The stormcaller tr-1

by Tom Lloyd

  Now all he could see was the outline of her face against the starry sky. The melancholy in her voice was almost more than Isak could bear. 'Because it's what I am. It's all I have left.'

  CHAPTER 26

  The further south they travelled, the more winter lost its edge. Nights were cold, especially when they slept on board the riverboat, but the familiar bite of snow in the air was gone. The Parian felt summer on the horizon as they left the shadow of the mountains and crossed wide empty plains. Narkang lay to the south-west, but they had no intention of going near either Vanach, which had strict religious laws too easy to break unsuspectingly, or Tor Milist – no one knew what reception Isak might get there.

  Instead, they travelled on the river that marked the border between Tor Milist and Scree for much of the way. There was a small risk of trouble, but their party was well able to deal with any problems they might encounter.

  It was strange to wake without a mountain somewhere on the horizon, but the presence of the early morning sunshine more than compensated. The sight of thin wisps of cloud above, all edged in gold, brought a smile to Isak's lips. He began to remember the pleasure to be found out in the wilds. With the warm memory of Xeliath in his head and friends surrounding him, Isak found himself enjoying life more than ever. Only the lingering memory of what the dark-skinned girl had said troubled him, even though he had determined not to worry any more about it until he reached Narkang and the brightly shining King Emin. Still he couldn't quite shake off the feeling of unease.

  As they skirted Tor Milist's official border, those they met reported that the civil war had started up again in earnest. Duke Vrerr had suffered two minor defeats already that year, though he had barely escaped with his life, it appeared the rumours of his death had been exaggerated. The duke had placed an enormous bounty on the head of the witch Lefema after her attempt on his life, but so far, no one

  had claimed it. The peasants hated their Lord with a passion, for he was already appropriating people's crops – at this rate they would have nothing to store up for the winter.

  And court gossip was passed on too: a Chetse mercenary was providing plenty of talk amongst the gentlefolk of Tor Milist, for he had apparently succeeded in cuckolding the notoriously jealous duke.

  'I can believe that well enough,' Vesna commented as they relaxed in the common room of a dockside tavern they had graced with their presence.

  'And why's that?' Tila's expression went unnoticed.

  Vesna stared at his drink and scowled at the bitter aftertaste. 'Well, I went there as part of the negotiations over the last border raids, a famous name to distract the duke.'

  Isak smiled. Vesna hadn't admitted to Tila all the reasons for being sent on such missions: no only did men tend to get distracted when the famous adulterer was around, but Vesna had been trained by the best poisoners in the Chief Steward's employ. Many negotiations had been swiftly resolved by the timely passing of an obstructive old man.

  'I met the duchess only once, but she-' Now he caught sight of Tila's face. 'Ah, I mean- Well, you know what they say about the Chetse…' The count's brain caught up with his mouth and he shut up.

  'No,' said Tila, innocently, 'what do they say?'

  'I, er… they say-' He looked around the smiling faces and scowled. 'Oh leave me alone, I never went near the woman, despite her offers. She smelled so bad I couldn't bear being in the same room.'

  Carel gave the downcast count a pat on the shoulder, but Vesna got up and headed for the door.

  'I think it would probably be quicker to just ask him which women he has gone near,' Carel told Tila, a merciless grin on his face.

  Tila could see why the count kept his first name from everyone, even his friends. 'And I think you should keep quiet, old man,' she snapped back. 'At least Count Vesna's trying to be respectable. You're the one encouraging him – not to mention throwing all your money at trollop barmaids.'

  The laughter was less raucous now: the guardsmen filling most of the bar weren't going to risk enjoying themselves too much at their commander's expense. In any case, Tila had a treacherously good memory for those with a sweetheart at home and a local girl on their lap. Since she'd had to give in to Isak and use a normal saddle, Tila's tongue had been sharper than ever and the men trod carefully around her.

  Carel snorted and turned away and Tila stormed off to join Mistress

  Daran at a table away from the increasingly rowdy soldiers.

