The Stormcaller: Book One Of The Twilight Reign (59 page)

‘Are you sure?’ Carel looked far from happy at the decision.

‘We can ask the king for an escort, surely?’ This was a question Isak had wanted to avoid: he didn’t want the king to be privy to all his secrets, in case he had misjudged the man - the last thing he wanted was to leave open the opportunity to blame any ‘accident’ on the Knights of the Temples. Isak could see from Carel and Vesna’s reactions that he wasn’t the only one concerned about how much they were trusting the king.

‘From what I’ve found, the Ivy Rings would be a bad place for an ambush, no matter how isolated. As for Emin, I think we can trust him, but who knows - there aren’t that many Farlan I can trust completely. “Knowledge is power” - Lesarl’s favourite phrase.’ He laughed hollowly. ‘And
a wise man knows more than his closest friend.’

‘That’s true enough.’ Vesna gave the scarf a tug to check it was secure. ‘But you can take this too far sometimes.’

Isak looked down at the ground, refusing to look his bondsman in the eye.

‘Sometimes a man needs secrets. It doesn’t have to be because of a lack of trust.’

‘It seems to happen more often these days,’ said Carel. ‘Morghien, for one - you’ve said less than Mihn about him. What’s going on, Isak?’

‘Enough!’ he roared suddenly.

Tila flinched and looked away, but Carel didn’t even blink: Isak might be powerful now, rich even, but he was still the boy Carel had practically raised.

‘Not enough!’ he bellowed back. ‘Do you think yourself so wise now you can do everything alone? I’m not here to run your errands. If you expect me to be some meek little courtier then you can shove my title and Arugin up your arse.’

Isak didn’t reply, but clamped his jaws tightly shut.

Carel gave an exasperated snort and clouted the Krann round the head, ignoring the gasps from onlookers. ‘What’s wrong with you, boy? Is the magic rotting your brain, or has all this Saviour talk gone to your head?’

This time Isak gave a snarl and swatted Carel’s hand away, then reached out and grabbed a handful of his tunic and physically pulled him from his saddle. He brought Carel’s face up to his own.

Tila screamed and grabbed at the huge fist, but Isak shrugged her off without a glance.

‘Go on then,’ Carel croaked. ‘Hit me. Prove to the whole Land you’re nothing more than an animal. Perhaps I did waste my time on you. Maybe I should have given you to that mercenary on the road after all, rather than gift the Land another monster with more power than sense. You’re just one man, Isak. Whatever gifts you have, however big you are, you’re still just a man. You can’t fight a war alone - you’ll fail us all.’

Isak’s fist quivered as fury coursed through his body and the hot scent of rage filled his nostrils. Carel looked into his boy’s cold eyes and, for the first time, he felt a pang of fear. The white-eye’s face was flushed red and his lips were curled back in a snarl. Sparks danced from his tiny black pupils.

The only sound Carel could hear was the savage rush of Isak’s breathing as he struggled to speak. ‘Don’t fail me, boy.’ The words were little more than a whispered prayer, but they doused the fire instantly.

Isak jerked in shock, accidentally shaking Carel like a rag doll. He looked around at the others clustered around him, then, with a stunned expression on his face, he lowered Carel to the floor. He clung hard to the pommel of the saddle and bent low over Toramin’s neck, trembling uncontrollably. Carel reached a hand out to steady himself against the horse’s shoulder, panting as hard as Isak.

The Ghosts had formed a circle around them as soon as Isak started raising his voice, warding them from curious onlookers, but themselves were casting panicky looks at their commander and their lord.

‘I’m sorry.’ Isak sounded as weak as a kitten, but human once more. Carel coughed, then reached out to Isak. Though he had no strength to squeeze Isak’s hand, his words were clear: ‘I know you are, lad.’

As Carel filled his lungs and breathed deeply, colour returned to his cheeks. He held on to Isak’s hand and looked up at him, worried. ‘But one day, my boy, it might go too far; you might not be able to pull back in time. If you want advisors who care about you and not your power, remember what that means. It might not be my place as a loyal subject to ask what puts that hunted look on your face, but as your friend, I’m going to, whether I can help or not. If you keep everything to yourself, it’ll drive you mad.’

Isak lifted his head, eyes filled with sadness. ‘I know, but Carel, I don’t understand it myself. As for explaining it to you, I wouldn’t know where to begin. I’m not even sure there is a beginning.’ He still looked shamefaced, but held up a hand to ward off further questions. ‘If we survive today, I promise I’ll tell you all I can. I owe you that, I know that, and much more.’

