The stormcaller tr-1

by Tom Lloyd

  'And why would you do that?' Isak muttered, ungraciously. 'Why should I trust a man of your reputation, someone I hardly know?'

  The count looked startled at that. 'My reputation, my Lord Suzerain, has never been one for oath-breaking.' There was a cold tone to his voice that made Isak think he had taken real offence. If that was the case, Isak wasn't about to apologise. A bondsman, even a count, was not someone he had to care about unsettling.

  'I am your bondsman. My fortunes follow yours, so your success is certainly of importance to me – and my reputation is all I have. To foster treachery would take that from me.'

  Isak sat back, impressed by the passion in Vesna's voice. 'So, what

  is your advice then?'

  'The general is not your enemy. To consider him so is a mistake.'

  'He's hardly friendly.'

  Vesna shrugged. 'General Lahk is a devoted servant of his tribe. He respects the authority of Lord Bahl and his most trusted servants. He trusts that their orders are in the best interests of the tribe. Treat him as a dependable servant and he will act so.'

  'And Lesarl?'

  'The Chief Steward is a sadist who loves his power, but he is a devoted vassal of Lord Bahl who knows that he can find his pleasures pursuing the interests of the tribe. Spies and assassins are his toys; his loyalty is assured because it affords him what he loves most. Even Le-sarl's enemies would acknowledge that he is a genius of a governor. I believe he will honour you when you are his lord. Until then, perhaps he thinks you have to learn to be a lord worthy of honour?'

  Isak looked again at General Lahk, considering Vesna's words. There was logic there, and though that didn't mean it was necessarily true, he would lose nothing by playing along. 'So who are my enemies then?' he asked mildly.

  'Right now, your enemies are camped outside Lomin. To forget that

  could be fatal.'

  The days passed quickly. Isak remembered little of his dreams except

  for the clamour of battles he hadn't fought, and that same searching voice; of the days, almost as little. He felt exhausted from lack of sleep, and was lulled into a constant doze by the uniform grey sky and the sway of his horse. Bahl had told him that he would need to draw in on himself and prepare for the battle, but Isak couldn't have done much else anyway.

  The nag of the enemy somewhere ahead remained a faint prickle at the base of his skull as he ran through control exercises in his mind. He couldn't release magic yet, but drilling the theory of defending himself from it might just save his life. Half a dozen times, General Lahk flinched in his saddle as he felt a burst of energy pulse out from the Krann as he practised.

  A week later there was a distraction from the normal tedium of the march, as scouts reported the enemy had been sighted moving away from Lomin to open ground. Isak didn't understand, until Vesna explained that by withdrawing early, the elves were in effect picking the battleground, to ensure they had room for their superior numbers instead of letting isolated groups be picked off one at a time by the Farlan cavalry.

  Karlat Lomin rode into camp with his hurscals ahead of his foot soldiers, who were hurrying to join up with the cavalry, to offer grudging obeisance. Vesna found Isak pawing listlessly at a bowl of fatty broth and fussed over his appearance until Isak was smart enough – and alert enough – to meet Scion Lomin. Hauling Isak to his feet and buttoning his tunic had had very little effect; it was only when Vesna fractionally touched the scabbard holding Eolis that he was rewarded by a glare that showed Isak was at last fully awake.

  The young wolf cut an impressive figure in the bronze and red of his family. His scarlet-stained helm, shaped like a wolf's head, glowed eerily in the firelight as he reined in by Isak's tent. He wore only half armour, cuirass and mail atop expensive leathers worked with gold and bronze thread. The wolf's head hung from his saddle like the bloody trophies Isak had once seen hanging from the walls of a Chetse town.

  As Lomin slid nimbly from his saddle, Vesna moved ahead of his lord to greet the man. One of the hurscals took half a pace forward and a thin smile crept on to Isak's face as he saw the intent to stir up trouble, but Lomin raised a finger to stop the man. Clearly these two had met before.

  'Good evening, Scion Lomin,' called the count in a cheery tone, his palms upturned in traditional welcome. He took great care over the younger man's title, one that was inferior to his own.