  'So you're goin' south to the borderland from here, my Lord?' asked the barkeep hesitantly, taking advantage of the lull in conversation.

  Isak turned to look at the man. Just for a moment his temper flared as he recalled all the inns like this he'd been excluded from in his old life. Then the memory of the shadow took over, and he grimaced at the thought that still his life was not his own.

  The barkeep began to sweat as Isak glared at him, twisting a grimy cloth tighter and tighter around his pudgy hands. 'Do you normally let white-eyes in here?'

  'I- Er, well, some o' tha mercenaries we get in these parts, it don't matter whether they're white-eye or no. Duke Vrerr pays for men who'll follow any orders and that al'ays bring scum – men as'll kill

  you soon as look as you.'

  'So you think I'm respectable enough for your establishment?'

  'My Lord?' enquired Carel, sternly.

  Isak kept the terrified barkeep frozen to the spot for a moment longer, then shook off his bad mood. He acknowledged Carel's admonishment and tossed a gold coin on to the bar.

  'I'm sorry. Please, keep the beer coming. If you have brandy, then you look like you could do with one yourself.'

  The man looked down at the coin with suspicion, then nodded and swept it cleanly into his apron pocket. 'Thank you, my Lord. Will you be wantin' a bottle yoursel'?' He was obviously still uncomfortable,

  but gold was gold.

  'Yes, thank you, and we are going south through the borderland, if that's what you call the disputed lands south of here – why? Have you

  heard anything?'

  'I- Well, nothin' new. But you might like to know they're a touchy breed south o' here. They fight Tor Milist and Helrect if either tries to claim the region. They see a lot o' soldiers passin' through, so a uniform they don't know, like them dragon badges, you'll get arrows every step o' the way. They'll prob'ly leave you alone if you dont boast your colours – and if you're goin' nice and slow and obvious-like

  towards Ghorent. That's the heart o' the borderland and some respec' to'ards the town should see you left in peace.'

  Isak nodded and muttered his thanks, then touched Carel on the arm and indicated he was going out to speak to Vesna. Carel nodded and turned to watch one of the guardsmen's efforts to engage Mistress Daran in conversation. Their evening amusement frequently revolved around a bet on who could draw the chaperone into an obscure argument and how long it could be strung out – that woman did like to argue once she had a glass or two of wine in her. So far they'd managed to conceal the actual betting from Tila.

  Out of the corner of his eye Carel saw Mihn follow Isak outside. He smiled: at last his boy had friends, and ones who'd watch out for him at that. It was just what Isak needed, some friendship and reassurance in his life. But he still lay awake at nights worrying about how long it would last. Isak would always be a white-eye. Even if they stopped him looking for trouble, trouble would still find him one day.

  A curtain of pink washed across the eastern sky as dusk closed in. A long tear just above the horizon glowed ruby-red and to the west, towards the Gods, the sky was dark and forbidding. The bloody shard seemed to be pointing out the group's direction; the Gods ignored them. Behind them, in the north, a mass of clouds were ready to sweep down over the plains and pound them with sleet. The boats were waiting for them on the river, but Ghorent itself was still half a day's travel over the floodplains. More than once over the last few days, parties of bowmen had appeared at the side of the river to watch them pass. They were in no doubt
that their passage was being carefully monitored.

  Ghorent had to be close now, Isak reckoned – despite the sense of menace that hung over the borderlands, he was looking forward to a night in a town, anywhere with clean beds and fresh food. All those years as a wagon-brat had been wiped out by a few brief months in hrah Palace, he laughed to himself, until he saw movement, a jerking shadow in the evening gloom.

  He readied himself unconsciously, relaxing only when the shadow

  resolved into Jeil to answer his unspoken prayer. The ranger reined

  in just before reaching the party and called out in a clear voice, 'My

  Lord, there's a fortified town up ahead with scouts watching the road; do you want us to announce you?'

  Isak looked to Vesna and nodded. The count reached out and touched Tila on her gloved hand, an apology for cutting their conversation short, before handing her the reins to his second horse and cantering forward. Jeil wheeled about and then sent his stock pony in

  eager pursuit.

