The Stormcaller: Book One Of The Twilight Reign (36 page)

‘I’ve heard you speak of Carel before; who is he?’ the count asked.

‘Carel - Sergeant Betyn Carelfolden,’ Isak said. ‘He taught me everything I know, not just how to fight, but to rein in my temper, to think before reacting - it may not look like it, but I could have been much worse!’ He laughed, then explained, ‘Carel was a Ghost, so he was fair. He didn’t despise me just because I was a white-eye, and he didn’t hate me for killing my mother like my father did.’ He smiled, remembering. ‘He’s probably the reason my father and I didn’t end up killing each other.’

‘Why don’t you send for him, this Carelfolden, if he’s your friend?’ Vesna asked curiously.

Isak shrugged. He’d thought of doing just that from time to time, but somehow he’d never actually done anything about it - he wasn’t sure why that was. Carel’s smile and gruff voice composed almost the entirety of Isak’s good childhood memories. He was the one who had urged Isak to be more than just a white-eye, who’d borne in silence the brunt of a young man’s frustration as it boiled over. Carel was almost the only person Isak gave a damn about, and the only person he wanted to be proud of him. Still something held him back.

‘My Lord? Would it not be good to have another man you could trust? One whose opinion is worthwhile? If he was a Ghost, then he’ll be trustworthy and capable, and will already know that the life of the nobility is often less than noble. You’ll need men of your own, men who are loyal to you before anyone else.’

‘Are you saying I can’t trust whoever Bahl does?’

Vesna shook his head. ‘Not at all. But the Chief Steward is the servant of the Lord of the Farlan, no matter who that is. Suzerains like Torl or Tebran, or Swordmaster Kerin, they’re devoted to Lord Bahl himself: they’re friends as well as vassals. I’m not saying they’re a danger to you, not at all, but you have to recognise that you now wield great political power in your own right. But you’re only one man, and a young one at that. I’m loyal to Lord Bahl, and Nartis of course, but my bond is specifically to you, Suzerain Anvee. My point is: Lord Bahl has his own people to worry about his interests, and friends to act as confidants.’

Isak held up a hand to stop the count, already convinced. He didn’t want to think too hard about the political situation right now: all the secret agendas and wheelings and dealings were still a mystery; he was having a hard enough time remembering who could be trusted and how much now without adding a whole new layer of intrigue. ‘You’re right, you’re absolutely right. I’ll send for Carel - don’t ever call him Carelfolden; he saves that for formal occasions only. Can you send a messenger for me? Probably best to leave it at the Hood and Cape in the Golden Tower district.’ He didn’t add ‘before I change my mind’, though the words were lurking at the back of his throat.

He sighed. Carel had truly made him what he was - he recalled as if it were yesterday, his fifteenth birthday, when, after yet another brawl with the other boys of the wagon-train, Carel had taken him aside, dismissing Isak’s whining complaints with one sentence:
You have to act as more than the colour of your eyes.
Those words imprinted themselves on to Isak’s heart, and when worry or anger clouded his thoughts, he tried to cling to that conversation to help him come to his senses ... but now he had the memory of his behaviour in the battle. His disadvantages might not be obvious, but Isak knew they were there, and that he had to overcome them.

Bringing Carel to the palace was the sensible course. His mantra whenever Isak’s fiery temper got the better of his brain was more soldiers’ wisdom:
You’re not perfect, life isn’t perfect. There are more important things to be pissed off about, so save your temper for a real problem.

‘I’ll do so immediately,’ said Vesna, relieved. ‘He’ll be good for you to have around. If Carel knew you in your previous life, he’ll give his opinion to the man, not the title.’

And is that what I’m afraid of?
Isak wondered.
Do I want Carel to continually tell me I’m wrong? Do I want to be the errant child all my life?
He turned back to the road ahead, and to the same view they had had for the past two weeks. Only the Palace Guard and one legion of light cavalry were returning with them, and to the casual observer it looked as though every Ghost held the reins of a spare horse. A fog of gloom surrounded them: their losses had been severe, both on the field and in the days following as men succumbed to their wounds. When they arrived home in Tirah, the citizens would have to tread softly for a few weeks.

