The stormcaller

CHAPTER 37

Ten days later, as sullen clouds lingered in the sky, the Farlan party made their way towards Llehden. The death of Lord Bahl had cut short their stay in Narkang, for time was now against them. The spectre of civil war was growing stronger every day Isak was absent from Tirah.

The group riding towards Llehden was much depleted. Three Ghosts too badly injured to ride had been left behind, and more than half of those who had saddled up that morning had injuries that promised to make the journey miserable.

Eight of their number had died in the battle, and their bodies had been cremated. After some debate, the funerary urns had been placed in the Temple of Nartis, on display beside Commander Brandt's tomb. None of the men had had much in the way of family, and the temple seemed to have become a memorial to the battle's dead. The Farlan were seen as the city's deliverers, and their dead were being treated with reverence by the population.

The light was strange, dull grey, more low autumn than spring. Half the day had already passed and the oncoming dusk was preying on Isak's mind. He'd been born this day, on Silvernight, eighteen summers ago. His mother had gone into labour as the light began to fade, and as Arian's sparkle etched every surface she had screamed her pain and fear to the uncaring night. The trees glowed ghostly silver, standing careless guard as her blood had flowed: the terrible haemorrhaging that came with the birth of a white-eye. Isak had been born coated in the life's blood of another. It was one death he felt the guilt for deep in his bones.

A twisting river, the Meistahl, writhed its way north-east, marking two-thirds of Llehden's shire border before it joined the Morwhent five miles from Narkang. The far side was marked by a line of gigantic pines that ran for more than thirty miles down towards a deep, still

lake. Huge, broken round boulders lay scattered under those trees, making it hard to pass that way on horseback.

They're called twilight stones,' King Emin told Isak. 'If you come from that way at dusk you'll see the gentry standing on them and watching the sun fade. It's the only time you'll see them – unless they want you to.'

'You've seen them? I didn't realise they actually existed.'

He'd expected Emin to smile at his ignorance, but the king's mouth had stayed set while his blue eyes glittered. Isak had debated long and hard before telling King Emin where they were going, and why, but he eventually decided that he would find out sooner or later, and with the Land on the cusp of war, it was better to show some trust.

They are not part of our Land; few of us are part of theirs. They care nothing for the Gods and less for men, just for the woods they live in. They're the soul of the forest,' he said. 'I don't know whether they even conceive of themselves as individuals. What I do know is that you don't cross them. Your new Devoted friends might find themselves in real danger if they come across the gentry. I don't believe the Order approves of free spirits, and the gentry have short tempers.'

There was only one bridge across the river, which ran too fast to ford. Major Ortof-Greyl was waiting for them on the far side, sitting high and still in his saddle. He was wearing partial mail and some kind of uniform, but it looked ceremonial: wide scarlet sleeves and trousers detailed with mother-of-pearl, and a fox-fur hood.

At the bridge Megenn shied away at first, staring down at the dark silent water and twitching his ears nervously. None of the horses seemed very happy about entering the shire, but with calming hands and gentle voices they were coaxed over. The wind shook the trees as Isak crossed, as if the forest shied away for a moment and then reached out to embrace him. Isak scowled, but he was glad enough for their cover when he reached it. Isak ignored the major as he rode alongside and tried to engage the brooding white-eye in conversation. Only when Vesna plucked at the man's sleeve and frowned did the major move ahead and allow the grim silence to return.

There had been no mention of Isak's birthday, other than Tila's delicate kiss on his cheek and Carel clapping a knowing hand on his shoulder as they breakfasted – that was all Isak needed, to know that

he had friends to remember it, and that they knew him well enough to not mention it.

Ahead of them, the third moon, Arian, sat high in the sky. Arian appeared for a week every three years, and the middle day of that week was Silvernight. For two days either side, the night was merely a little brighter, but everyone knew they were bad days to be abroad. There were tales galore of all the evil deeds of the past three years that had risen up from the ground in this week. True or not, there was no doubt that spirits and unnatural creatures certainly roamed the Land when Arian was high; no man of sense would enter open country. Each time Arian appeared, there would be fresh tales of horror and murder told in the taverns and inns and whispered at hearths and bedsides. It was an unchancy time.

