The Stormcaller: Book One Of The Twilight Reign (7 page)

Slowly, through his reverie, he became aware of a change in the hall. The voices had stopped. The hairs on his neck rose and a tingle of anticipation ran down his spine. He looked up to see every man in the room standing. One ranger at the next table glared at him and after a moment of panic, Isak jumped up - and found himself face to face with a thin man several inches shorter than he was, and behind him, a giant, close to a foot taller than Isak, wearing a blank blue mask.

‘So, you’re the new arrival,’ said the smaller of the two. The man’s smile widened as he looked Isak up and down. Isak, feeling like a cow in a cattle market, fought to keep his calm.

‘Welcome to Tirah Palace. Does my Lord have a name?’

‘Ah, my name is Isak. Sir.’ Isak’s eyes darted from one face to the other. The masked giant hadn’t moved even a fraction. It was as if he were a statue, thought Isak. A memory stirred in the depths of his mind, a shape just below the surface.
Oh Gods, this is Lord Bahl.
Still the man didn’t move or speak, but his eyes stared deep into Isak’s own, and Isak felt as if the man gazed on his soul itself, inspecting and assessing with cold dispassion.

Isak could feel all eyes on the old white-eye; Lord Bahl possessed an aura of command that demanded the attention of everyone. It was like a blazing fire in the centre of the room; even with his back turned Isak would have felt the heat prickle on his skin. Abruptly, the man held out his hand. Isak stared at the huge fingers before him, blinking as if he’d never seen a hand before, then, shakily, he took Bahl’s wrist and felt the massive hand close about his own.

‘Isak. Not a name I’d have given a son of mine, but a man must make his own name in the end. I imagine the Gods will not hold your father’s crude humour against you. Welcome, Isak.’

‘Th—thank you, my Lord,’ was all Isak could manage. He was used to his name; he scarcely even remembered these days that Horman had named him Isak - Kasi backwards - to mock the Gods who had taken his beloved wife from him. Now, as Bahl gripped his forearm, Isak felt a sudden pressure behind his eyes. He could feel the immense presence of the Land beneath his feet, and the thump of his heart booming through his head. Then the memory of his dreams flooded back, coursing in a torrent through the contact. Isak’s knees buckled under the weight, stars bursting in his vision before everything faded to black.

He remembered the island, the feel of the scorching sun and chill marble ... and the numbing terror. He remembered the chamber, the ranks of pillars supporting a bloated dome set with sparkling clusters of stars, and the sound of ringing steel and death; the shocking scarlet of blood. He remembered the dead man whose face now rose out of the shadows.

 

When Isak opened his eyes that same face was staring down at him, blank but unmistakable. The rest of the room was a buzzing distraction, nothing more. Obeying the burn in his throat, Isak gasped for air.

‘Wha-’

‘Be still,’ said a calm voice beside him. Isak turned his head slightly to see a middle-aged man kneeling beside him. A green patchwork cloak and battered mail marked him as a ranger. Isak tried to raise his hand, but it felt like he was moving another persons limbs rather than his own. The ranger reached out to stay him a little longer, but Isak shrugged his hand off. With an effort, he forced himself to sit upright; he still felt undignified with his legs splayed out wide, but it was better than remaining flat on the floor like a fainting maid.

‘You can stand?’

Isak nodded. He refused the offer of a hand from the ranger, pulling himself carefully upright. He was still shaking a little and tried to hide it by brushing the mud from his shirt. The man with Lord Bahl had a curl of a smile on his lips. Once he judged that Isak had regained his equilibrium he stepped forward, hands held out with palms up in greeting. ‘I am Lesarl. I place myself at your service.’

Isak hardly heard the words; he was taking a better look at Lord Bahl, the man in his dreams. Under a snowy cape the gigantic white-eye wore a misty-grey suit of armour and a broadsword strapped to his back. It was all Isak could do not to faint away again: his dreams had always been vague, obscure - perhaps for his own sanity - but he knew with terrible certainty that this was the face he’d always seen as blank and inhuman: now he knew why. Bahl’s hood echoed the smooth expressionless features of statues of Nartis.

Shaking the feeling of strangeness from his head, he turned his attention to Lesarl. ‘Are you useful for anything?’

