by Tom Lloyd
Talk in the tavern quietened, then stopped completely as folk looked at each other to see who was going to move first. They all wanted to see the white-eye in his fancy elven armour, but no one wanted to be the first to rush off and stare at a foreigner. Farlan arrogance wasn't appreciated here, not now that Narkang's strength neared that of Farlan and Chetse.
Doranei stood slowly, the scrape of his chair drawing all eyes. He unwound his scarf with deliberate care, drawing great satisfaction as the three farmers started shaking at the sight of the golden bee on
his collar. He pulled on a worn pair of gloves, retrieved his cape from the spare chair at his table and then made his way out. In his wake Doranei felt people stir, but he had reached the stables before he heard eager footsteps run for the walls. He ran an affectionate hand down his horse's grey neck, she turned to nuzzle at him, then nosed his hand, questing for food.
He draped an arm over the horse's neck and, looking straight into her hazel eye, said, 'Well, my friend, shall we go and see this Krann who's got everyone so excited?'
The mare snorted and shook her head. Doranei chuckled and patted the creature. 'Ah, you could be right there. However, it will be as the king commanded. The Krann might be bringing dark times, but that's been our life for a spell anyway.' He swung himself easily up into the saddle, then the tall grey started out at a brisk trot towards the gate tower.
'Hey, where do you think you're going?' demanded the watchman belligerently. Behind him, Doranei could see a collection of men eyeing him nervously. One was riding a handsome hunter, probably the local suzerain. He was old, but he could obviously still wield the blade at his hip. The others were town councillors, nervous and sweating under the ceremonial finery of their offices. Doranei suppressed a smile – their opinion of all Parian as peacocks would hardly extend to a white-eye.
'I've been sent to greet the Lord Isak and put myself at his disposal.'
The watchman advanced with a curse on his lips before noticing the emblem on Doranei's collar. He reined in sharply, eyes narrowing in the dim light. 'You're a King's Man?'
'No, I just wear his badge because I hear he's a good man to irritate,' Doranei snapped. Without waiting for a reply he directed his horse around the man and advanced on the others. To one side a mounted figure stirred, only to be stopped by a raised hand from the suzerain.
As Doranei reached them he saw the figure in the shadows was wearing fine clothes, but his gauntlets betrayed mail underneath. Doranei guessed it was the nobleman's son. That was all he needed now, a provincial hothead who was yet to learn he couldn't be rude to everyone he met. The old soldier who'd sired him obviously had wits enough to be cautious. The king was very specific about his men
getting the right amount of respect due their position. If that meant fighting duels with incautious noblemen, he was happy to pay the price.
'My Lord Suzerain,' Doranei called, inclining his head respectfully to the man. He made a point of ignoring the others, turning his back on the councillors as he rode past them.
'I'm Suzerain Coadech,' confirmed the older man. 'And you're no royal herald. Why would the king send a soldier to greet the Farlan Krann?'
Doranei kept his face impassive. Though he would prefer to be friendly with the suzerain – and he had heard good things of Coadech – his job meant he stayed apart. King's Men were an unknown quantity to all but the king himself.
'He would not; he sent me instead. However, I'm sure he would prefer you, his most venerable subject, to ride out and greet the Krann.'
The son made an indignant noise, but the suzerain merely smiled. He'd seen enough of life not to react to a small jibe, given in a friendly way. King's Men held no titles, but their power rivalled any subject of the king's.
'Then I would be pleased to. I hope the king would not find me impertinent if I don’t offer your services to his honoured guest, other than as a guide – it might appear strange to put all of your skills at the disposal of a foreign power.'
Doranei's eyes narrowed. He was very aware that many believed the wearers of the bee to be little more than royal assassins – but there was a crinkle of humour around the suzerain's mouth. He returned the smile and gestured for the elderly man to take the lead. A whistle from above set the men opening the great ceremonial gates. The suzerain trotted forward, followed closely by his scowling son so there would be no room for Doranei. The King's Man ignored the youth and turned to the councillors.
