The Twilight herald

CHAPTER 11

'I think 1 could grow rather used to being the lord of all I survey.'

Tda, riding at Isak's side, chuckled. With the summer sun beginning to fade on the eastern horizon, the shadows of the alders that lined one side of the road were reaching deep and long over them. Isak watched the flickers of light and dark washing over the lead riders. He shifted again in his saddle; uncomfortable in the formal riding tunic Tila had all but ordered him to wear that morning. He was making damn sure she noticed his discomfort.

'I think you're already rather used to it, my Lord,' Tila replied, flick¬ing her loose hair over her left shoulder, enjoying the touch of the sun on her skin. 'You don't look embarrassed when a regiment salutes you any more. I would say you are already more comfortable in your title than Lord Bahl ever was. He commanded a room as few could, but at heart he was too humble a man to want to rule a nation.'

'Humble?' Isak mused. 'Not the first word I'd use for him, but I suppose you're right. Ruling is a chore. I think he'd have been hap¬pier as a general of the armies, one who didn't have to bother with the rest of society. It might not have been my dream, but it's a fair alternative.'

'Alternative to what?' Tila laughed.

'Oh, I don't know. I never really dared think about the future. Father would sneer whenever I even mentioned joining the Ghosts, and I suppose I grew up not expecting to amount to anything. I soon learned to keep quiet; a future was for other folk, not me.'

'And now you are lord of all you survey.' Tila hesitated.

Isak could see there was something on her mind. 'What is it?' he asked softly.

'It's been the best part of a year since you last saw your father. I know you didn't part on good terms, but he is your kin, and you are now the greater. Is it not time for you to see him again, to set things right between you?'

Isak sighed, his anger, normally quick to rise, softened by the lovely day. '"You're dead to me", that's what he said the day I arrived at the palace. If he doesn't want to see me, there's not much I can do and I don't intend to mourn it.'

'But it was said in haste, after an evening of drinking. How often in your life have you regretted something you've said?'

'Never,' Isak insisted.

Tila arched a pretty eyebrow. 'Two weeks ago you told me to shift my fat – well, let's not repeat it? But I think we both agree you regret¬ted that pretty quickly.'

Isak broke into a grin as he remembered her incandescent reaction. 'Well, perhaps once or twice.'

'Then wipe that smirk off your face and admit you're wrong,' Tila said coldly.

'Fine, I admit it. Gods, has Carel been giving you lessons in how to scold me?' Isak said, exasperated.

'Not at all, but he might have mentioned something about not letting you get too big for those ridiculously large boots.' It was Tila's turn to smirk now.

Isak stuck his tongue out.

It had been deliciously warm all day, perhaps a little too hot for riding in formal clothes, but not even Isak complained with any real feeling. This stretch of the South Road was one he knew well, and he was enjoying the beautiful countryside of the Saroc suzerainty. Dominating the western skyline was the squat bulk of Tayell Mountain – known locally as Greenjacket because of the thick band of trees around its middle. The northern half of the Saroc suzerainty was hilly, and there were plenty of rivers and streams, ensuring fertile alpine meadows and vineyards – it was renowned for the rich crops of wine grapes which proliferated on the sunny slopes. There was excellent autumn hunting, and though it was occasionally prone to flooding, when snowmelt swelled the rivers, this lush, vibrant place was a pleas¬ure to travel through most of the year. This was the perfect time to go north.

Isak's party planned on spending the evening at Crosswind Fortress, where the suzerainties of Saroc, Selsetin and Foleh met. By a curiosity of geography and politics, Foleh's boundary bulged out to encompass Crosswind, and however illogical it might appear, the fortress was the suzerain's traditional seat.

Isak turned in his saddle to look down at Tila. 'You know, when I made you my political advisor, I didn't give you licence to run the rest of my life.'

'I know,' Tila said with her most glittering smile, the one she normally reserved for Count Vesna. 'But I'm far better at it than you are.'

'Huh!' Isak muttered. 'I think that man's having a bad influence on you.'

