The stormcaller

CHAPTER 26

The further south they travelled, the more winter lost its edge. Nights were cold, especially when they slept on board the riverboat, but the familiar bite of snow in the air was gone. The Parian felt summer on the horizon as they left the shadow of the mountains and crossed wide empty plains. Narkang lay to the south-west, but they had no intention of going near either Vanach, which had strict religious laws too easy to break unsuspectingly, or Tor Milist – no one knew what reception Isak might get there.

Instead, they travelled on the river that marked the border between Tor Milist and Scree for much of the way. There was a small risk of trouble, but their party was well able to deal with any problems they might encounter.

It was strange to wake without a mountain somewhere on the horizon, but the presence of the early morning sunshine more than compensated. The sight of thin wisps of cloud above, all edged in gold, brought a smile to Isak's lips. He began to remember the pleasure to be found out in the wilds. With the warm memory of Xeliath in his head and friends surrounding him, Isak found himself enjoying life more than ever. Only the lingering memory of what the dark-skinned girl had said troubled him, even though he had determined not to worry any more about it until he reached Narkang and the brightly shining King Emin. Still he couldn't quite shake off the feeling of unease.

As they skirted Tor Milist's official border, those they met reported that the civil war had started up again in earnest. Duke Vrerr had suffered two minor defeats already that year, though he had barely escaped with his life, it appeared the rumours of his death had been exaggerated. The duke had placed an enormous bounty on the head of the witch Lefema after her attempt on his life, but so far, no one

had claimed it. The peasants hated their Lord with a passion, for he was already appropriating people's crops – at this rate they would have nothing to store up for the winter.

And court gossip was passed on too: a Chetse mercenary was providing plenty of talk amongst the gentlefolk of Tor Milist, for he had apparently succeeded in cuckolding the notoriously jealous duke.

'I can believe that well enough,' Vesna commented as they relaxed in the common room of a dockside tavern they had graced with their presence.

'And why's that?' Tila's expression went unnoticed.

Vesna stared at his drink and scowled at the bitter aftertaste. 'Well, I went there as part of the negotiations over the last border raids, a famous name to distract the duke.'

Isak smiled. Vesna hadn't admitted to Tila all the reasons for being sent on such missions: no only did men tend to get distracted when the famous adulterer was around, but Vesna had been trained by the best poisoners in the Chief Steward's employ. Many negotiations had been swiftly resolved by the timely passing of an obstructive old man.

'I met the duchess only once, but she-' Now he caught sight of Tila's face. 'Ah, I mean- Well, you know what they say about the Chetse…' The count's brain caught up with his mouth and he shut up.

'No,' said Tila, innocently, 'what do they say?'

'I, er… they say-' He looked around the smiling faces and scowled. 'Oh leave me alone, I never went near the woman, despite her offers. She smelled so bad I couldn't bear being in the same room.'

Carel gave the downcast count a pat on the shoulder, but Vesna got up and headed for the door.

'I think it would probably be quicker to just ask him which women he has gone near,' Carel told Tila, a merciless grin on his face.

Tila could see why the count kept his first name from everyone, even his friends. 'And I think you should keep quiet, old man,' she snapped back. 'At least Count Vesna's trying to be respectable. You're the one encouraging him – not to mention throwing all your money at trollop barmaids.'

The laughter was less raucous now: the guardsmen filling most of the bar weren't going to risk enjoying themselves too much at their commander's expense. In any case, Tila had a treacherously good memory for those with a sweetheart at home and a local girl on their lap. Since she'd had to give in to Isak and use a normal saddle, Tila's tongue had been sharper than ever and the men trod carefully around her.

Carel snorted and turned away and Tila stormed off to join Mistress

Daran at a table away from the increasingly rowdy soldiers.

'So you're goin' south to the borderland from here, my Lord?' asked the barkeep hesitantly, taking advantage of the lull in conversation.

Isak turned to look at the man. Just for a moment his temper flared as he recalled all the inns like this he'd been excluded from in his old life. Then the memory of the shadow took over, and he grimaced at the thought that still his life was not his own.

The barkeep began to sweat as Isak glared at him, twisting a grimy cloth tighter and tighter around his pudgy hands. 'Do you normally let white-eyes in here?'

'I- Er, well, some o' tha mercenaries we get in these parts, it don't matter whether they're white-eye or no. Duke Vrerr pays for men who'll follow any orders and that al'ays bring scum – men as'll kill

you soon as look as you.'