For all that, Silvernight itself was so enchanting that every town and village held a festival to celebrate it. On that middle day every surface touched by the bright moonlight appeared to be coated in silver. It was impossible to resist the lure of being outside after dusk, and unlike the days before and after, no fell creatures stirred that night, so it was a time of safety as well as joy.

As they travelled further into Llehden, the light began to wane and open ground gave way to increasingly dense woodland. Hawthorns stretched their twisted branches out towards the road, fat oaks rustled their brittle twigs and sinister yews reached down low to cover the ground about themselves with a concealing skirt of night. They saw few creatures. A solitary kite passed overhead and small birds and early bats darted past their eyes, but only a bandit lynx had paid them any attention. The large cat watched them lazily from a high elm, paws hugged about the smooth bark of the branch. Isak could see tufts of grey fur protruding from the cat's chin like the wisps of a beard. Coppery streaks on its back meant the lynx disappeared when it dropped down into the twilight of the undergrowth, long before the soldiers approached. No sound reached even Isak's keen ears. The lynx just melted away to add another set of eyes to the shadows all around.

The road was nothing more than a wide track, overgrown and old, but easy enough to follow as it threaded a path through the trees. They passed a few isolated farmhouses looking dark and abandoned, though cattle lowed from the barns. Even for a farmer, Silvernight meant society and merriment. Only Isak was unmoved.

Two hours of travelling took them deep into the ancient heart of the woods. The last vestiges of day gave way to silvery twilight. All along the road the trees leaned close over their heads, the moons casting a flurry of leaf shadows underfoot, until the path opened out and became the neglected approach to a large stone house. Tall weeds almost obscured the low wall that surrounded the grounds, a hundred yards of lawn gone to pasture, and at the back, a darkened building that looked derelict.

The gates were gone and as Isak reached the gap and looked down the driveway he reined in and stared.

Major Ortof-Greyl had started on down the road when he realised his party were no longer following. They had stopped before the open gateway. The old grey walls, set against the black background of a tall laurel hedge and the encroaching trees on each side, shone in the moonlight. Crawling trails of ivy reached up the cracked stone wall. Isak set off down the driveway towards the house, his companions following behind. In an open window on the upper floor he saw an owl, bright in the moonlight and as still as a statue until Isak was only twenty yards away. It suddenly stretched its wings out and hooted, breaking the evening silence. The owl's haunting call prompted a strange chattering sound to ring out around the grounds as voices echoed from the shadows.

Isak turned to look around, unsettled by the sudden stir. He drew Eolis half out of its scabbard. He couldn't feel any other presence nearby, not even what was making the noise – then a woman, swathed in a long dark cape that covered a long robe that looked black in the moonlight, stepped out from the trees. She called out in the Narkang tongue.

'They're welcoming you,' Mihn translated, unbidden.

'What are?' Isak felt immediately ashamed that he'd shown his blade, even half-drawn – it was traditional not to draw weapons on Silvernight, whatever the reason. Old soldiers swore that Arian would burn and corrode the surface of any blade exposed on this magical night. He looked down. Eolis shone all the more brightly, unearthly and dangerous.

'The gentry,' Mihn said softly after she had replied.

Isak looked more closely at the woman, who appeared to be no more than thirty. She had long dark hair creeping out from under her hood, and piercing, knowing eyes. She stood so still it was as if she

were of another place and time, set apart from worldly concerns. Isak could see a soft smile on her face.

'I thought they had no interest in men,' he said through Mihn.

'They don't, but they welcome you as a brother.'

'Have they told you that?' Isak asked.

When Mihn translated Isak's words, her only reply was a sniff of scorn.

'Are you the witch of Llehden?'

'I am a witch,' she said.

