The stormcaller

CHAPTER 32

The day of the Spring Fair came too soon for the brooding Krann. He'd told the others about the major's visit, but they'd not been able to provide the answers he'd hoped for. Tila pointed out that the Devoted had been founded on decent principles, so there had to be some true men within their ranks.

Vesna worked from the other side: he thought it was a trap, and wondered whether it could truly be an ambush. The Ivy Rings were halfway between Narkang and the Fortress of the Devoted. While killing or abducting Isak was a risky venture, it was certainly feasible: it was no secret that the Devoted considered Siulents and Eolis too dangerous to be at large in the Land.

That would be a dramatic move, and one that would mean they'd have to abandon their strongholds in Emin Thonal's kingdom, but if they thought the prize worthwhile, it wouldn't be beyond the Devoted.

The Ivy Rings? Who in the name of Vrest's beard told you about them?' Emin actually looked surprised when Isak asked about the temple. They were sitting on a high terrace looking out over the city, overlooking the tents and banners of the Spring Fair. The morning's rain had lessened and Isak had joined Emin for the midday meal.

The king was dressed as resplendently as ever and Isak could see no trace of the strain that he was surely under. In two days his life and city were to be threatened, yet he was relaxed and at ease.

'I overheard a conversation, that's all.'

Then it must have been an odd conversation.' Emin sounded curious. 'Few people like to talk about the place. But since you asked, the Ivy Rings are a disused temple, once dedicated to Belarannar, but few people go there these days. They're in Llehden, a strange place.'

'Strange?'

'Yes, strange.' Emin sniffed. For a moment he became reserved, serious, before he forced the mood away. 'A friend of mine was lost there a few years past. The shire is a reasonable size – no towns, but a number of villages that are prosperous enough.'

'And the lord of the shire?'

'Does not exist. There's not been a Lord of Llehden for generations. As I said, strange things happen there and folk prefer to steer clear. The inhabitants aren't hostile to outsiders, but they live under rather different rules. I have yet to find a tax officer who is willing to go there for me – at least more than once,' he added darkly. Emin's smile was ambiguous, not angry, but he clearly didn't relish his lack of control.

'Llehden is like an island: the region feels much more isolated than it actually is. If you go there you'll find the landscape feels – well, sharper, as if natural magic influences the environment and folklore and myth have a greater grip on reality. The Gentry, Coldhand Folk, Dead Man's Wives; these things are much more common there. Unless you have a reason to go, I would suggest you avoid Llehden. A place like that has a natural balance to it. I doubt it would welcome you.'

'So not a great sight-seeing destination then,' Isak said quietly, and changed the conversation, asking instead about the origins of the Spring Fair.

Emin smiled, relieved, and launched himself into a potted version of Narkang's history.

On the second morning of the Spring Fair, Isak awoke to see a single bright shaft of sunlight piercing the shutters of his room. The gloom of previous days had dissipated and as he opened the windows, he was met by a warm sea breeze. Yesterday the air had been full of the murky tang of seaweed and sodden driftwood. Now he could taste the life and energy of the waves. It put a smile on his face as he pulled on Siulents and belted Eolis around his waist. The blue hood of Nartis went into his belt. He felt no need to retreat behind it today, but with so many people out on the plain he wanted to be able to relax without worrying how much people could read in his face.

They went out early. Isak elected to ride so he had horses at hand in case things became desperate on the last day. To justify being the only nobleman on horseback, he toured the fair, using Toramin's great bulk to dissuade people from approaching. Tila accompanied him, riding side-saddle on Megenn. The saddle was actually a normal one, but with tightly wrapped blankets they had managed to construct something that was comfortable enough for her to ride. If it came to a mad rush for the gates, Isak wanted Tila to be safe. Her own mare was fine for travelling, but Megenn was bigger, faster, and battle-trained.

The entire city seemed to have descended to the plain. A,riot of noise, bustle and activity surrounded the Farlan as they trotted past open kitchens, acrobatic displays, parties of minstrels and a host of weird and wonderful games. Vesna was naturally at the jousting fences, watching the competition and preparing himself for his first match. He'd been drawn against a commoner who'd won the morning's competitions. It was traditional for a few peasants or apprentices from the city to be allowed to cross lances with the noblemen. The king provided armour and horses, and any victory – rare though they were – would win the man a personal congratulation from his monarch.

Vesna was hardly worried by the tall, ruddy-faced youth who was ecstatic just to be scheduled to face the legendary count. He was more concerned about two men wearing the colours of the Devoted: the Kingsguard champion and a wealthy knight of the city, who'd made a point of coming to greet him. Vesna had noted the tattoo on his ear as they spoke.

As the man departed, casting one last avaricious look at Vesna's ensorcelled sword, Vesna had felt a sudden pang of unfamiliar nervousness. Fool, he chastised himself with a grin. Fall in love and you're suddenly a shy little boy again. There's a reason a man of the Brotherhood made a point of coming to see you now, because you're that good. Just remember: these people know your name for a reason.

