The stormcaller

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to himself. 'Times are still so precarious; what will they think if I’m not there for the battle?' As if in answer to his question, the writings of a warrior-monk centuries dead surfaced in his mind: Doubts cloud purpose, in battle as in life. No swordsman is complete without resolve and purpose of movement. Bahl nodded wearily; his mind would not be swayed on the point, so he must cast off the guilt. It would do him no good to doubt his own actions, there were plenty of others to do

that.

What did worry him was the elven army's strange behaviour. That they were attacking at the onset of winter was illogical; their rush to besiege Lomin deepened the mystery even more. Was there something in Lomin they wanted, or was the object of their attack more obscure than that? Was this siege the product of some minor prophecy, a feud between elven noble houses or something even more troubling?

'Damn you, Isak, why have these elves come? Have you brought this down on us?' Now he felt guilty for his thoughts: this was the first time he had voiced out loud the words he knew Lesarl was also thinking. It was an unfair accusation, perhaps, but a very real possibility.

Bahl hauled himself to his feet and walked to the long table in the centre of the room. Sleep would have to wait. On the table, neatly folded and pressed, were two leather under-suits, one tailored to Isak's current measurements and the second to an estimate of how big the Krann might be in a few weeks, somewhere between Bahl's size and Isak's current build.

The tailor had been overwhelmed when Lord Bahl himself had appeared in his shop late one evening, but it had been necessary. Isak was growing at a prodigious rate; he was already significantly taller and heavier than he had been when he arrived, and the growth spurt wasn't slowing down. Growing pains were doing little for the young man's mood, but the benefits were clear.

As for the armour on top of the leather, Bahl suspected that would find its own accommodation. The elves of old had been taken with Kasi Parian, the man who'd been the model for all white-eyes, because he had matched them in size as well as skill.

Bahl picked the bundles up and tucked them under his arm. He started for the door, then hesitated and retrieved his massive broadsword from the stand beside the fireplace. Looking at the weapon, named by its maker White Lightning, he had to wonder whether even Eolis would tempt him away from this brutal and inelegant sword. Its fat double-edged blade curved out into spikes at the hilt which should have made it too heavy but for the magic it contained – yet he'd owned it for so long he couldn't imagine himself going into battle with any other weapon.

He made his way down to Isak's chambers, where he let the guard in the corridor knock once to announce him before striding in. Isak was rising from the desk as Bahl entered, a sprawl of open books before him. Lady Tila sat to one side and jumped up a fraction after Isak had. Bahl caught her expression and sighed inwardly; it looked like she was becoming fast friends with the Krann – perhaps more, judging by the closeness of their seats. He noticed her fingers closed tightly around the enamel crest that pinned the sash at her waist; it appeared that the girl's affection did not extend to all white-eyes.

Bahl tossed the bundle to Isak, who snatched it from the air like a dog catching a bone. The weeks together had given the two of them some sort of uneasy familiarity; both were cautious of intruding on the other, but there was an unspoken sympathy between them.

Isak, his books forgotten, set the bundle down on the desk and, with a gleam in his eye, he ripped open the linen packaging. He held the under-suit up to inspect it.

'It is time for you to take possession of your gifts.' Lord Bahl's voice sounded unusually sonorous, and Isak looked up quickly.

'It's a suit of armour then?' He looked as though he wanted to ask more, but controlled himself.

'A suit of armour,' Bahl confirmed. 'And whilst I assume you would like to know why you're only just getting your gifts now, the only answer I will give you is "because".' He smiled a little at Isak's expression. 'Not the answer you were hoping for, I see, but something you will have to get used to one of these days. The actions of the Gods are not there to be questioned. Sometimes it is simply a question of faith.'

He saw no reason to tell the boy that he and Lesarl had wanted time to better prepare him for his gifts.

'There are two undersuits; the other is larger so you have one to grow into; no doubt you'll need more by the time you return. You lead the army out of the city in one hour, so come quickly now.'

Without a word, Isak rolled the under-suit up again and handed the other to Tila. 'Can you put that with my baggage and make sure everything is waiting for me?'

Bahl saw her rouged lips part fractionally. She obviously wanted to argue, but dared not in his presence. Had they been alone, Bahl could see she would have asked to go with Isak. A bad sign, that; the youth's infectious humour had drawn the girl closer to him than was good for either.