'So you think I'm respectable enough for your establishment?'

'My Lord?' enquired Carel, sternly.

Isak kept the terrified barkeep frozen to the spot for a moment longer, then shook off his bad mood. He acknowledged Carel's admonishment and tossed a gold coin on to the bar.

'I'm sorry. Please, keep the beer coming. If you have brandy, then you look like you could do with one yourself.'

The man looked down at the coin with suspicion, then nodded and swept it cleanly into his apron pocket. 'Thank you, my Lord. Will you be wantin' a bottle yoursel'?' He was obviously still uncomfortable,

but gold was gold.

'Yes, thank you, and we are going south through the borderland, if that's what you call the disputed lands south of here – why? Have you

heard anything?'

'I- Well, nothin' new. But you might like to know they're a touchy breed south o' here. They fight Tor Milist and Helrect if either tries to claim the region. They see a lot o' soldiers passin' through, so a uniform they don't know, like them dragon badges, you'll get arrows every step o' the way. They'll prob'ly leave you alone if you dont boast your colours – and if you're goin' nice and slow and obvious-like

towards Ghorent. That's the heart o' the borderland and some respec' to'ards the town should see you left in peace.'

Isak nodded and muttered his thanks, then touched Carel on the arm and indicated he was going out to speak to Vesna. Carel nodded and turned to watch one of the guardsmen's efforts to engage Mistress Daran in conversation. Their evening amusement frequently revolved around a bet on who could draw the chaperone into an obscure argument and how long it could be strung out – that woman did like to argue once she had a glass or two of wine in her. So far they'd managed to conceal the actual betting from Tila.

Out of the corner of his eye Carel saw Mihn follow Isak outside. He smiled: at last his boy had friends, and ones who'd watch out for him at that. It was just what Isak needed, some friendship and reassurance in his life. But he still lay awake at nights worrying about how long it would last. Isak would always be a white-eye. Even if they stopped him looking for trouble, trouble would still find him one day.

A curtain of pink washed across the eastern sky as dusk closed in. A long tear just above the horizon glowed ruby-red and to the west, towards the Gods, the sky was dark and forbidding. The bloody shard seemed to be pointing out the group's direction; the Gods ignored them. Behind them, in the north, a mass of clouds were ready to sweep down over the plains and pound them with sleet. The boats were waiting for them on the river, but Ghorent itself was still half a day's travel over the floodplains. More than once over the last few days, parties of bowmen had appeared at the side of the river to watch them pass. They were in no doubt that their passage was being carefully monitored.

Ghorent had to be close now, Isak reckoned – despite the sense of menace that hung over the borderlands, he was looking forward to a night in a town, anywhere with clean beds and fresh food. All those years as a wagon-brat had been wiped out by a few brief months in hrah Palace, he laughed to himself, until he saw movement, a jerking shadow in the evening gloom.

He readied himself unconsciously, relaxing only when the shadow

resolved into Jeil to answer his unspoken prayer. The ranger reined

in just before reaching the party and called out in a clear voice, 'My

Lord, there's a fortified town up ahead with scouts watching the road; do you want us to announce you?'

Isak looked to Vesna and nodded. The count reached out and touched Tila on her gloved hand, an apology for cutting their conversation short, before handing her the reins to his second horse and cantering forward. Jeil wheeled about and then sent his stock pony in

eager pursuit.

'Do you want to approach under a flag?' Carel knew the answer already, but Isak must confirm all decisions. The white-eye might not care about minor details like where they camped, knowing that if he did object, his word would be heeded, but he had to get used to the protocols of Parian life. So when the rangers pointed out a possible camp-site, the greying soldier would turn to Isak and ask whether he

would like to stop.

'No,' Isak replied, 'Somehow I don't think that would be appreciated here.'

The villagers around here saw Ghorent as the heart of these disputed lands. This was where most of the inhabitants came for guidance or justice. The town council was respected precisely because it had no authority and expected none. The arrangement seemed almost absurd to the Parian, who were used to rigid laws and conventions: there were no taxes paid, no real system of governance, certainly no army. What the people of the borderlands did have was a fierce pride in their way of life, and,respect that bordered on affection for the

views of Ghorent.

