The Stormcaller: Book One Of The Twilight Reign (67 page)

Isak looked more closely at the woman, who appeared to be no more than thirty. She had long dark hair creeping out from under her hood, and piercing, knowing eyes. She stood so still it was as if she were of another place and time, set apart from worldly concerns. Isak could see a soft smile on her face.

‘I thought they had no interest in men,’ he said through Mihn.

‘They don’t, but they welcome you as a brother.’

‘Have they told you that?’ Isak asked.

When Mihn translated Isak’s words, her only reply was a sniff of scorn.

‘Are you the witch of Llehden?’

‘I am a witch,’ she said.

A figure stepped out beside her. It had the shape of a slender, lithe man, but little else was human. Its pale, hairless skin drawn tight over harsh features reminded Isak of the mercenary Aracnan. The figure - the gentry - had sharp, narrow eyes that looked completely black in this light - almost the complete opposite of Isak’s own white eyes. The gentry looked poised either to attack or flee, but neither impulse showed on its impassive face. It wore a robe of stitched leaves, tied at the waist by a switch of what looked like willow. Its feet were bare, and the two largest toes were pushed in the black soil where it stood.

By the time Isak had finished studying the gentry he realised there was a group of them; they had arrived as silently as wraiths. The first, their representative maybe, regarded Isak. He remembered the king warning him that the gentry had short tempers. If they truly were greeting him as a brother, then sitting atop Megenn and staring down at them was probably deeply insulting.

Isak pulled off the silk mask and slipped from his horse, dropping lightly to the ground.

The gentry shot him a grin, flashing long canines, and bowed low, though keeping his eyes on Isak all the while. Isak found himself bowing too, almost as low, which produced another predatory smile. Then it spoke in a barking chatter, firing sounds out through the night that were echoed out by the unseen gentry still among the trees. Without waiting for a response, the figure turned and darted away. All around, Isak heard sudden movement and glimpsed shapes flashing through the slivers of moonlight between the trees. He guessed at least fifty gentry had gathered.

The witch arched an eyebrow. From her expression, Isak was sure she’d never seen the gentry act like that.
They say that they will escort you to the Ivy Rings, where soldiers wait. They call you a friend of the Land. That the soldiers still live is a gesture of respect for you.

His surprise at a voice appearing in his head must have shown as the corners of her mouth curled into a smile.
How?

And you’ll give it so freely? It doesn’t sound like you even know what you’re committing to.
Isak tried hard not to sound insulting in his head.

And what am I supposed to do until then? Even in his head he sounded petulant; he tried to control the anger he always felt when things were beyond his control. Now was not the time
to lose his temper, particularly not with someone who might save his life in some way.

The witch turned and walked softly away until she was swallowed up by the silver-tinged darkness. When at last she replied, it was soft and distant, but he could feel a fond humour in the words.
Our future always lies ahead of us, but sometimes it stops and turns around to look us in the face. All things have their time. Remember that, young dragon.

 

‘So what happened back there?’ Vesna asked quietly.

Isak rode on unheeding, his eyes vague, his cloak hood hiding his face from Arian’s light, pondering the strange meeting. The ranger Jeil trotted ahead, following the gentry who were now leading the way. Megenn, unguided by Isak, trailed after the others at his own pace.

Isak could see nothing but the image of the witch. It was hard not to trust her, but Isak was beginning to doubt altruism in anyone. Was she another player, entering the game? If so, to what end? She had no kingdom to protect, no border to expand - did she have a greater goal than that?

The witch did not offer to guide them herself; Silvernight itself was a time for human festivities, when witches and the spirits of the night kept quiet. The Finntrail would leave even the weariest of travellers alone, the Coldhand folk would ignore an open barn door, and witches by tradition stayed at home. She had gone outside her house only to speak to the gentry, and nothing but an urgent plea for help would draw her beyond the boundary wall before dawn.

Mihn had muttered something under his breath, part of a nursery rhyme maybe, but when Tila had asked, he said it was just the ending of an old poem. She pushed Mihn until he agreed to repeat it.

Reluctantly, in a subdued voice, he recited, ‘And even the snakes and the gentry shiver, when the Llehden witch comes riding by.’

Tila shivered. She understood his reluctance now.

‘Isak, what happened?’ Vesna touched his lord on the arm, startling Isak from his thoughts. ‘With the witch, why were you just staring at each other?’ Vesna looked smaller in the bright moonlight, but perhaps he was just overshadowed by the glow of Siulents.

‘We were talking,’ Isak admitted, and then added, surprisingly, ‘I’m sorry. There’s so much I’ve not told you, all of you.’

Carel looked resigned and unsurprised, but Tila was furious that there was yet more she didn’t know. Even Mihn stared darkly at his lord, his silent criticism the hardest to bear.

‘I know how you all feel,’ Isak started, ‘but it can’t be tonight. Tomorrow, or when this week is finished and the Land returns to normal.’

‘With the Menin invading the west, normal won’t be for many years,’ muttered Carel.

‘I meant when Arian goes away,’ Isak clarified. ‘This light hurts my eyes - this light hurts much in me. Then I’ll explain what I can to you.’

‘About the scar too?’

‘About the scar,’ confirmed Isak. ‘And the dreams, and anything else you want.’