Despite the snorts of laughter that crept from the comers of the room, Lesarl showed not a flicker of reaction. He had dealt with wits sharper than a white-eye’s before. ‘Your master finds tasks for me to perform from time to time. I am the Chief Steward.’

His words had the desired effect. Even as cut-off as the wagoners were, they all knew perfectly well that the Chief Steward ruled the Farlan nation; if Isak had not been so dazed, he might have recognised Lesarl’s name in time. The Chief Steward wielded complete authority, as he saw fit, in Lord Bahl’s name, but this was balanced against an untidy death if Lord Bahl ever became displeased with his conduct. He was not a man to casually insult.

Isak nodded dumbly, not knowing how to apologise for his rudeness, but Lord Bahl passed over it. ‘We can deal with who’s who tomorrow. For now, you need sleep. You will have a room in the tower. Come.’ The Lord of Storms didn’t wait for a response, but turned to lead the way.

Isak tried to collect his wits. The aura that surrounded the huge man was almost tangible and his physical presence was breathtaking. Isak felt as if Bahl’s powers, both temporal and physical, were radiating out, enveloping all those around him. Bahl stood over seven feet tall and was bulky for a Farlan, but every step was graceful; he moved with purpose and efficiency. As Isak’s head cleared, he remembered that Bahl’s armour was magical - though he couldn’t see any runes inscribed on its surface, he knew they would be there somewhere. Merely focusing on the misty surface of Bahl’s cuirass seemed to thicken the air in his throat. Something deep inside Isak recognised that metallic taste and craved more.

Then his mind snapped back to what Lord Bahl had said. ‘A room in the tower? I don’t understand, my Lord.’

Bahl stopped in his tracks. He turned back, shoulder shifting up: an instinctive movement. Thanks to Carel’s training, Isak recognised that Bahl was ready to draw and strike if need be. Isak could almost see the massive broadsword appear in front of him and for a moment he wondered if he really had, but then the image faded.

‘You don’t know?’

‘No, my Lord. My father said nothing. I thought I was going to be hanged.’

‘Well then, allow me to explain,’ Lesarl said with a sardonic smile. ‘We have a tradition here not to hang the new Krann when he joins the Chosen.’

Isak couldn’t help himself as a string of expletives poured from his mouth, provoking peals of laughter from the Ghosts and breaking the tension in the room. Bahl narrowed his eyes and Isak hurriedly composed himself, though his head was spinning in confusion. This all felt more like a practical joke than divine edict. He was cold, tired, hurting, and more than a little aware that he was making a fool of himself. He had no idea what would happen next.

‘Are you an adult?’ Lord Bahl asked him suddenly.

Isak shook his head mutely, suddenly afraid that whatever was going on, his father could still ruin it. Horman could have declared his son an adult at fourteen and thrown him out, but instead he had insisted Isak was still a child and condemned him to another four years of near-slavery.

‘Very well. Lesarl will have your father persuaded to make you my ward. That life is behind you now. Now you are Krann of the Farlan and Suzerain Anvee. There is little to come with that title other than Anvee itself and the estate of Malaoristen, but you do hold court rank. The rest can wait. I’m sure Lesarl will have papers for you to sign, but none of that matters for now.’

Isak stayed quiet, concentrating on not gawping like a dying fish as he worked the words through his head. Krann? Suzerain? That was only one step below a duke. Now he was too scared to comment, and torn between laughing at the absurdity and sinking back to the floor until life made sense again.

Everyone knew there had not been a Krann of the Farlan for two hundred years, not since Bahl himself was named heir to Lord Atro. It was something other tribes did; the Farlan had no need. His limbs trembled, as though the ground beneath him was shaking with indignation, or perhaps trepidation. Was there now a need? He’d never doubted that there was more to life than bales of cloth, but a suzerainty? A court title? And money? Dukes and suzerains were men of wealth and ancient family, people who held glittering balls for the equally wealthy and splendid - though it was true that Bahl, a white-eye and as remote as the Gods, was Duke of Tirah and foremost in all of the Farlan lands.

Now the eyes of the Ghosts grew sharper. Isak saw men who’d bled for their tribe, who’d stepped over the corpses of their friends to fight on, with no time to stop and mourn: men who must now answer to an untested youth. They could hardly be impressed with their new Krann thus far. He shuddered: he, who had never even been in a real fight, might soon be called upon to lead these battle-hardened men to war.