A figure stepped out beside her. It had the shape of a slender, lithe man, but little else was human. Its pale, hairless skin drawn tight over harsh features reminded Isak of the mercenary Aracnan. The figure – the gentry – had sharp, narrow eyes that looked completely black in this light – almost the complete opposite of Isak's own white eyes. The gentry looked poised either to attack or flee, but neither impulse showed on its impassive face. It wore a robe of stitched leaves, tied at the waist by a switch of what looked like willow. Its feet were bare, and the two largest toes were pushed in the black soil where it stood. By the time Isak had finished studying the gentry he realised there was a group of them; they had arrived as silently as wraiths. The first, their representative maybe, regarded Isak. He remembered the king's warning that the gentry had short tempers. If they truly were greeting him as a brother, then sitting atop Megenn and staring down at them was probably deeply insulting.

Isak pulled off the silk mask and slipped from his horse, dropping lightly to the ground.

The gentry shot him a grin, flashing long canines, and bowed low, though keeping his eyes on Isak all the while. Isak found himself bow-ing too, almost as low, which produced another predatory smile. Then it spoke in a barking chatter, firing sounds out through the night that were echoed out by the unseen gentry still among the trees. Without waiting for a response, the figure turned and darted away. All around, Isak heard sudden movement and glimpsed shapes flashing through the slivers of moonlight between the trees. He guessed at least fifty gentry had gathered.

The witch arched an eyebrow. From her expression, Isak was sure she'd never seen the gentry act like that. They say that they will escort you to the Ivy Rings, where soldiers wait. They call you a friend of the Land. That the soldiers still live is a gesture of respect for you.

His surprise at a voice appearing in his head must have shown as the corners of her mouth curled into a smile. How? I am a witch. Your heart is not the only one with abilities.

You know of her?

I have heard her in the night. A song of fears; for you and for the Land.

She feels your pain as her own.

M.y injuries'!

The pain of your future, and of your soul. There is a storm on the horizon, one you feel in your blood, but it is wild and uncontrollable. So much is drawn to your light that you will make your own future only if you can control that storm. Consider your choices well, for they will impact on the whole Land as much as her. What is your part in this?

I care nothing for the plans of Gods or the pride of men. I am a witch of Llehden, bound to the Land and bound to protect its balance. Those who need help will find it in me; those who need haven will find it here. That is the bond I gave for the powers I bear. Go now. Events are waiting upon you. When my help is needed, it will be given. When it's needed?

You are not here to see me; now is not the time for that. All I know is that a time will come when;you will need a light in dark places. Then, young dragon, you will need my help.

And you'll give it so freely? It doesn't sound like;you even know what you're committing to. Isak tried hard not to sound insulting in his

head.

No one can see the future exactly. Those who see furthest and with the greatest clarity are prophets, and that is the source of their madness. I can feel an echo of the future, no more. Until that time when you need a light in dark places, I do not need to understand more.

And what am I supposed to do until then? Even in his head he sounded petulant; he tried to control the anger he always felt when things were beyond his control. Now was not the time to lose his temper, particularly not with someone who might save his life in some way.

Control the storm, find a way to channel its power and chain it. I can feel the Land inside you, entwined with magic, and struggling to find its own balance. The price of my power is to use it when others have need of it; it may be that the price of your power will be the need of the entire Land.

But-

No more. You have ^our future to meet now.

My future?

The witch turned and walked softly away until she was swallowed up by the silver-tinged darkness. When at last she replied, it was soft and distant, but he could feel a fond humour in the words. Our future always lies ahead of us, but sometimes it stops and turns around to look us in the face. All things have their time. Remember that, young dragon.

'So what happened back there?' Vesna asked quietly.

Isak rode on unheeding, his eyes vague, his cloak hood hiding his face from Arian's light, pondering the strange meeting. The ranger Jeil trotted ahead, following the gentry who were now leading the way. Megenn, unguided by Isak, trailed after the others at his own pace.

Isak could see nothing but the image of the witch. It was hard not to trust her, but Isak was beginning to doubt altruism in anyone. Was she another player, entering the game? If so, to what end? She had no kingdom to protect, no border to expand – did she have a greater goal than that?