'I'm sure I don't know what you mean,' Tila replied, fooling no one. Her so-called chaperone, Mistress Daran, was fully aware that the count was smitten with Tila, but opted for a quiet life, as long as they were discreet. Isak was beginning to realise that behind the rigid veneer of Farlan custom, the rules could be surprisingly flexible at times.

'Count Vesna's the only other person I know who thinks they can get their way just with a smile,' Isak said, laughing in spite of himself. 'You're becoming quite a match for him; he'd best be careful – he is getting old, after all, and his charms are fading.'

'Oh hush, leave him alone. A few grey hairs are distinguished, ask any woman! It's certainly more attractive than a spotty over-sized teenager, no matter what his title is!'

Tila's retort provoked a snort and Isak inclined his head, conceding the point. 'The countess certainly seems to agree with you,' he said, jabbing a thumb past his dragon-emblazoned guards to the column behind them. Suzerain Saroc, with his hurscals all dressed in red and white, was followed by Countess Saroc and Count Vesna, the countess sitting high and proud in her saddle. Vesna was apparently regaling her with a comic poem, told with every ounce of theatrical flamboyance he could muster.

Tila tilted her nose and pointedly ignored him.

Bringing up the rear of Isak's cavalcade was a column of light cavalry, which included men from Lomin and Tildek, who had surrendered as soon as they could. They had had little choice but to follow Duke Certinse's orders, so instead of sending them home, where they would once again be under the influence of the Certinse family, Isak had decided to keep them close.]ust in case their new-found loyalty to the Lord of the Farlan proved weaker than he hoped, a regiment of Saroc troops rode alongside them.

Looking ahead, Isak spotted Crosswind Fortress, coming into view through the trees. The castle, one of several guarding the approach to Tirah, was a compact, square building with a lone tower at the corner nearest to them.

'It's not as big as Nerlos Castle,' Tila commented.

'It doesn't have to be. Look at the way it dominates this whole area.' Isak waved a hand in a chopping motion, and explained, 'This is an open floodplain; the castle has unrestricted views from east to west, and this is the only road good enough for an army to move north through Saroc. It runs so close to the castle you could lose thousands to just a few companies of archers stationed on the wall.'

'Thousands? Surely not?'

Isak nodded. 'Trust me, and if not me, then Vesna. There would be huge casualties, even if you just tried to go past the castle, and more if you tried to take it. The ground around here is so soft and waterlogged from the flooding rivers that it's useless most of the year round.'

Passing the last of the alders they trotted out into the killing ground before the castle, a thousand yards of open space between them and the stone walls. The road took a circuitous route to keep to the highest and driest ground. The road was built up slightly from the ground and studded with stones on each side, while the rest of the plain ground was flat and featureless. The size of the plain made it look like a minor road, though it was as wide and well-made as one might expect of such an important route.

Feeling exposed, Tila shivered and pulled her shawl over her shoulders. She didn't speak as they made their way towards the castle, the evening shadows slowly lengthening behind them.

'Looks like Suzerain Foleh has guests,' Isak commented when they were no more than a hundred yards from the castle. Not a scrap of wind stirred the flags on the tower or above the gate. Isak couldn't make out the devices, so he was forced to guess from their colours alone. Foleh's – a raven's wing impaled on a barbed spear, if he could see it – would be the flag on the tower, placed higher than those of his guests. The tradition of bearing flags was introduced to cut down the number of disputes caused by armed noblemen going unannounced through a suzerainty. The Farlan were a proud people, and the sort of men willing to back down from a fight didn't often ascend to the nobility.

'It's strange to think that I've come this way so many limes before, and he'll have never known, but today he'll welcome me in like a conquering hero.'

'And the others?' Tila asked, squinting up at the limp pennants. One was white with a small black design that Isak couldn't make out, beside it one of green and white, and a white flag speckled with red furthest to the right. 'The right-hand one must be Suzerain Lehm's rose petals crest. That means he came as soon as he received your summons. And that means the middle one must be Suzerain Nerlos' thistles and quills – but whose is the one beside it?'

