by Tom Lloyd
Bahl, a vision of calm, walked through the open door, Isak still close behind him. The stone steps that led to the training ground were icy and treacherous, but he trotted briskly down and made his way straight to the barbican. Isak noticed a bright light flaring from the normally murky depths of the tunnel.
As he hurried to keep up with Bahl, a wave of awareness broke over
him and rocked him on his heels. He could feel a burst of magic echo
out, an alien feeling that set every nerve screaming danger. His hand
flew to Eolis so quickly that the Ghosts scrambling past leapt back in
surprise.
He had half-drawn the blade when he realised that the old Lord
was still quite unconcerned. No doubt he could feel the same, but he
appeared not to mind. Ramming Eolis back into its sheath, Isak broke
into a jog and caught up. Now he recognised the difference that Bahl
had mentioned, the feeling of something that was out of place.
As they entered the tunnel, they saw six men with weapons drawn, frozen into silhouette by a gigantic figure. A deep bellow of laughter
echoed towards them while massive flames danced from the outstretched hands of the monstrous visitor. Isak felt Bahl draw magic into himself and followed suit, fighting the urge to tear Eolis out and charge straight in.
As he closed, Isak took a better look at the newcomer, and realised with a gasp that it was a Chetse white – eye, a huge man whose barrel chest almost surpassed description. The Chetse was shorter than Isak, only a hand taller than the guards levelling drawn bows at him, but lack of height did not detract from his unbelievable size.
All Chetse were muscular compared to the Farlan, and this man could have been a caricature if it hadn't been for the aura of raw, limitless strength that surrounded him. He was cackling with sheer pleasure as the leaping slices of fire raced up to the roof and played in loops about his arms.
'Lord Bahl,' boomed the man as he saw the pair approaching. The Ghosts almost sagged in relief as Bahl motioned for them to lower their weapons.
'Lord Chalat, welcome to my palace,' replied Bahl warmly as the Chetse released the magic. 'May I present to you my Krann? Lord Isak – Lord Chalat, Chosen of Tsatach.'
Isak bowed awkwardly, his obvious discomfort merely widening the Chetse's grin. Bahl then cocked his head to one side and Isak tore his gaze away from the white-eye, finally noticing the curious sight beside the Chetse: pinned up against a wall was a fully armoured guardsman, his weapons on the floor at his feet. The foot of some small foreigner was planted firmly on his throat. The little man held a steel-tipped quarterstaff ready and showed no sign of putting up the weapon. Looking over to the other Ghosts, Isak saw one was sheepishly wiping blood from his mouth and another looked less than steady, his helm knocked askew.
‘And your companion?' continued Bahl after a pause. 'And why is he trying to kill one of my guards?'
Under that gaze, the small man bent his leg at the knee, keeping his stance for a moment before lowering his leg. He stepped back, adopting a rather less aggressive pose, but still impressively proud in he face of a white-eye almost two feet taller.
‘Ah, now there's a man with a story,' replied Chalat in heavily accented Farlan, his good humour undiminished. 'Offer us food and drink and we'll tell you all.'
CHAPTER 21
'And there you have it,' declared Chalat, ending his story with a flourish. The enormous man sat back in his chair, hurriedly fetched from an upper chamber, and took a last bite at the leg of lamb in his hand, then tossed it over his shoulder with a satisfied air. The bone slapped on the wall behind, falling to the ground where a hound fell upon it. The sound of the dog's teeth on the bone was the only thing to break the silence as the small audience considered Chalat's words.
The eight men sat around a circular meeting table in the chamber at the base of the Tower of Semar. Bahl had limited the attendees to his closest aides, Kerin, Lesarl and Lahk, but Isak had brought Vesna with him – it would probably give rise to complaints by the other nobles in the palace, but Bahl had pointedly ignored the count's inclusion. Vesna had mentioned in passing a debt and some sort of assistance given to him by Lesarl. Clearly the count owed a favour, and Bahl was happy for him to be attached to Isak.
As for Carel, Isak decided to have a long talk with the old man before dragging him into the Land's politics.
'Mihn,' Isak said suddenly. The Chetse's companion intrigued him-The man's manner was so quiet and calm; it spoke of great confidence in his own abilities. 'Lord Chalat said you were from the clans on the north coast.' Mihn inclined his head.
'In that case, how is it you speak Farlan so well?' Isak was determined to get more than a nod from the man. There was something about Mihn's speech that nagged, something Isak couldn't quite place
yet.
'All the clans speak Farlan,' Mihn said, almost doubling the number
of words he'd uttered since his arrival.
'But why? You must be too far away to have any contact with us. 'Farlan is the root of our language, and with the Great Forest a
week's ride away we have to keep close ties to the other clans,' the
man said.
'All the Land's languages come from the same source,' interjected Lesarl contemplatively. 'Since Mihn speaks Chetse too, I'm sure we would not be surprised at how quickly he could pick up others.'
