused only to sling his swordbelt over his shoulder and indicate to Carel that he didn’t want an escort.
Within a minute or two he and Morghien were walking through the trees following the slope of the ground down until they reached a natural hollow of no great depth, no more than twenty yards across. At the bottom of the hollow was a stone lying half-buried in the earth, its surface worn flat by wind and rain and looking like a crudely carved table top. Isak glanced back and saw Mihn watching them from the tree line. The failed Harlequin’s face, framed by shadow, was strangely comforting. He gestured for the man to return to his bed, but felt curiously pleased when Mihn ignored the order and maintained his vigil.
This is ideal,’ Morghien commented, running a hand over the stone surface.
‘Ideal for what?’
‘A little magic. My skills have never been remarkable, but this is a simple thing if you have the right tools.’
He took out a small silver bladed knife, battered and worn by years of use. Isak could tell it had a simple charm on it, though not what sort. Morghien scored a faint cross about a foot long on the stone’s surface and connected the ends so that the cross was bound within a diamond. From the same pocket he pulled a golden chain on which was strung a set of fat, oversized coins, all made from different materials and set with gemstones.
‘Gods,’ Isak breathed, reaching out to touch one until Morghien jerked it away, ‘what are those?’
‘It’s called an augury chain; it’s used for divination. The way they fall and their position in relation to each other can reveal a surprising amount, if the caster has the experience to properly interpret what he sees.’ Morghien saw the skeptical look on Isak’s face. ‘Don’t look like that,’ he said sternly, ‘this isn’t the random drawing of cards. Each coin is aligned to a God of the Upper Circle, blessed by a high priest of that God and thus touched by a being outside of time or the laws governing the Land. When cast by a mage, there is a pattern spread over the board that guides the fall of the coins. Trust me, this is not mere chance.’
He held up a blank disc of gold, turning it over to show Isak its flip side, obsidian or polished jet. ‘There are two that aren’t aligned to the Upper Circle: this one, the Lady’s Coin, represents Chance, but in a very specific way, and the Mortal, which is usually the principal coin in a casting, since all events ultimately revolve around people.’
He carefully separated out another coin on the chain as he spoke and held it out to Isak, keeping the others well away. Isak realised it was lapis lazuli, deep blue with a thin speckled line of pyrite. ‘This is Nartis’ coin, as you can probably guess. I suggest you don’t touch any of the others, as you might upset the balance.’ He grinned. ‘And here’s a piece of advice for you: never trust a priest with one of these. Without the balance of alignment they’re useless - worse than useless because whatever is read that way will be horribly skewed.’
‘What about the cross?’ Isak asked as he ran the dead white fingers of his left hand over the disc’s polished surface. The snake symbol of Nartis was engraved in the centre and surrounded by an unfamiliar script Isak assumed was the huntsman’s prayer. As Morghien gave an approving nod, Isak realised his magic-marked hand would probably improve Nartis’ own coin.
‘The cross is our board, divided into quarters: the heavens and the land above, fire and water below. I have owned this augury chain for many years now, and I know its moods well enough. The position of each coin in relation to the board and each other once the blanks have been removed should provide an answer to the question in your mind when you cast the coins.’
‘The blanks? Ah, only one side is engraved,’ Isak said, turning the Nartis coin over. ‘What about the Lady’s Coin, though? That one’s blank on both sides.’
‘That one is rather special,’ Morghien agreed. ‘The obsidian side Indicates that a path is already taken and Fate herself cannot change a matter. Here, Fate acts as the idea of chance, or suggesting an opportunity to take. When the black side comes up on this particular chain, [MISSING] However, on my chain, I suspect it represents Azaer.’
The word hung in the air between them as Isak stared down at the tiny reflection of Alterr, the greater moon, on the coin’s polished surface. Though he knew little about Azaer - or the shadow, as King Emin called it - he was certain it had been watching him over the last few months. The night normally held no terrors for Isak, who had been walking the Land with only the moons for company all his life, but several times recently he’d felt an unaccountable fear, and found himself fleeing to the light. Even King Emin had been unable to tell him why the shadow did what it did. Isak did not want to be caught up in Azaer’s plans.