'General Lahk,' Isak realised all of a sudden. 'He rarely wears it, but I saw his colours once. Lesarl told me that Lahk was made a marshal twenty summers ago, though he prefers "general", for obvious reasons. His crest is a black falcon holding a ducal circlet in its claws.'

Tila smiled. 'It can't have taxed the Keymaster's gifts too much to produce that one.'

And he's come to meet me,' Isak mused. 'Interesting.'

'Hardly surprising though,' Tila said. 'The new Duke of Tirah should parade into his city, not slip back in the night accompanied only by a dozen guards!'

The drawbridge was down, the gate open. As they approached, Isak saw a handful of men emerge. From their colours he could guess who was who, but it was the oversized figure of General Lahk who advanced to greet Isak first at the lip of the drawbridge. Lahk, dressed as formally as Isak had ever seen him, greeted Isak with open palms, in his own livery and with an empty scabbard swinging from his hip. Oh Lahk, Isak thought to himself, what foolish ancient tradition does that come from?

'Welcome back, your Grace.' The white-eye general leaned to one side and looked down the column of soldiers behind. 'I had thought to provide you with an escort, but I see you've already found one.'

Isak smiled. From Lahk, that was as close to humour as you could hope for, and he appreciated the effort. He knew full well it would be hard for the general to treat a young man of barely eighteen summers the same way he had the lord he had revered and served for more than half a century. Isak remembered his harsh words to Lahk on the road to Lomin the previous year and felt a pang of shame, but he knew there was no going back. The best he could do was start afresh, and if the man once found unworthy of Isak's previous title could manage it, Isak would too.

'I have,' Isak replied in a bright voice, 'but I'll never complain about having the Ghosts or you at my side.'

Carel raised a hand to signal the halt down the line and Isak slipped from his horse. He returned the general's formal greeting, then stepped closer and grasped Lahk's forearm. Lahk was still a very large man, but Isak was taller now. For a brief moment Isak thought he saw something like gratification in Lahk's eyes, relief that the new Lord of the Farlan might yet measure up.

'This is the first time I've seen you in your own colours.'

'It didn't seem appropriate to use any other's, and I did not wait to have a replacement made. I hope you don't take offence that the regiments I brought had no alternatives to wear.'

'Replacements?'

'Yes, my Lord.' Lahk looked puzzled for a moment. 'The Palace Guard will need a new uniform now, in your own colours.'

'What? No!' Isak exclaimed in dismay. 'Don't change their uni¬forms!'

'But they are your personal legion, my Lord, not independent; they can't wear another man's colours in your service. It would be unseemly

– quite aside from what the rest of our people might think. We must

never give the impression that the Ghosts are not completely loyal to

you.'

'I don't give a damn how it would look. I've spent most of my life dreaming of wearing that uniform. I know the pride they take in it

– as does the rest of the tribe – and I don't care what anyone else

thinks; I won't insult the men who died for that banner by making it

redundant. The Ghosts wear the colours they've had for the last two

centuries. Tell them I never got my chance to pass the trials for the

Guard and I've got to have something to aspire to. Whenever I need

a close guard, then they will have to wear my colours – but that will

just be a company of men drawn from the Ghosts.'

Lahk's face was a blank mask, but Isak guessed at the conflict going on under the surface. Eventually, he cleared his throat and bowed. 'A company, yes, my Lord. I'm sure they will appreciate the gesture.'

'The regiments are camped in the meadows behind the castle? Send someone to direct the cavalry there and get them camped.'

He turned towards the noblemen waiting patiently behind the general. Their host was a half-pace ahead of the others, a grey-haired man slightly stooped by advancing age. 'Suzerain Foleh, would you do me the honour of showing me to your most unpleasant cell? You have an unexpected guest.'

