The Grave thief

CHAPTER 11

Isak opened the door and stopped. He could feel the hostility in the air before he had even entered his chambers. 'Bickering again?' he asked.

Xeliath and Horman glared at Isak as he entered. They reclined on sofas either side of the fire, covered by thick quilts bearing Isak's emerald dragon crest. Xeliath was familiar with her condition and knew how best to make herself most comfortable, especially now her strength had returned. Horman was still not used to being disabled — his remaining hand, which Isak had broken in the Temple of Death in Scree, had not healed well, and was of less use than Xeliath's.

After a moment of irritation Xeliath's face softened and Isak felt the radiance of her smile wash over him. 'How handsome you look,' she said in Farlan, and Isak had to fight the urge to blush like a boy. He was impressed at her command of the language already, and it was growing stronger every day.

He had thought to stop in to check on them both before the day's business, the investiture ceremony, began, but maybe that wasn't the only reason he was here. Today the Synod would formally confirm him as Lord of the Farlan, so he was resplendent in white tunic and trousers, detailed with gold and pearls, with the crowned dragon emblazoned on his breast and echoed on his cloak. His hair was trimmed and his cheeks shaved smooth, and Tila had told him he had never looked more respectable. Isak realised it felt nice to have that remarked upon.

Qods, Isak thought wryly, if I'm not trying to gain my father's approval, I'm trying to show off to women. I'm not even sure which is more foolish of me!

'Don't look too pleased with yerself,' Horman growled, almost as if reading his thoughts. He winced as he shifted position, but Isak was pleased to see he had more colour in his cheeks, even though he was still drawn, and much too thin. 'This little slut has been saying the same to every man who's been in this week. Girl was practically drooling over your noble count.'

Xeliath shot Horman a filthy look, but he only laughed at her.

'Hah, don't like it when you can't bat yer eyes at a man and make him do what you what, do yer? Girl, I've put up with this one's idiocy most o' his life — white-eye charms don't do shit for me.'

'Stinking peasant,' Xeliath hissed in reply before switching to her own language and unleashing a stream of invective. Isak didn't need a translator to tell him the soldiers of her father's household were responsible for these terms rather than the noble ladies. The tall lacquered shutters rattled under the assault of the gusting wind, reminding Isak of when Xeliath had entered his dreams and the landscape had echoed her mood. He'd been outside earlier and the rain was lashing down with a rare fury.

'And to think Tila said I should split the two of you up,' Isak snapped. 'You'd both be bored to death if you didn't have each other to bitch about. I've half a mind to manacle the pair of you together.'

Horman raised his arm. The ruined stump was still bandaged. 'Thanks to you I'd be able to slip 'em easy enough,' he grumbled.

'How long must I stay in this room?' Xeliath demanded. Her head was uncovered, which was unusual. Normally she wore a scarf, draped to cover most of her damaged left side. 'I can be more use to you than keeping idiots company.'

Not even Lesarl had any idea how the volatile cardinals and priests would react when they found out Isak was harbouring a member of an enemy tribe, but neither of them were keen to find out. It was a fair bet that Xeliath wouldn't back down from any form of provocation; she was a white-eye, and needed no good reason to start a fight.

'I know you're bored,' Isak said in a placatory voice, perching on the end of his father's sofa so he could see them both, 'but it shouldn't be too much longer now. I want the investiture ceremony out of the way first — the Synod are troublesome enough at the moment, without knowing about you. Most of the suzerains will leave in a few days, and that'll help ease the pressure too. I don't want you to end up being dragged into the argument for as long as possible.'

'Let them complain,' Xeliath croaked. 'Their dreams will become nightmares.'

Isak, hearing the rasp in her voice, poured her a cup of pale tea, which she accepted gratefully. When he turned to offer his father a cup, Horman gave him a furious look and he gave up.

'Give it time,' he continued. 'By spring everything will have calmed down. Lesarl and I are going to deal with the priests — then you'll have no need to terrorise them.'

'A purge?' Horman said sharply. 'I brought you up better than to murder priests.'

'Why in the name of the Dark Place would you care about that?' Isak growled before silently cursing himself. Horman had aged a decade since Isak had been Chosen. He was a broken man now, his face pinched, his body frail, and when Isak looked at his father he felt an unfamiliar clash of pity and guilt — but even now, all it took was one look from his father, one sniping comment, to provoke him. Horman could stoke Isak's temper as quickly as he always had.

'Kill them both,' snarled Aryn Bwr in Isak's mind. 'Cut their throats and let the whining cease; snap her fingers and tear them from the Skull. They are nothing, they are dead weight around our neck.'

'Our neck?' Isak replied angrily in his mind, 'I think you forget yourself. At least they're alive, and even broken, they are greater than you.' Out loud he was only a little less vehement. 'Don't put words in my mouth, Father. You don't know me well enough for that, not any more.'

'You never gave a damn about the cults and that'll never change.'

Isak sighed. 'Perhaps not, but these days I can't ignore them. The path they're on leads only to civil war, they know as well as I do — and I can allow that to go only so far.' He pushed himself upright. 'I only came up here to see how you were faring. I see you're as happy as ever, so I'll leave you to your squabbles.'

He retreated, feeling the glower of two pairs of eyes on his back, even after he'd shut the door behind him. He kept walking until he'd turned the corner and was out of sight of the guards on the door, then he stopped and pressed his forehead against the cool stone wall for a few moments. He breathed deeply and tried to massage away the headache he could feel.

