The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (41 page)

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 at 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 every
thing 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.’

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.

Despite Isak’s initial suspicions, Doranei had proved good company
as they travelled through the country he loved. The man knew when
to talk and when to keep a comfortable silence. The Krann suspected
he had a few secrets of his own - perhaps all of the Brotherhood did - and they had taught him the value of silence.

There was a sparkle of spring in the air. A brisk breeze ran over the fields and whistled over the road before shivering through the branches of a bank of ash trees on the other side. Through the trees Isak could see neat rows of crops and a manor house in the distance.
Boys lazed on a paddock fence, coaxing horses over to them, while the
cattle they were tending drifted aimlessly in the meadow. As Isak and
his companions neared the peak of the rise, the wind changed direction and brought the taste of salt from the ocean.

They reached Doranei, who stretched an arm out to present his
city.

‘Behold, my Lord: Narkang, First City of the West.’

Beside Isak, Tila gasped. A wide, open plain stretched out before
them, painted the vibrant green of spring and dotted with dark copses
of copper beech and elm. In from the east came the Morwhent, the river that had carried them most of the way to the city, now running wide and slow. A pair of high arches spanned the river to a small island in the centre, which allowed the sandstone city wall to run
unbroken even by the river’s passage.

From the banks of the river the wall followed the curve of the ground up and around in a gentle undulation to encircle wide regular
streets of purple-slate rooftops.

Occupying the higher ground deeper inside was what could only have been the White Palace, its twin silver-capped towers glittering
in the sunlight. The lower ground of the western side, where the river
entered the city, was hidden by the walls, but a great copper dome shone in the sunlight. Past that, faint in the distance, Isak could see a soaring slender tower that would have been remarkable even in
Tirah.

And somewhere even further beyond, vague and grey in the distance, lay the ocean. Isak could feel the immense weight of water lurking at the back of his mind, an old and powerful presence, but comforting nonetheless. The magnificence of the ocean, stretching out to the distant horizon, beyond which lived the Gods, overshadowed even the glory that was Narkang.

A thousand flags fluttered and whipped from the walls of the city, a
disordered mix of colours and shapes, and a huge banner hung above
the Southern Gate. The banner was almost as large as the massive
copper-plated gate itself, and even at this distance, the visitors could
easily make out the golden bee with its wings outstretched over the
green background.

‘It’s a fine sight, is it not, my Lord?’ continued Doranei as the remaining Farlan soldiers vied for position to take in the view. ‘Visiting foreign climes is an easier thing to do when you’ve Narkang’s smile to return to.’

‘A fine sight indeed.’ Vesna and Carel nodded their agreement. The
city was confirmation that Narkang’s power equalled that of Tirah,
and they all knew it.

As if Narkang was not enough, the low plain in front of the city was
a hive of activity. At least ten great pavilions and stands were being
erected, while long swathes of tent cloth lay out on the ground, ready
to be raised. Hundreds of cut posts lay in stacked piles; cables and
ropes snaked all over the ground and a veritable army of people scurried in all directions with wagons and livestock. Flocks of sheep were
being herded to the joyful yaps and barks of the hounds protecting them, drowning the calls of the shepherds and those in their path.

The Spring Fair, my Lady,’ supplied Doranei as Tila cast him a questioning look. ‘It’s due to begin in two days, the day before the
Equinox. It will be the biggest yet. I believe the entire city will rejoice at your visit, Lord Isak.’

‘I see a scarlet banner over there. It’s hard to make out, but I’m
guessing it’s the Runesword of the Devoted?’

‘It is, my Lord.’

‘And you still think I’ll be welcomed by all?’

‘I doubt the Knight-Cardinal wishes to make an enemy of you, my
Lord.’

‘After what I did to his nephew, I hear he wants to make a corpse
of me.’ Isak laughed grimly.