The witch did not offer to guide them herself; Silvernight itself was a time for human festivities, when witches and the spirits of the night kept quiet. The Finntrail would leave even the weariest of travellers alone, the Coldhand folk would ignore an open barn door, and witches by tradition stayed at home. She had gone outside her house only to speak to the gentry, and nothing but an urgent plea for help would draw her beyond the boundary wall before dawn.

Mihn had muttered something under his breath, part of a nursery rhyme maybe, but when Tila had asked, he said it was just the ending of an old poem. She pushed Mihn until he agreed to repeat it.

Reluctantly, in a subdued voice, he recited, 'And even the snakes and the gentry shiver, when the Llehden witch comes riding by.'

Tila shivered. She understood his reluctance now.

'Isak, what happened?' Vesna touched his Lord on the arm, startling Isak from his thoughts. 'With the witch, why were you just staring at each other?' Vesna looked smaller in the bright moonlight, but perhaps he was just overshadowed by the glow of Siulents.

'We were talking,' Isak admitted, and then added, surprisingly, 'I'm sorry. There's so much I've not told you, all of you.'

Carel looked resigned and unsurprised, but Tila was furious that there was yet more she didn't know. Even Mihn stared darkly at his Lord, his silent criticism the hardest to bear.

'I know how you all feel,' Isak started, 'but it can't be tonight. Tomorrow, or when this week is finished and the Land returns to normal.'

'With the Menin invading the west, normal won't be for many years,' muttered Carel.

'I meant when Arian goes away,' Isak clarified. 'This light hurts my eyes – this light hurts much in me. Then I'll explain what I can to you.'

'About the scar too?'

'About the scar,' confirmed Isak. 'And the dreams, and anything else you want.'

Major Ortof-Greyl had been riding ahead with Jeil, but the murmur of voices behind stirred his paranoia. He looked back nervously, even more embarrassed when Tila shot him a dazzling smile. Isak sneered at the man, who was everything he despised: pious, privileged, educated – he'd probably been closeted away from the Land and taught by priests. And all those honed combat skills and a fine scholarly mind: everything blurred before the smile of a pretty, young girl.

Ortof-Greyl awkwardly returned her smile. The beads of sweat on his brow shone in the moonlight.

As Isak watched the major turn back to the road, he saw that the tree line was receding, giving way to pastureland. Rustling grasses shimmered and rippled slowly. The track dipped down, following the contours of the earth, towards a stream. The major's horse instinctively turned to the water, but was pulled back on to the right path, up the slope and to a copse of tall oaks on the peak of a small hill.

Now there were signs of human life. Six hobbled horses stood by the trees, under the supervision of a soldier who waved and beckoned them in. The scarlet of his uniform looked black in the moonlight, his steel shone brightly. From either side of the copse, drawn by the sound of hoofs, trotted a squad of knights, moving slowly so as not to appear aggressive, but as the gentry began to yammer and hiss, every horse stopped dead, fearful of the voices from the shadows.

'You might tell them not to come closer. The gentry seem to object to your presence,' Isak said, deciding he agreed with the forest spirits. The smug piety of the Knights of the Temples was grating – all the more so for the violence the Order had done over the years, always in the name of the Gods. Lord Bahl had said once that religious law was

nothing more than an obscene collection of misinterpretations. Bahl had never been the most forgiving – or accountable – of rulers, but he had never hidden behind religious dogma to justify his actions.

Before the Great War, the Gods had been closer to mortals, making mistakes, lying and cheating each other, playing tricks and breaking promises. Since then, myths and stories of the Gods had been used to justify all sorts of strange, sometimes barbaric laws, from the stoning of wildfowl on prayerday to the summary execution of people whose bedrooms overlooked a temple entrance. The people of Vanach, Far-lan's neighbouring state, were in the grip of religious law; the people there were rumoured to be living in both poverty and terror. That had been a good enough reason for the Chief Steward to recommend the longer southern route around Tor Milist to Narkang – the disputed lands between two avaricious rulers were preferable to the wilful madness of folk living according to scripture.

'The presence of those creatures pollutes this holy place.' The major kept his head low as he spoke.