'This was easier when people were just trying to kill me,' he muttered. After a while he reluctantly straightened up and headed for the main stair, where he found Tila and his Chief Steward waiting for him.

'They are well, my Lord?' Tila asked as he reached them. Her face was a careful study of calmness. Lesarl's was quite the opposite: he looked as if he had a thousand thoughts running though his mind.

Isak grunted in response and glanced suspiciously at the door leading to the Great Hall. It was shut, with two of his personal guard stationed on either side, but still he felt a little trepidation. It had taken months of preparation, but now every suzerain in the nation was assembled on the other side of that door, with the exception of the two eldest, who had been unlikely to survive the journey to Tirah; their scions would stand in their place.

Isak's investiture was to be conducted by High Cardinal Echer, and the other three Farlan dukes would lead the people in swearing fealty to their new lord. It had sounded like a good idea at the time, but now Isak wasn't so sure. Would the room be large enough to comfortably contain so many powerful men?

Isak's fears were, of course, Lesarl's delight: the most powerful men of the tribe, all together in the same city. That meant deals, alliances, even friendships. The vast majority of the Farlan's eco-nomic wealth was in the hands of the nobility, and most of them would be looking to make the most of this rare gathering. For weeks now, men and women from different retinues had been running in all directions while Lesarl, like a gleeful spider, sat at the centre of this vastly complex web, the recognised master at this clandestine game. He hadn't even bothered to hide from Isak how much he was enjoying all this.

'My Lord?' Tila's voice interrupted his thoughts.

'Both well enough to be bad-tempered,' Isak said, 'but for the moment that's all I can ask. My father is at last on the road to recovery, but that means he's back to being a bastard. Lesarl, you have somewhere for him once he's well enough to walk? Enjoying the comforts of the palace means acknowledging I'm Lord of the Farlan every day — he can cope with the pain of his injuries, but that's beyond him.'

'1 have a place in mind, my Lord; one of Suzerain Tehran's stud farms needs an overseer. It'll keep your father out of the way and protected, even if he doesn't want a bodyguard.'

'So let's hope he doesn't refuse just because I'm the one to offer

it-'

'Let me handle that, my Lord,' Lesarl said with a grin. 'I'm sure I can help him to make the right choice — you have more important concerns to deal with right now.'

'Are you prepared for this, Isak?' Tila interrupted — friend now, rather than political advisor. 'If you want a few minutes to yourself, the suzerains will wait.'

Isak smiled with more confidence than he felt. 'I'm ready, better we get it over with. I've been practising the spell to block sound all week, and Lesarl's going to be right beside me, so you don't have to worry.'

The ducal throne had been brought from its normal position in the audience chamber and placed in the Great Hall, the only room big enough to accommodate every Farlan suzerain, duke, synod member and city councillor, as well as the heads of the College of Magic. Without retainers, bodyguards or advisors, they numbered close to a hundred, with twenty identifiable factions in the mix. There were several that Isak needed to speak to privately, so Dermeness Chirialt, one of the few mages Isak was sure he could trust, had taught him a simple charm to enable that.

'And you are certain that you'll be able to sense Cardinal Certinse's emotions?' Lesarl pressed. The cardinal remained the only member of that immediate family at liberty — he was a powerful man, and there was no direct evidence of treachery — but Isak had devised an alternative to having the man assassinated, albeit one they both found distasteful.

'If I can't, I'll bluff him. People know about the Crystal Skulls and he's not so stupid that he'll disbelieve whatever claims I make.'

'And the High Cardinal? That frail old man has put me quite to shame when it comes to terrorising his fellow citizens,' Lesarl said cheerfully. 'He's targeted Suzerain Saroc particularly, and I have reports of deaths in several other suzerainties as well.'

'He'll get a warning with our offer. If the offer isn't good enough for him, then your reports are obviously true and he's lost all sense of reason.'

Lesarl's network of informers had been busy, and once he'd put together their information, he had ascertained that every priest driven to sudden extremism and rage came from one of six cults: the six Gods given prominence in Scree, namely, Death, Nartis, Belarannar, Karkarn, Vellern and Vasle. It was the Gods most hurt by the actions of Azaer's disciples whose backlash of rage echoed out through the Land, infecting those bound to their spirits — the priests, who were tied when ordained — with a*similar fury.

Predictably, Lesarl's reaction had been to applaud Azaer's ingenuity, rather than cry horror at what had happened. Whether by accident or design, it had provoked a reaction from the Gods, which in turn would turn the common folk against them — and without the worship of the people, the Gods themselves would only grow weaker. 'Inspired!' Lesarl had muttered to himself. Isak, hearing him, had grimaced.

'Having Jopel Bern whispering in the High Cardinal's ear isn't helping,' Tila interrupted before he could take his Chief Steward to task.

Isak gave a curt nod. Bern, the High Priest of Death, had been as badly affected as the frail old man wearing the High Cardinal's robes. Unfortunately, at least as far as Isak was concerned, the elderly cleric showed few signs of dying, at least by natural means. Echer was clearly burning himself out with magic; he'd most likely be dead in weeks, but Bern was being more careful.

'We might have to put up with him for the time being.' Isak took a deep breath and signalled the guards at the end of the corridor. 'It's time; I don't want them to wait any longer.'

The soldiers pulled open the doors as he reached them. As Isak entered the Great Hall, Lesarl on his heel, he was met by a gust of warm, smoky air and a buzz of voices that lessened as soon as he stepped inside. The place looked completely different: the walls were now adorned with banners of all colours, the crests of every Farlan suzerain, all dominated by a central flag three times the size of any other — Isak's crowned dragon. It was displayed behind the heavy ducal throne in the middle of the room, facing the enormous fire on the other side.