Returning from the privy, Isak turned down the brightly lit corridor hack to the castle's main hall and stopped. On his left he spotted a small, unassuming arch leading to a spiral stair. Half-covering it was a flag, suspended from a rail fixed at the very top of the stone wall. Isak was sure it hadn't been like that when he'd come this way. His need had been pressing, admittedly, thanks to rather a lot of Suzerain Foleh's excellent ale, but his mind wasn't fuddled yet. One of the servants must have just gone through and forgotten to pull the flag hack after him.

Never one to ignore his curiosity once piqued, Isak leaned through the gap and peered upwards. A single torch at the top illuminated the way, hut aside from well-worn flagstones and a musty scent there was nothing to see. With his customary stealth, the Duke of Tirah padded up the stair, which wound round a full circle before opening out on a dim, square room.

The beams in the ceiling were low compared to the rest of the cas-tle, a finger-width from his hair. A banister ran around a wide square hole in the floor that made the room more of a gallery than anything else. Leaning on the banister were two men, one Isak recognised as Suzerain Foleh's steward, and another liveried man. Both were staring intently down to the hall beneath, pointing at the table and the folk helow. The steward said something, and his companion nodded and straightened up. He gave a cough of alarm when he saw Isak.

The steward's eyes widened as be followed his companion's gaze, but Isak motioned for them to be calm. The servant hovered uncertainly, glancing to his left, where two pitchers of wine stood on a small table, and Isak suddenly realised where the man had been going. Then were no servants in the room helow, yet the goblets had remained lull the entire evening. Isak stepped away from the stair and gestured for the servant to continue, which he did with a hasty how. He looked relieved to he leaving.

Isak leaned on the rail as the men had.and looked down to see hiis dinner companions. There were twenty t hree people around the table, settled into an easy informality after a decoroun start He could see three or fout conversations around the table Catching the steward eye, Isak grinned and hunkered led down to enjoy the show The steward visibly relaxed and fetched a goblet of wine, which he pressed it into Isak's hand.

'Thank you,' Isak whispered.

The steward bowed and, when Isak gestured at the rail next to him, hesitated for a moment, then resumed his position beside the lord of his people. Isak had to stifle a smile; he'd never seen a man lounge in quite so formal a way, but he was beginning to recognise the effect of his title. He'd have to get used to it.

'What's your name? You've been in Suzerain Foleh's service a long time?' Isak asked, too quietly to be heard by those below.

'Dupres, your Grace, my name is Dupres. I have spent my life working in this castle, and I have been steward to the suzerain for six summers.'

Dupres was a man not long past forty, Isak judged, with a widow's peak and worry-lines around his eyes. He had seen the man earlier, constantly at his master's elbow, discreet, but anticipating his every need.

'You serve him well; I have seen few servants so attentive.'

'Thank you, my Lord.'

From below, the voice of the Countess of Lehm caught Isak's atten¬tion. He leaned further over the banister to hear the conversation better.

'Count Vesna, has Lord Isak said what he intends to do with Duke Certinse?'

'He's going to put the man on trial, of course.' Vesna's response was curt. He hadn't liked her tone any more than Isak had. She was Heading a careful line, for speaking about Isak while he was absent was a discourtesy most nobles wouldn't dare. Isak knew the customs of the nobility were still largely a mystery to him, but he had begun In recognise the formal ways in which a person of noble birth would couch a completely opposite request.

'And you have not counselled him against this?' Against it? Let the traitor hang, that's what I say.'

Isak couldn'l yet work out if the countess was either stupid and in-sulting, or if she was carefully positioning herself to make some point, that Vesna would later tell him in private.

But is that wise in the long term?' The other voices around the table had fallen away, every face was watching the exchange as in-tnently to as Isak.

'How would it not be wise, my Lady?' enquired Tila. 'Duke Certinse is undoubtedly a traitor. He ambushed us and tried to kill the Lord of the Farlan. For that, execution is the only response.'

'It's a merciful one,' growled Lahk, more to himself than anyone else.