Isak found himself enjoying the fair far more than he'd expected. He loved the exotic, sometimes bizarre foods on display; they were mainly drawn from the ocean and though he recognised little of the samples offered up by beaming cooks, he'd made significant inroads on his hunger long before he was due to eat with the king. The further in they went, the stranger the sights became.

He lingered for a long while to watch a hedge wizard in ragged robes perform a meagre repertoire of tricks. Unsurprisingly, the audience was mainly young children, but Isak was fascinated by the display, mean as it was. By watching the movements and tasting the

changes in the air, Isak quickly understood how the man was keeping the children enthralled. His abilities were minimal, too minor perhaps even to have been trained, but Isak greatly enjoyed the invention.

When the display was over, Isak beckoned the man over and gave him a gold emin. He was overwhelmed by the hedge wizard's thanks, which he shrugged off, a little embarrassed at having caused such an emotional scene. Tila raised an eyebrow at his generosity, but Isak just grinned. He had enjoyed the theatrics as much as any of the children there.

'He taught me something. That's worth a coin.' Isak held his hands together and copied one of the wizard's unintelligible phrases, and a pair of flame wings rose up into the air before dissipating. The girl smiled at the joy on his face, trying not to show the sudden sadness as she remembered he'd never been allowed this sort of fun before. Sometimes it was hard to remember the Krann was only just out of childhood, for all his size and power.

'Come on, my Lord, we should be going back to the pavilion,' she said finally. Isak was dining with the king in the royal box, in one of the two massive pavilions erected down either side of the jousting field.

'Tigers first,' he declared. 'Emin said there would be a menagerie of animals, and I'm guessing it'll be downwind of here. I'm seeing a tiger before I do anything more.' He reached out and took her hand, giving it a squeeze of brotherly affection. Tila could do nothing but laugh at the anticipation on his face as she trotted after him.

'So, my Lord, do you still think your wager is safe? Emin pointed with his cigar to the knight taking the crowd's applause. The young man shone in the sunlight as he wheeled his horse about, waving to the crowd. His visor was up and Isak could see the beaming face of a youth about his own age. As the new – and youngest-ever – champion of the Kingsguard, Emin had gifted the knight with a gold-inlaid suit of armour. The helm had been fashioned into the cherubic features of one of Karkarn's Aspects, a boyish smile with one blood-red tear falling from his right eye, an image that was often used by the Harlequins for their masks.

'He's good, but he can't have come up against a man of Count Vesna's ability,' answered Tila for her Lord.

She blushed as Emin smiled at her and asked, 'You've seen much jousting, my lady?'

'My brother lives for it, your Majesty.'

'Then perhaps you would judge the next two men as they parade? Thank you, my dear. Lord Isak, while your most capable advisor prepares my next wager, perhaps we should peruse the crowd.' He selected a sweetened prawn from the plate between them and nodded his head to the opposing pavilion. Isak followed the movement, his eye going straight to a group of people taking seats opposite them.

It was hard to stand out in a crowd of rich noblemen and women, but Herolen Jex had managed it. Dressed in red and white, he glided along the walkway ahead of five others. All eyes were on him. The tanned skin of a Western Islander had darkened further with a lifetime under the sun. Isak could easily imagine this man striding the deck of a ship: Jex walked as if he owned the pavilion and all those in it. His glittering smile swept down the rows of people, and they seemed to feel it touch their skin. A whole line of noblemen rippled around to meet his gaze, before lowering their eyes as if he were royalty. The man might have been an enemy, but Isak couldn't help admiring Jex's presence.

Isak glanced at Emin while this procession was going on. The king's eyes were narrow and focused. He was smoking his cigar in his usual languid fashion, but he seemed oblivious to the smoke passing in front of his eyes. Isak looked back to the other pavilion: Jex seated – and looking directly at them. The pirate was sprawled over two seats, one arm running down the backrest and his boots resting on the one in front. It was causing significant discomfort to the man in front of him, but he didn't appear to be objecting.

Jex matched stares with Isak and Emin, then slid his boots back on to the boards below. Leaning forward, he plucked a cigar from the hands of the hapless noble in front, sat back and began to puff away at it in mockery of the king. Emin gave a slight nod in acknowledgement, which Jex returned.

Isak just pointed to Count Vesna, preparing for his next joust, and made an obscene gesture at the pirate. Jex threw his head back and laughed loud enough to hush half of the pavilion, taking no notice of the curious looks he received.

Similarly, Isak ignored both the groan from behind him, and his political advisor poking a leather-shod toe into her Lord's back.