'Wait here. If the Krann has had a long journey, he might not want to meet a whole line of officials before he's even got off his horse.'
They looked dismayed at his words, but found no courage to protest as he tapped the hilt of his sword impatiently.
Doranei followed the suzerain out and allowed his eager grey to catch up to the horsemen fading into the twilight. Up ahead he could see a neat troop of soldiers, bright against the shadows in their white tunics. At their heart, riding the biggest charger Doranei had ever
seen, was the Krann, gleaming in what light remained of the evening. Even Doranei caught his breath at the sight. The Krann was masked to resemble the blue face of Nartis, but it was the liquid silver that encased his body that made him appear like a God looming in the dark.
The soldiers around him were in full battle-dress, yet their drapes were not the austere colours of the Palace Guard but a dragon design Doranei recognised only from the reports they had received. With the eyes of the forewarned, he picked out the black and gold of Count Vesna riding just behind the Krann, and a startlingly beautiful woman, obviously noble, close to the hero. Behind them rode a thin woman of middle-age and proud bearing, a chaperone, presumably, given Count Vesna's reputation. Who the man riding alongside her was, Doranei could not imagine. He wore the dark, functional clothes of a scout instead of armour, but two rangers already flanked the soldiers.
Well, this is a curious collection we have here, the King's Man thought as he watched the formalities unfold. Suzerain Coadech reined in and the Krann's guards split neatly to allow their Lord to pass through them to the front. The drill had obviously been well practised, Doranei noted with a soldier's eye: there was not a horse's hair moving out of step.
The Krann trotted forward with serene grace, towering over them all. Already I'm wondering how many stories are playing out here, and I've yet to meet the man at the centre.
'Lord Isak, Chosen of Nartis, Heir to Lord Bahl and Suzerain of Anvee,' called the suzerain in a clear voice. 'On behalf of Emin Thonal, King of Narkang and the Three Cities, I bid you welcome to his realm.'
Isak looked out of the window and down on the rows of tables set out in the square below. The old suzerain had given them his own house to use – the finest in town, from what Isak could see. A bath sat, grey and cooling, behind him as he surreptitiously observed the feast being prepared below. The servants were scurrying about, flowing neatly around the town official whose efforts at ordering them around seemed to be creating only disorder. A raised platform stood at the far end of the square, cordoned off from the rough benches where the townsfolk would congregate and toast the health of any foreigner whose arrival prompted free beer.
The platform itself had been draped in white linen and carefully decked in flowers. There was enough room for at least eighty people to sit. Isak sighed heavily at the thought of all the preening nobles and officials lined up and oozing affected pleasure at his presence, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Bahl wanted him to be comfortable in court life. Perhaps he intended to reduce the distance that existed between the Lord of the Farlan and his nobles; perhaps he just didn't want to do it himself.
Isak watched the view while drying off, then let the towel drop to the floor as he ran his hands over his head. It was strange to have hair again. Tila had advised him not to keep shaving his head, pointing out that he looked intimidating enough without highlighting the blunt lines of his skull. Turning back to the room he eyed Siulents on the armour stand that had been provided. He took a s
tep towards it, and then caught sight of himself in the mirror.
The armour forgotten, he stood before the full-length mirror and angled it up to observe his naked frame. His reflection had always fascinated Isak: the image he presented to the world was so different to how he saw himself. The stranger in the mirror peered back with equal curiosity, looking for the slender child Isak still pictured himself as. Neither his increased height nor added bulk looked quite right. He didn't particularly care to look as brutally powerful as he obviously did. He sighed. He did like the power residing in his limbs. That would have to be compensation enough.
A knock on the door caused Isak to jump and his gaze flew immediately to Eolis, hanging from one corner of the four-poster bed.
'My Lord?' Mihn's voice sounded from behind the door.