'Clearly not: they would see it as a boast of strength. Humility and respect is what these people want,' Tila said from within the pale blue folds of her cape, wrapped around her to keep off the evening chill. Isak bobbed his head in agreement and nudged Toramin into a brisker

pace.

'Well, let no man say I'm lacking in respect. We had better not keep them waiting.' As the charger kicked forward into a canter, he heard Tila mutter something to Carel. The words were too soft to hear, but when they caught up and drew level with him they were

both smiling.

It wasn't long before they caught sight of Ghorent's three towers and the wooden palisade that encircled the hilltop town. The gate way itself was made of stone, set into the tallest of the towers. Beacons shone out against the encroaching night, illuminating a line of bowmen who watched their approach with keen interest.

Vesna and the two rangers waited a hundred yards from the gate

with two men, also on horseback. As they approached, Carel gave a signal and the Ghosts riding ahead split into two columns to allow Isak to the fore.

'Welcome, Lord Isak. You honour Ghorent with your presence,' called the better-dressed of the two men with the count. His Parian was heavily accented. His choice of words reminded Isak of an observation Tila had made a few minutes before: The people see Ghorent as an entity. 'We' were not honoured, Ghorent was. She was right. It was Ghorent that was respected, not the individual people. A foreign dignitary would be unlikely to find such unity in Tirah.

'I am Councillor Horen, this is Captain Berard,' the man continued. 'Please, enter Ghorent as friends. We've been looking forward to your arrival.'

Isak cocked his head, wondering if they would comment on their very effective tracking system.

The councillor noted Isak's face and smiled. 'All will be explained when you meet the Seer. He has asked that you be brought directly to him before being presented to the council.'

Without waiting for a reply, Horen turned his horse and indicated for them to follow. Captain Berard, dressed in mail with a sheathed sword at his side, smiled in a guarded manner. He looked tough and proud, a professional soldier rather than just a mercenary, but his long dark hair drawn back from his face revealed a welcoming face. Life here must been strange, considering neither man appeared either awed or surprised – most people were taken aback by Toramin's monstrous size even before they got to Isak.

Isak nudged his horse to follow and Vesna dutifully fell in beside his Lord, moving closer when Isak learned over to whisper, The Seer?'

'I'm not sure. A mage of some sort, I assume. That might account for the town's prosperity.'

Isak looked up as they approached the town walls. Vesna was right. 1 he walls might have been of wood, but they looked strong and well maintained. The councillor was dressed as a Tirah city official might; he didn't look like the wealthy tradesmen who populated most town councils. As they passed through the gate, Isak and his party were watched by guards who betrayed little emotion: these were obviously disciplined men who trusted their leaders. They had no form of uniform or livery but they were clearly a strong and ordered unit.

Within the walls were tidy rows of wide, solid houses, well built and well maintained, for all their lack of decoration. Isak concluded that the security Ghorent offered had attracted men and women of many different skills. There were too many curls of smoke rising from squat chimneys to count: whoever had organised these people had a very tidy mind. If the Seer was the one running the council, he must be a dour man of facts and figures, to keep this town so well-ordered,

Isak thought.

The houses this close to the wall were no more than two storeys high, but Isak could see taller buildings further in. Councillor Horen led them down the wide main street and past a tavern that looked like it was doing good trade – until sight of the visitors stopped the noise

and bustle.

Toramin noticed the audience and picked up his feet a little more, showing off his well-muscled shoulders and flanks. Isak had no need to make an effort to impress; he gave the beast a tap on the neck, but Toramin responded by tossing his head haughtily and continuing to prance. In Kasi's dim light, Isak's white-sleeved cape took on an ethereal glow. The deep blue of his hood looked even more forbidding to the onlookers. More than a few found that dark face disturbingly similar to the icons of Nartis in the temple. They all heard the mutters that sounded like prayers in the sudden quiet.

Once past the tavern, Isak smiled slightly at the voices behind. It felt good to stir excitement in others. The wagon-brat had come a long way: now his presence in town was an event – he would be remembered wherever he drank or spent a night. The innkeepers would be able to say to customers, Til give you the best room in the inn, Lord Isak himself slept in it.' More curiously, people would care that

he had.