They watched the jousting for much of the afternoon. The gathering opposite them was in a constant state of flux, but they soon noticed a pattern in the way Jex's companions were moving about. The man just sat still and waited for reports to be collected and brought to him. When Vesna easily toppled his third and last opponent of the day, Jex affected a yawn and threw a coin on to the sand as the count dismounted to take his applause. The crowd hushed immediately – the whole city had heard of the coming duel.

Vesna pretended not to see the throw, idly discovering the coin at his feet a few seconds later. Both pavilions craned their heads forward as he bent to pick it up. The Farlan hero held it up to the light for a moment, them turned towards Isak and, with affected delight, held the silver piece up for his Lord to see.

The Krann raised a thumb in approval, knowing Vesna's self-deprecating humour well enough, and the whole crowd began to laugh. Beaming from ear to ear, Vesna walked back to his page with a jaunty step made even more comical by the constraints of his armour.

The crowd laughed even harder, but Jex failed to join in. CHAPTER 33

'Isak, it's time to decide.' Tila couldn't tell if he'd even heard her speak: the frown on his face was more pensive than angry.

Still Isak didn't react. They had been talking endlessly about the Devoted major and his news, right into the early hours, and now it was the last day of Spring Fair and no one was convinced they knew what the right thing to do was. Isak wasn't sure he trusted the earnest young major; there was too much he didn't understand. And yet… And yet it was too obvious to be an ambush. Isak's company might not be large, but his men were Ghosts and it would take more than a single regiment to overcome them, especially if they were already on their guard.

Then there was the added problem of Lord Bahl: he wouldn't wait for his Chief Steward to come up with evidence; he would just attack. For all their power, the Devoted stood no chance against the Farlan Army.

And there was another worry: King Emin. Emin and that dangerous little smile of his – in some ways, that was the only reassurance Isak had. The Narkang king was clever, and he wanted the Farlan to know it. If he were Isak's enemy, he would not have shown so much of himself. It was obvious there was more involved, but Emin had dropped enough hints for Isak to be sure his plans were suitably grand in scope, and needing Parian involvement, not enmity.

He sighed, deeply, and turned to Tila. 'The red.'

Tila held up the red silk scarf that she'd bought the previous day, then knotted the white about Megenn's reins. Vesna nudged his horse closer and she tied the red scarf about his arm, already clad in black-iron. The count had been permitted to wear his enchanted armour after the king had ruled that it was no less awkward than unensorcelled plate, and would not give him an unfair advantage. The count

wondered if he also agreed so the expected finale would be all the more dramatic: the Lion of Anvee darkly glittering in the sun, facing the shining form of Emin's champion, the youth nicknamed the Sun-bee because of his gold-plated armour. The contrast of misty black and glittering gold would certainly be good fare for the dozens of minstrels and storytellers out on the plain this day.

'Are you sure?' Carel looked far from happy at the decision.

'We can ask the king for an escort, surely?' This was a question Isak had wanted to avoid: he didn't want the king to be privy to all his secrets, in case he had misjudged the man – the last thing he wanted was to leave open the opportunity to blame any 'accident' on the Knights of the Temples. Isak could see from Carel and Vesna's reactions that he wasn't the only one concerned about how much they were trusting the king.

'From what I've found, the Ivy Rings would be a bad place for an ambush, no matter how isolated. As for Emin, I think we can trust him, but who knows – there aren't that many Farlan I can trust completely. "Knowledge is power" – Lesarl's favourite phrase.' He laughed hollowly. 'And a wise man knows more than his closest friend.'

That's true enough.' Vesna gave the scarf a tug to check it was secure. 'But you can take this too far sometimes.'

Isak looked down at the ground, refusing to look his bondsman in the eye.

'Sometimes a man needs secrets. It doesn't have to be because of a lack of trust.'

'It seems to happen more often these days,' said Carel. 'Morghien, for one – you've said less than Mihn about him. What's going on, Isak?'

'Enough!' he roared suddenly.

Tila flinched and looked away, but Carel didn't even blink: Isak might be powerful now, rich even, but he was still the boy Carel had practically raised.

'Not enough!' he bellowed back. 'Do you think yourself so wise now you can do everything alone? I'm not here to run your errands. If you expect me to be some meek little courtier then you can shove my title and Arugin up your arse.'

Isak didn't reply, but clamped his jaws tightly shut.

Carel gave an exasperated snort and clouted the Krann round the head, ignoring the gasps from onlookers. 'What's wrong with you,

boy? Is the magic rotting your brain, or has all this Saviour talk gone to your head?'

This time Isak gave a snarl and swatted Carel's hand away, then reached out and grabbed a handful of his tunic and physically pulled him from his saddle. He brought Carel's face up to his own.

Tila screamed and grabbed at the huge fist, but Isak shrugged her off without a glance.