The countess pointedly ignored him. 'But Duke Certinse is a man of title, of position in society. It is hardly seemly that he be treated like a common criminal. And Lord Isak has not yet been officially confirmed as Lord of the Farlan, so there could be legalities to compli-cate and prolong the trial.'

'Then he is at least Suzerain Anvee,' interjected Suzerain Sarin sharply. 'Certinse and his family were not defending their suzerainty against invasion by another. If I had been at their side, then perhaps they would have a case to discuss, but there can be no argument here.'

The countess raised her hands in deference. 'I am not condoning his actions, merely questioning whether it is a wise course to publicly hang the man. It cannot do the common folk good to see the highesi of the nobility executed, especially when others will fall with him Every tavern gossip across the Land will delight in the particulars of that trial.'

'You fear insurrection?' Tila responded, forcing the countess to turn back to her.

Isak thought he saw a flicker of doubt on the woman's face, but she continued without hesitation, 'Nothing so dramatic, but the embar-rassment and disgrace will be wide-reaching. The more foolish the nobility looks, the closer to the common folk we appear, and that could give rise to dangerous illusions. With General Lahk you have enough of his peers in this room to hold the trial here, and now '

Isak turned to the steward and grimaced. 'You hear thai, Dupres! he whispered. 'Don't you start thinking yourself the same species as the countess, now.'

'I would not dare to, my Lord,' Dupres replied dryly.

'Even now that I'm suddenly not a commoner, I fail to see what she fears. The rich are rich, the poor are not. Such are the lives we lead When I was poor, I wanted to be rich, not because I hated the nobility ity, but because it's better than being pool. And yet this lot seem to live in terror of the day when their servant turns around and declared himself lord of the manor.'

'Such a thing is possible, my Lord,' Dupres said. 'Revolt has happened countless times in the past, despite the best efforts of the nobility.'

'But usually for a reason. When there is famine, and the lord does nothing about it, who can blame a man for trying to feed his family?'

'If it wouldn't be too bold, my Lord…'

Isak waved Dupres to continue. He wasn't interested in decorum, he wanted the man's opinion. Dupres looked hesitant for a moment, but he'd seen enough today to realise how informal the white-eye was with his aides.

'Whoever is managing your estates in Anvee while you're away

I'm certain he would blame a man for stealing food, as much as declaring himself lord of the manor.'

'Perhaps, but when was life ever equal? When revolts do take hold, there'S rarely much that changes in the end: a different man gets rich, or the whole region collapses. Does a more equal way exist? The nobility are convinced it does, and they spend their days fearing it. The commoners they're so frightened of get on with some real work instead.'

Dupres had no answer to that.

Isak drained the goblet of wine and the steward immediately took it to refill.

'Will you join me for a cup? It would be good to hear a sensible man's opinion on the state of the Land.'

'It,.ah, it would be unseemly, my Lord, for the steward to be drink-ing the wine he serves-'

'I know. It is considered a blurring of boundaries,' Isak replied glumly, before clapping a hand on Dupres' shoulder. 'Fortunately, as I

wass commenting on the way here, I happen to be lord of all I survey. And that includes you, my friend, as well as our noble friends down

there.'

The suzerain would still be displeased.' There was a hint of hope in Dupres' voice, despite his words. It was clear that Isak was not to

be dissuaded, and how often would this chance arise, for Dupres to drink and talk its an equal with Nartis' chosen representative? But

convention had to be acknowledged.

Bugger him. I'm his lord too, and we white-eyes are notoriously fickle creatured. You have to put up with a lot from us, and he'd hardly be happy if you refused an order from me.' Isak grinned. 'Which I have put issued, by tthe way, so be a good lad and fetch yourself a cup.'

Isak guessed that the hunter's moon had to be somewhere near the horizon by now, and midnight not far off. He raised a silent toast with Dupres to Kasi's passing that evening and they resumed their curious vigil.

'So, how lordly do I appear?' Isak muttered to his companion. 'No, wait, what I would hear is how folk have taken news of Lord Bahl's death.'