‘And to what do you give your opinion, the man or the title?’ There was an edge to Isak’s voice that he’d not intended. Uneasy nights as growing pains racked his body coupled with the relentless days of travel were making him irritable and restless. His newly developed muscles were crying out for exercise beyond hacking chunks from unfortunate trees that he passed by. With Bahl in a similar mood - albeit for different reasons - Isak fought extra hard to keep control of his temper, but there was always a trace of pent-up anger when he spoke.

‘To both, my Lord.’ Vesna’s reply was assured and immediate.

‘Both?’ Isak laughed, a little bitterly. ‘You’re remarkably honest, especially when compared to your peers. They watch me like a wolf that’s just arrived in camp.’

‘That’s because they are not from Anvee; they are not
your
bondsmen. You have no reason to trust them; they have no need to earn your trust.’

‘And you do?’

Vesna smiled and nodded. ‘As my liege and holder of my bond, you could destroy me with a few words. You are also one of the most powerful men in the tribe, so as your star ascends, so will mine. That means I speak to your title in part, but not all. If I’m going to tie myself so closely to your cause, I might as well try to like you; I can always fall back on being owned by you if that doesn’t work.’

In spite of his mood, Vesna’s words made Isak laugh out loud. He did like the man, for his confidence as much as his honesty. All he needed was a reason to trust him, and this one sounded as good as any. Bahl certainly seemed to approve; Isak was quite sure he’d have made any disapprobation clear if he thought Count Vesna to be a danger. Isak had been glad of his presence over the last week or two: he was proving to be a useful man to have around.

He made a decision and turned to face his bondsman. ‘In that case, Vesna, I would be grateful if you would not forget that I have a real name. It might not be impressive, I might not like it all that much, and it might have been given as an insult, but it’s mine. Isak is who I am. If you’re to be a friend of mine, you had better remember that.’

‘I will, my Lord. Thank you.’

Isak turned sharply, in case he was being mocked, but found only a broad smile on Vesna’s face. ‘Unfortunately, I suspect I have more enemies than friends,’ he said, quietly. ‘I don’t pretend to understand why I was made Krann, or why I was given these gifts. I’m far from being a Saviour—’

‘Perhaps it is something you have to become, rather than be born into?’ Vesna didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic.

‘Me? Not in this lifetime!’ replied Isak with a bitter laugh. ‘But it doesn’t matter what I think. Within a few hours of being Chosen, two men I’d never met tried their best to kill me. That’s too much of a coincidence for me.’

Vesna looked surprised. ‘I heard about the training ground, but I met Sir Dirass Certinse several times. I can’t see him offering to be assassin for anyone - and his family would hardly have wanted him to do it that way if they’d been involved.’

‘I know, which makes me think there’s someone watching from the shadows. They both looked like rabid dogs, like they were not themselves.’

Vesna made a choked sound and his face paled. ‘That sounds like the sort of magic necromancers play with.’

‘Let’s not get too excited. Half the Land is worried about what I might be - either Aryn Bwr returned to life, or an obstacle to his rise. How many of them would think it better I just died?’

‘True enough. If you weren’t Farlan, I’m sure the Chief Steward would have your murder planned already. Anything else that might make sense of all this?’

Isak hesitated. There were some things he didn’t mean to tell anyone, not until he understood them himself - he had no idea what was significant or not. The Gods didn’t work in obvious ways; the Age of Fulfilment was just that, an Age. It could last centuries. Still he found himself saying, ‘There is one thing. A voice.’

‘A voice?’

‘I hear it in my dreams sometimes, a girl’s voice. I think she’s calling me, but I can’t understand her.’

‘Looking for you? I doubt that would impress Lady Tila.’ He winked.

‘Tila? You’ve never even met her!’

‘You forget that soldiers gossip worse than washerwomen.’ Vesna laughed. ‘From what I hear, your pretty little maid’s taken quite a fancy to you.’

‘Then you’re as bad as the rest of them,’ he growled. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a white-eye. She isn’t.’

‘She might not mind what you are, not all do.’