Without wasting any further time, Morghien unhooked the clasp holding the chain closed and held the stack of coins above the board. The Mortal was on the bottom. They fell with a clatter onto the stone as the hunter’s moon came out from behind a cloud to cast its tinted light over the stone board.
As Morghien leaned close over them, his hand poised to remove the blanks, a hiss escaped his lips.
Isak looked down himself, and realised that even he could read what the board was saying only too well: just inside the quarter Morghien had called the heavens lay the Mortal, almost entirely covered by the obsidian side of the Lady’s Coin.
‘Azaer did not want you to meet Fedei again, and so I lose another dear friend,’ whispered Morghien to the night, and he bowed his head in grief.
CHAPTER 2
The next day was cooler and overcast, with wide furrowed clouds that darkened towards the horizon and threatened rain. They made for the forest road, riding mostly in silence as every member of the party listened hard for the crash of branches and drum of following hooves. Having abandoned the river, they headed directly north, skirting the borderland between Tor Milist and the lands claimed by the Farlan. Their destination now was the suzerainty of Saroc, a longer journey, but one that avoided the most obvious route home.
One glance at a map made it abundantly clear where the danger lay: on the river that took them up the border between Nerlos and the suzerainty of Tildek, seat of the inordinately powerful Certinse family. Suzerain Tildek and his nephew, the Duke of Lomin, would be overjoyed to catch Lord Isak with only a small force of guards before the young heir could reach Tirah and assert his claim. Their only dilemma would be deciding between themselves as to which of them should become king.
Riding on the fringe of the group, Morghien sat awkwardly atop one of the spare horses, his eyes fixed on the lead Ghost. As there was nothing he could do for Wisten Fedei, Morghien had agreed to Isak’s suggestion that he accompany them to Tirah instead. He wasn’t a natural horseman, and his discomfort added to his misery as the hours crawled past.
Isak had worried that the forest was too quiet, but early in the afternoon, when the forest thinned to the familiar sight of groves and thickets encircled by pasture land that characterised m
uch of Farlan territory, the Land remained deserted. Where they would expect sheep and cattle to be grazing, thus far they hadn’t seen even a rabbit, and the air was empty of birdsong. Isak had spent enough time alone in the wilds to know what a quiet day sounded like; this was the silence that followed a hunting predator.
‘We crossed the Longbow River two hours ago now,’ he said, breaking the silence. ‘We should have seen someone by now.’ Like his soldiers, Isak was riding in full armour, his helm upturned in his lap. Jeil and Borl, the rangers, were scouting ahead with Mihn; Isak didn’t believe anyone could catch all three of them unawares, but still he felt better when his hand was resting on the hilt of his sword. There was something nagging at the back of his mind. He looked around again; there were few enough hiding places nearby - and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
‘Do you think we’re walking into a trap?’ Tila asked from behind him. Isak turned in his saddle and gave what he hoped was an encouraging smile. It didn’t seem to have the desired effect; Tila twitched her nose at him and looked away.
‘I hope not,’ he said. ‘I just keep getting the feeling someone’s spying on us.’ A tremor ran down his spine like a ghostly finger and he flinched, unable to stop himself from checking around again. ‘Ignore me, Tila. I’m just being foolish. I’d trust our scouts over anyone else.’
‘Some things they can’t see,’ Morghien said in a distant voice. He closed his eyes for the moment, an inquisitive look on his face. ‘Is it ‘magic you feel?’
‘I-‘ Isak stopped. His inexperience counted against him once more ‘I don’t really know enough about it to be sure.’
‘Isak,’ Carel said, an intent look on his face, ‘what do your instincts say? No, don’t think about it - don’t try magic or anything you’re not so familiar with. I know you, and I trust your instincts; tell me right now do you think we’re being watched?’