'Well, my Lord…'

'Do stop doing that every time you speak to me – makes everything you say take twice as long! No true lord would be in a darkened corner getting drunk with his host's steward, therefore it must be a delusion of yours, and one should always call delusions by their proper name.'

'But if you do, don't they cease to become delusions? Call something by its proper name and it becomes a true thing.'

'Oh, let us hope so,' Isak sighed.

Dupres narrowed his eyes at Isak for a moment then nodded. 'That you would care about it answers your first question, I think. As for the second, we were frightened – as probably the rest of the tribe were too. Lord Bahl ruled us for two hundred years. Our grandparents knew no other lord. To lose that, and under circumstances that were never fully explained, is to lose the cornerstone of your world. Can you tell me what happened?'

Isak shook his head. 'He was doing something that would have made the tribe more secure. I can tell you no more of it.'

'Of course. What I can tell you is that we were cheered by news of your exploits arriving with the death notice.'

'My exploits? The battle in Narkang?'

'Exactly. Folk are calling you Isak Stormcaller; they say that you wield a power Lord Bahl never did.'

'Bahl rode the storm in his own way.' Isak grimaced and waggled his pure white fingers in Dupres' face. 'But he didn't pay the price I had to.'

'So that's true?' Dupres asked in astonishment. 'You really won touched by Nartis when you called the storm?'

'Not exactly. That was the day Bahl died – Nartis was close to me that day, his hand on my shoulder. If it hadn't been for that, 1 wouldn't have survived when I called the storm myself. To call such power requires a bargain of sorts, I'm told, The magic almost killed me, and it stripped all colour from my arm. The mage I spoke to said that if I had died, it would have continued until all colour was lost from my body – or perhaps that it would have continued draining colour until I was dead; the jury was out on that detail.'

'Magic,' Dupres shivered. 'I'm glad I'm not so blessed.' He scratched at the red embroidering on his sleeve, a band of grapevines that en¬circled the left-hand sleeve. The right sleeve bore a variety of fruits hanging from branches. It prompted Isak to wonder whether Dupres had to serve wine with one hand and food with the other. He vaguely remembered Tila saying something like that, but the details were lost to him.

'Magic has its advantages,' Isak pointed out, vaguely feeling as though he should defend it, but without knowing quite why. 'If you're not giving in to your own base desires, the price you pay is worth¬while.'

Dupres grimaced. 'Still. Paying prices you cannot guess at, consort¬ing with daemons – I'd rather not. I know its uses, and that you have such power relieves many fears. To know our armies are still led by a powerful man is reassuring in troubling times, but I'm deeply glad it's not me having to do it.'

Isak grunted. 'But what if my every act seems to make times more troubled?'

Dupres didn't have any answer to that and the pair fell into silence. Isak's gaze drifted the length of the table. There was nothing left of the meal aside from piled platters of fruit. Men were leaning on the table, now, debating the ramifications of executing Duke Certinse. The room was lit mainly by four brass candle-wheels hanging from the balcony where Isak watched. The iron chain holding one was tan-talisingly within reach; Isak could see in his mind the white droplets of wax falling, if he only reached out and gave the chain a twist. His hand actually twitched towards it before he remembered himself and stopped.

'look at my faithful subjects,' Isak muttered, swinging his goblet Inwards them. The remaining wine slopped up, but fell back into the cup rather than dripping down the cleavage of the woman beneath. isak shared a relieved grin with Dupres and continued, 'They all sit there talking happily, despite their master having disappeared from the room, Surely one of them should he wondering if I've fallen into

the privy by now.'

Perhaps they give you more credit than that,' the steward replied, warming to the irreverent conversation, 'or they are secretly con¬cerned, but etiquette restrains them from voicing their concerns.'

Isak nodded with mock gloom. 'More than once over the last year I've suspected that tradition will be the death of me.'