‘And not all have parents expecting to marry their daughters off well, and expecting children. I may well live long enough to fight beside your great-grandson, but I’ll never have one of my own.’

‘I’m sorry, my Lord—Isak. I didn’t mean to offend.’

Isak gave a sigh and stretched his arms up into the air, then rolled his shoulders forward and back, attempting to work the stiffness from them. ‘I know, and I’m not, really, but Tila’s nothing to do with all this, so let’s keep her out of it. As for the girl in my dreams, I feel I recognise her, and yet I don’t.’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘What can I do? It’s just another mystery about me that I can’t do anything about. Maybe it’s just designed to drive me insane wondering about it. But I
will
find out one day, there’s no doubt about that, and all I can do is be ready for whatever’s waiting.’

 

The following weeks saw the army getting ever smaller as knights and hurscals slipped away in small groups to their own holdings. The rest of the troops searched the horizon for the peaks of Tirah’s towers as the miles passed away beneath their tramping feet. When they reached Fordan, the sombre mood deepened. The new suzerain, a greying man of forty summers, had struggled into his father’s armour despite a deep wound in his shoulder. Now he walked before the coffin, leading the cortege home.

That evening, the suzerain crammed as many as possible into the manor’s great hall and spoke for a few minutes with dignified grief about those they had lost. As a last gesture to his beloved father, he ordered up the contents of their cellars, and barrels of beer and wine were rolled out for the endless toasts to the regiments who’d fought and the men who’d died. Everyone knew the late Suzerain Fordan would have hugely approved of having a hundred drunken soldiers as his memorial.

Isak sat back from it all, feeling out of place, though he’d been as much a part of the battle as any of them. A pang of guilt ran through him as he saw a tear in the new suzerain’s eye as he raised a glass to his father’s memory. That was something Isak would never be able to do - not even if his father managed some great feat of heroism. Isak doubted he’d feel much at all when Horman died.

His hands tightened into fists as part of him cried shame. Rising abruptly, he slipped away from the increasingly drunken mourners, following a servant’s directions to a tight spiral staircase that led away from the hall. He told himself he didn’t belong there, belting out marching songs, and stepped out on to a high terrace overlooking the fields. The crisp quiet of evening, with the hunter’s moon dropping behind the distant pines, was a better place to remember the dead.

Isak idly caressed the emerald set into Eolis’ pommel. The cut surfaces were silky in the sharp winter air; the silver claws that held the stone were wet with cold. The wide river that cut through the neat lines of fields looked calm in the moonlight, but it ran both swift and dangerous. Isak watched the phantom clouds of his breath push out over the crenellations, then they were swept away into nothing.

A finger of cold suddenly flashed down Isak’s spine and he flinched in surprise. Then an icy prickle on his neck made him look abruptly over his shoulder. The terrace was only ten yards long, and it remained resolutely empty. Alterr’s light from high above had cast a deep shadow on the wall behind him, but no one - or
thing
loitered in it, as far as Isak could see. There was no window where someone could observe him, and when he embraced a sliver of magic, he was assured that there truly was not a soul nearby.

Still Isak felt uncomfortable, as if there were a physical presence standing at his shoulder. The bite in the air crept inside his clothes, and the shadows grew deep and ancient. His hand closed tight about Eolis. Still he could see nothing. A flicker of panic set in. As a cloud moved over Alterr’s face, Isak shuddered : this bitter, dark place was not for mortal breath. He turned and hurried back inside.

 

From the shadows, the boy’s precipitous flight was noted with some amusement. His uncertainty, melancholy and jumbled fears left a sweet aroma lingering in the air.

Isak was glad of the silk mask covering his face as the column of horsemen clattered their way through the streets of Tirah. The crowds had braved a brisk wind and swirling eddies of snow to line the streets all the way to the palace. Under scarves and caps skin was reddened and raw, but lifted by the smiles and cheers that greeted the troops. A victory parade through the city always brought out the people, if only to gawp at the Farlan cavalry in all their colourful finery. Even the Ghosts had made the effort to look their best, and the knights were as gaudy as ever, but it was Isak who drew everyone’s attention.