'Go on then.' Carel croaked. 'Hit me. Prove to the whole Land you're nothing more than an animal. Perhaps I did waste my time on you. Maybe I should have given you to that mercenary on the road after all, rather than gift the Land another monster with more power than sense. You're just one man, Isak. Whatever gifts you have, however big you are, you're still just a man. You can't fight a war alone – you'll fail us all.'

Isak's fist quivered as fury coursed through his body and the hot scent of rage filled his nostrils. Carel looked into his boy's cold eyes and, for the first time, he felt a pang of fear. The white-eye's face was flushed red and his lips were curled back in a snarl. Sparks danced from his tiny black pupils.

The only sound Carel could hear was the savage rush of Isak's breathing as he struggled to speak. 'Don't fail me, boy.' The words were little more than a whispered prayer, but they doused the fire instantly.

Isak jerked in shock, accidentally shaking Carel like a rag doll. He looked around at the others clustered around him, then, with a stunned expression on his face, he lowered Carel to the floor. He clung hard to the pommel of the saddle and bent low over Toramin's neck, trembling uncontrollably. Carel reached a hand out to steady himself against the horse's shoulder, panting as hard as Isak.

The Ghosts had formed a circle around them as soon as Isak started raising his voice, warding them from curious onlookers, but themselves were casting panicky looks at their commander and their Lord.

'I'm sorry.' Isak sounded as weak as a kitten, but human once more. Carel coughed, then reached out to Isak. Though he had no strength to squeeze Isak's hand, his words were clear: 'I know you are, lad.'

As Carel filled his lungs and breathed deeply, colour returned to his cheeks. He held on to Isak's hand and looked up at him, worried. 'But one day, my boy, it might go too far; you might not be able to pull

back in time. If you want advisors who care about you and not your power, remember what that means. It might not be my place as a loyal subject to ask what puts that hunted look on your face, but as your friend, I'm going to, whether I can help or not. If you keep everything to yourself, it'll drive you mad.'

Isak lifted his head, eyes filled with sadness. 'I know, but Carel, I don't understand it myself. As for explaining it to you, I wouldn't know where to begin. I'm not even sure there is a beginning.' He still looked shamefaced, but held up a hand to ward off further questions. 'If we survive today, I promise I'll tell you all I can. I owe you that, I know that, and much more.'

Carel looked at him for a moment, then nodded, satisfied. That'll do, boy. I'll be waiting.' He reached out an arm and Isak helped him back on his horse.

Now Isak turned to the others. Tila was visibly shocked, as was Mistress Daran, who was ineffectually stroking the green silk sleeve of Tila's dress, as much to soothe herself as her charge. Isak opened his mouth to speak, but the words went unsaid. What could he say? That it wouldn't happen again – that he, a white-eye, would never lose his temper again? He tried to catch Tila's eye, but her long hair hid her face.

Touching his heels to Toramin's flank, Isak restarted their advance on the jousting arena. The sun spread thick golden warmth over the trampled grass. Plump cloud rode smoothly on the brisk wind as they raced over the Land. The plain was already crowded and a chorus of songs, shouting, cheers, jeers and laughter filled the air. The public galleries for the jousting were already full as people jostled for a better view. Clearly word of Tila's bet had got around. Five hundred gold coins – emins or any other currency – was a fortune. The people of Narkang wanted to cheer their champion.

Isak watched as a group of children squabbled over a pair of makeshift lances. The two boys who won out each had a cape fixed about his shoulders. One wore black, the other yellow. They were just about to perch on the backs of the two who were being the horses when a smudge-faced little girl noticed the Farlan. She gave a shriek of excitement and in a matter of seconds, the column had grown a tail of wondering eyes and dirty faces, all marvelling not at Isak, but at Count Vesna, resplendent in his battle dress.

Isak tried to smile but couldn't. He knew they were hanging back from him because they were scared of him, and he knew they had reason to be.

'My Lord is well?' the king enquired as Isak took his seat. As the previous day, the queen was absent and Count Antern filled the chair beside the king. To excuse her from the violence likely to follow, the queen had been forced to spend most of the fair secluded in her chambers, apparently suffering from a severe headache.

Isak gave a curt nod and the king pressed no further. His pale face told enough of a tale, enforced by the way Mihn was fussing around his master, pressing him to eat. At first Isak refused anything other than a mug of tea, but soon he started picking idly at the delicacies piled high on platters.

‘The count is well rested, I hope,' Emin prompted, looking at Carel and Tila, both of whom looked as wan as their lord, but they both nodded firmly.

'Most certainly, your Majesty,' the young woman told him, adding sternly, 'he will prove more than a match for Sir Bohv.'

As she spoke, the knight himself trotted out to greet the crowd. He was a particularly tall man, standing a good two inches over his Farlan opponent. He had a friendly, open face, and the wild excesses of his carrot hair were checked by the red-stained helm that matched his armour. Though the knight was a devout member of the Knights of the Temples, he remained an individual, in this case displaying a fine sense of humour. His colours were yellow and azure, but as an affectionate nod to both himself and his Order, Sir Bohv's armour was painted bright red.