Isak grabbed at the fresh underclothes that Tila had laid out on his bed, pulled them on and then called for his bondsman to enter. Now he knew Mihn's past, Isak found himself remarkably secure in the failed Harlequin's presence. He'd kept all other enquiring eyes from the scar on his chest – the mark of Xeliath's affection, as he joked to himself – except for Mihn, who had seen it and said nothing. Bahl considered it Isak's own business, and Mihn would stay silent until Isak was ready to talk about it. Isak wasn't sure whether he should involve the others to such a degree – Carel, Vesna, Tila: they still had the option of another life.
Vesna grew more devoted to Tila each day. Just watching them share a joke, or smile tenderly at each other, spurred a pang of guilt in Isak. He knew he might well have to ask a lot of his bondsman in the years to come: would he be able to endure Tila's silent condemnation if he called upon the father of her children to commit murder – or worse?
He felt a different shape of guilt at how he might use and abuse Mihn, but he understood the need, and Mihn had nothing else. The foreigner shared something with Xeliath: another broken life Isak carried as a burden, another damaged soul he'd use as a weapon when the time came.
That thought made Isak pause. Even he was beginning to think that he had a purpose in life… In the darkest hours of the night he lay alone and worried that the assumption the Land made, that he had a cause for which to fight, would bring destruction, that any prophecies would be self-fulfilling. Could he cope with what might be required of him?
Mihn entered the room, took one look as Isak and slammed the door shut behind him. Isak's eyes darted up in surprise. The man Doranei has come to speak with you. He will wait.'
Isak pulled on a linen shirt and cream trousers similar to those worn by his guards. 'Send him in,' he ordered. Picking up the tall cavalry boots sitting at the foot of his bed Isak sat and began to fit his feet into them. Doranei sauntered through the door and past Mihn, checking the room for whatever he'd been excluded from seeing before his eyes settled on the Krann. Mihn cut across his path, forcing the King's Man to stop dead, and knelt at Isak's feet to help him with his boots.
Isak gestured to a chair and Doranei drew it up, carefully placing it to one side of Mihn before sitting.
Isak left the boots to Mihn and inspected his visitor. ‘That's an interesting tattoo on your ear.'
Doranei stiffened slightly and turned his head slightly away. Isak couldn't see the actual shape, but he didn't want to make it appear that he was too interested. He'd have bet the entirety of Anvee that he had something to match it.
'Merely the product of a wayward youth, my Lord. I trust everything has been to your satisfaction thus far?'
'It has, but I don't think you're here to see I have enough blankets. So would you like to tell me what a member of the Brotherhood is doing here?'
Doranei didn't blink. 'I, that is, the king, merely wishes to ensure
your passage to Narkang is as unimpeded as possible.' Doranei's Farlan was fluent, with barely a trace of an accent. Lesarl had told them that Farlan was fast becoming the country's second language. Most traders in the north-west spoke Farlan, and the keen merchants of Narkang took even greater pride in their linguistic proficiency. It showed how cosmopolitan Narkang was.
'And I had been advised that these lands were remarkably lawful. Or does the king expect any trouble in particular?' Isak asked.
'Of course not, my Lord. However, I wear the king's device and that gives me the right to commandeer supplies or lodgings on his behalf for your party. Some might also say that our laws are rather more permissive than those of the Farlan. There are several, sometimes competing, parties who call these lands home.' He paused. The Knights of the Temples, for example.'
'Well then, I trust there will be no unpleasantness on their part,' Isak growled.
'I am sure that will be the case. The Knight-Cardinal has submitted a request via the king for an informal meeting, but as such it can be refused with little offence given. In part, my visible presence will ensure that those you meet will not have another guise unknown to you.'
The king's spies are that efficient?'
They are more than competent. Our enemies cannot be certain of what we do or do not know – that limits them in itself.'
Isak rose and took the dragon-embossed tunic from Mihn. As he pulled it on and fastened the toggles he retained eye contact with the King's Man.
'You have an unusual manservant, my Lord.'
A flicker of discomfort passed over Mihn's face.
'Really.'
'And Count Vesna rides with you too. I'm sure he will be as popular with the husbands of this town as that attractive young lady will be with the wives.'