After the briefest of pauses, Tila ducked her head in acknowledgement, managed a quick curtsey and fled the room. It was clear she feared for Isak in his first battle, as well she might. The boy was reckless and inexperienced, but every soldier had to muddle through a first battle, and it would be no different for Isak. He, like every other soldier, would return a changed man, but Bahl felt a flicker of concern at what those changes might be.

'Are we going underground?'

'We are; leave Kerin's Eagle-blade here. I think we'll be able to find something better for you.'

Isak grinned. He looked uneasy as well as excited, and with good reason, for the changes Nartis had wrought over the past few weeks had made him taller and stronger. He was now of a size with General Lahk, already twenty stone in weight and strong enough to kill a grown man with his bare hands. His gifts would elevate him to a level no normal soldier could hope to reach: speed and strength accentuated beyond even a normal white-eye's power – and that took no account of what spells might be imbued into the metal. Tour shield?'

Isak leaned over the desk and drew the shield out from the footwell. Bahl frowned when he saw it, once again reaching out his senses to touch the gleaming silver. He still could not place whatever spell it contained: it wasn't complex, but that simplicity confused him. 'Can you read any of the runes on it?'

'There aren't any.' Isak held up the shield for Bahl to see, keeping a tight grip on it. Bahl made no attempt to touch it as he inspected the surface.

Not on either side?' Isak turned it over to show his Master the inside. There was nothing, not even written on the leather straps for Isak's arm.

‘I did dream of a rune the night I got this. Tila found me a book to look them up in.'

'Them?'

'It- there were, ah, lots, of runes in the book. It was a core rune, meaning something like "Merge" or "Union".'

'Ah.' Bahl drew back from the shield, understanding suddenly dawning as he remembered the thread of magic that had wormed its way between the flagstones of the Great Hall that day. That makes sense – although I suspect the connotations will be a puzzle.'

'Why? What makes sense?'

'Best you see for yourself. Come.'

The pair descended the main stair side by side. The chaos of preparations for the army's departure was strangely absent here; the running feet and bellowed commands were distant, behind thick walls of stone. As they neared the bottom, a scampering soldier in Tehran's livery appeared before them, on an errand to his lord's chambers. Startled by the two white-eyes, the man accidentally careened into a wall, then pressed himself up against it to make room for them. As soon as they had passed, he took off again, and they heard his feet pounding heavily on the stair as he made his way to the suzerain's suite.

In the lower level of the tower, the air was cold and dank. With no fire burning, it felt like a dungeon. Since the advancing elven army had first been drawn to their attention, the call of Isak's gifts had intensified. Bahl was sure Isak had felt it too; more than once he had left his room in the morning to find Isak lingering at the base of the tower, instead of eating breakfast in the Great Hall.

Isak pulled his paral shirt tighter against the clammy air, which pushed the dragon brooch pinned to it to a strange angle, snout down, as though it was digging into the ground. It reminded Bahl that he had not spoken to the beast below in six months. He had no idea how it would react to Isak's presence.

The cycle of a dragon's life consisted of long periods of rest and sleep, then perhaps half a century of destruction and terror in the mating rituals. In return for a safe haven for this beast, Bahl had secured the promise of assistance in battle when it was required, and that the destructive phase would take place far from Farlan lands. It was a strange bargain to have struck, but the cost of feeding a dragon was far less than maintaining troops enough to match the dragon's worth.

Down they went, deep into the belly of the earth, far from prying eyes. Isak, used now to the tower's magic, guessed the distance to be half the height of the tower – a long way down to put a strong-room;

when he announced that, it elicited only a humourless snort by way of reply.

Now it was pitch-black, and Isak could see nothing at all, not even the hand he reached out in front of his own face, until Bahl muttered a few words under his breath. Isak detected the dirty-sour smell of magic as a ball of flame appeared in Bahl's palm. Although the words were too quiet for Isak to hear, they rose in his memory: one of many spells he'd memorised over the past few weeks but couldn't make work.

They were in a cave, a hollowed-out space some ten feet high and wide, unfinished walls still marked by the tools used to carve out the hole. The flame gave off only enough light to see that not even an iron brand adorned the walls. Bahl led him through a hole in the wall into an undulating tunnel, wide enough only for one at a time. Isak trailed along behind, wondering where this was taking them.

He tried another attempt at conversation, something that had been nagging at his mind for a while. 'My Lord.7'

'Hmm?'

'When we return from Lomin, what will I do7'

'You're the Krann, you do what you like.'