Mihn's face was full of suspicion; the Chief Steward was watching him carefully, scarcely even blinking. Isak knew Lesarl was distrustful of everyone, but this time he agreed – and suddenly he knew the answer…but it gave rise to yet more questions.
Perhaps the nobles hadn't noticed, but even after six months, Isak still found their words overly pronounced: Mihn spoke like a nobleman. His cadences and rounded syllables were too cultured for any barbarian clansman. He certainly wasn't Farlan, but he was more than
he let on.
'My Lord,' said Kerin, breaking the thoughtful silence hanging over the table, 'this daemon-arrow sounds like powerful necromancy to me – but Malich must surely have been dead too long to set this in motion. I was under the impression that Malich's skill was an extremely rare thing. So that makes me think this was done by an acolyte, or he's returned from the grave somehow.'
'I would be surprised if he had,' Bahl said. 'Denying death is more difficult than animating corpses or incarnating daemons. From what I know of raising the dead, I think we disposed of the body well enough for that to be an option.' There was a hint of a smile on his face. Isak remembered the sight of Genedel gulping down corpses on the battlefield and shared the old Lord's smile.
'Well then, either way we have a problem,' continued Vesna. 'Either Malich had an acolyte strong enough to cast this himself, which surely we'd have realised, or-'
'Or this has nothing to do with him,' finished Kerin. 1 agree.' General Lahk looked extremely uncomfortable as all eyes turned towards him. He kept his distance from Isak and Bahl whenever possible. Sharing a room with three white-eyes, each vastly stronger than he, was not a comfortable situation.
‘This weakens your army considerably, Lord Chalat. Charr is still young for a Krann, and from what we hear, lacking much intelligence at best of times. That's how the elf was able to draw him out in the first place. I doubt a possessing daemon would have any more understanding of how to lead an army.'
'Siblis?' barked Chalat. Isak felt a wave of anger radiate out from the Chetse Lord as he spoke the word,
'We know they have sent parties north to search for weapons. Perhaps they found allies instead. The elves could have created the weapon they needed. To kill you, Lord Chalat, would have been incredibly difficult, and hardly enough to win the war, since your generals are still there. But to control the commander and direct the war from both sides…' The general's voice trailed off, leaving the conclusions to be imagined.
Chalat clenched his fist furiously, the slabs of muscle in his arms showing a trace
ry of angry veins. By contrast, Bahl, resting his elbows on the table, was vaguely glum, lost in thought.
'Your point is a good one, Lahk,' Bahl said after a grim pause. '1 cannot think of a more likely reason. It makes me wonder what else the Siblis might have bargained for, and what price was asked in return.'
'Well, such things are beyond me. Charms, curses, enchantments, bugger them all. That's not how I've fought my wars,' Chalat growled loudly.
'But it seems you need a change of tactics.' Lesarl ignored the scowl he received. 'I know the man you should speak to.'
'Well, who is he?' snapped Chalat. 'Where is he? At your College of Magic?'
Lesarl smiled briefly. 'Unfortunately not, though I'm sure the Archmage will be more than willing to help you in whatever way he can – if you can manage to look less like a white-eye, because he rather despises your kind.'
Isak expected a bellow at that, but Chalat merely smiled. The white-eyes who reigned for a long time were obviously the ones who could control themselves.
'The true expert is rather closer to his subject matter. Invriss Fordal has been the authority on elven magic for decades now. I'm afraid he is considered rather eccentric, being one of the few who actually engages in expeditions into the Great Forest, but he is certainly the man to assist you. I'm sure the Duke of Lomin will be delighted to have you as his guest for as long as necessary.'
'Lomin. So if I were to grow bored and need something to kill-'
Then the Forest is sufficiently close, and I hear the Festival of Swords has been rather a dull event of late.'
'Hah. Still, I hear the Duke is a good man, at least-'
'Ah.' Lesarl's smile didn't waver for a moment. There I'm afraid we have bad news.'
Chalat snorted, he knew Lesarl's reputation as well as any Farlan. Turning to Bahl he found only a smile. The Chetse Lord threw up his hands in amused exasperation.
'Very well, no doubt you'll have a favour to ask of me, something small, very little effort… Just don't blame me if I end up giving the new duke a sound thrashing. I get bad-tempered when it's raining, and it always bloody rains here.'
Lesarl was unable to prevent a look of delight spreading across his face. 'Lord Chalat, I'm sure it would not even be mentioned.'
Bahl rose. 'Lesarl, arrange quarters for Lord Chalat; I'm sure Tirah can provide some entertainment for him so see to whatever he wishes. Isak, you have your own preparations to make. Take as many guardsmen as you need to carry your maid's wardrobe. Lesarl tells me that new chargers will arrive within the week. Until then I believe Kerin has some plans for you.'
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 a
t 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 some' one, 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.'