The throne was an oversized seat carved from a single enormous tree-trunk. The dark wood was highly polished, and the sides were thick enough to stop an axe. The raised back was taller than a standing man. Though there were symbols of the Gods and the Farlan set into the throne in silver, gold and jet, the overriding impression was of strength and size rather than splendour.

Isak took a moment to inspect the crowd as the assembled men turned to face him. In a ripple flowing towards the back of the room, the nobles sank to one knee, their sword-hilts raised up in front of their faces. The assorted priests bowed. It was a riot of colour: the Farlan loved ceremony and ritual, and the noblemen of all ages took great pleasure in sporting the very best of their finery on occasions like this. On his left were the assorted clerics of the Farlan, with the Synod placed closest to the vacant ducal throne. Opposite them, the Dukes of Merlat and Perlir took prime position.

Beside the Duke of Perlir there was a conspicuously empty seat, and Isak could see a few people squinting around, almost as if the deceased Duke Certinse was about to make a dramatic entrance. Count Vesna, dressed in full formal regalia, stood beside the throne itself. He had not moved an inch. The silver gorget bearing Isak's crest that Vesna wore over his armour indicated that he was one of Isak's personal guard, ceremonially, at least, and that excused him bowing.

'Duke Tirah,' called High Cardinal Echer in a thin, wasted voice. He scuttled over from the centre of the room and bowed a second time. Isak remembered the first time they had met, when he had presented himself humbly before the Synod. Then, Echer had been a feeble old man who had deferred to another cardinal; now, Isak could feel a thread of magic running through the man's body, easing the pains of age and lending a ghastly animation to his lined face. How long he could last like that was anyone's guess, but until Lesarl came up with something to aid nature's course, the frail old man had been transformed into a spitting, remorseless fanatic.

'The leaders of the Farlan greet you and honour you,' Echer continued, 'Chosen of Nartis, blessed above mortals.'

Isak could see a bloody welt on his cheek, contrasting with the rest of his skin, which was so pale it was almost translucent. The toll was already showing and Isak felt a wave of revulsion at the sight. It made him think of necromancy… He forced himself to put such thoughts to one side and concentrate on the moment. He gave a shallow bow.

Echer advanced and grabbed the front of Isak's tunic with one skeletal hand. 'Do you serve no master but your patron and Death himself?' he asked, his wavering voice at odds with the fierce light burning in his eyes.

'I serve Nartis and Death alone,' Isak replied.

As soon as he had spoken, Echer tugged and they both took a step towards the throne. Lesarl had explained the tradition: the new lord was taking his place upon his throne reluctantly, each step reminding him of the heavy responsibilities of office. Isak couldn't imagine Lord Bahl going through this same process — his predecessor had become Lord of the Farlan after killing Lord Atro in a close-fought running battle that had destroyed entire streets in Tirah — and the victorious Bahl had then had to bury the love of his life, the white-eye Ineh. Isak was pretty sure any priest trying to manhandle him, ceremonially or not, would have died in a heartbeat.

Echer's next question brought Isak back to the present. 'Do you declare your hatred for all daemons of Ghenna?'

'I do.'

Another step. Isak felt the hum of magic through Echer, and his fingertips itched to embrace his own power. In the distant part of his mind where he had banished Aryn Bwr's spirit, he heard the dead Elven king scream and howl for murder to be done.

'Do you swear to lead the warriors of your tribe; to protect your people with strength and blood?'

A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered Bahl's words when he'd given Isak the blue hood of Nartis to wear: 'Your blood, your pain, shed for people and Qods who neither know of it nor care.'

'I do.'

'Do you swear to show reverence to all Gods and follow their teachings as an example to your people?'

Make your fucking mind up, renounce or revere? 'I do.' I know you'll be reminding me of that before the week is out. I wonder how many ridiculous laws he'll be asking me to enact?

'Do you swear to show mercy to the faithful?'

'I do.' Except you, you twisted old bastard.

'Do you swear to punish heretics and enemies of the tribe with the fury of the storm?'

'I do.'

That last question took Isak up to the ducal throne. Count Vesna saluted him stiffly and held out a velvet cushion on which sat a circlet of silver and gold.

High Cardinal Echer peered up at Isak for a moment, sly glee on his crumpled face. Isak sat and Echer plucked the circlet from the cushion and held it up for everyone in the room to see.

'Isak Stormcaller,' he proclaimed, 'Chosen of Nartis, Duke of Tirah: the Synod of the Farlan acknowledges your claim to the title Lord of the Farlan as valid. The line of the Farlan kings has ended and we accept no majesty other than that of the Gods, yet this circlet signifies you are Lord of all Farlan. I call on all Farlan, noble and low-born, to kneel before you and acknowledge your rule over them.'

Even man in the room went on one knee and echoed, 'Lord of all Farlan,' even Count Vesna — although he kept his eyes raised and his sword-hand ready.

A moment later, as arranged, the Dukes of Merlat and Perlir stepped out of the crowd and moved to either side of the High Cardinal. They both bowed, then the Duke of Merlat, as the elder of the two, stepped forward and knelt in front of Isak with the hilt of his sword held towards his lord. Isak touched a finger to the pommel and he withdrew as the Duke of Perlir stepped forward to repeat the formal greeting.