  The scion took his time acknowledging Vesna's greeting. Hand-ing his reins to a page, he carefully shook out his long straight black hair and fiddled with the gold clasps on each shoulder that held his cloak. Isak could see that these too were wolf heads – interesting; they should have been the Keep device of the Lomin family. Once the clasps were arranged to his satisfaction, Lomin looked at the count, his lips thinned into a line of distaste. That one look was enough to convince Isak that Vesna would be loyal to him: it was pure hatred. 'The evening is not good, Count Vesna, and neither am I Scion.' Vesna forced himself down on to one knee as Lomin strode imperiously up to him. 'Then you have my apologies, Duke Lomin,' he said, reaching out to touch the ducal seal.

  The duke raised a finger to cut Vesna off. 'Duke Certinse, Vesna. I have decided to take my mother's family name.'

  Isak saw Count Vesna's shoulders tense. That Karlat Lomin – now Certinse, he must remember that – had eschewed both his own family name and that of his city, favouring his mother's powerful family, was a studied insult to Lord Bahl's position.

  Somehow, Vesna managed to maintain the level of respect required of him, unclipping his sheathed sword and holding it out hilt-first to his enemy in a gesture of deference, muttering, 'Duke Certinse, I apologise, and I grieve for your father. We had not heard his illness

  had won out.'

  'It didn't. Weak as he was, my father was not one to be beaten by an ill humour. A team of assassins breached the walls two nights past. They murdered him in his bed before firing the keep. Only my mother and I survived. Ten elven assassins managed to murder my entire family, fifty guards and burn my home. The wall guards tell me some even made it back to their lines.'

  All around, protocol was forgotten in the horror of the news and a hundred voices murmured rage and disbelief, common soldiers and nobility alike cursing in the same breath. Only General Lahk's voice interrupted as he called for the watches to be doubled and the fires banked high. That assassins could penetrate one of the most secure of the Farlan keeps was a horrifying thought. Isak heard a knight mutter 'sorcery', as he thought the same thing.

  Before him, Duke Certinse stood appreciating the effect he'd had. One gloved hand rested lovingly on the hilt of his sword. At his father's death he had inherited Bloodlight and Lomin's Torch, weapons that only those of the Chosen could surpass. It was rumoured that the young man, still only twenty summers, had never had any love for his popular father, or any of his siblings. The young wolf held only his mother in his heart. He was her very image, made masculine.

  Despite the shock, Isak couldn't help but wonder why only those two had managed to avoid the tragedy. 'I'm sorry to hear that,' he rumbled gravely. 'Everyone spoke well of Duke Lomin, your father. I had hoped to meet him one day.'

  Silence returned to the scene and faces turned to watch the two men. Duke Certinse took in Isak, bigger even than when he'd left Tirah, and nodded curtly. He was obviously unhappy about being in the presence of someone whose image overshadowed his own. He walked over to Isak, and, as Vesna had done to him, he held out the hilt of Lomin's Torch to Isak and grudgingly touched the dragon-ring on Isak's hand. Certinse might be a duke now, and thus outrank Isak, but the Krann had been given specific command of the army and so carried BahPs authority in lieu.

  Behind Certinse, a page had the hem of his cloak bunched in his hand. The boy's pudgy face was frozen in fear and Isak's sharpened senses caught the faint stink of urine. He couldn't blame the boy, having to come to within a few feet of such a monstrous figure, but he doubted the duke would be so forgiving.

  Isak reached out and touc
hed the pommel of the weapon. Certinse flinched in surprise as Isak probed its potency, one finger resting on the figure of a wolf sleeping with nose tucked under its bushy tail. The runes he felt were strong and simple, except for one that gave Isak a sense of bloodlust, a hunger to burn and ruin the flesh of the twisted creatures now advancing.

  The rune felt as if it had recoiled at his touch and he withdrew his hand hurriedly. He didn't want to know why it had done that. He might not know much about magic yet, but he was positive some forbidden process had made this. At its very core, the sword knew the taste of elves – it had been quenched in the blood of one.

  'Rise; we can play formalities some other time.'

  'As you say.' Certinse's voice was cool as he stood. 'You received my man with news of their forces?'