Major Ortof-Greyl had been riding ahead with Jeil, but the murmur of voices behind stirred his paranoia. He looked back nervously, even more embarrassed when Tila shot him a dazzling smile. Isak sneered at the man, who was everything he despised: pious, privileged, educated - he’d probably been closeted away from the Land and taught by priests. And all those honed combat skills and a fine scholarly mind: everything blurred before the smile of a pretty, young girl.

Ortof-Greyl awkwardly returned her smile. The beads of sweat on his brow shone in the moonlight.

As Isak watched the major turn back to the road, he saw that the tree line was receding, giving way to pastureland. Rustling grasses shimmered and rippled slowly. The track dipped down, following the contours of the earth, towards a stream. The major’s horse instinctively turned to the water, but was pulled back on to the right path, up the slope and to a copse of tall oaks on the peak of a small hill.

Now there were signs of human life. Six hobbled horses stood by the trees, under the supervision of a soldier who waved and beckoned them in. The scarlet of his uniform looked black in the moonlight, his steel shone brightly. From either side of the copse, drawn by the sound of hoofs, trotted a squad of knights, moving slowly so as not to appear aggressive, but as the gentry began to yammer and hiss, every horse stopped dead, fearful of the voices from the shadows.

‘You might tell them not to come closer. The gentry seem to object to your presence,’ Isak said, deciding he agreed with the forest spirits. The smug piety of the Knights of the Temples was grating - all the more so for the violence the Order had done over the years, always in the name of the Gods. Lord Bahl had said once that religious law was nothing more than an obscene collection of misinterpretations. Bahl had never been the most forgiving - or accountable - of rulers, but he had never hidden behind religious dogma to justify his actions.

Before the Great War, the Gods had been closer to mortals, making mistakes, lying and cheating each other, playing tricks and breaking promises. Since then, myths and stories of the Gods had been used to justify all sorts of strange, sometimes barbaric laws, from the stoning of wildfowl on prayerday to the summary execution of people whose bedrooms overlooked a temple entrance. The people of Vanach, Farlan’s neighbouring state, were in the grip of religious law; the people there were rumoured to be living in both poverty and terror. That had been a good enough reason for the Chief Steward to recommend the longer southern route around Tor Milist to Narkang - the disputed lands between two avaricious rulers were preferable to the wilful madness of folk living according to scripture.

‘The presence of those creatures pollutes this holy place.’ The major kept his head low as he spoke.

Isak couldn’t tell whether he was repeating by rote or trying to hide his disgust. Free spirits like the gentry were considered blasphemous and unclean by the Devoted. Isak couldn’t help wondering why the Gods themselves did nothing to stop them if this was such an obscenity.

‘Gods, look at them,’ breathed Carel in wonder.

For a moment Isak looked around, thinking the gentry had come out into the open, then he realised Carel was staring at the huge weathered standing stones past the trees: roughly hewn blocks of moss-speckled granite. The forbidding stones looked almost dull in the moonlight. All but one of the outer circle were still standing erect, towering ten feet or more into the sky. Thick trails of ivy snaked up their sides, somehow reaching from one stone to the next until it crowned the forgotten temple. The ivy looked black and sinister; Arian’s light seemed to slip off its waxy surface and down on to the twigs and acorns that littered the ground. It illuminated two yards of ground inside the ring before the second circle of standing stones, half the height of the outer ring, rose to cast yet more shadows.

‘The outer stones are called “the Soldiers”. The inner ring stones are “the Priests”.’

Isak nodded absentmindedly at Mihn’s words, scanning the copse until he could make out four men in the centre. Again, they were trying to appear relaxed and non-threatening. It made Isak’s palms itch.

‘The soldiers are supposed to have murdered the priests during a ritual,’ Mihn continued quietly. ‘They waited for them to fall into a trance before creeping up and slitting their throats. They were supposed to be protecting the priests. There is disagreement about whether this was a just act or not, but murder certainly took place here.’

‘And Belarannar turned them all to stone?’

‘No, the soldiers escaped.’

‘And the act was justified.’ The major’s voice was fierce as he glared at Mihn, his hand hovering close to his blade. He had turned back to find his charges. ‘The monks were consorting with daemons, using human sacrifices in the most evil of rituals. The soldiers were men hired to protect the monastery, but they could not ignore the truth. They founded our Order to continue the struggle against the enemies of the Gods. These stones remind my Order of our origins.’

Mihn didn’t reply, but dipped his head to acknowledge the major’s words.

‘Penitence is a wonderful thing,’ declared Isak. He caught Vesna’s eye and forced a smirk. The count smiled in return. Major Ortof-Greyl kept his mouth firmly shut and endured the jibe silently.

Isak climbed down off his horse and entered the copse on foot. He could feel the weight of Arian’s gaze lift from his shoulders - perhaps he was happier here in the shadows. The gentry, spirits that were usually seen only at twilight, when the Gods rested, had accepted him as a brother. What about the other creatures of shadow? Would Azaer now see him as kin or foe?

‘You’re worried about that, aren’t you?’ Isak hadn’t meant to speak aloud, but it was quietly done and Mihn was the only one close enough to hear. Still, he kept quiet as he continued to speak in his head,
Are you scared of finding yourself on the wrong side of this war? What if the real you comes out only in battle? What if you are the monster you’ve always feared? Do you trust yourself to be a good and just ruler?