Finally Isak settled back on the throne and looked around the room in what he hoped was a suitably dignified manner before gesturing that everyone should get off their knees. He inclined his head to the dukes and they sat, followed shortly thereafter by the entire room.

'Duke Lokan, Duke Sempes, I thank you for the honour you do me,' Isak said smoothly. T beg a boon from you both.'

The unexpected words made the High Cardinal's nose twitch with irritation, but he had enough sense left to know he could not interrupt.

'My Lord,' Lokan replied smoothly, 'ask it, and if it is in our powers, we shall grant it.'

Isak inclined his head again. 'My thanks to you both. As you are aware, there is a vacant seat here, for Lomin has no duke and there is argument over who should fill the post. I intend to appoint the son of the last Duke of Lomin as heir, to dispel this confusion. I call upon all those present to witness this — for the good of the tribe I appoint Major Belir Ankremer to the title of duke. My Lords, do you concur?'

'My Lord, I do,' Lokan said, the hint of a smile on his face as muted gasps of surprise filled the air.

'My Lord,' added Sempes, bowing low, 'I also concur.' His expression was rather grimmer, but he spoke without hesitation, and that was crucial. Neither man could have refused so public a choice, but every second they had waited would have been noted by the watching crowd.

'I thank you. Lesarl, summon Belir, Duke of Lomin.'

All pretence at a respectful silence collapsed as the door opened a second time and in strode the powerfully built new duke, his black curls neatly trimmed and his uniform replaced by a crimson tunic emblazoned with the twin-towered keep of the Lomin family. As the duke approached, his face tight with nerves, Isak could see that while the clasps of his cloak bore the family crest in its entirety, the larger symbol on his chest had only one of those towers remaining, and a partially occluded moon hung above it.

Isak quickly spoke the words of the incantation he'd been practising, and let a sliver of magic trickle from his fingers, sensing how the arcane words shaped the energy and gave it a sudden purpose. By the time the new Duke of Lomin had knelt at Isak's feet, the chatter of voices whispering around the room had dulled and whatever snatches of sound that crept through were garbled beyond recognition. He saw the heads of several priests and mages jerk up and stare at him, but he ignored them, even as Lesarl carefully noted who had reacted.

The Duke of Lomin also sensed the change in sounds around him and looked around as he held his hilt towards Isak.

'A spell,' Isak explained. 'I expect several of your peers to have things to say that'll require privacy.'

'So no one else can hear us, my Lord?' he asked.

'They can hear a few garbled sounds, not individual words.'

'May I ask a question then?'

Isak smiled. 'You want to know why I chose you?'

'1 actually wanted to know what would be expected of me, my Lord, having had this honour bestowed.' Berlir spoke through pursed lips. He clearly disliked the idea of being anyone's pawn.

'1 expect you to perform your duties well. I need a duke in Lomin, not a lapdog.' Isak leaned forward and looked Berlir in the eye. 'You were chosen because Lesarl told me you're a fine soldier, an intelligent leader and a strong man. The coming years will be hard and cruel, and I will expect as much from you as I will every other Farlan nobleman — more perhaps, because I have chosen a warrior, something that cannot be said of your fellow dukes, Sempes and Lokan.'

'I-' Berlir lowered his eyes. 'Forgive me if this is blunt, my Lord, but I find it hard to accept an honour that is so lightly given.'

Isak grinned. 'Good; if you weren't a suspicious bastard you'd be no use. Now rise and take your seat; you should enjoy these few moments of peace, for there is much to do in Lomin. There is one thing to remember, and it is crucial: it is only united that we'll survive what's coming.'

The duke stood and took a half-step back before a strange look crossed his face. 'I don't pretend to understand your decision, but I'm a soldier, and as long as you ask me to serve the tribe, I will obey,' he said, and bowed once more.

'I'm glad to hear it,' Isak said with a smile. 'And now step back; I believe High Cardinal Echer has a few demands.'

As soon as the new duke had been greeted by Lokan and Sempes, all the rituals observed, Chief Steward Lesarl came forward and planted himself on Isak's right, perching on a stool that had been left for that purpose. Isak had no idea who most of the men in the room were, and with Lesarl close enough to supply their names, he was also conveniently close enough to be involved in any discussion that might take place.

The High Cardinal did not forget his place in the proceedings. As the dukes had presented their sword-hilts to Isak, to take if he wished, so Echer knelt and offered the oversized ring that showed Nartis's snake coiled around a sceptre. Isak thought the lapis lazuli disc looked curiously similar to Nartis's coin, which had hung from Morghien's augury chain.

I wouldn't put it past Morghien to have stolen the coins for his chain. Isak smiled inwardly, but then it faded as he thought, How many priests will I have to kill to prevent civil war here? Enough to make my own chain?

'High Cardinal, I thank you for your respectful greeting,' Isak began, 'but I hear there are some in your service who shame the Gods they profess to serve.'

Echer remained kneeling as he withdrew his hand and looked up at Isak. 'There are many of your citizens who shame the Gods. I cannot blame my penitents for their zeal in showing the people the error of their ways.'

'Zeal is all well and good, High Cardinal, but when it takes the Palace Guard to prevent fighting on the streets of Tirah, it goes too far. I hear there are many towns where blood has been spilled.'

'There are sinners everyone,' spat Echer, 'and their blood is better spilled than left to offend the Gods further.'