Carel looked at him for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. ‘That’ll do, boy. I’ll be waiting.’ He reached out an arm and Isak helped him back on his horse.

Now Isak turned to the others. Tila was visibly shocked, as was Mistress Daran, who was ineffectually stroking the green silk sleeve of Tila’s dress, as much to soothe herself as her charge. Isak opened his mouth to speak, but the words went unsaid. What could he say? That it wouldn’t happen again - that he, a white-eye, would never lose his temper again? He tried to catch Tila’s eye, but her long hair hid her face.

Touching his heels to Toramin’s flank, Isak restarted their advance on the jousting arena. The sun spread thick golden warmth over the trampled grass. Plump cloud rode smoothly on the brisk wind as they raced over the Land. The plain was already crowded and a chorus of songs, shouting, cheers, jeers and laughter filled the air. The public galleries for the jousting were already full as people jostled for a better view. Clearly word of Tila’s bet had got around. Five hundred gold coins - emins or any other currency - was a fortune. The people of Narkang wanted to cheer their champion.

Isak watched as a group of children squabbled over a pair of makeshift lances. The two boys who won out each had a cape fixed about his shoulders. One wore black, the other yellow. They were just about to perch on the backs of the two who were being the horses when a smudge-faced little girl noticed the Farlan. She gave a shriek of excitement and in a matter of seconds, the column had grown a tail of wondering eyes and dirty faces, all marvelling not at Isak, but at Count Vesna, resplendent in his battle dress.

Isak tried to smile but couldn’t. He knew they were hanging back from him because they were scared of him, and he knew they had reason to be.

 

‘My Lord is well?’ the king enquired as Isak took his seat. As the previous day, the queen was absent and Count Antern filled the chair beside the king. To excuse her from the violence likely to follow, the queen had been forced to spend most of the fair secluded in her chambers, apparently suffering from a severe headache.

Isak gave a curt nod and the king pressed no further. His pale face told enough of a tale, enforced by the way Mihn was fussing around his master, pressing him to eat. At first Isak refused anything other than a mug of tea, but soon he started picking idly at the delicacies piled high on platters.

‘The count is well rested, I hope,’ Emin prompted, looking at Carel and Tila, both of whom looked as wan as their lord, but they both nodded firmly.

‘Most certainly, your Majesty,’ the young woman told him, adding sternly, ‘he will prove more than a match for Sir Bohv.’

As she spoke, the knight himself trotted out to greet the crowd. He was a particularly tall man, standing a good two inches over his Farlan opponent. He had a friendly, open face, and the wild excesses of his carrot hair were checked by the red-stained helm that matched his armour. Though the knight was a devout member of the Knights of the Temples, he remained an individual, in this case displaying a fine sense of humour. His colours were yellow and azure, but as an affectionate nod to both himself and his Order, Sir Bohv’s armour was painted bright red.

‘I hope so,’ the king chuckled. ‘If I’m to win this bet with Lord Isak, I’d hate for any man but my champion to claim victory over Count Vesna.’

‘After yesterday’s performance, your Majesty, I believe your Sunbee should try to be rather less ornamental.’

Emin laughed at the truth in her words. His champion had been a hair’s breadth from serious injury, too busy playing up to the crowd as he tilted against the knight with the Brotherhood tattoo.

‘But he is young, and such folly is understandable, wouldn’t you agree, Lord Isak?’

The Krann grunted; he’d been deep in his own thoughts. Emin’s smile sparked a flicker of irritation, but he suppressed the feeling and inclined his head to concede the point.

‘Unfortunately, the poor boy may find his follies catch up with him soon enough,’ continued the king. The twinkle in his eye could not fail to arouse Tila’s curiosity.

‘And what follies are these, your Majesty?’

‘I gather his celebrations lasted well into the evening yesterday - and now it appears he is expected to be wearing no fewer than three favours on his arm today, and that leaves him in a pretty pickle.’

Tila smiled at the notion, until she imagined Count Vesna riding out with three scarves on his arm. ‘Your Majesty seems most amused by a situation that cannot fail to distract his champion.’

‘It has to be a matter of some concern for him, that’s true - but then I realised there was a way to avoid this situation.’

‘Oh?’ Her smile fled.