Isak couldn't tell whether he was repeating by rote or trying to hide his disgust. Free spirits like the gentry were considered blasphemous and unclean by the Devoted. Isak couldn't help wondering why the Gods themselves did nothing to stop them if this was such an obscenity.

'Gods, look at them,' breathed Carel in wonder. For a moment Isak looked around, thinking the gentry had come out into the open, then he realised Carel was staring at the huge weathered standing stones past the trees: roughly hewn blocks of moss-speckled granite. The forbidding stones looked almost dull in the moonlight. All but one of the outer circle were still standing erect, towering ten feet or more into the sky. Thick trails of ivy snaked up their sides, somehow reaching from one stone to the next until it crowned the forgotten temple. The ivy looked black and sinister; Arian's light seemed to slip off its waxy surface and down on to the twigs and acorns that littered the ground. It illuminated two yards of ground inside the ring before the second circle of standing stones, half the height of the outer ring, rose to cast yet more shadows.

The outer stones are called "the Soldiers". The inner ring stones are "the Priests".'

Isak nodded absentmindedly at Mihn's words, scanning the copse until he could make out four men in the centre. Again, they were trying to appear relaxed and non-threatening. It made Isak's palms itch.

The soldiers are supposed to have murdered the priests during a ritual,' Mihn continued quietly. They waited for them to fall into a trance before creeping up and slitting their throats. They were supposed to be protecting the priests. There is disagreement about whether this was a just act or not, but murder certainly took place here.'

'And Belarannar turned them all to stone?'

'No, the soldiers escaped.'

'And the act was justified.' The major's voice was fierce as he glared at Mihn, his hand hovering close to his blade. He had turned back to find his charges. The monks were consorting with daemons, using human sacrifices in the most evil of rituals. The soldiers were men hired to protect the monastery, but they could not ignore the truth. They founded our Order to continue the struggle against the enemies of the Gods. These stones remind my Order of our origins.'

Mihn didn't reply, but dipped his head to acknowledge the major's words.

'Penitence is a wonderful thing,' declared Isak. He caught Vesna's eye and forced a smirk. The count smiled in return. Major Ortof-Greyl kept his mouth firmly shut and endured the jibe silently.

Isak climbed down off his horse and entered the copse on foot. He could feel the weight of Arian's gaze lift from his shoulders – perhaps he was happier here in the shadows. The gentry, spirits that were usu-ally seen only at twilight, when the Gods rested, had accepted him as a brother. What about the other creatures of shadow? Would Azaer now see him as kin or foe?

'You're worried about that, aren't you?' Isak hadn't meant to speak aloud, but it was quietly done and Mihn was the only one close enough to hear. Still, he kept quiet as he continued to speak in his head, Are you scared of finding yourself on the wrong side of this war'! What if the real you comes out only in battle? What if you are the monster you've always feared? Do you trust yourself to be a good and just ruler?

He didn't know how to answer these questions, but they lingered, for if forces on both sides had affected his life, there would be darkness in his soul as well as light. Deep inside, he recognised the truth in that.

Moving through the trees, touching the trailing ivy as he went Isak felt the temple, slumbering. The ground was still consecrated' whatever had happened here: it was still special to a Goddess of the Upper Circle and there would always be an echo of her presence there.

And all around, Isak could feel the gentry stirring, leaning gently with the wind as they stood as patiently as the grass. It was only when they moved that he could feel them at all; unlike humans, there was no resonance of their presence so they just faded into the background of wood and earth, leaving a faint air of expectation, like scent on the breeze. He envied them that, the peace of being so completely a part of the Land that they could just step back into it and disappear.

'Lord Isak,' called someone from the heart of the temple in precise, educated Farlan. A portly older man stepped out through the inner circle to meet them, moving like a man many summers younger. As he neared, Isak could see he was a general.

'My Lord, I am Jebel Gort,' the man said, a dazed smile on his face. It took Isak a moment to realise that this general of sixty or more summers was slightly awestruck.