Isak took a deep breath. There was a fervent light in Echer's eye, one that Isak longed to snuff out. He was well aware he couldn't afford to let the situation continue — it would escalate as long as there were clear lines of conflict. What passed for religious law in the Land was a garbled mix of edicts, history and myths that required a great deal of interpretation. As yet, the High Cardinal had not put forward any clear agenda, other than the most obvious — the observance of Prayerday, censure of taverns and whorehouses-but Lesarl was convinced there was some sort of plan buried in Echer's sporadic pronouncements.

'The cults have no legal authority,' Isak said firmly, 'and yet your soldiers have attacked and killed in the name of the Gods. They have made summary judgments, and have carried out the punishment. In Chrien I hear a tavern was set alight and only the arrival of local watchmen stopped the arsonists from preventing anyone leaving.'

'Regretful incidents,' Echer said, although his face told a different story, 'but they demonstrate the will of the people. No longer will they allow the law of the Gods to be broken; no longer do they wish profit to sit at the high altar. I do not condone such acts, but you ignore the will of the people at your peril. This moral decay must be stopped or the Gods themselves will be forced to demonstrate their ire.'

'And how is this to be achieved?'

'I have prepared a document for your approval, my Lord.' Echer glared up at Isak, as though daring the white-eye lord to deny him anything he asked for. 'This document has been circulated to the suzerains attending here today, and copies are to be displayed in every temple in Tirah.'

'You walk a dangerous path, High Cardinal,' Lesarl said softly. The Chief Steward's face was hard now, coldly focused. 'Making demands as you display your military strength could be construed as coming dangerously close to insurrection.'

'My penitents are not an army, except in spirit,' Echer said with an indulgent smile that sickened Isak. 'We are not warriors, just men and women driven to preserve the majesty of the Gods.'

Lesarl didn't try to hide the contempt in his voice. 'Beating people to death in the street bears no relation to divine majesty. Providing noblemen and magistrates with armed "escorts" to get to the temple on Prayerday, keeping them prisoner for hours while your illegal courts are conducted-'

'Only a heretic would call debase our piety by describing it that way,' Echer interjected with a snarl.

Isak, judging he had let Lesarl stir the pot long enough, raised a hand to stop the exchange. 'I will not have this argument here. Your document will give us much to think about, your Eminence. I understand you have grievances, and change will come, but the rule of law is in my name and mine alone. Any priest or cardinal found presiding over any form of court — anyone not a recognised magistrate — will be arrested. Do you understand?'

Echer hesitated, visibly thrown by the white-eye's willingness to compromise. 'Of course, my Lord, the rule of law should not be blurred,' he said at last. 'If there are new laws to guide the people back onto the path of piety, how could I complain who enforces them? As long as you act swiftly. You will permit me to exert authority over the cults of the Farlan, as is my right as leader of the Synod. And I trust you agree that authority extends to all affiliated organisations?'

'You are talking about the Dark Monks — the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings?'

'Among others. We will not stand for the presence of cabals who pretend to piety yet bow to no authority.'

'High Cardinal,' Isak said in a level tone, 'no such warnings are necessary between men of Nartis. Please remember your domain is of the ordained. It is my place to shepherd the pious majority, and I shall be vigilant in my duty.'

The whole subject revolted Isak, most particularly the smug way power was exerted. He and Lesarl had rehearsed this conversation, and Isak had flown into a rage the first time as his Chief Steward had acted the High Cardinal's part rather too effectively, twisting compliments to act as insults, describing brutality as 'fatherly chastisement'.

Now he continued, 'In the morning I will make my own worship a public act, to serve as an example for the whole tribe to follow. I would be honoured if you joined me at the Temple of Nartis for the dawn service. I have already issued orders regarding groups like the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings -1 will brook no challenge to my authority — just as I will not accept misguided folk pursuing the will of the Gods themselves.'

The High Cardinal bowed his head, but not quickly enough to hide the glee spreading across his face. The sight of Isak worshipping at the Temple of Nartis under Echer's sanction would be invaluable to him. Isak just had to hope it would mollify the man long enough for Lesarl's purposes.

'My Lord is wise beyond his years and a devoted servant of his God,' he murmured. 'I thank Nartis for his wisdom in choosing you as Lord Bahl's successor.'

Qods, do you think that's me whipped and cowering? Are you really so insane?

Isak didn't bother answering his own question. The man was utterly deluded. He had instigated many of the violent attacks that had taken place and Lesarl was afraid his madness could spark a civil war. The cults were spending their wealth carelessly to swell the ranks of their penitents and novices.

Cardinal Veck approached after the High Cardinal, but clearly had nothing further to add and he soon gave way to Cardinal Certinse, the last of the sitting cardinals of the Synod. Certinse looked drawn and pale; he had lost weight since Isak had seen him last, and his nervousness was palpable. Bloodshot eyes indicated many sleepless nights — no great surprise seeing his sister had joined his brother and nephew among the recent dead; she'd poisoned herself before summoning the daemon in Irienn Square.

Isak had no problem keeping his face stern as he reminded himself of the cardinal's crimes, which had at last been unearthed. As he reached out to touch the cardinal's gold ring of office, he brushed the man's finger with his own and quested out, sensing what he could. The touch of Nartis was weak, barely more than an echo — and confirmation of what Lesarl had turned up.

'Look up, man! Stand up straight and show some backbone,' Isak snapped. 'I'm about to save your life here.'

The cardinal flinched as though he'd been struck, but he did manage to lift his head and keep his terror-filled eyes raised.

'No one can hear us, but your life depends on your ability to act; understand me?'