  'We did,' broke in General Lahk, stepping forward to take control of the discussion. Vesna had already told Isak that Certinse would try to lead the battle if given the slightest opportunity. 'Suzerain Tori has command of four legions of cavalry – he went ahead two days ago to harry their movements. How many men have you managed to bring

  from Lomin?'

  'All the infantry I could muster: four legions of spear and one of archers. None of the town garrisons have had a chance to get here, but with luck the rangers might be able to find a secure path for some to reach the battle in time.'

  'We're short on archers then, with so many light cavalry away, but it will have to do. From what we've scried of the enemy, they have far greater numbers, although most are on foot. The group trying to outflank us is entirely horse; that means they won't want to move the main bulk very far.'

  They'll take the northern end of the Chir Plain then.' 'You know it?' Lahk waved a hand behind him and immediately one of his staff thrust a map-scroll into it. Another man brought a table and the map was unrolled on it.

  'Here's the plain,' said Certinse, his finger stabbing down at the map. Isak moved forward to look over Lahk's shoulder. With a grunt the general slid around the table to afford Isak a better view. The curves and lines meant little to the Krann but he kept quiet. A wagoner knew the lie of the Land from his own travels and the accounts of others, not paper, but he had to learn.

  'There's a rise that runs much of that side, we can ride hidden behind it, but if they try to go over they'll be in trouble. It's too rocky to get down that slope. They will have to wait until they reach the cleft where a small river cuts the ridge. It's wide and brings you right round the other side of the plain.' 'What else is there?'

  'The river. That cuts through the ridge like this and runs that way – it's not deep, though. There's a steep, flat-topped rise here.' Certinse moved his finger north-east of the river. Nothing was indicated on the map, but neither duke nor general looked surprised. There are some old fortifications on top, nothing significant, but it's a safe place to have a good view of the field. Other than that, there's a slight up-slope running east and a nice big space to pick them off in.'

  'What will the river be like at this time of year?' interrupted Isak.

  He'd dragged enough horses through enough rivers swollen by autumn rain as a child to know how difficult it would be for an army.

  Certinse glanced up, a flash of irritation on his face, but replied, 'Not too bad; even with the rain we've had it'll still be possible to cross.'

  'Good,' declared General Lahk in a decisive voice. That's where we'll attack. We can take the heavy cavalry through the ridge there and hit the enemy in the side.' 'Alone?'

  'Not quite. Your legion of archers will be on that rocky slope, protected by one of the Lomin spear legions. We have one legion of light cavalry with our group, and a division will skirmish ahead to draw the trolls off that rise-'

  'How do you know they will be there?' the duke interrupted. 'It's protected from cavalry, therefore that is where the trolls will go, ready to attack our heavy cavalry once we commit it. The division will be doused in every bottle of perfume and scent our fair knights have brought with them. My Ghosts have already searched the baggage of every man with us. Your hurscals will submit to the same, Duke Certinse.'

  The young man went red with anger at being ordered about by a white-eye, but Isak's question came out first. 'Perfume? Have you gone mad?'

  'Firstly, the scent of trolls on the wind will alarm the horses,' the general explained calmly. 'Hopefully, this will help mask their stench, which in turn will help us to keep our order tight. Secondly, a troll relies on scent and hearing – they can only see very short distances. The archers will also be burning all the incense our priests have. I am assured that the direction of the wind will be favourable. By moving quickly enough, and with any help the mages can provide, we can at least anger the trolls. They will follow the unfamiliar smell as much as the movement of the cavalry, and when our horse break south, out of the way, I believe they will falter in confusion.' That's lunacy!' cried Certinse.

  The general straightened up to face the duke, but still no trace of annoyance showed on his face, let alone anger at the insult. 'Well then, it is unfortunate for all of us that Lord Isak has approved of the plan, and it is he who was specifically appointed commander of our army,' he said quietly.

  'Lord Bahl did not know a duke would be present!' snapped Certinse in return. 'If my father had been alive he would have been granted command as soon as he rode in. I demand the same right, as is the privilege of my rank.'

  Isak raised an eyebrow at Vesna, but the count was not paying attention. His hand was creeping closer to his sword as the Lomin hurscals edged closer to the group.