'I hope so,' the king chuckled. 'If I'm to win this bet with Lord Isak, I'd hate for any man but my champion to claim victory over Count Vesna.'

'After yesterday's performance, your Majesty, I believe your Sunbee should try to be rather less ornamental.'

Emin laughed at the truth in her words. His champion had been a hair's breadth from serious injury, too busy playing up to the crowd as he tilted against the knight with the Brotherhood tattoo.

'But he is young, and such folly is understandable, wouldn't you agree, Lord Isak?'

The Krann grunted; he'd been deep in his own thoughts. Emin's smile sparked a flicker of irritation, but he suppressed the feeling and

inclined his head to concede the point.

'Unfortunately, the poor boy may find his follies catch up with him soon enough,' continued the king. The twinkle in his eye could not fail to arouse Tila's curiosity.

'And what follies are these, your Majesty?'

'I gather his celebrations lasted well into the evening yesterday -and now it appears he is expected to be wearing no fewer than three favours on his arm today, and that leaves him in a pretty pickle.'

Tila smiled at the notion, until she imagined Count Vesna riding out with three scarves on his arm. 'Your Majesty seems most amused by a situation that cannot fail to distract his champion.'

'It has to be a matter of some concern for him, that's true – but then I realised there was a way to avoid this situation.'

'Oh?' Her smile fled.

The king smiled even more broadly. 'Well, as my champion, I could solve matters easily by commanding him to honour the queen and ask for her favour.'

'But the queen is not here,' Tila faltered.

'Exactly my problem,' the king replied brightly. 'So who could my champion legitimately ask, I wonder? As my representative, he would have to pick a lady of sufficient import, perhaps make it a gesture of goodwill-'

'Oh no, he can't- You can't…'

Emin clapped his hands together as if the thought had only just struck him. 'But of course, a visiting dignitary! Ah, Lady Tila, that is a generous and wise offer.'

'But Count Vesna already wears my favour. It would be unseemly for both men to-' Tila's protestations wilted under Emin's relentless smile. The glitter in his eyes showed how much he was enjoying him' self. Even today, he had time for games.

'I'm sure the count will understand – a gesture of friendship between nations, that's all. And you would be saving three delicate young ladies from terrible heartbreak.'

'I-' She sagged, conceding defeat, trying to ignore a vision of Vesna's expression as she publicly handed her favour to the Sunbee, who for all his swagger, was a remarkably handsome young man. 'If Lord Isak agrees, then I would be happy to help,' she said, hoping Isak would leap to her rescue.

But Isak was still lost in his own thoughts: now he was staring at the

figures opposite him. He could smell more than one mage out there. The woman seated beside Herolen Jex, Duchess Forell he assumed, was returning his scrutiny. Isak felt sure that she knew what he was looking for, that she could feel his presence questing softly out. She was a tall woman, and his extraordinary sight enabled him to make out her proud, imposing face; her hair and eyebrows were oddly dark against her skin. The typical inhabitants of Narkang had pale, sandy-brown colouring, but it looked to Isak as if the women of the White Circle were marking themselves out by dyeing their hair a dark reddish-brown.

Isak found his eyes drifting away from the duchess and up to the woman sitting behind her, who was draped similarly in a white shawl, although arranged so that it covered almost her entire head. As Isak stared curiously, the woman looked up and met his eyes; in the shadow of her shawl, Isak could hardly see her face at all. When she smiled at him, he felt it rather than saw it. A cold tremble slithered down his spine. Amidst the clamour of the crowd, he heard only her breathing. Through the radiance of sunshine and the glitter of a thousand reflections, he saw only the darkness of her pupils. Isak's head began to throb as though it had been suddenly plunged into icy water.

'My Lord?' Tila's voice cut through the fog, startling Isak enough for him to break from the hypnotising stare. Seeing his alarm, Tila reached out and laid a hand on his arm. The touch brought him back to reality.

'I'm fine,' he said to Tila reassuringly, then, turning to the king, 'Emin, who is the woman sitting over there?' The king made no sign that he had noticed Isak's public informality. He followed Isak's gaze.

That's Duchess Forell,' he said, a questioning look on his face.

'No, I meant the woman behind her, the one with her head still covered.'

'I'm not sure. I think I've spotted all the titled women of the White Circle, so she cannot be particularly- unless that is Ostia.'

'Ostia?'

'A name I've heard – nothing more, unfortunately. Maybe her name is some kind of pun, that she's come from the east, but it's so obviously bad that it must have a greater significance. Why?'

'She keeps her face almost entirely covered, and she's not moved since they arrived. Some of the women have been sent off to fetch or deliver messages, I'd guess, and they're all dripping in jewels and

thus I'd assumed titled – but she, who looks like a commoner, just sits without even speaking.'