'I- Yes, my Lord, I understand.' Certinse's eyes betrayed more than a little confusion, but the man was a born politician. His nostrils flared as though finding a scent.

'Good. Now you will have to face me down as we talk; save the finger-wagging for later but they must see you arguing, do you understand? Shake your head if you do.'

Certinse hardly hesitated at the strange instruction before violently shaking his head. A little colour returned to his cheeks as the condemned man grasped at that glimmer of hope.

'Excellent. I'll make this quick. You're unaffected by the rage of the Gods, and I know why. Don't bother to deny it, just let it stand. I am certain this is because Nartis has been replaced by some daemon ally of Cordein Malich's. I have evidence that you were part of the Malich conspiracy from the start.'

Certinse opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. He gave Isak a wary look. 'What is it you want from me?' he asked in a small voice.

'To look bloody angry would be a start, not scared, you fucking cowardly heretic'

Isak's words had the desired effect as Certinse bristled and his face purpled with anger. 'Whatever evidence that deluded maniac Disten gave you, it's false,' he growled.

The bluster prompted a wolfish grin on Isak's face. He smothered it quickly. 'Sorry, but no — it's real. You didn't leave much of a trail yourself, but your aides weren't so careful, and their appetites needed paying for. They stole from the bodies they were told to bury — and there's more than one alibi that depends on the deceased disappearing at sea with all his belongings.'

This struck home like a physical blow. Certinse managed not to sag, but Isak saw the beaten look in his eye. He knew he'd been caught.

'Why am I here then? Why have you not arrested me?'

'Because this evidence means I own you, and much as I hate it, your past crimes mean you could be the solution to the present problem.'

'I don't understand,' Certinse said, sounding pathetic.

'It's simple,' Isak growled, leaning forward in his seat. The sight of his massive frame looming closer sparked" fear in Certinse's eyes, but any animation was better than exhausted acceptance to onlookers, Isak thought. 'You have worshipped daemons and lived, and that means you are no longer bound to your God. Consequently, you are unaffected by this current rage. As much as it disgusts me, I must work with what I've got. Right now, you are the only cleric within the cults of Death or Nartis I can be certain is rational. So you will suggest you yourself are sent to conduct negotiations with Chief Steward Lesarl over the High Cardinal's new religious laws, and I must accept this insult, or lose face.'

'You're just accepting this madness?' Certinse asked, aghast. 'Have you read his document?'

'Right now I have no choice but to mollify the cults, or face insurrection at a time I cannot afford it — you'll be easier to mollify than Echer, because the evidence I have means you'll burn if it ever reaches a court.'

'You cannot murder the High Cardinal!'

'Who said anything about murder? He's an old man using magic to keep himself strong; I'm confident he won't last long.'

'And then?'

'And then your prominence in these negotiations will make you the natural successor to the position of High Cardinal. You will quell any suspicions of foul play, do your piece of screaming and shouting about moral decay, then accept a lessened set of laws — the bare minimum necessary to keep the people from fighting in the streets.'

'You're making me High Cardinal,' Certinse said in disbelief.

'In return for keeping control of the cults,' Lesarl joined in. 'You might need to have Jopel Bern forced from office, but I'm sure you could manage such a thing. Keep your house in order and you will have everything you desire: the position you have plotted to take for decades, and a long life in which to enjoy it. Now, go back and tell them we quarrelled about Disten's investigation.'

Isak sat back and watched the emotions play over Certinse's face. It took just a few seconds for Certinse to realise his position, then he shook his head fiercely and agreed.

Once satisfied his anger had been noted by the room, Certinse returned to report his argument to his fellow cardinals while the rest of the Synod presented themselves. Out of the corner of his eye Isak saw the frantic whispered conversation, but he managed to keep his expression blank to greet each of the faces arriving in front of him.

He paid little attention to most, save for the sad-eyed Corlyn, the head of the pastoral branch of the cult who administered the rural shrines and temples. He showed no signs of being affected by his God's rage. Instead, the gentle-spirited old man had an expression of awful disappointment on his face; he knew some sort of deal had been brokered by the High Cardinal's manner and was wounded by the ease with which Isak had apparently acceded to Echer's demands.

Of the suzerains, he greeted several as warmly as he could, but his mind was elsewhere. The Corlyn's distress had turned his heart cold and made him immediately regret the deal he would have to swallow. The measures would doubtless be so drastic that even a compromise would be terrible. A voice at the back of his mind told him he'd made a hash of offering his condolences to Suzerain Torl. The ageing warrior had lost both family and hurscals to violent clashes with bands of penitents, all because he had been revealed to be a Dark Monk, one of the deeply religious Brethren of the Sacred Teachings. Isak's only consolation was that Torl had been too distracted to take offence. He had quickly replaced the colours of his mourning: the hood he had pushed back only when greeting his lord was red, for a death in battle.

Isak's mood was further darkened by the grim news brought by Suzerain Saroc, Torl's friend and fellow member of the Brethren. Saroc was as far from the image of a Dark Monk as could be, clad as he was in silks of white, yellow and gold, but his round face bore no trace of his customary grin as he knelt in front of Isak.

'My Lord, I hear from Tor Milist that Duke Vrerr has grown pious,' he said hurriedly, his voice tight with anger. 'Normally I'd applaud such a thing, but the man's a fucking cockroach who'd do anything to save his own skin. From what I hear he's made contact with someone within the cult of Death — and that's the reason they have so many novices and penitents looking like experienced mercenaries. He's terrified you're going to march south and sweep him up as you expand the border to include Helrect and whatever's left of Scree. He knows he can't fight off a full-scale assault on Tor Milist, so his mercenaries are better employed to divide us and create civil war here instead.'

