The Twilight herald

CHAPTER 12

Trying to resist the urge to loosen the stiff collar of his dress uniform, Major Jachen Ansayl strode off down the corridor with as much dig¬nity as he could muster. The old uniform still fitted, but it had been years since he'd had to put it on, and it had never been comfortable. Today it seemed to catch at every small movement, as though it no longer considered him worthy to wear it. The embossed buttons had scratched his fingertips and the collar squeezed his throat, leaving him breathless whenever he stood less than perfectly straight.

He shouldn't have worn it – half of the men here would take it as an insult – yet he had nothing else. Five years' exile up a mountain didn't do much for a man's wardrobe. Jachen ran his hand through his chestnut hair, tugging at the tangles. The cheap soap at his lodgings had not helped much in making him look something approaching presentable. He couldn't really afford private lodgings, but the alter-native was the barracks here at the palace, and he didn't think that would he wise.

Following the servant's directions, he found himself standing before an unassuming door. He had enough sense of direction to recognisi that he'd been sent around the back of the Tower of Semar, the rem‹»i est part of the palace; it appeared he was being kept out of everyone'* way while he waited for Swordmaster Kerin's summons. After thi hostile faces in the Great Hall he could see the sense in that.

Jachen sighed. 'What am 1 doing here?' he wondered aloud. 'I le Kerin found a new way he can punish me?'

Once they'd seen great potential in him; the Swordmaster hinwll had recommended his promotion. Personally, Jachen had nevei been so sure.

He opened the door and stepped inside, sniffing dust and polish, antique wood and lamp oil, the faint mustiness of a room regularly

aired but not lived in. It reminded him of the Temple of Amavoq, where he'd gone to pray and consider his choices before being trans¬ferred to the rangers – not that there had been much of a choice, in truth, but Jachen had never been one to take the easy road. Obstinacy and stupidity tended to get in the way.

Shutting the door behind him, Jachen hesitated. A single slit win¬dow far above head height on the opposite wall cast a shaft of light to the centre of the room, illuminating tall mahogany pews that were so dark they could have served in Death's temples. They also lined the walls on his left and right. On the far side was a massive oak table with a carved top, under which the wood curved inwards and down to thick root-like feet, giving the impression that the table had been hewn from a single great tree. The style was archaically intricate, too overblown for modern tastes – no doubt why it was in here, left only to the admiring eyes of those being kept out of the way.

As his eyes adjusted to the weak light, Jachen stiffened. Peering over the backs of the central pews he saw he was not alone. A bulky figure was squatting on the floor, shrouded by the dark tent of a cape that spread around him.

'Forgive me,' Jachen said. 'I hadn't realised anyone was in here.'

If the man heard, he made no sign. He was crouched between the far end of the table and the pews, head bowed low. His hair, though not particularly long, was tied up in a top-knot. A soldier then, Jachen thought, and from his size, a white-eye, perhaps one of the Guard.

'I've been ordered to wait in here. I'll not disturb whatever you're doing- ah, what are you doing?'

Playing hide-and-seek, of course.' The reply was a low rumble, sug-gesting massive pair of lungs.

The major licked his lips and gave his uniform another tug before asking, 'Hide-and-seek?'

'Hide and-seek,' confirmed the figure, head still stooped as if in prayer 'What of it!'

I… Noihing. It's just a little unusual. I was not expecting you to say that.'

'Much of what I do confounds prediction.'

Who ane you?' Who in damnation are you?'

Jachen bit back his response.Just keep your mouth shut. If Kerin's going to give you another chance, don't blow it by starting a fight before you've even reached the man's office.

'My name is Jachen Ansayl,' he replied, adding defensively, 'Major Jachen Ansayl.'

'Ansayl, eh? Bastard, are you?'

'That's rich, coming from a white-eye.' Damn. The name Ansayl marked him as a bastard (or grandson of a bastard, in Jachen's case) of the Sayl suzerainty north of Tirah. He'd grown used to the jibes, learning through bitter experience that it was better to meet them with a joke than a scowl. Either was a bad idea here.

The white-eye gave a throaty chuckle that sounded like the grating of a tomb's door to Jachen. He raised his head and looked straight at Jachen, his disconcerting eyes shining out of the gloom like Arian's cruel light on Silvernight. Jachen had never liked white-eyes, despite years of soldiering alongside them; he had never been able to get used to the dark malevolence they all exuded. Even those who weren't violent drunkards unnerved him.

This man was younger than Jachen had first thought. His features were sharp, calculating. A faint prickle of foreboding ran down Jachen's spine. The white-eye emitted a long sigh, as though only now emerging from whatever trance he'd been in, and flicked aside his cloak. A lump appeared in Jachen's throat as he saw the fine clothes His heart sank further when he saw the naked silver blade that lay across the white-eye's lap, glowing faintly in the shadows.

Damn again. All the way to the Dark Place.

'My Lord, 1-'

Jachen's apology was cut short by a raised hand. 'I can let it pass.'

Lord Isak rose and Jachen found himself edging backwards. The new Lord of the Farlan was almost as big as Lord Bahl, though not yet quite as solid. Not quite as solid? Jachen scoffed at himself. This man could tear you in two with his bare hands and your first thought is that he's not so large as another giant of a man? He forced himself to stand still as Lord Isak sheathed his sword with a flourish and began to inspect Jachen with unnerving curiosity.

'You were going to take a seat.' He indicated the bench on Jachrn's right.