At the table below Tila's voice cut though the wider conversation. 'But that encourages Lord Isak to bypass the rule of law. Surely the examples of Lord Atro and Lord Bahl demonstrate the need for con¬stant restraint, rather than encouraging a lord to exercise religious authority.'

'Perhaps, my dear,' replied the countess, an indulgent tone in her voice. Isak could just imagine Tila's expression. 'But I do not feel it is appropriate for dirty laundry to be done in public'

'Dirty laundry, my Lady, is done by servants,' Vesna joined, 'as I believe you were at pains to point out. But, while he will be surprised by its source, I'm sure Chief Steward Lesarl will be glad of your en¬dorsement that he need not bother with legal technicalities; it does take up such a large proportion of his time.'

'Hah, now he is one I would like to see publicly hung!' the countess exclaimed, 'and from what I hear, Lord Isak shares that opinion.'

'The Chief Steward is loyal to his tribe,' Vesna said firmly, stamp¬ing firmly on any such rumours. 'Lesarl will serve Lord Isak as well as he did Lord Bahl, and he will continue to do the Farlan a great service. Now that Duke Certinse is under guard and his uncle dead, you should be more concerned about enemies from abroad rather than anyone within the tribe.'

'And who poses a greater threat than that sadistic megalomanic, who will no doubt be spending every waking hour devising ways to bypass your noble lord?'

'The White Circle is the most immediate. They proved themselves to be our enemies in Narkang, and while their leader may be dead, t he organisation is not. You heard tonight that Siala has been quickest to act; there can be no confusion as to why she has taken direct control over Scree. Without that city under her control she cannot be sure of winning the war in Tor Milist – indeed, resolving that conflict must be her first priority, to free up her troops. With Scree and Tor Milist under her control, she will not be challenged for leadership of the Circle, and that will give her the powerbase to mount a strong resist ance against any action we might take.'

'Your assessment sounds right,' Suzerain Foleh said. The portly old man had always been, by his own admission, more a merchant than a soldier and he was happy to concede authority in the military field to the hero of the tribe, despite Vesna being his social inferior. 'But I have heard the Circle is plagued by infighting, lacking any sort of controlling structure. Wouldn't any attempt to create a kingdom from those three city-states just as easily provoke an internal struggle that would become as drawn-out as the war in Tor Milist itself?'

'Surely the first step to defeating your enemy is to know what he wants,' the Countess of Lehm interrupted. She directed an enquiring look up and down the table, and asked the assembled men of politics and war, 'We still do not know what the White Circle's ultimate goal is. Should we not be directing our efforts towards that, before we go as far as invading Scree?'

She was greeted with silence. The question of the White Circle's motivation was long-standing, and the only people sitting at the table able to answer had kept their own counsel. Isak watched their faces carefully. He knew more than most, and even he still hadn't made up his mind what to do.

'For the moment we should consider Siala's goal to be a three-city state,' Vesna said cautiously. 'If we prevent that, we block the pursuit of any further ambition, at least for the time being; their position is precarious and their priority is now survival.'

'I think that's my cue,' Isak muttered as he straightened up and raised his voice. 'I'm glad you think that is the priority,' he called down to Vesna, 'because you're going to be the one to do that.'

Everyone looked up in surprise, Suzerain Foleh blanching at hearing a voice echoing down from the servants' station. He peered up past the candles, not quite believing Isak was really standing up there.

'My Lord? What are you doing up there?'

'Enjoying a drink with your excellent steward.' Isak raised his gob-let and gestured back at the way he'd come. '1 found a stairway and wondered where it led, nothing more.' He tried not to beam at the astonished faces gaping up at him, but he did find it terribly entertain-ing to see the band's finest completely speechless.

'What am 1 going to be doing, my Lord?' Vesna asked. He knew Isak welI enough not to have been too surprised by the white-eye's actions.

The lull in Tor Mihst will not last long, and we need to ensure Priata Leferna does not defeat the duke. The answer should be obvious enough.