Up ahead, Isak saw that the road ended abruptly at a copse of trees standing at the centre of the town, where he would have expected a market square. The undergrowth had been cut back enough to allow passage and the councillor and captain went straight on in without pausing. Isak and Vesna exchanged glances. The trees were not densely packed – there was no cover for an ambush – so they followed their guides into the gloomy thicket. Isak could make out carved stones, sitting upright in the ground. They formed no apparent pattern, but were evenly spread – Isak could sense some echo there, a faint pres-ence lingering in the copse. He guessed that this was dedicated ground, probably a temple of sorts to an Aspect of Amavoq or Belarannar.

On the other side, no more than thirty yards away, they rejoined the street, now dominated by a large building, the smaller houses looking almost as if they were keeping a respectful distance. By the standards of Tirah's wealthy the building was modest, but it was a surprising sight in Ghorent.

The councillor stopped at the ornate door and turned to his charges. 'My Lord, I leave you in the capable hands of Ahden, the Seer's man.' He gestured to the emerging figure, a tall, gaunt man who appeared from the bright interior. He padded down the stone steps, hands piously clasped together.

The manservant looked rather less impressed with the Krann than the tavern folk had been. 'Lord Isak, welcome to Ghorent.' Ahden gave a small bow to the white-eye as he dismounted. 'My master is coming to greet you as I speak, but in the meantime might I offer you and your men food and wine?'

Isak made a show of stretching his back and shaking the stiffness from his broad shoulders. There was something about the staid figure with his thinning hair scraped carefully over his head that Isak didn't take to. When at last he deigned to give Ahden his attention, he was cut off by a voice from inside the house.

A second man burst through the door, gesticulating seemingly at random while he gabbled on in a high reedy voice, 'Lord Isak, at last you've arrived. Come inside, your rooms have been prepared. My grooms will see to the horses; we have much more important matters to discuss. My study will be suitable.'

The white-eye found his arm determinedly grasped by the scrawny hands of the man – presumably the Seer – who looked about to be engulfed by his billowing linen shirt.

Isak shot a bemused look to his companions. Few people outside his immediate circle of friends would dare touch the Krann, yet this odd little man was trying to escort him away like a child. Isak raised a hand to tell Mihn his presence was not required and allowed the Seer to drag him inside. As the man struggled to hurry Isak up, he launched ^lnto a discussion on the quality of horses they bred in Ghorent, happily providing both sides of the conversation.

The interior was markedly different to the houses in Tirah. Bright

swathes of colour adorned the walls and the high hallway was filled with all sorts of wicker birdcages, hanging from the ceiling, from wall

brackets and mounted on beautifully ornate carved stands. Isak slowed to marvel at the room and take a closer look at the nearest bird, a delicate green creature the length of his finger, crested with the most glorious golden plume.

As he neared it, the bird cocked its head towards him and sang out, a rich liquid warble. The hallway erupted into a cacophony of song as the other birds took their cue and Isak turned in a circle to watch the sudden riot of noise and exotic colours. Tila, hearing the commotion, came after Isak and stopped dead, beaming with delight.

'My chorus seems to have taken a shine to you, Lord Isak. They rarely sing at night. They say the creatures of the forest have astounding abilities of perception – interesting that they do not seem afraid of you, a white-eye no less. When an Alyne cat crept in one night, ah the chaos.'

'You keep them all caged?' asked Tila, seeing how small some of the cages were.

'Certainly not; they spend the day in the trees of the town. We're rather well known in these parts for our exotic birds. When the nights are cold we tempt them into cages of an evening; the tamest do not migrate at all now.' The Seer gave an expansive smile. His manservant glowered from the doorway as Vesna and Mistress Daran craned past him to see better. No doubt Ahden was the one who had to clean the cages.

'Did you know that the King of Narkang has a similar passion? He's

carefully cultivated his gardens to attract the migratory butterflies that go up the coast from Mustet to summer around Narkang. I hear it's quite a sight – the dusted blue is apparently most beautiful.' The Seer stopped abruptly and his brow furrowed. 'But this won't do, we must get on. Please excuse us, dear ladies, dear sirs. Ahden, bring up food and wine to my study when you have served the Lord's companions. He took hold of Isak's arm once more and led him up the wide stairway to a corridor, at the end of which stood a pair of tall decorative doors. The polished wood was a creamy coffee shade, intricately carved with a fantastical pattern of animals and trees, but Isak had no time to study the doors further as his host swept him on into the room.

Piles of books and scrolls were spread across the floor, while jumble brass instruments littered the many shelves, along with bits of pottery and odd stones, all broken and stained with age and dirt. A large open cabinet housed ancient-looking jewellery, and a few amulets and

charms. Isak could tell that they were of very modest magical strength – he recalled the scornful way the mages from the College of Magic had dismissed such things as 'low magics', suitable only for village wisewomen or forest witches.