The king smiled even more broadly. ‘Well, as my champion, I could solve matters easily by commanding him to honour the queen and ask for her favour.’

‘But the queen is not here,’ Tila faltered.

‘Exactly my problem,’ the king replied brightly. ‘So who could my champion legitimately ask, I wonder? As my representative, he would have to pick a lady of sufficient import, perhaps make it a gesture of goodwill—’

‘Oh no, he can’t—You can’t ...’

Emin clapped his hands together as if the thought had only just struck him. ‘But of course, a visiting dignitary! Ah, Lady Tila, that is a generous and wise offer.’

‘But Count Vesna already wears my favour. It would be unseemly for both men to—’ Tila’s protestations wilted under Emin’s relentless smile. The glitter in his eyes showed how much he was enjoying himself. Even today, he had time for games.

‘I’m sure the count will understand - a gesture of friendship between nations, that’s all. And you would be saving three delicate young ladies from terrible heartbreak.’

‘I—’ She sagged, conceding defeat, trying to ignore a vision of Vesna’s expression as she publicly handed her favour to the Sunbee, who for all his swagger, was a remarkably handsome young man. ‘If Lord Isak agrees, then I would be happy to help,’ she said, hoping Isak would leap to her rescue.

But Isak was still lost in his own thoughts: now he was staring at the figures opposite him. He could smell more than one mage out there. The woman seated beside Herolen Jex, Duchess Forell he assumed, was returning his scrutiny. Isak felt sure that she knew what he was looking for, that she could feel his presence questing softly out. She was a tall woman, and his extraordinary sight enabled him to make out her proud, imposing face; her hair and eyebrows were oddly dark against her skin. The typical inhabitants of Narkang had pale, sandy-brown colouring, but it looked to Isak as if the women of the White Circle were marking themselves out by dyeing their hair a dark reddish-brown.

Isak found his eyes drifting away from the duchess and up to the woman sitting behind her, who was draped similarly in a white shawl, although arranged so that it covered almost her entire head. As Isak stared curiously, the woman looked up and met his eyes; in the shadow of her shawl, Isak could hardly see her face at all. When she smiled at him, he felt it rather than saw it. A cold tremble slithered down his spine. Amidst the clamour of the crowd, he heard only her breathing. Through the radiance of sunshine and the glitter of a thousand reflections, he saw only the darkness of her pupils. Isak’s head began to throb as though it had been suddenly plunged into icy water.

‘My Lord?’ Tila’s voice cut through the fog, startling Isak enough for him to break from the hypnotising stare. Seeing his alarm, Tila reached out and laid a hand on his arm. The touch brought him back to reality.

‘I’m fine,’ he said to Tila reassuringly, then, turning to the king, ‘Emin, who is the woman sitting over there?’ The king made no sign that he had noticed Isak’s public informality. He followed Isak’s gaze.

‘That’s Duchess Forell,’ he said, a questioning look on his face.

‘No, I meant the woman behind her, the one with her head still covered.’

‘I’m not sure. I think I’ve spotted all the titled women of the White Circle, so she cannot be particularly—unless that is Ostia.’

‘Ostia?’

‘A name I’ve heard - nothing more, unfortunately. Maybe her name is some kind of pun, that she’s come from the east, but it’s so obviously bad that it must have a greater significance. Why?’

‘She keeps her face almost entirely covered, and she’s not moved since they arrived. Some of the women have been sent off to fetch or deliver messages, I’d guess, and they’re all dripping in jewels and thus I’d assumed titled - but she, who looks like a commoner, just sits without even speaking.’

‘A good observation,’ the king said. ‘Can you tell if she’s a mage?’

Isak shrugged. ‘There’s something strange about her, I know that much.’

The king sat back and whispered in Coran’s ear. The man nodded and moved off up the tiers as Isak returned his attention to the impending joust, which was just about to start.

The two knights cantered past each other, saluting each other with their lances. Sir Bohv’s visor was raised and he offered the count a smile too. Vesna gave a twitch of the helm in reply, but the roaring lion decoration made that appear less than friendly. As they reached opposite ends of the fence, Sir Bohv flicked his visor down and both men yanked their steeds about, kicking their spurs in hard. The crowd collectively drew in breath until the two men met and a massive cheer raced around the stands. Both men hit: Vesna’s lance glanced off Sir Bohv’s shield; the knight’s scarlet shaft shattered against the count’s shoulder-plate.