The Stormcaller: Book One Of The Twilight Reign (19 page)

‘Scion Lomin, what forces do you have left?’

‘Four spear legions and one of archers with Lomin. Divisions of each are apparently under siege in Kohm, Castle Shaidec, Vitil and Peak’s Gate. We have not had news from Peak’s Gate in three weeks now.’

‘Where are the enemy?’

‘The majority remain here, from what we can tell. They cannot have had time to crush those garrisons yet, not the way they have been moving. Peasants arriving to seek sanctuary have reported a battle at Broken River a week ago, our cavalry must have been ambushed there. We have heard nothing from them.’

Bahl gave a sombre shake of the head; a Farlan army without cavalry was lacking its greatest weapon. If the elves had destroyed Lomin’s horsemen, they wouldn’t worry too much about leaving smaller garrisons of infantry behind their lines.

‘Can you hold the walls?’

‘I supervise the defence personally.’

‘That is not what I asked.’

The pause was longer this time.

‘Yes, I can. They are preparing siege weapons, but at this time they are keeping the trolls well away. Our battle mages say they have the measure of the enemy and can keep the walls standing.’

‘Good. The army rides under Suzerain Anvee’s command in two days. Do not do anything else foolish until they arrive.’

As the mage mouthed those words, his eyes suddenly flew open and he gasped, then wilted backwards into the waiting arms of his escort. Two guards came in with a litter and carried the mage away, closely followed by his colleague. It looked to Isak like the dead faint was something expected. A strange life’s calling, this: to fall into a trance until you faint - yet invaluable for a dispersed people.

 

Only when the door had closed behind them did Bahl sit and look at the other men in the room.

The Suzerains Tebran and Fordan had been summoned to attend this meeting. Kehed Tebran was a regular guest at the palace, for his domain surrounded Tirah’s lands. He divided his time between his family residence and apartments kept for him at the palace; the best doctors were to be found in the city, and Lord Bahl had made it quite clear that one of his most loyal supporters could always rely on his hospitality.

Beside Tebran was his closest friend, Fordan, a belligerent old soldier who sat bolt upright in his chair, bristling with restrained fury. In a corner, perched uncomfortably on hard chairs, were his eldest son and Suzerain Volah’s heir, both seventeen summers, who were watching the proceedings with keen interest.

‘Scion Tebran, did you meet Karlat Lomin last year at the Festival of Swords?’ Lesarl’s voice broke the heavy silence and made the young man flinch in surprise. He’d been invited to sit in, and it was a carefully calculated honour. It had been made clear enough by his father that he and Scion Volah, his best friend, were to sit quietly and say nothing.

‘I ah, I did briefly, sir,’ he said, trying to speak succinctly and fluently. ‘He spoke to Sohn—ah, Scion Volah, I mean - for longer; he was too suspicious of me, of course.’ The young man tried not to squirm under Bahl’s relentless gaze. He looked relieved when it switched to his friend.

‘Scion Volah?’

‘I went to his celebration feast, yes, Chief Steward. He threw a ball when his father officially handed over Lomin’s Torch to him.’

‘A good party?’ Isak knew Lesarl well enough now to recognise the edge to that innocent question. He leaned forward and continued to glare at the scion to distract him further. The Krann and Chief Steward might have been far from friends, but neither had any time for the foppish young aristocrats of high society.

‘It was excellent, yes; the best of the festival.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed Duke Lomin’s acknowledgement of his terminal illness; I am quite sure he does not. Tell me, at the festival, did you actually do anything other than drink and whore?’

‘I ... we joined in the hunt, sir, like everyone else.’

‘So you sat on a horse talking to pretty young girls and drinking brandy. Did you even enter the forest?’

‘Lesarl, now is not the time,’ Bahl broke in. He could see Lesarl’s questions running for ages, to no useful end. Isak didn’t miss the look of relief on Scion Volah’s face. ‘I’m rather more interested in the death of General Elierl.’

‘That witch of a duchess must be behind it!’ spluttered Suzerain Fordan. ‘I’ve known Elierl for thirty years; he wouldn’t have killed himself. That little bastard probably had him murdered so he could—’

‘Enough, Fordan. I don’t think the scion would be stupid enough to have him killed, but you are right: driving the general to suicide would take the duchess’s hand. However, we are not going to do anything about it.’