'That's not what I mean. If I've proved myself in battle – if I have gifts like yours – what should I be doing with my life?'

Isak knew it was a strange question, but in a nation of allotted roles, he could not now see one for him – at least until he became the Lord of the Farlan, and that was a long way ahead.

Bahl stopped, his expression hidden by his mask. 'What should you be doing with your life? A good question, I suppose.' Abruptly, he started walking again. 'You're a suzerain. You have an estate and a shire to manage; just getting your lands in order may take years. Lesarl will provide you with records of the suzerain's possessions in Anvee – I think you'll have quite a lot of evictions, rent collecting and deal-making to do. Crops grown on your land now belong to you, no matter who planted them, your nobles will have redrawn boundaries, your shire seat will be in disrepair, your bondsmen need accounting-'

'Oh, playing with bits of paper, measuring land, counting money,' Isak couldn't hide the boredom in his voice.

'Hunting, hawking, practising your magic, horse-breeding, bullying old aristocrats and charming their innocent daughters; I assumed you'd enjoy it. Estate managers can be found to deal with the administrative side. Did you expect more?'

'I suppose-' Isak sounded a little diffident now. 'Well, I had wondered whether you'd be sending me on diplomatic missions.' 'You? A diplomat? What a curious concept.' Isak smiled at Bahl's tone, glad for any levity between them. 'There will certainly be lots to keep you busy here if you want it, but our relationships with other states are limited. We are too powerful for them to attack us, and trade agreements are already in place, so your principal official role if you want it would be patrolling our borders to discourage raiding.'

'What if-'

Isak got no further as Bahl interrupted, 'Another time. We're

here.'

Isak realised he'd forgotten to count the paces as he'd intended, but guessed they'd covered a hundred yards or more. Another twenty paces and Bahl stopped in front of the outline of a doorway hewn in the rock: sharp, irregular lines edged in the faintest of green.

As they'd been walking, Isak had been more and more aware of the presence of magic of some sort up ahead, but the scent was unlike any he recognised. As he followed Bahl inside, the smell of wet lichen, animal dung and a piercing acrid odour grew hugely, as did the magic in the air. There were powerful streams of energy present, not building up, but attracted to this place for some reason, presumably his gifts. The smell of dung bemused him, though: it was not quite like a stable, nor a slaughterhouse, but the aroma was similarly pervasive.

As Isak took in the proportions of the room, he faltered: this was a cavern stretching off into blackness, not the strong-room he'd been expecting. The faint green tint that outlined the walls and uneven floor had no apparent source, other than the magic he could sense swirling all around. The cavern was not one regular open space; the roof dipped and rose as it pleased and the floor rose up in the centre around a group of thick pillars clustered with quartz. Two large holes had been hacked into a side wall, presumably tunnels leading to more chambers. One had great chunks of rock lying broken at its entrance. 'Where are we? What is this place?' He found himself whispering-'I keep some of the artefacts Atro collected over the years here. We cannot keep them in the palace itself, nor can we destroy most of them, for fear of releasing the magic inside – for the same reason

why the Elven Waste is indeed a waste: that is where the Great War was fought and vast amounts of uncontrolled magic poisoned the ground.'

'That's all? But this is a cavern, and I can feel something else down here. Gods, is there something alive here? What's that I can sense?' Isak stood still, trying to make sense of what he could smell and feel, then he gasped as he recognised the ancient air that lingered in parts of the palace, like the presence of centuries but alive and aware, and terrifyingly potent.

Bahl didn't reply, but gestured towards the raised part of the floor, where, in the darker parts between the pillars, Isak could just make out a long lump of rock. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a smooth arc against the irregular stone, that became a tail, huge and scaled, with a fat scimitar tip. Isak's mouth dropped open; without warning, the tail was whipped back and into the shadows, then a cold rasping rose from the lump of rock Bahl had indicated. It slid forward, the heavy click of claw on stone and the rasp of its scaled tail dragging along the rough surface announcing its living presence.

Welcome, Lord Isak.

Inside his head the words echoed and crashed, rising in power until Isak started backwards in surprise.

Do not be alarmed. I have promised Lord Bahl I will eat none of his subjects. I am Genedel.

