The stormcaller

6

'But I do not expect to be popular in the west, so I thought I might call in on an old enemy and see how he's getting over his cold.'

Vukotic sat opposite him, leaving Bariaeth in its scabbard on the other side of the room. 'Why?'

'Well, it appears I tried to put an influence charm on the Saviour.'

'What?' Vukotic nearly jumped out of his seat. 'The Saviour? I've heard none of this. When? Who?'

Aracnan gave a whispery chuckle and, ignoring his friend's sudden animation, poured two cups of the steaming tea. The cup looked tiny in his hands as he wrapped his chilled fingers about it.

He took a sip and smiled, then said, 'Patience; and I will tell you. He is Farlan – Nartis has two Chosen again. I was given instructions to fetch him and announce it to Lord Bahl, but he would not come.'

'Why not?'

'I cannot say exactly, but I felt a sudden hatred for the boy as soon as I laid eyes on him and I believe he saw that, or maybe felt the same way, but why? All I remember is that he wears a halo of trouble. He's wild, and that makes me fear for what he might do-'

'And you still keep a trap-scroll with you for when you meet interesting strangers,' finished Vukotic, with a smile. 'You've become a creature of habit, my friend. Age has caught up with you at last. But it's sensible enough. The influence will remain dormant and undetected by most mages.'

'Except it was never activated. The scroll was given to Lord Bahl, who knew not to open it. I followed the boy to Tirah – I wanted to understand why I'd felt him to be different, and I wanted to deliver the message at least to Lord Bahl, even if I couldn't deliver the boy.'

Vukotic looked at the immortal sitting opposite him. They called themselves friends, though that was not the simple truth. The story was likely to be less innocent than Aracnan was suggesting, but he had done the same many times. They both had their own agendas, their own games to play and what were a few lies between immortals? As the years swept past it was good to see a familiar face, so they both ignored much to ensure that continued.

He prompted Aracnan. 'And?'

'And I was attacked, again and again – attacked in my sleep by some Yeetatchen witch, of all things. Whenever I neared the boy she came after me. I've been warding my mind ever since, but I think she only wanted to drive me away. I was out of the city by the time I heard about the Krann's gifts and realised what he was.'

'What would the Gods gift their Saviour with?' Vukotic wondered out loud. 'He's Farlan, so it would ultimately be Nartis's choice… so it would be an aggressive one, without thought to the consequences, but not whimsical. Amavoq would have given a dragon, no doubt, but not the Night Hunter.' He sighed. 'So. Siulents and Eolis are back in the Land.'

'My friend, you have too much time on your hands.' The mercenary chuckled. 'But you are, of course, quite correct.'

As he rose, slowly unfurling his body from the chair, the vampire wondered, as always, if Aracnan was a native of anywhere. His almost inhuman, hairless features were starkly different to Vukotic's own, and unchanged over the millennia. His ears, unadorned and unscarred, were prominent against the smooth lines of his skull, which added to the generally outlandish impression. He was not of any of the tribes of man, but neither was he similar to any of the warrior races created by the Gods.

Vukotic sighed to himself, remembering those poor creatures bred only for war and the part he had played in exterminating them: the feral Manee, the beautiful Angosteil whose shining faces had stirred the envy of the elves, and the bizarre, green-carapaced Voch. They had killed them all, and more besides, in ambushes, with terrible spells, unleashing unnatural plagues. The elves had been as vicious as their Gods; perhaps even more ruthless, because they understood hurt in a way immortals couldn't.

Vukotic's memories were interrupted by a sudden discordant clang-ing from the walls that got louder as more hands fell to the task of warning the city. He shrugged at Aracnan. 'It seems I must wait for whatever other news you have of the Land. The Menin's Lord Cytt demands my presence so he can prove his worth to the rest of his tribe.'

'As if there is anyone else in the Menin who has not accepted Lord Styrax's son as their future ruler,' Aracnan scoffed.

'Will you join me? Together we could deal with the man before he wastes his soldiers on the walls. I'm sure your reputation would be furthered by the death of Lord Cytt surrounded by his entire army.'

Aracnan laughed out loud and nodded his agreement. 'We both have reputations to further, do we not – in dark times, who knows what use they might be? After, we must make plans to leave in search of summer.'

'Leave the Forbidden Lands? Events have progressed that far?'

They have gone far enough that we must deal ourselves into the game, or be left behind.'

After they had left, the shadows slowly lengthened as the lamps died down. When a servant came to clear the cups and tend the fire, he was struck, suddenly, by the feeling that he was not alone. The room grew cold for a moment and he shivered as he looked around, but there was no one there and, feeling foolish, he dismissed it as an old man's fears.

Outside, on the blanketed plain beyond the city, two shapes moved silently over the snow.