‘What?’

‘There are other matters to consider. Please trust me. Scion Volah, if you find an opportunity to reacquaint yourself with Scion Lomin, you will do so. No doubt he will be keen to host another party once the army arrives - after all, it is not often so many nobles go that far east.

‘Isak, you will keep your distance from Lomin. I don’t want a duel between the two of you, and frankly, I don’t know which of you has the hotter temper.’

It was meant, in part, as a joke, but Isak just scowled and stared at the floor. Since he’d accidentally killed the high priest a few weeks back, life had been very different. People now stepped around him even more warily, wondering - as Isak himself did - just how dangerous he really was. What had actually happened remained a mystery to all of them, not least Isak himself, who had no memory of the incident. He recalled the presence of the old man, a dry, calm voice in his head, and then nothing but pain and light, and in the blur that followed, the high priest had died.

For now, there was no sign that the question would be resolved, but the city was buzzing with rumours of the strange and terrible powers their Krann wielded. The original goal, to gain some measure of control over his magic, had failed completely, and now his frustration and anger had another point of focus. Secretive research in the palace library had revealed that the figure on his chest was an elven rune. Elvish, though the basis and common root of all languages in the Land, was unintelligible to anyone other than scholars. Elvish was built around one hundred and twenty-one core runes, each with a variety of meanings, depending on context. By themselves they were simple angular shapes, set in a circle, if they were single words. The scroll Isak had understood the most said they provided a general concept or idea, in the case of
his
rune, ‘heart’ - although Isak had glumly realised that meanings could range from the stone in a peach to the crux of an argument, or the spirit of a nation.

Nowhere did he find a reason why the rune had been burnt into his chest, and until he could work that out, Isak had no intention of sharing the matter with anyone else. Instead, he’d taken himself off to the palace forge, where the master smith had been delighted to teach the Krann how to forge a sword, one in the elven style, which was far too complex and time-consuming to equip an army, but ideal to keep the Krann busy and out of the way of nervous soldiers and palace staff. The result was a long single-edged blade, balanced in a very different way to a rapier. Kerin had claimed it immediately and set about mastering the weapon: he was like a child with a new toy.

Isak shook himself out of his reverie and started paying attention again as Bahl said, ‘Lesarl, make sure the army is ready to march in two days; everything we can put together in that time, and send riders out to every suzerain able to catch up.’

‘You’re not riding with us?’ asked Suzerain Fordan. He was a grandfather, and well past the age that any would expect him to fight a battle, let alone join a forced march in winter, but there was no man in Tirah who would dare to suggest he didn’t come.

‘There is a vampire in the city. I don’t intend this one to be given the chance to fly before we catch it.’

The news startled both Isak and the young scions, but the older men had seen it all before. Their expressions turned to sharp interest; they knew well the cat-and-mouse games it would take to catch a vampire.

As unofficial Commander of the Guard, Kerin stood to brief them all. The Swordmaster coughed to clear his throat and tugged the sword at his hip into a more comfortable position. ‘We’ve had killings on and off for several years,’ he began, ‘but there is no real pattern or regularity, which is why it went unnoticed for so long. The Guard isn’t set up for efficient policing of the entire city.’ He paused for a fraction, giving Lesarl a look that was totally ignored before continuing, ‘It isn’t the same creature we had last time, the one that, unfortunately, escaped us.’

Tebran nodded. ‘Ah well, what can I say? The man was a drunken fool,’ he muttered, raising his mug in toast to his father, the man who had let the news slip in a tavern one night and caused the beast to flee.

The Swordmaster smiled and continued, ‘Most assuredly, but the vampire this time is cunning. That is why you were not told of it earlier, Lord Isak. The last one would have been a good challenge for your growing skills, but we fear this one is greater. Lord Bahl is the only mage we have capable of hunting one down alone.’

Isak nodded, grateful that Kerin had passed over Isak’s own inadequacies in front of men he would be leading into battle.

‘I will stay for as long as needed, then catch you up,’ Bahl declared, then, looking pointedly at Isak, ‘Do not get it into your head to look for the creature; you’ve danger enough waiting for you outside Lomin. In the meantime, you’re not to leave the palace without a detachment of Ghosts. I don’t want you involved.’