'You want to aid Duke Vrerr?' Tila demanded, too infuriated to remember the formal niceties. No one seemed to notice. Isak guessed from their faces that most of them were still trying to work out why a duke would voluntarily share a drink with a steward.

'If the alternative is a coalition of united White Circle cities on our southern border, why not?'

'Duke Vrerr is a cruel despot who has abused his people for years,' she protested, 'and prolonging the war means more will die of famine. You know they cannot feed themselves as it is.'

'Would you prefer me to kill him? We could conquer the city, ex¬pand our borders a little?'

'Of course not.' Tila faltered briefly. 'But you do know how Vrerr governs? By torture, murder, destroying entire villages at the slightest provocation. He doesn't even bother to control his soldiers; half of them are mercenaries, little more than regiments of bandits.'

'But there is nothing I can do about him unless I depose him. At the moment the only alternative is the commander of the White Circle forces, Priata Leferna, and she is certainly not acceptable. Thus, es¬teemed ladies and gentlemen of the jury, we can hope that Duke Vrerr is competent enough to resist the challenge, or we can lend some assistance. I am fully aware that the people of the city would actually be better off under White Circle control, but that would not last if they subsequently find themselves at war with us.' And this is what it is to be Lord of the Farlan, Isak thought sadly. I know exactly what sort of man Duke Vrerr is, and I have to ignore it for my own selfish ends.

'Count Vesna, you will lead a division of cavalry into Tor Milisi lands. 1 don't want Vrerr's troops supplied with horses or weapons, but I do want you to do what you can to damage Leferna's position there… Consider yourself in charge of a mercenary company.

'Anything that results from prolonging the war is, I'm afraid, not our problem. It is a means to an end, and the suffering it causes is necessary. Full intervention in the war will result in a puppet govern ment in Tor Milist under my control, and history shows that whenever we've done something like that in the past, it's been a bad idea in the long run.'

'Hardly a comfort to those who'll die,' Suzerain Foleh pointed out. There was no accusation in his voice; he knew the realities well enough.

'No comfort at all, hut there'll he no gratitude if the Ghousts parade all the way down the Alder March either. We can't solve their prob¬lems for them; once the White Circle threat is dealt with, we'll look at the whole situation again, but we need to find a way that doesn't turn unhappy peace into terrible civil war.'

Thus speaks a king, came a sudden voice in Isak's head. The white-eye stopped dead; that was as clear as he'd ever heard the dead spirit in his mind. The normal echo of self-pity and overwhelming loss was absent as Aryn Bwr said, Compassion and morals have no place in a king's deeds.

Says the one who rebelled against his own Gods? Isak thought with scorn. Come then, advise me.

You are a poor copy of one who was never our equal, snarled the last king. My war was beyond your comprehension. You beg for advice? Very well, regrets are for fools; action is what makes a king great. Failure to act is cowardice – and that is something history will hate you for.

The anger in Aryn Bwr's voice was palpable. Isak turned abruptly away from the balcony and headed for the stair. Suddenly the small rooom above the hall felt enclosed and stifling.

/ never wanted to make choices like this, he thought miserably. A care-lessly announced decision and 1 condemn how many thousands to death? This is no way to live.

Come now, mocked the dead soul, a white'eye thirsts for power, does he not? The fire of magic in your veins; the fury of the storm at your snow-while fingertips: it's given to you for a reason.

Isak looked down at his hand. He was marked forever by what he'd dune in Narkang, using the power of his God to slaughter hundreds of Fysthall soldiers and mercenaries as they breached the wall of King hum's palace, but the change was only skin-deep.

'That is how I was born to be. It doesn't have to be who I am,' he murmured to himself.

You deny your own nature? That is a path to ruin, to pretend you are something you are not. I have seen it a hundred times. It will leave you as empty inside as you fear to become, because of the decisions you are forced to make,

'At least that would be my choice,' Isak said. '1 would have chosen who I was; what more can anyone ask?'

It is the hard choices that make a king.

IT IS THe hard choices Thal make a man. That will do for me.'