The Seer flopped into a chair, only to bound up again as he compared his to the other chair in the room and considered Isak's bulk.

'How is it I've not heard of you when you seem to rule this region?' Isak blurted out as he took the seat offered and gingerly eased himself

into it.

The Seer smiled and sat opposite, suddenly calm. He bridged his fingers as he gazed deep into Isak's eyes. 'I certainly do not claim to rule anywhere; I merely offer advice – and only then when it is asked of me. As for having heard of me, well, I'm afraid it has been frequently observed that the Farlan do not take much interest in foreign politics unless conducted by a titled man. I would expect you have been told little more than that these lands are claimed by both Tor Milist and Helrect, but possessed by neither.'

Isak nodded, not offended: he understood the friendly sarcasm. The Farlan were one of the greatest powers in the Land, and they set great store by their traditions and their strong feudal system. A man of noble birth had power and status; anyone who won power would soon receive a title and thus become part of the system. Men such as the Seer were simply not accommodated.

'Let me begin very simply,' the strange old man continued. 'Historically, this region has been either self-governing or conquered and under the thumb of some neighbouring Lord. In the current climate it serves the purpose of both Tor Milist and Helrect to not actually take the territory – first because they would find it no easy task, and second because they would then share a border with long-standing enemies.' 'Can we start with you?' Isak interrupted. 'I don't even know your name.’

‘Me? Ah, of course! Forgive my rudeness. My name is Fedei, Wisten Fedei and folk here call me the Seer.'

Fedei smiled to avoid that sounding a theatrical boast, but Isak just nodded for him to continue.

‘I am a scholar. My history is rather long and complicated, but in brief, I had a modest amount of magical ability and training as a youth, as well as schooling in the more natural arts. Then, when I was twenty-five or so, I started displaying the classic symptoms of becoming a prophet-' he paused, waiting for Isak to interrupt, but this time the white-eye just nodded.

'That's where you are supposed to say, "surely that's impossible?'"

the Seer said dryly.

'It is? Oh, right.' Isak looked bemused.

Fedei chortled like an amused child. 'Well, most people do. If y_0u had received any formal schooling in magic you would know that is impossible.'

'Probably,' Isak replied, haughtily. 'Would my formal schooling

have been wrong about everything else too?'

'I- No, not at all. In this case, the theory still bears up to scrutiny, but as many of us find; the reality of the Land is often very different. In any case, as I'm sure you can tell from the lack of frothing and violence, I'm not a prophet. Somehow it was controlled by my magic-' 'Wait a moment, what magic? I can't feel anything.' The Seer bobbed his head in acknowledgement of the objection. 'My abilities were almost entirely stripped in the conflict. I can still produce simple potions, and I can sense magic, but little more. What I can do is gather insights as a prophet, though only regarding the immediate future, and actually explain to others what I see. Think of it as having visions of impending events. They are not entirely clear, but your arrival, for example, was simple enough to understand. The ripples of your passing are profound even for me.'

'So can you do any fortune-telling for me?' Isak hadn't intended it to sound sarcastic, but Fedei stiffened nonetheless.

His voice was frosty. 'Perhaps later. For now, I would like to hear

about you.'

Isak nodded quickly, annoyed with himself for putting the Seer's back up when the man had been so welcoming. 'Of course – though I doubt there is much you don't know.' 'Did you meet Morghien on the road?'

Isak jerked in surprise. He had expected questions about his gifts-Only then did he realise that, unlike most people with any magical ability at all, the Seer had hardly glanced at Eolis. Like Morghien, he actually sounded more interested in Isak.

'I, ah, yes. How did you know that? Did you send him?' 'Send Morghien? Hah! A man such as that isn't sent by the likes ot me. I just knew he was in these parts, and Morghien has always had the habit of casually meeting interesting people. He's a curious one,

that's for sure. I first heard his tale when I was studying as a young man; I’m approaching seventy summers now.' He laughed at Isak's sceptical expression. 'You find that so strange? Those who live unnatural lives often find the effects of time slowed. You yourself will stop outwardly ageing around thirty summers.

'In any event, Morghien visited me less than a fortnight ago. I don't know much about him, but his interests frequently coincide with my own, and he is interested in my enduring well-being. I'll wager he told you only the bare minimum about himself.'