 

Two days later, Bahl sat in his personal chambers, trying to force the muzzy confusion of sleep from his mind. The effort of eating a bowl of honeyed oats defeated him and he sank back into his chair, looking down at the bustle below. The wind rushing in through the wide-open windows helped somewhat, but his fatigue was unnatural in origin: he had spent much of the previous night letting his soul soar high in the heavens. A storm had raged over Lomin, and Bahl had gone with it, directing as much of its strength as he could against the besiegers. The old lord shivered at the memory of the intoxicating blend of pleasure and fear he felt as his own considerable magic entwined with that vast elemental power.

The effort required to master the storm was massive, and he couldn’t even tell whether it had worked - the distance and the strength of the storm were too great to gain much more than an impression of what was happening - but it was a useful ability. Bahl suspected that Isak would be even better at it than he was; there was a savagery about the youth that would suit riding with the storm.

Bahl had played with this storm out of a sense of guilt: the real reason he was not marching with the army had less to do with the suspected vampire - although that was true - and more to do with the death of a friend, as Lesarl’s knowing eyes had recognised. A white-eye’s longevity meant that generally they had few friends, but those he had, Bahl treasured. He had been absent at the death of the one he loved most, so he had resolved to never let those who meant most to him die alone. The abbot of a nearby monastery was one.

‘And yet it interferes with my duty to my people,’ Bahl murmured to himself. ‘Times are still so precarious; what will they think if I’m not there for the battle?’ As if in answer to his question, the writings of a warrior-monk centuries dead surfaced in his mind:
Doubts cloud purpose, in battle as in life. No swordsman is complete without resolve and purpose of movement.
Bahl nodded wearily; his mind would not be swayed on the point, so he must cast off the guilt. It would do him no good to doubt his own actions, there were plenty of others to do that.

What did worry him was the elven army’s strange behaviour. That they were attacking at the onset of winter was illogical; their rush to besiege Lomin deepened the mystery even more. Was there something in Lomin they wanted, or was the object of their attack more obscure than that? Was this siege the product of some minor prophecy, a feud between elven noble houses or something even more troubling?

‘Damn you, Isak, why have these elves come? Have you brought this down on us?’ Now he felt guilty for his thoughts: this was the first time he had voiced out loud the words he knew Lesarl was also thinking. It was an unfair accusation, perhaps, but a very real possibility.

Bahl hauled himself to his feet and walked to the long table in the centre of the room. Sleep would have to wait. On the table, neatly folded and pressed, were two leather under-suits, one tailored to Isak’s current measurements and the second to an estimate of how big the Krann might be in a few weeks, somewhere between Bahl’s size and Isak’s current build.

The tailor had been overwhelmed when Lord Bahl himself had appeared in his shop late one evening, but it had been necessary. Isak was growing at a prodigious rate; he was already significantly taller and heavier than he had been when he arrived, and the growth spurt wasn’t slowing down. Growing pains were doing little for the young man’s mood, but the benefits were clear.

As for the armour on top of the leather, Bahl suspected that would find its own accommodation. The elves of old had been taken with Kasi Farlan, the man who’d been the model for all white-eyes, because he had matched them in size as well as skill.

Bahl picked the bundles up and tucked them under his arm. He started for the door, then hesitated and retrieved his massive broadsword from the stand beside the fireplace. Looking at the weapon, named by its maker White Lightning, he had to wonder whether even Eolis would tempt him away from this brutal and inelegant sword. Its fat double-edged blade curved out into spikes at the hilt which should have made it too heavy but for the magic it contained - yet he’d owned it for so long he couldn’t imagine himself going into battle with any other weapon.

He made his way down to Isak’s chambers, where he let the guard in the corridor knock once to announce him before striding in. Isak was rising from the desk as Bahl entered, a sprawl of open books before him. Lady Tila sat to one side and jumped up a fraction after Isak had. Bahl caught her expression and sighed inwardly; it looked like she was becoming fast friends with the Krann - perhaps more, judging by the closeness of their seats. He noticed her fingers closed tightly around the enamel crest that pinned the sash at her waist; it appeared that the girl’s affection did not extend to all white-eyes.