'And them?' Isak gestured to the three other men, who had not moved. Two, though looking well into middle age, were obviously fit and strong; they wore swords at their hips. One man was of western stock, with a wide nose and sloping forehead; Isak suspected he was from Vanach. The other was Chetse – though he looked strange with short hair and a rapier at his waist. The only Chetse Isak had met was one of the wildest of their kind; this man looked like a doll in comparison. The third man was younger, a tall, hard-faced individual who might have been from Narkang. He stood a little further back.

These are General Diolis, General Chotech in the middle, with Major Irien back there,' General Gort said. 'Major Ortof-Greyl has explained that we are not here as officials of our Order.'

'He told me something that I didn't believe,' Isak said, 'but you didn't bring any mages with you, and I think the gentry would have dealt with any army-'

The gentry?' the general cut in. 'So that's what's been making such an infernal racket at night.'

They were probably arguing about how they wanted to kill you. In any case, I've been brought to a strange place that I don't much care for; to meet people I care much less for, for a reason I don't believe, and on my birthday. Consider me annoyed and get to the fucking

point.'

The general's face was in shadow so Isak couldn't see his reaction, but his reply was certainly measured. 'Very well, my Lord. Our group is small, restricted to men we can trust to pursue the true aims of the Order. The Knight-Cardinal is certainly not one of those – he doesn't care much about the death of his nephew, but it gives him a pretext to want your head. He has aspirations to be the Saviour, and he positively drools at the thought of your weapons. The other members of the Council are growing tired of his megalomania. Two Councillors are expected to retire this year and when that happens, it is almost certain that General Diolis and General Chotech will take their places. That gives me the majority I need to have the Knight-Cardinal replaced, and when I do so we can begin the process of reminding power brokers like Telith Vener and Afasin just what our Order's strength should be used for.'

'So this is a coup, dressed up in doctrine.'

The man shrugged. 'What we do today will, I am certain, demonstrate that we do not lust for the power.' Without giving Isak time to reply the general stepped forward and knelt before Isak. The other three moved quickly to follow suit, Major Ortof-Greyl stepping swiftly past Isak to kneel behind his superiors.

Isak looked at his companions in bemusement. They said nothing. Vesna was smiling as if it was all just a joke. Carel, Mihn and Tila just

looked puzzled.

'Lord Isak. Here, in our most sacred temple, we pledge ourselves to your name and banner, to perform those tasks the Gods will require of you as their Saviour. I swear to take control of the Knights of the Temples only to serve your will, and the will of the Gods. When it is needed, I shall provide you with the army of Devoted soldiers spoken of in the prophecies. To prove our faith, we have brought you gifts to aid you in the Age to come.'

The major jumped up and ran to a flat altar-stone in the centre of the temple. Isak had hardly noticed the brass-bound box. It was no more than a foot across, but the major picked it up reverentially. He returned with the box held out before him, his arms tense, as if the weight of the box was nearly too great for him. The general remained on one knee as he accepted it and turned it towards Isak. There was

a thin film of sweat on his brow, but anticipation shone in his eyes as he lifted the lid and held it out for Isak to see.

The other Farlan gasped as the contents shone as bright as Siulents in the moonlight.

Isak was speechless, trembling all over. At first he was too afraid to believe what he was seeing, then a primal hunger flared inside him, sparked by the eerie glow coming from the box. He felt the damp touch of pain as his hand clenched so hard he drew blood.

The rest of the Land faded away and he lost himself in the smooth lines of the two Crystal Skulls. For a moment he could do nothing, hear nothing, as he stared dumbfounded at what was being offered to him. He knew their names at once. Unbidden, the memories rose in his head: Hunting and Protection, the Skulls Aryn Bwr had forged for himself that together made him stronger than any mortal – the weapons that had killed Gods.

With the heady beat of blood pounding in his ears, Isak slowly fought for control of his senses and at last reached out a shaky hand. The world grew heavy and textured as his fingers neared the box. He spread his hand to touch both at once. He expected them to be cold, until he felt the power they contained. They were warmer than his fingers – he could see a little wisp of steam curl away from the surface of one. Then they were hotter still, then suddenly scorching. A wrench of burning pain gripped his arm, growing fiercer with each passing instant. Then the world went black.