Now a head appeared from the shadows, dipping down the slope with a deliberate lack of speed. It was fully two yards long, with a frill of bone sweeping back from the top of its head, which in turn was flanked by two huge horns that twisted back and up, another two yards long themselves. A wide snout held rows of glittering teeth; the protrusion of nostrils broke its smooth curve, and a pair of tusk-like horns pointed forward from behind the frill of bone, almost as far as the very tip of the snout. Behind that lay two huge eyes, glimmers of deepest red in the underground night. The rest of the body was hidden, visible only in silhouette. Isak guessed at folded wings sitting high on each side and a relatively slender body supported by wide clawed legs.

Ah-' replied Isak in a daze. 'And how about burning them?' As soon as the words came out he realised he was being flippant to a dragon, one that was no more than ten yards from his face. It could probably flame him without even moving.

I have promised nothing there.

'Oh.'

But let no man say a dragon is without a sense of humour. Isak kept his jaw clamped shut; terrified in case his inability to shut up might anger the beast. That was something he didn't want to see. Your gifts, young Krann; that is why you are here, is it not? 'I… yes, it is. We ride for Lomin within the hour.' Your first battle. It will show your true nature to your men; it is how they will remember you, yet I doubt any could forget you. Take the eastern tunnel and you will find what cries for a master.

Isak looked at the inscrutable features of the dragon, then at the two tunnel entrances. Eastern, not left or right. For a second he started trying to picture east in the palace, and then work out which way they had turned to get down here. Then he remembered where he was, and what he was looking for. Starting out towards the tunnels, he felt the keen of his gifts more strongly than ever before. The crunch of broken stone and dirt underfoot danced around the walls, sounding ever louder as his heart hammered inside his chest.

Reaching the tunnel, Isak glanced back for a moment. The weight of Genedel's presence behind him was a burn on the back of his neck he couldn't ignore. Bahl had stepped closer to the beast, only a few yards from one tusk, watching him. With a flick of its head, the dragon – Genedel – could impale Lord Bahl; it seemed impossible that even the famous hero white-eye, the Lord of the Farlan, could succeed in killing such a creature, however many tales there were of lesser men performing such a deed.

Isak tore his attention away from his Master and concentrated on the smell of magic. He took the left-hand tunnel, and found himself having to duck down five yards in as the roof dipped sharply. The stone walls slewed right and spread out wide into a bowl-shaped room. There was a flat ledge against the back wall, almost waist height. Isak shuddered to a halt at the entrance, entranced by the objects before him. He didn't need to be told what they were; there was no mistaking objects constantly mentioned in myth that radiated such power he almost sank to his knees as he laid eyes on them. Only an echo of that same power from his shield kept him standing.

The dark lines of the room melted away. All he saw were the silver curves of Siulents, beautiful as a dream, even laid out in pieces. Each delicate plate and link was a craftsman's joy. The lines of each piece

followed the muscular shape of a warrior's body, but with a sinuous grace that was almost inhuman. The helm was a single piece; its near-blank features showed a weirdly distorted reflection of Isak's face as he held it up to inspect. It looked like a mirror version of Bahl's mask, but not one that would mould to the wearer's face. It had two ridges, running back over the head and cold empty eye sockets, that reminded Isak of the dragon in the chamber behind him, or perhaps the rattlesnake he'd once killed: reptilian; sleek and graceful, with lethal intent.

Pushing the image from his mind, Isak moved to the sword and closed his fingers around the double-handed grip of Eolis, tightly wrapped in pure white silk and bound with an emerald filigree that emanated from the massive emerald set into the hilt. Six silver claws shaped like talons gripped the emerald securely. The guard was a circular piece of ivory that looked to be fused into the blade itself.

As Isak marvelled at the blade, he realised that the poor working Kerin had claimed was nothing more than the echo of this sword reaching up into Isak's mind. Without knowing it, some part of his soul had recognised Eolis. The smith had given the sword honest praise, but Isak knew now how far short of the mark it had fallen. The weight of the blade was almost imperceptible, yet as he moved Eolis through some basic forms, listening to the soft zip as it neatly cut the air, he felt a surge of strength in his arm. Isak realised that this blade would cut through even the pieces of rock littering the floor in Genedel's chamber.

There was a rough leather sheath beside it, Farlan-designed, of plain black leather, which presumably Lord Bahl or Lesarl had left for him. Pulling off his boots and shirt, Isak quickly dressed in the under-suit Bahl had given him. He hesitated before touching Siulents again, but as he started fitting the armour on to his body, he felt a note of exhilaration trembling; building up as each piece clipped into place. The silver took on a seductive, liquid quality as he flexed his limbs to test the freedom of movement, and even more remarkably he could not see the seams between plates, only an unbroken curve.