'How're things within your border?' Isak asked.

Saroc's scowl deepened. 'Difficult. There are too many armed men in the suzerainty for my liking. They're even trying to dictate behaviour in the abbeys and monasteries. They're pressuring those not as rabid as their leaders to at least declare their public support. If it wasn't for the fact that we've standing garrisons in our towns, there'd have been serious bloodshed already.'

Isak sat back and sighed. 'Whatever we do, it's only a matter of time before that happens.'

His Chief Steward looked worried.

Despite the weather, everyone retired outside once the ceremony was concluded. A regiment of servants waited with plentiful jugs of hot spiced wine to ward off the cold. Inside, the tables were being moved back into position and a feast was being laid out to honour their guests. It wasn't often the vast majority of the tribe's most powerful men were seen together in one room; Lesarl intended to keep them there as long as he could.

As evening fell, Count Vesna stood at the top of the wide stone stairs watching the noblemen and clerics as they cautiously mingled. Their faces were lit by a perimeter of torches driven into the ground. His role as Lord Isak's bodyguard was over now the ritual had been concluded, but he'd decided to forego the festivities all the same. There were plenty of young men in the crowd below who would doubtless be interested in discussing their wives' merits with him — men whose pride mattered more than Vesna's much-trumpeted duelling skills. As it was, none had yet had the opportunity to provoke an argument with him so they could call him out, but in such company it was always a possibility. If that happened, he'd be needing a clear head.

It had appealed to the Chief Steward's sense of humour to use Vesna's charms as a weapon; he had bought the count's personal debts to ensure his loyalty. Vesna shook his head with a rueful smile. I'd never have thought I'd feel too old for all that now, but it's happened nonetheless.

Lord Isak was only a few yards from the bottom of the stair, looking a little bewildered in such company. It was sometimes easy to forget he hadn't been brought up in these circles. He was almost kneeling so he could hear what Suzerain Ranah was saying. Ranah, an octogenarian who sat bolt-upright in his chair, was most likely telling a filthy story, judging by the looks on people's faces.

Qods, and Tila thinks I was bad, Vesna thought suddenly, remembering when he'd stayed for an evening at the suzerain's manor. That old goat claims all three of his wives died because he wore them out.

From time to time, Vesna could see Isak look up and direct a plaintive glance in his direction. He didn't move. Lesarl had made it very plain that Vesna was to keep clear unless there was a threat to Isak's person — and that was highly unlikely: Isak had been wound so tightly since the incarnation of the Reapers in Irienn Square that he'd likely cut any threat in slices before Vesna even had his sword drawn.

'It reminds me of one of my father's hounds,' Vesna said softly to Mihn, who had joined him. He indicated the group of men around Isak.

Mihn blinked, taking in the scene. He was dressed in black, as always: a tunic of tailored cotton that wouldn't catch or snag as he fought — though since returning to the palace, he had done little apart from haunting the cold corridors and ignoring offers from the guardsmen to wrestle.

'The dog had a litter of puppies,' Vesna went on, 'with one much smaller than the other four. The rest bullied it constantly, but my father never let me separate them: it had to find its own way. They weren't going to kill it, so it had to learn to rough-house with the rest.'

'Well, I am pretty sure Lord Isak could take the one in the chair,' Mihn said, nodding towards the group.

Vesna burst out laughing for a moment before disapproving faces hushed him. 'Sweet Nartis, I think that's the first time I've heard you make a joke. Morghien must have had more effect on you than I realised!'

Mihn's only reply was a shrug. Vesna looked at him for a moment, before giving up. 'Still close-mouthed though, eh?'

They watched Chief Steward Lesarl doing the rounds of the various groups. From time to time he would sidle up to Lord Isak and mutter something, then he would be off again, never staying long with any one person, never allowing any real response from those he'd ambushed.

'Strike and withdraw, strike and withdraw — that is the Farlan way,' Mihn said suddenly.

Vesna frowned. 'I suppose so; would you have us do any different?'

Mihn shifted his steel-tipped staff from one hand to the other, still watching Isak. 'It is a fine tactic, as long as you know where your enemy is. You were out-manoeuvred in Scree, however. The enemy was the one to strike and retreat — or so it appears. The Chief Steward has not had much success in tracking them down.'

'So we must learn a new tactic?'

'Perhaps so,' Mihn said, 'though I am no general, and I do not presume to know more than you on the subject.' He paused and Vesna felt a moment of indecision hang in the air. 'I… Of late I find myself only with questions, never answers.'

'What sort of questions?' He didn't need to say he sympathised with the feeling; he knew Mihn had observed it already. Tila had brought the possibility of a new sort of life to the famous rogue: real happiness, instead of fleeting pleasure. He was not far from forty summers now, and the bruises didn't fade as fast these days, but with more than half his life spent on one path, it wasn't easy to contemplate another.

Again, Mihn hesitated. 'Chief among them is how I can be of use to my lord. I will not break my vow again. I will not use edged weapons in anger, even if it means my death, but I realise that makes me of less use.'

'I think you help him by your presence. It calms him just to have you nearby. You've seen how hard he's finding this all' — Vesna waved at the suzerains, most trying to suck up to the new Lord of the Farlan — 'and who could blame him? There's more pressure on that boy than any king could bear.'

