The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (37 page)

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 recep
tion 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 wa
s 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 always 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 yourself?’ 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
campsite, 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 bow
men 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.