  'Do you want to approach under a flag?' Carel knew the answer already, but Isak must confirm all decisions. The white-eye might not care about minor details like where they camped, knowing that if he did object, his word would be heeded, but he had to get used to the protocols of Parian life. So when the rangers pointed out a possible camp-site, the greying soldier would turn to Isak and ask whether he

  would like to stop.

  'No,' Isak replied, 'Somehow I don't think that would be appreciated here.'

  The villagers around here saw Ghorent as the heart of these disputed lands. This was where most of the inhabitants came for guidance or justice. The town council was respected precisely because it had no authority and expected none. The arrangement seemed almost absurd to the Parian, who were used to rigid laws and conventions: there were no taxes paid, no real system of governance, certainly no army. What the people of the borderlands did have was a fierce pride in their way of life, and,respect that bordered on affection for the

  views of Ghorent.

  'Clearly not: they would see it as a boast of strength. Humility and respect is what these people want,' Tila said from within the pale blue folds of her cape, wrapped around her to keep off the evening chill. Isak bobbed his head in agreement and nudged Toramin into a brisker

  pace.

  'Well, let no man say I'm lacking in respect. We had better not keep them waiting.' As the charger kicked forward into a canter, he heard Tila mutter something to Carel. The words were too soft to hear, but when they caught up and drew level with him they were

  both smiling.

  It wasn't long before they caught sight of Ghorent's three towers and the wooden palisade that encircled the hilltop town. The gate way itself was made of stone, set into the tallest of the towers. Beacons shone out against the encroaching night, illuminating a line of bowmen who watched their approach with keen interest.

  Vesna and the two rangers waited a hundred yards from the gate

  with two men, also on horseback. As they approached, Carel gave a signal and the Ghosts riding ahead split into two columns to allow Isak to the fore.

  'Welcome, Lord Isak. You honour Ghorent with your presence,' called the better-dressed of the two men with the count. His Parian was heavily accented. His choice of words reminded Isak of an observation Tila had made a few minutes before: The people see Ghorent as an entity. 'We' were not honoured, Ghorent was. She was right. It was Ghorent that was respected, not the individual people. A foreign dignitary would be unlikely to find such unity in Tirah.

  'I am Councillor Horen, this is Captain Berard,' the man continued. 'Please, enter Ghorent as friends. We've been looking forward to your arrival.'

  Isak cocked his head, wondering if they would comment on their very effective tracking system.

  The councillor noted Isak's face and smiled. 'All will be explained when you meet the Seer. He has asked that you be brought directly to him before being presented to the council.'

  Without waiting for a reply, Horen turned his horse and indicated for them to follow. Captain Berard, dressed in mail with a sheathed sword at his side, smiled in a guarded manner. He looked tough and proud, a professional soldier rather than just a mercenary, but his long dark hair drawn back from his face revealed a welcoming face. Life here must been strange, considering neither man appeared either awed or surprised – most people were taken aback by Toramin's monstrous size even before they got to Isak.

  Isak nudged his horse to follow and Vesna dutifully fell in beside his Lord, moving closer when Isak learned over to whisper, The Seer?'

  'I'm not sure. A mage of some sort, I assume. That might account for the town's prosperity.'

  Isak looked up as they approached the town walls. Vesna was right. 1 he walls might have been of wood, but they looked strong and well maintained. The councillor was dressed as a Tirah city official might; he didn't look like the wealthy tradesmen who populated most town councils. As they passed through the gate, Isak and his party were watched by guards who betrayed little emotion: these were obviously disciplined men who trusted their leaders. They had no form of uniform or livery but they were clearly a strong and ordered unit.

  Within the walls were tidy rows of wide, solid houses, well built and well maintained, for all their lack of decoration. Isak concluded that the security Ghorent offered had attracted men and women of many different skills. There were too many curls of smoke rising from squat chimneys to count: whoever had organised these people had a very tidy mind. If the Seer was the one running the council, he must be a dour man of facts and figures, to keep this town so well-ordered,

  Isak thought.