'I know. I fear it is taking its toll.'

'His dreams?'

Mihn nodded again. 'He does not confide in me, but I see it in his eyes…' He paused. 'It's not the dreams themselves, but the fact that they might come true. He feels the presence of the Reapers in his shadow, the incarnation of violent death, and he dreams of his own death.'

'Has he bound them to himself somehow?' Vesna asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. 'Isak brought them into life in Scree — a place where the Gods had been driven out… Could he have broken their link to Lord Death by doing so?'

'And thus be to blame for intensifying the rage of the Gods?' Mihn finished his question. 'I do not know. I don't think he does either, but he fears so, especially after Irienn Square.'

'Then what do we do?'

'Do you remember what Morghien did for him the first time we met?'

Vesna cast his mind back to their journey to Narkang, and the stranger who'd been waiting for them at the behest of Xeliath. 'I remember. The spirits inside Morghien attacked Isak's mind, to prepare him for what Aryn Bwr would do.'

'Exactly, Morghien prepared him. When one can see what is coming, there are only two real choices: to try and avoid it, or to accept it and be prepared.'

'My vote's for avoiding death; that would be preferable here, don't you think?' Vesna's laugh sounded a little forced.

'Of course. But he has said nothing of the manner of his death. All we have is his past certainty that Kastan Styrax would kill him. To avoid death means killing Kastan Styrax first, and from all we've heard, that is not so simple a task.'

'"The Gods made their Saviour the greatest of all men",' Vesna said, recalling what Isak had related of his conversation with Aryn Bwr. 'They made him too perfect, too strong and skilled.'

'And thus, presumably, a difficult man to kill.' Mihn raised his head a little and Vesna followed his gaze to the boundary of torches forced into the hard-packed earth.

'What are you saying?'

'Merely that putting the enemy off-balance, doing what they do not or cannot expect, is half of the duel.' He was watching a figure flanked by Palace Guards draw closer. Lesarl stepped into the path to intercept the person — a woman, or maybe a short man, Vesna guessed. The person was wearing a thick winter cloak with the hood pulled up to shadow the face.

'You expect him to embrace his own death?' Vesna asked. 'What possible preparation can there be for that? Or do you expect Isak to be able to cheat Death himself?' He sensed rather than saw Mihn tense beside him. For a moment he thought he'd taken offence at Vesna's words — until he saw the diamond-patterned clothes of the new arrival: a Harlequin, no doubt here to entertain the assembled dignitaries.

'I make no such suggestion,' Mihn said in a carefully calm voice, 'only that such a thing might free him from the tangled web of his destiny. It had been said of Death's throne room that no obligation or contract can follow you through those doors. What if he is tempted by such an offer? What if that is the only way to free him from those bindings?'

'That's not much in the way of freedom, is it? There's no coming back from the grave, so let's push him in the other direction, right?'

Mihn ignored Vesna's attempt to lighten the tone of the conversation. 'Will we get the choice? You know as well as I do that he is going to announce a march south so he can create a buffer-state to encompass Tor Milist, Helrect and Scree; there is little else he can do if the alternative is inviting chaos and bloodshed on his own border. The Menin have taken Thotel and conquered the Chetse.' He cocked his head towards Vesna as the Harlequin passed Lesarl and started up the staircase. 'If you were Lord Styrax and intent on conquest, would you look west to the relatively minor states there, or north to Tor Salan and the Circle City?'

'Gods,' breathed Vesna with sudden realisation. He pictured the map of the Land painted on Lesarl's office wall. 'They're being drawn together?'

The Harlequin ascended the stair with a light, fluid step that Vesna recognised as very similar to Mihn's. The notion sent a slight childish thrill down his spine. He knew Mihn had been trained as a Harlequin, that greatness had been expected of him, but the air of mystery around those masked performers reached out from his childhood to enthral him once again.

The Harlequin stopped dead when it saw them and stared at Mihn for a few moments. '1 will not perform while that pollutes my presence,' it said in a neutral tone.

The Harlequins' sex was a closely guarded secret. Vesna recalled a story he'd heard once, of a drunkard who'd been determined to find out if the Harlequin entertaining his lord was female. It was probably nothing more than a tale spread to warn people off, but the story had described the loss of the drunk's head and limbs in what the young Vesna had thought deliciously gory detail.

'I will leave,' Mihn replied after a long pause. 'I would not shame my lord by driving off the entertainment.'

The comment brought a slight intake of breath from behind the Harlequin's mask, but before it could reply Vesna stepped between them.

'Come on then. Both our moods need improving.'

Mihn gave him a wary look, his nostrils twitching slightly, and Vesna realised the man was quivering with restrained energy. He didn't want to find out how long either could hold it before they went for their weapons.

'Some friends of mine are spending the evening in a tavern. Come on; let's join them.'

Vesna directed Mihn down the other side of the staircase, away from the watching Harlequin, carefully not touching him. He'd seen Mihn fight; his reactions were almost preternaturally swift and destructive.

It was only at the bottom of the stair that Mihn breathed again. He turned his back on the watching Harlequin. 'When you say tavern-?' he began.

Vesna chuckled and dared to clap the man on the shoulder. 'Yes, I mean brothel, but they serve damn fine wine, and the other'd probably do you good anyway.'

He dragged Mihn towards the barbican and away from the motionless Harlequin.

'Come on, my friend,' Vesna continued cheerfully, 'one of the girls is rumoured to be as much of an athlete as you; it should be quite a meeting.'