'A good observation,' the king said. 'Can you tell if she's a mage?'

Isak shrugged. 'There's something strange about her, I know that much.'

The king sat back and whispered in Coran's ear. The man nodded and moved off up the tiers as Isak returned his attention to the impending joust, which was just about to start.

The two knights cantered past each other, saluting each other with their lances. Sir Bohv's visor was raised and he offered the count a smile too. Vesna gave a twitch of the helm in reply, but the roaring lion decoration made that appear less than friendly. As they reached opposite ends of the fence, Sir Bohv flicked his visor down and both men yanked their steeds about, kicking their spurs in hard. The crowd collectively drew in breath until the two men met and a massive cheer raced around the stands. Both men hit: Vesna's lance glanced off Sir Bohv's shield; the knight's scarlet shaft shattered against the count's shoulder-plate.

The second pass was more decisive. Sir Bohv, saluting with his new lance, was greeted with a roar of applause from the public stand. He trotted round to see Vesna standing high in his stirrups and ready to come again, and off they both charged. The Farlan hero kept himself high until Sir Bohv had almost reached him, then dropped down to present as small a target as possible.

Sir Bohv had expected the change in position, a standard ploy, and lowered his lance to match it, but at the very last instant, Vesna threw his body as far forward over his horse's neck as he could, bracing his shield against his body. The lance slid over the surface and away – but Vesna's, with a terrific crash, slammed into Sir Bohv's gut and threw him straight out of the saddle. Commoners and nobles alike all leapt to their feet, bellowing, clapping, screaming and stamping.

Isak's fist tightened at the dull thump of Sir Bohv hitting the ground. His nerves were on edge already and the jousting was just another reminder of the imminent combat. Though his friend's victory paled when compared to that, he stirred his massive hands to join Emin's applause.

'Excellent strike,' the king murmured.

Vesna reined to a halt and wheeled his beast in a tight circle, holding the lance aloft to acknowledge the crowd before urging his horse over to the knight's prone form. A tirade of obscenities made it clear the injury was not mortal and the crowd cheered again as Sir Bohv was helped up, clutching his ribs, to congratulate the victor.

The count looked less than friendly a little later as he was forced to watch the Sunbee swagger over to the royal box and request Tila's favour. She made no reply, but held out the white scarf for a page to tie around the man's golden-shining arm. In the bright sunlight it was hardly noticeable against the fantastic armour, but as Vesna stroked the red scarf on his own wrist, he could see nothing else. Tila's impassive face went unnoticed, as did Emin's satisfied smile.

The Kingsguard champion had won his own first bout of the day easily. His opponent, a noble of similar age, picked himself out of the dirt and stiffly bowed to the golden knight. With the formality over he turned and departed without a second glance.

They were childhood friends,' explained the king. They grew up as neighbours, but one took the gold, the other the scarlet. Now they cannot even shake hands. But we have more important matters to discuss than the sad realities of life. After the final joust, I will announce the duel is to take place. I expect Jex to find some dramatic moment then to signal the attack.

The Kingsguard are spread all around. We have a third of our men in the arena itself, dressed as watchmen, tradesmen and servants. The others are in small groups, running stalls or just milling about. The mercenaries are further away – close, but not sufficiently so that they will attract the attention of any alert watchman.'

'So your men will intercept Jex's mercenaries. Even if there are too many of them it will disrupt the attack and let us fight our way out.'

'Exactly. But remember: our sole aim is to get to the palace and survive the night. They have enough mages that we must take any opportunities that might come up; we must not linger for anyone. I have a man with orders to break the hinges of the gate so that Count Vesna has a chance to fight his way out. As for you, Lord Isak, my mages will protect you as well as they can at the beginning, ready to counteract any magic used against the royal box, but it will not last long because I'm not staying to fight. I suggest you do the same. You are the best fighter on this field, so let Marshal Carelfolden and Mihn bring Lady Tila in your wake. If you reach the city gates and they are half-closed, do not worry. Even if the daemon is released, it will let you pass.'

Even now Isak's curiosity overrode the urgency of the situation. 'Why wouldn't the daemon attack us?' he asked.

The covenant that binds the daemon protects the gatekeepers by causing the daemon to actively fear them,' he said. 'Simply put, the principle of counteraction means the more it fears our people, the stronger it will be against anyone it doesn't fear.'

'But we're not gatekeepers,' Isak objected. The last thing he needed was to have to fight daemons as well as Jex's mercenaries.

'No, but you have been touched by your God, and the daemon can sense this. That's what it fears. As Chosen of Nartis, your contact with the divine has been stronger even than those ordained as priests.'

Isak looked up at Mihn. The small man opened his hands in a half-shrug. He had no objection against the king's logic.