Isak nodded. 'Is there much more to know?'

'I'm not sure myself,' Fedei said, 'but what I do know could endanger others, so this isn't a topic lightly discussed.' 'How? What enemies could you have?'

'The Knights of the Temples, for a start. They dislike academics on principle.' Now Fedei gave his guest a nervous smile, his fingers anxiously working at the trim of his shirt. 'And the dear ladies of the White Circle: they appear to be courting power for reasons I cannot yet understand and I doubt they will be so tolerant of this region if they succeed in taking Tor Milist.'

'No, there's more to it than that,' Isak pressed. 'What are you involved in?'

The Seer sagged visibly. 'I dislike this; we've been so careful for years,' he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

'Dislike what?' Isak was getting increasingly confused.

He straightened up. 'You know of Verliq, the mage, yes? What you perhaps didn't know is that he founded a school, one unlike any the Land has known since before the Great War. To ensure his teachings were not lost, Verliq sent many of his works away with his pupils, before the Menin invasion; that's how the West knows of him at all. His students were persecuted in every city, but they endured, and taught pupils of their own, in secret. Among those who know, they're referred to as Verliq's Children. In every city-state in the Land there are men who have his works hidden in their libraries, who believe that learning should never be heresy, even if it contravenes political dogma of the day.'

‘And why are you telling me this? If anyone represents political dogma it's me.' Isak felt a familiar uncomfortable stir in his gut. There was more to this than he was being told; he could practically taste schemes, plots, and secrets.

'And that is why I dislike this, but Morghien says we must trust you.'

'Morghien? He'd not even met me then – and why didn't he tell me this when he did find me?' Isak knew he was sounding petulant, but he was trying hard not to lose his temper.

'Morghien takes his time over everything. You'll never learn the full story in one sitting from him, sometimes for his safety and sometimes for your own. It doesn't take a Seer to know that we've entered the Age of Fulfilment, and we should fear it. What little powers I do have show me a shadow falling over the future.'

'What sort of shadow?' There was something in Fedei's tone that Isak recognised all too well.

'Everything I see is overlaid by a shadow, and the further I look, the thicker it gets. It masses on the horizon like a storm cloud. I don't know enough to explain what it means; King Emin is the one for that. He and Morghien are preparing for something. You are important and I must help you in whatever way you need.'

'How does Morghien know so much?' Isak asked, crossly. 'The man looks like a tramp; how in Nartis's name is he in league with the King of Narkang?'

'There is more to Morghien than is apparent: he and Emin are a pair in that sense. It dates back to an expedition into the Elven Waste more than a hundred years ago, led by one of Verliq's Children. They went to explore a ruined castle, with a division of Knights of the Temples providing escort. The locals were supposedly friendly, but…'

'So they never came back from the waste? That's not even surprising, hardly some dark mystery.'

'Morghien came back, alone. I doubt anyone but Emin knows the truth of what actually happened, but if you mention the expedition to Morghien- Well, best that you do not. It was after that Morghien started travelling the Land, tracking down Verliq's Children, keeping the links between them alive. King Emin employs a handful of men who assist him in this, perhaps only twenty or thirty in all, but they're as lethal as Harlequins, and utterly loyal to him.'

'You've met them?'

'They deliver messages, ask for news, offer help if I need it-'

'Help?'

'I have no use for them myself, but I've heard rumours: competit-

ors disappearing, mysterious fires, city rulers suddenly going back on decisions. There's never anything definite, of course, nothing that could be laid at their door, but they bring letters whenever they come and sometimes I can trace the hand of fortune to their footsteps.

'There's a famous gang of criminals in Narkang, the Brotherhood. That's the name they use. You can recognise them by a black tattoo on their left ear, very small and easy to miss, an elven rune meaning "heart" – though I don't know the significance.'

Isak's entire body went rigid and only by a huge effort did he manage to prevent his hand going to the scar on his chest. How many years had they been using that symbol? Could they have known? He was certain Xeliath had been telling him the truth, for the connection to her was undeniable, burned into his skin and quite sensitive enough to recognise a lie.

Isak barely registered the knock at the door; it was Fedei who jumped at the sound, flushing guiltily as he hopped up from his seat. Isak saw the panic on Fedei's face: this man who'd taken a white-eye by the arm and virtually dragged him inside was nervous even talking about the Brotherhood.