  The houses this close to the wall were no more than two storeys high, but Isak could see taller buildings further in. Councillor Horen led them down the wide main street and past a tavern that looked like it was doing good trade – until sight of the visitors stopped the noise

  and bustle.

  Toramin noticed the audience and picked up his feet a little more, showing off his well-muscled shoulders and flanks. Isak had no need to make an effort to impress; he gave the beast a tap on the neck, but Toramin responded by tossing his head haughtily and continuing to prance. In Kasi's dim light, Isak's white-sleeved cape took on an ethereal glow. The deep blue of his hood looked even more forbidding to the onlookers. More than a few found that dark face disturbingly similar to the icons of Nartis in the temple. They all heard the mutters that sounded like prayers in the sudden quiet.

  Once past the tavern, Isak smiled slightly at the voices behind. It felt good to stir excitement in others. The wagon-brat had come a long way: now his presence in town was an event – he would be remembered wherever he drank or spent a night. The innkeepers would be able to say to customers, Til give you the best room in the inn, Lord Isak himself slept in it.' More curiously, people would care that

  he had.

  Up ahead, Isak saw that the road ended abruptly at a copse of trees standing at the centre of the town, where he would have expected a market square. The undergrowth had been cut back enough to allow passage and the councillor and captain went straight on in without pausing. Isak and Vesna exchanged glances. The trees were not densely packed – there was no cover for an ambush – so they followed their guides into the gloomy thicket. Isak could make out carved stones, sitting upright in the ground. They formed no apparent pattern, but were evenly spread – Isak could sense some echo there, a faint pres-ence lingering in the copse. He guessed that this was dedicated ground, probably a temple of sorts to an Aspect of Amavoq or Belarannar.

  On the other side, no more than thirty yards away, they rejoined the street, now dominated by a large building, the smaller houses looking almost as if they were keeping a respectful distance. By the standards of Tirah's wealthy the building was modest, but it was a surprising sight in Ghorent.

  The councillor stopped at the ornate door and turned to his charges. 'My Lord, I leave you in the capable hands of Ahden, the Seer's man.' He
gestured to the emerging figure, a tall, gaunt man who appeared from the bright interior. He padded down the stone steps, hands piously clasped together.

  The manservant looked rather less impressed with the Krann than the tavern folk had been. 'Lord Isak, welcome to Ghorent.' Ahden gave a small bow to the white-eye as he dismounted. 'My master is coming to greet you as I speak, but in the meantime might I offer you and your men food and wine?'

  Isak made a show of stretching his back and shaking the stiffness from his broad shoulders. There was something about the staid figure with his thinning hair scraped carefully over his head that Isak didn't take to. When at last he deigned to give Ahden his attention, he was cut off by a voice from inside the house.

  A second man burst through the door, gesticulating seemingly at random while he gabbled on in a high reedy voice, 'Lord Isak, at last you've arrived. Come inside, your rooms have been prepared. My grooms will see to the horses; we have much more important matters to discuss. My study will be suitable.'

  The white-eye found his arm determinedly grasped by the scrawny hands of the man – presumably the Seer – who looked about to be engulfed by his billowing linen shirt.

  Isak shot a bemused look to his companions. Few people outside his immediate circle of friends would dare touch the Krann, yet this odd little man was trying to escort him away like a child. Isak raised a hand to tell Mihn his presence was not required and allowed the Seer to drag him inside. As the man struggled to hurry Isak up, he launched lnto a discussion on the quality of horses they bred in Ghorent, happily providing both sides of the conversation.

  The interior was markedly different to the houses in Tirah. Bright

  swathes of colour adorned the walls and the high hallway was filled with all sorts of wicker birdcages, hanging from the ceiling, from wall

  brackets and mounted on beautifully ornate carved stands. Isak slowed to marvel at the room and take a closer look at the nearest bird, a delicate green creature the length of his finger, crested with the most glorious golden plume.