‘His personal feelings are still secondary to the requirements of
his office, my Lord,’ Doranei said sternly. ‘First, there is the fact that
you might be the Saviour his Order has been waiting for; second, the
Devoted are not so powerful as to openly defy King Emin.’

‘Surely the existence of Piety Keep is a fairly obvious point of defiance,’ interjected Vesna. The Fortress of the Devoted was jokingly referred to as Piety Keep, a nickname the Order despised. Lesarl had warned them all that using it in Narkang could easily result in big
trouble.

Doranei scowled. Isak guessed that he didn’t mind about the name,
just that politics intruded on the pleasure of returning home. ‘The matter is not quite so simple, but I’m sure the king would prefer to debate it himself.’ He broke off as the two rangers trotted up with a third man, dressed like Doranei, right down to the bee at his throat.

Doranei smiled, and said, ‘My brother, Veil, has taken word to the king that you have arrived. Royal processions take a little time to get
moving. I’m sure you understand.’

Veil didn’t dismount, but touched his fingers to lips and forehead in salute to the followers of Nartis, struck his fist against Doranei’s and then whipped his horse around to return. Despite the similarity in dress, the man looked nothing like Doranei. Isak thought it a fair
assumption that under Veil’s long dark hair was another tattooed ear.

Carel ordered the guards to dismount, brush down their horses to
remove the morning’s dirt and tend to their uniforms - just one morning back in the saddle had taken its toll on the cream cloth. Isak found a handful of oatcakes in his saddlebag and a hard hunk of cheese to chew on as he swapped his saddle from Megenn to the more impressive Toramin. The gelding was a fine horse and superbly trained, but the fiery stallion was Isak’s favourite. Toramin’s dark flanks were
draped in a pure white cloth so that only his head, neck and hocks
were exposed. Isak’s helm dangled from his saddle, within easy reach.

Isak turned to see Vesna struggling into his armour for the first time
in weeks, chuckling to himself as the man fought to free himself of a
snag. Magic might have made the black-iron lighter than normal, but
it was no less awkward. Tila was already wearing full court dress; she
had ridden side-saddle all morning. Now she perched with practised ease, fastening charms and jewellery to her dress before wrapping a
silken scarf artfully about her head.

The wait was much shorter than anyone had anticipated. Isak, lazing on Toramin’s back, had been watching first Veil’s passage to the city and then the activity on the plain. Veil had disappeared inside
the city only a few minutes previously, but a faint chorus of trumpets
prompted a double column of horsemen to trot out through the gate and split away to line each side of the road. Once these troops were out and ready, a second fanfare announced another group of horses, this time no more than twenty in number.

In their usual order, the Farlan cantered down the slope. The spare horses and baggage had been quartered with a merchant Doranei knew - Isak knew that this meeting of rulers could potentially be momentous and he saw no reason for either ranger to have to say he
was a mile back and looking after the horses when Lord Isak met King
Emin for the first time. They might have been stoical veterans, but they didn’t deserve to miss out on the fun.

As soon as they heard the fanfare people arrived to line the broad
thoroughfare that led to the city. There was quite a crowd by the time
the Farlan neared the centre of the plain, all eyes straining to see the
foreign white-eye. As he passed the first few, Isak caught mutters and whispered oaths but he ignored them. He knew as well as anyone that
Siulents alone was an intimidating sight, and the enormous dragon-
emblazoned charger only added to the effect. Toramin’s shoulder was
just shy of six and a half feet from the ground; with Isak on top the
sight was absolutely awe-inspiring.

Looking ahead, Isak began to make out individual faces in the procession; he tried to fit them to what Tila had schooled him on over
the past few weeks. Out at the front was obviously Emin Thonal, King
of Narkang, dressed in his own colours. Some white material showed through slashes down the sides and arms, clearly the height of fashion, if the other noblemen were anything to go by. A wide-brimmed hat topped with a feather sat cocked to one side on his head, again echoed by those behind him. Isak couldn’t help but wonder, with all he’d heard about this man, whether he chose his dress just to see who
would follow.