'Come,' Fedei eventually called and Ahden strode in with a tray piled high balanced carefully in his hands. Isak helped him lay out the dishes on a side table, then set about them with a will, suddenly starving, and glad of the interruption. The scar on his chest felt tight, constrained, against the beat of his heart.

Eventually, Fedei could stand no more and noisily cleared his throat. 'Speaking of symbols, I see your crest is a crowned dragon. Did the Heraldic Library properly appoint it?'

Isak nodded. 'What of it?'

'Well, the dragon is a portentous symbol. I suppose it is to be expected, but those who have also worn it include Deverk Grast and Aliax Versit.'

'Versit? The Yeetatchen Lord who sacked Merlat?'

'And was only defeated within sight of Tirah. That was him. Grast was the Menin ruler who almost wiped out the Litse, before forcing his tribe to take the Long March. Both men were followed by destruction their entire lives.'

'Did either have a crowned dragon?'

Fedei squirmed under Isak's gaze. 'No. I've never heard of any man to have that,' he said quietly, staring at the floor.

'Tell me about your work,' said Isak suddenly.

Fedei began to relax as he detailed a variety of projects, chattering on for the best part of an hour while Isak ate his fill, then sat nursing a large goblet of warmed wine. It was clear that Fedei relished the opportunity to talk to someone who showed a real interest in him-most of his colleagues were correspondents rather than visitors. While Isak couldn't provide much in the way of intelligent questions, he did display sufficient enthusiasm, and the Seer made the most of it.

Finally Isak interrupted him, changing the subject entirely. 'So if you're a Seer, can you tell anything of my future?' He remembered Xeliath, and what Morghien had said, but he couldn't resist hearing what Fedei might be able to tell him.

The Seer nodded slowly and reached out to take Isak's hand. He closed his eyes, and started breathing deeply, rhythmically. Isak felt more than a little foolish; had it not been for the focused, entirely serious expression on his host's face, he might have pulled his hand away and laughed it off as a joke.

Fedei's hand was perfectly still for a time, then it twitched suddenly and Isak flinched at the unexpected movement. For the first time he felt a slight rush of magic from the Seer, just a trickle. The candles guttered under a draft that didn't touch Isak's skin; he sensed rather than saw a movement, something flashing around the shadows of the room. He twisted in his seat to follow it over his shoulder, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. He would have dismissed it as fancy before he saw Fedei looking in the same direction.

'What was that?'

'I'm not sure, my Lord.' The Seer's voice was level but Isak could smell his fear. He shivered and took a deep breath. 'When I touched your hand, I had a vision of some sort – not a portent of the future, but something else. I saw Aryn Bwr – or perhaps you, but the figure seemed lighter, less substantial than you are – fully armoured, with dragon horns on his helm. He casts a perfectly black shadow. He stands within a circle of twelve crystal columns, each one twisted and bent into some awful shape. Facing him is a figure, a knight with a fanged sword in one hand and a hound's leash in the other.'

Isak couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through his body as he pictured the knight in black armour and his massive fanged sword. He could remember the icy bite of its edge all too clearly from his dreams.

'The leash runs to two figures that sit at his hgelC a naked Chetse on one side and a winged daemon on the other.' The Seer's voice shook a little.

'What does it mean?' Isak could hardly bring himself to ask the question, but he forced out the words.

The Seer, pale as a ghost, slowly swivelled his head to match Isak's gaze. The movement appeared to break the stupor he was in and he sank back into his chair as though drained of strength.

Isak got up and moved quickly to his side. The Seer's breathing was shallow and for a moment Isak thought his heart had given out. He lifted him into a more comfortable position and asked what he should do to help. He felt useless.

'I feel so weak. Please, ring for Ahden,' the old man whispered.

Isak found a bell-pull beside the fire and tugged it hard, setting a jangle of bells going in other rooms. Within a matter of seconds, Ahden was storming in to the room, ignoring Isak as he made his way straight to his master's side.

The servant told Isak curtly that his companions were waiting for him downstairs. Maids would show them to their rooms. Isak looked at Fedei and said softly, 'Feel better. We'll be fine.' He received a wan smile in reply.

Isak rejoined his friends, who were gathered together in a stately but comfortable room, chatting. He said little for the rest of the evening, the image of the dark knight and his fanged sword weighing heavy on his soul.