  It was up to Isak. 'Demand whatever in the name of the dark place you like,' he bellowed. The venom in his voice froze every man to the spot and rippled out through the air to reach the Ghosts camped all around Isak's tent. Hands reached instinctively for weapons as they caught sight of Certinse's hurscals and they immediately closed the respectful gap between men and generals. General Lahk was an emotionless bastard who'd sacrifice a division if he had to, but he'd kept them all alive time and time again for that precise reason. They trusted him as much as Lord Bahl and had no affection for the arrogance of household knights.

  'The first man who draws a sword here, I'll call mutiny and run him through. That also goes for the first who tries to take my command, whatever his rank is,' Isak continued. Til answer to Lord Bahl for my actions, but no one else commands me.' He glared around at every man there. 'Now, does anyone wish to take issue with the plan?'

  A moment of silence followed before Certinse opened his mouth again and blurted out, 'The enemy's numbers are too great. We'd have to cut our way through several legions to reach the trolls.'

  'General Lahk, would you care to explain further?' Isak's voice was quiet and controlled; something Bahl had said to Isak had emerged from his memory: the eye of the storm is when men have time to fear the other side. Show your anger, and then don't use it further. They will expect it to return, and hesitate. One pause is all a soldier needs.

  'Of course, my Lord. To the south will be the rest of the foot, the Palace Guard infantry at their fore and the rest of the light cavalry. The Ghosts and cavalry will advance, then falter at the sight of the enemy before retreating in a chaotic fashion. I would prefer to keep the Ghosts up with our group, but they are the only ones trained for this manoeuvre.'

  'What manoeuvre?'

  'Flee under orders. Our enemy likes nothing more than a running foe; their commanders will not be able to prevent a pursuit. There can

  be no doubt of that. The fleeing men return to our line and reform – please trust me, Duke Certinse, I have seen to it personally that this will be done – and wait for the attack. The ground will become open enough for us to take the trolls without becoming surrounded.'

  'But it means we are dividing our forces against superior numbers,' the duke said. 'That goes against one of the most basic principles of warfare.'

  'And thus demonstrates Eraliave's assertion that all tenets of war are fluid and a good general must be a
ble to adapt to the current situation,' finished Vesna. The duke glared at him, but obviously accepted that this was not the time for further argument.

  'Indeed, Count Vesna,' the general said. 'Now, with your permis-sion, my Lord, I will give orders to the legion colonels.'

  Isak gestured for Lahk to leave, even giving the general a nod of respect. It was hard for him not to smirk as the other men there did the same. Certinse had no choice but to follow suit, bound by the rules, laws and traditions of his class.

  Suzerain Fordan then cleared his throat, his face a picture of innocent helpfulness. A pitcher of wine had not dimmed his intelligence: he could see that Certinse was about to leave and impose his own will on the execution of the plan. General Lahk was known for his utter obedience to authority; the last thing they needed now was for him to have to face down a superior.

  'Duke Certinse, Lord Bahl wrote to me recently expressing a concern that soon the dukedom of Lomin might be without an heir, knowing how ill your beloved father was. Since this unhappy situation has now arisen, and we have so many of your peers at hand, this would seem the perfect opportunity to discuss a betrothal.'

  The duke squirmed for a moment and then shrugged. He had the sense to know when he was out-manoeuvred and forced a smile at the craggy old man, who beamed in return. It was over an hour before the matter was settled: a magnificent dowry would accompany his marriage to Suzerain Nelbove's daughter. Nelbove was close to Tirah, and the suzerain knew he was suspected of treachery so he'd not risk angering Lord Bahl further.

  With the evening's work done, the nobles retired to await the morning. 'Now then, my lady, don't you think you've spent long enough in here for one week?'

  Tila flinched in her chair, hands reaching for the armrest to push herself up until she realised it was only Swordmaster Kerin standing before her. He grinned and eased himself down into the seat opposite, sighing with pleasure as he turned his attention to the fire. Tila had kept it banked up throughout the day; by Kerin's reaction she guessed it was bitterly cold outside now night had fallen. The Swordmaster was dressed in his formal uniform – as he had been every day since Lord Bahl's departure – and it didn't look nearly as warm as the leather and woollens he normally wore.