A smile broke over his face. This wasn't what he had expected; instead, his body felt cocooned in a second skin, only slightly constrained, and coupled with an intoxicating sense of invulnerability. Isak hesitated when only the helm remained. It was tradition that helms were only for battle; ancient belief held that a hidden face displayed hidden intentions. Wealthy knights would often have their visors made into savage and grotesque faces to further the distinction between a man of war and a person of civilisation.

Though he wanted badly to try it on, the sound of voices in the main chamber broke the spell and, gathering up his clothes, Isak bundled them together and laid them inside the shield, cushioning his helm.

As Isak entered the dragon's lair, Bahl broke off his conversation and stared, almost wavering with shock. 'Gods, Aryn Bwr was well named; quicksilver indeed,' he exclaimed. A rumble from deep inside Genedel's throat echoed agreement.

Isak just stood, unable to put what he felt into words. He held up Eolis, drawing it from the sheath to show Bahl the glitter of white light that shone out, even in the dark, green-tinted depths of Genedel's cavern. His expression was one of bemused helplessness. 'These really are the last king's weapons, aren't they?' Now you know why the elves have come. The Land has envious eyes for such beauty.

'We cannot be sure of that,' interrupted Bahl. You are, as I am. The night of Isak's Choosing was one of unrest in distant parts as much as here. The creatures of the night felt it; the denizens of Ghenna knew his name at that moment. Mages and prophets have also sensed the disturbance, whether they recognise it or not. The elves have been waiting for three thousand years. They know.

Bahl didn't respond. His huge frame suddenly seemed small, deflated, even. His eyes ran down the gleaming blade, over the smooth curves of Siulents – and he gave a small nod. Stepping forward, the Lord of the Farlan reached into his belt. Isak tightened his grip on Eolis, feeling a spasm of shame as Bahl produced a piece of blue cloth.

'I have no such gifts to offer you, but I feel there is something-' He didn't finish the sentence, but held out a hood identical to his own. 'May it keep you safe in other ways.'

Isak nodded his thanks and placed the shield and Eolis carefully down on the ground. He slipped the hood over his cropped scalp. The silk hung loose briefly before tightening around his head, covering his nose and mouth but somehow not impairing his breath. There was an enchantment on it so subtly woven he'd not noticed it until then.

'Give me your hand.' Isak cocked his head at the strange instruction, but held out his right hand, changing it to the left at the old

lord's request. Bahl pulled off his gauntlet – the silver parted without resistance – and then the glove underneath.

He held Isak's hand palm up, inspecting it for a moment, before suddenly whipping a dagger from his belt and slashing down. Isak cried out in surprise and pain, but Bahl kept a tight grip on his wrist and pulled his Krann closer.

This is my gift to you.' His voice was deep and old, full of sorrow and pain. 'This is the legacy that you will inherit from me; your blood, your pain, shed for people and Gods who neither know of it nor care. You will be hated and feared by those your duty leads you to protect, who will show resentment, not gratitude, no matter what you do for them. Do not expect your people to love you, trust you, or remain loyal to you. You will become the man your duty to the tribe permits, the man it forges. If you try to fight that, you will break under the weight of it.'

After a respectful bow to the dragon, they returned to the main wing of the palace in silence. Isak had too much swirling in his head to speak; Bahl had no more to say and instead let his own thoughts fester. The Chief Steward met them on the stair and bowed low to both, then offered Isak a white cape, reaching up as far as he could to set it about the Krann's shoulders. As it unfurled behind his back, Isak caught sight of an emerald dragon detailed in gold. Isak secured it himself, fastening the cloak with his brooch from the bundle of clothes. With his shield retrieved and set securely on his arm, Isak looked at the two men, waiting for their nods of approval before he set off to face his army.

A reverential whisper greeted Isak in the Great Hall. It grew and spread like a tidal wave. Bahl saw men stop dead and stare; men who had felt a change in the air and turned to watch Isak emerge into the training ground where his horse was waiting. More joined the congregation of hushed voices; the awed sound waxed with every heartbeat, echoed back by the encircling wall, then swelled to a roar into the gusting wind and growling clouds. A single fork of lightning split the sky and the men cheered, with all their hearts and souls; they raised a clamour that woke the whole of the city and sent a howl of defiance rolling east over the trees.