Isak made no reply as he fixed his long white cloak about his shoulders with a dragon clasp. The evening was going to be quite long enough without having to banter words now. He turned to the mirror to see how the Land would view him now. There was no hiding the bulging muscles and massive frame, but the reflection was as civilised as Isak had ever looked. A smile appeared on his lips.
Apart from his first fitting of this suit, back at Tirah Palace, this was the first time he had worn his crest like this. He spent a wordless minute following each and every line of that dragon image, the golden curls of its claws and proud rampant stance.
'So tell me about Morghien. I hear he is more than he appears.'
Doranei chuckled at that, scratching at his freshly shaved face as he smiled. To tell you about Morghien, that is where I would start. Unfortunately, it also explains how I would end. Did the Seer tell you about him?'
'No, he was waiting for me on the road.' Isak caught Doranei's reflection in the mirror, but saw nothing more than vague surprise on the man's face.
'I learned a little about Morghien – and you – from the Seer, but not enough, I suspect. What did interest me was that Morghien gave me a letter for your king.'
'And you read it?'
'I could hardly believe that was not the intention. It's there, in that pack by Siulents.'
Isak pointed to the one he meant and Mihn retrieved the scroll. Doranei opened it and scanned the first few lines. 'Velere's Fell,' he muttered to himself.
'A year ago I would have thought that to be a ghost story, but not since I heard about the Malich affair, about the Azaer cult-' Isak saw the hardened soldier flinch at his words and knew he'd scored some sort of hit.
'Please, my Lord, now is not the time. As it is, I am not the man you should speak to about this…' His voice trailed off as Isak held up a hand.
There was an angry glare in his eyes. 'Let me guess, the king is the one I should speak to. I've heard that before and it grows old.' The white-eye took a step forward, but Doranei managed not to shrink away from the looming figure.
Then I can only apologise. I am a servant of the king and I know only what I need to know to perform whatever function is required of me. As you can tell, King Emin is a man who keeps much to himself – but from this letter, from my presence, I can only assume he intends to provide you with answers. I understand your frustration, but please, be patient and enjoy our hospitality until we reach Narkang.'
Isak grimaced, but
made no further comment. He swept the
sheathed Eolis off the bedpost and fastened the sword-belt about his waist. With one hand resting on the emerald hilt, he cocked his head at Doranei and forced a smile on to his lips. 'Well then, lead on to this hospitality.'
CHAPTER 29
The journey to Narkang was swift and pleasant. The Parian party was carried by luxurious barge down the Morwhent River, accompanied by a merry procession of boats of all shapes and sizes. To Isak's immense surprise, he found the noblemen who welcomed him into their manors each evening to be likeable and open people; King Emin's rule was now twenty years established, but the titles were still held by those who had supported his conquest. In the place of the old nobility the king had installed merchants, ambitious minor nobles and more than a few pirates and smugglers who'd joined the war effort. It was said that Emin Thonal couldn't resist the friendship of an arrogant rogue, though a number of those had found to their cost that the king was not a man whose trust could be abused.
The Farlan saw a vibrant nation, proud of their successes and unashamed that they had no particular one of the seven tribes to call ancestor. It was a long way from how the Farlan liked to think of the 'lesser peoples', but that it worked was undeniable. When they exercised their horses each morning and evening it was with an escort of elite Kingsguard who clearly held the Ghosts up as their benchmark and were keen to prove themselves their equal in horsemanship and sparring. The competitions were good-natured and cheered on by the local people whose adulation of the Kingsguard was marvelled at by the Ghosts. Leaning over the barge's rail, watching the fields sliding past, Carel pointed out that it wasn't only Isak who had something to learn from this nation.
Isak cantered gently up the slope, studying the King's Man waiting for them at the top of the ridge. They were approaching Narkang, so they'd spent the whole morning in the saddle: tradition dictated that Farlan always ride into a foreign city and Isak wasn't about to break
with custom just yet. Doranei had taken himself off that morning, riding ahead of the party to ensure its path was unhindered.