'What about your reinforcements?'

'On their way. I cannot risk their arrival until the White Circle mages are fully committed. Duchess Forell is a rich and powerful woman, but she's not much of an opponent. There must be someone else behind this. The White Circle is a group that rewards success and this is their boldest venture. Their leaders will be here somewhere, to claim the prize when it's won.'

‘That woman, Ostia?' Isak asked.

'Perhaps.' Emin said no more. Instead he busied himself with a loose thread on his coat where one of the red-lacquered buttons on his oversized cuffs had snagged and torn off. As he picked off the broken thread and brushed it to the ground, there was a metallic sound that caught Isak's attention. A lavish exterior, something sharp underneath: King Emin was beginning to be almost predictable.

They talked of inconsequential things as they picked at food, and drank watered wine for the sake of appearances. Isak tapped a finger on Eolis as he wondered how he himself would have organised the coming attack. Beside him, Mihn looked as though he had a slight humpback, where Isak's shield was hidden beneath a long cloak. The king's mages would be little use against a crossbow, and Isak couldn't wear Siulents' larger plates without being obviously ready for battle.

Isak let his eyes drift over the crowd. High in the far stand he saw the Devoted major, sitting alone and scrutinising the royal box. When Isak met his eye, the man nodded slowly and deliberately and though Isak made no gesture back, the major appeared satisfied, for he rose, wrapped his plain brown cloak about his body, and quietly departed.

A cheer broke from the crowd as the king's herald stood. Vesna pushed himself to his feet and strode purposefully towards his horse. He ran a hand over the horse's jousting armour, tugging at straps and the saddle until he was satisfied that all was in order.

Resting his arms on the worn saddle, he looked down the jousting fence to where the Sunbee was being helped to his feet. Once upright, the cocky youth took a turn before the public stand, waving to an adoring public with Tila's scarf fluttering from his arm. Vesna looked down at his own favour, touching the red silk, then looked to the royal box, where he locked eyes with Tila. Her steady gaze told Vesna that she'd been given no choice, and he accepted that – but he still intended to teach the boy a lesson.

Once he was in the saddle, Vesna's eyes didn't leave the golden knight for an instant. The first pass decided nothing. Both lances glanced off their targets without troubling the riders. On the second, the Sunbee came close to unseating his opponent as his lance exploded in a shower of splinters on Vesna's shield. The count was rocked back in his seat, but he had years of experience behind him and managed to keep his seat – although he was pretty sure that if they had not been using tourney lances, Vesna would have found himself lying in the mud with a shattered shoulder.

As the Kingsguard champion waited for a second lance, Vesna studied the ground carefully and carefully guided his horse a little further away from the rough fence separating the clashing riders. The Sunbee took a moment to collect a few last cheers from the gallery behind and then snatched his lance from the air as his page tossed it up.

Vesna smiled. The boy was undeniably good, but he was careless when it came to watching his opponent. In a contest of narrow margins, victory was in the details. His horse responded perfectly to his touch, sprinting forward to close the ground faster than normal, and the younger man wasn't able to react in time. Vesna felt only a glancing impact on his shield as he watched the padded tip of his own lance slam squarely into the Sunbee's midriff.

Screams and cheers erupted all around as the Kingsguard champion was catapulted over his horse's rump. The pandemonium made Isak reach for his sword, even as he rose to cheer the victory. The foreigner might have triumphed, but still the people gave him thunderous applause. Raising his lance high above his head, Vesna turned and

saluted each section of the crowd individually before trotting to the centre of the arena and formally saluting Isak and the king.

That done, Vesna dismounted and hurried over to where his opponent was lying flat on his back. The king's doctor was kneeling at the man's side, but as the count reached them he took the ashen-faced Sunbee by the elbow and gently helped him up. His wrist was broken and his pride bruised quite as much as his stomach, but he had the good grace to shakily offer the white scarf Tila had given him.

Vesna laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder, his black mood dispersed. 'Don't worry, boy, you'll mend soon enough,' he said cheerily. 'It'll remind you to pay more attention to your opponent next time.' He turned his attention back to the adoring crowd, who seemed completely indifferent to the fact that their own champion had been humbled, and by a foreigner at that. Even the noblemen and the well-to-do townsfolk clapped and threw flowers at Vesna's feet.

They only began to quieten when the king's herald rose from his seat. Isak noticed the White Circle looked unmoved by the swell of sentiment. Sitting at their heart, Herolen Jex was eyeing the Parian hero intently.

'Your Majesty, my Lords, Ladies, gentlefolk,' cried the king's herald, rising from his seat, but he was cut off by the king, who touched the man on the shoulder. He jerked around in surprise as the king gestured for him to sit.