Bahlled Isak back down the hall to a doorway which opened into a dim corridor. It was silent apart from a brief scuffle of feet somewhere off in the distance. As the door shut behind them, the welcoming aromas of the Great Hall - food, burning logs - were replaced by scents of dust and age. Brands ran down either side of the corridor, and the flames made strange dancing shadows on the walls. Flags and drapes covered the walls, the colours muted in the flickering light.

Isak hesitated: he could almost feel the millennia radiating from the stone underneath. The place was more like a tomb than a palace. Lord Bahl moved on, ghosting along without sound, followed by his Chief Steward, who stepped carefully and quietly. Isak, watching them, thought irreverently that serving Lord Bahl so long had caused the Chief Steward to adopt some of his Lord’s ways.

A stairway carved with images of the Upper Circle led up off to the left; the stretch of right-hand wall was broken by four plain doors, but Isak’s eyes were drawn to a pair of ornate double doors at the far end of the corridor and he began to feel a pull, both foreboding and enticing at the same time. As he drew closer he could see the double doors were framed by a dragon made of wrought iron. Ribbed wings swept down each side almost to the floor, while its glaring beak jutted out from the wall, glaring at anyone approaching. Bahl went straight up to the door and opened it. The click of the latch broke the silence and stirred Isak into movement.

Beyond was a large circular room, a dozen yards in diameter and high enough to accommodate even the largest of white-eyes. On the walls were faintly scrawled geometric chalk markings, but a taste of magic in the air made it clear they were not simply idle scribbling.

Isak stepped towards the nearest one, narrowing his eyes to try to focus on the complex shapes and patterns of runes. A rumble from Bahl warned him against getting too close: obviously he didn’t want curious fingers within reach of the writing.

As he turned away from the walls, Isak realised there was another person already in the room; a maid kneeling at Lord Bahl’s feet. She stood up as Bahl passed her, heading for the centre of the room, and Isak caught a glimpse of pronounced features betraying more than a little apprehension. Then she saw Isak and dropped her head down low, apparently hiding her fear behind a fall of long, thick hair. She followed Lesarl into the black circle marked on the floor, standing as far from Bahl as she could. Holding a bundle of what looked like bedding tight to her chest, the girl stood with hunched shoulders, her eyes fixed on the floor before her. She looked as if she were braced to go out in a gale.

Isak stepped into the circle and pushed down with his foot: it wasn’t stone, but something smoother and more yielding. As he focused on it, Isak suddenly found himself dizzy, and a sensation of falling rushed over his body. The more he stared, the more insubstantial the floor seemed.

‘How do I go down?’ he asked.

Bahl had raised a hand towards the wall where a bird-like shape was drawn. He gave a dry laugh. ‘Patience, young man. You’re not ready for that. Down is a greater step than you might think.’

‘What’s down there?’

‘I said patience. Explanations are for the morrow.’

Isak nodded this time and kept quiet.

Returning his attention to the image on the wall, Bahl began to mouth words and make gestures. A ghost of colour lingered momentarily after his hand had passed through the air, then melted away. Before Isak had time to ask another question a silent wind began to whip up from all around, tugging at clothes and the bundle carried by the maid.

Strange, shadowy shapes danced around their bodies, wings without substance tearing past Isak’s face with ever-increasing speed. He flinched, but Lord Bahl stood still, as solid as a mountain. The flight of wings turned into a storm, nipping and dragging at their clothes as the platform under their feet started rising suddenly. While the girl was clearly terrified, Isak was too astonished to feel anything else. He had never shown much of the natural tendency towards magic that white-eyes were supposed to have. The handfuls of times when something unexplained had happened had been when he was getting a beating or having a nightmare. It was never in a form that could be controlled or predicted, and it was too rare to make his father think twice about giving him a thrashing. For the first time in Isak’s life it suddenly felt as if magic might be easy and accessible.

The journey itself lasted just a few heartbeats, then the wind suddenly fell away to reveal a room six yards across. The walls of the room were only gently sloped, and Isak realised that since this room was half the diameter of the one below, they must have travelled further than it had felt. The maid, a relieved look on her face, darted on to the solid floor and went to make up the low bed.