King Emin moved forward and began, 'My fellow citizens of Nar-kang,' pausing as a fresh cheer came from the public gallery, for the king was well loved by the common folk; for the prosperity he'd brought to the city and the pride he'd given them in it and themselves. Narkang had been little more than a town when Emin Tho-nal took control – and now the Krann of the Farlan, the Chosen of Nartis, came begging for their friendship. It was easy to cheer the handsome king whose genius had been proven on the battlefield, a man who never shirked the danger of his own bold schemes.

The king looked around at his subjects, basking in their enthusiasm for a few more seconds before raising a hand to calm them. 'Since this Parian rogue has badly inconvenienced my purse, I do not find myself much inclined to let him catch his breath. There is an extant matter of honour between Count Vesna and Herolen Jex – it will be decided here and now by knightly combat.'

All heads turned to the opposite stand, where Herolen Jex was lounging in his seat, sipping from a tall silver goblet. He made no reply, but watched Vesna as he collected his blade from a page and strapped it on. The count remounted and stood ready.

'I thought the melee was still to come,' Jex replied at last, pausing for long enough to make it insulting before adding, 'your Majesty.' His voice was deep; more measured than Isak had expected from a pirate. A sharp intake of breath ran around the pavilion.

'It was, Master Jex, but I have changed my mind. I believe I have that right since I am king and this is my kingdom.' His voice had become significantly sterner.

All about the arena people gripped their seats and looked anxiously at the Kingsguard below, but the soldiers didn't move. Jex appeared to consider the king's words, then shrugged and tossed his goblet away. Standing, he let his cape fall back to a flash of fantastic colours as the sun hit his armour. The cuirass, shoulder plates and mail had been etched into a pattern of scales that glittered blue and green in the sun; it looked like a reptilian second skin, as arresting and ornate in its own way as the Sunbee's dazzling gold-plate. The pirate straightened his sword-belt and then raised his helm to place it on his head. 'In that case, your Majesty, I think I will amend that small detail.' Jex gave a dismissive flick of his hand and a woman screamed on his right.

Out of the corner of one eye Isak caught sight of a man levelling a crossbow. As the assassin fired, Mihn dived in front of his lord with his shield raised, while Coran, moving even faster, brought up a large rectangular shield from behind the throne. His huge arm shuddered as a pair of loud thwacks echoed out.

Isak watched the moment of realisation on Coran's face as he focused on the steel bolts in front of him; one was only a whisker from his eye, having almost passed clean through the steel plate. There was a moment of perfect silence, then chaos erupted everywhere.

Eolis leapt joyfully into the sunlight. As Isak pulled on his helm he felt a growl rumble up from his gut. Now was the time for bloody murder. He cast off his humanity and replaced it with a cold silver face. Magic ripped through the air from all sides as people scattered and ran or drew weapons. Bursts of light flared around the royal box as Emin's mages defended them, giving them time to retreat – but already Isak was preparing to attack: his fingertips were prickling with rushing energies.

Through the thin eyeholes of his helm, Isak could see people mov-

ing like leaves in the wind. He sensed where the first attack would come from, even before the man rose from nowhere to swat aside the nearest Kingsguard with a mace. The bulky mercenary laughed as the soldier crashed down and, wiping the blood from his face, he raised his weapon high to call his men to him. Isak leaped over the rail separating them and on to the lower platform where the mercenary stood triumphant. He stabbed Eolis down into the man's throat, then kicked the corpse away and waited for the next man to come at him.

'Isak,' bellowed Carel from behind him, 'we're leaving! Get back up here!'

The soldier beside Isak started to step up to the royal box, then his downed comrade gave a cry of pain and he stopped to help the man. Isak reached down and picked up the wounded man, passed out from the pain of his shattered shoulder, and passed him up to Carel. The other Kingsguard scrambled up beside him.

Carel breathed a sigh of relief as Isak reached up to return to the royal box, but as his fingers touched the rail, the white-eye felt a sudden weight hit his shoulders. Carel's face changed to a picture of alarm as Isak sagged, then slammed forward into the frame of the stand. He remained pinned there, with his head and shoulders over the edge at Carel's feet, but when Carel reached down to grip Isak by the shoulder, he burned his fingertips as he touched Siulents.

Isak felt small sparks of energy flicker over his body as he tried to raise his head. A red burst of pain shot down his neck and squeezed the air from his lungs. The pressure increased, until all he could manage was a low moan. The crushing ache in his bones stifled everything else, while the cloying rush of magic raged uncontrolled over his body. Isak felt the Land groan and shudder beneath him as he fought to remain conscious.

Suddenly, without warning the pressure lessened and Isak opened his mouth to take a deep gasping breath – but he barely had time for one desperate wheeze before he was jerked up in the air like a puppet.

He caught sight of Carel's frantic expression for the briefest of moments, then the air whistled past his head as he was pulled away across the jousting arena. He felt a pavilion loom up behind him, then a burst of pain as he hit it. Then there was only darkness.