A seat? Oh yes, of course. But that was… I didn't

'Sit.'

Jachen's legs started hack and he sank down on the bench, spine straight. His sword had slipped under the arm-rest of the bench and was caught; feeling foolish, Jachen tried to hide his embarrassment as he fumbled with the clasps on his scabbard before finally freeing the weapon and laying it down beside him.

Lord Isak hadn't moved. His head was cocked to one side and he had a slight smile on his lips. Finally he stepped back and eased his weight onto the corner of the oak table, which groaned and creaked alarmingly in protest.

'So, Major Jachen Ansayl, what are you doing here, apart from disturbing vital matters of state and occult importance?'

'Occult importance?' Jachen echoed. 'You said you were playing hide-and-seek.'

'Do you see a horde of children running around the palace looking for me?

'Well, no.'

'Do you expect your lord to be engaging in such childish games?'

'Of course not.'

'I was a few weeks ago.'

'()h. But you're not now?'

He smiled. Jachen felt his shoulders tense at his lord's expression, the predatory smile of a serpent. Bloody white^eyes, why do they always put me on edge? He felt his hand start to move up to his neck to tug at the high collar again, but stopped it. No need to make his nervousness

even more obvious.

'No, I'm not playing childish games. Do you know what this is?'

'I. held up what looked like a glass sphere, about the size of a normal man's fist and turned it in the rays streaming from the slit window.

Where the sunlight caught it, the object burst into a glittering display that reflec ted on the walls of the room.

Oh Gods, that's a Crystal Skull, isn't it?'

Good boy. When someone like me plays hide-and-seek, I've discovered there's rarely any fun involved. A mage called Dermeness

Chirialt is wandering the palace, trying to find me, while I use this. I'm told that channelling so much power can make me easy to find, so on

the battlefield every enemy mage will immediately have my position fixed in their mind. I'm guessing that won't be much fun either.'

'All No, my Iold.'

The Duke of Tirah continued to stare at Jachen as though the major where a new toy 'So are yon going to tell me why you're here?'

'Of course, my Lord, I'm sorry. I was summoned by Swordmaster Kerin for a meeting.'

'About what?'

'I don't really know. I've been working at ranger stations for tin-last few years now – as far from civilisation as Swordmaster Kerin could find. My current posting is on top of a mountain – it's not that far from the nearest town, but most Farlan don't go beyond the tree line, so 1 only have ghosts and daemons for company most of the year.' Jachen paused, a thoughtful frown turning suddenly into awakening anger. 'That bastard – he ordered me to come in here – he knows what my temper's like. He must have known you were in here and hoped I'd say something stupid.' jachen half-rose from his seat before a growl froze him midway.

'It looks like he was right.'

Jachen sank back down. 'But we've history, he and I. My posting wasn't the first punishment I've had since- Well, since things went bad. This is just like Kerin to let me get myself into trouble, but I can't believe he-'

Lord Isak slammed his palm against the tabletop beside him. Jachen blinked. He'd not even seen the white-eye's hand move.

'Despite what you may believe, not every action is solely about you.' He slipped from the table and advanced around the central pews:. 'According to some people, the same cannot be said for me, but that just goes to show the idiocy of some people. However, I am Lord of the Farlan, no matter how young 1 might be. Kerin is my Swordmaster, he answers to me. I am not a tool for punishing rangers with dubious records and ill-fitting uniforms. Do you understand me?'

Jachen nodded dumbly.

'Good. How old are you?'

'1- Thirty-seven summers, my Lord.'

'Thirty-seven eh? You share that with Count Vesna at least, though you look older. Still, you're younger than the last, which can't be a bad thing.'

'The last what? Count Vesna? My Lord, I doubt many nun in this palace would think I had anything in common with Countt Vesna '

'Kerin obviously does.'

'My Lord, I don't mean to be rude, but I have no idea what you're talking about.'

'Clearly not.' Iord Isak pointed to Jachen's throat, 'Loosen that top button. Perhaps you'll think a little clearer with some blood reaching your head.'

Jachen flushed as he followed Isak's instruction.

The white-eye beamed. 'See, your colour's returning already. Divinely granted infallibility is a wonderful thing.'

'Infallibility?' Jachen said, trying to catch up with the conversation. 'Again, my Lord, I don't mean to be rude, but I don't think such a thiing has been recognised by the Cult of Nartis.'

'Damn. Really? I'm finding it hard to tell whether I'm always right, or whether most people simply have more sense than to argue with a seven-foot giant capable of ripping a man apart with his bare hands and burning whatever is left to ashes.' He advanced a couple of paces, close enough to reach out and touch Jachen, and peered down to inspect him.

Jachen couldn't swallow. His throat was suddenly too dry.

'Perhaps you're right after all; your colour seems to have gone again. I must have been wrong.' He stepped back and smiled. 'Now consider this: over the last day, I have met with four men, all sent to me by Swordmaster Kerin. All of them have excellent service records, proven skills of leadership and useful political connections.'

'I – I imagine you need to have a new commander of your guard.' |achen paused. 'Oh Gods.'

'A new commander!' exclaimed Lord Isak with affected delight. Correct! I must have been right about the collar after all. Now, what do you think Swordmaster Kerin was doing when he presented men who irritated me beyond measure?' He raised his finger – as white as a bone in moonlight – and began pacing, looking for all the world like a schoolmaster lecturing an errant pupil, rather than one of the most powerful men in the Land.

'Firstly, Scion Cormeh, who will soon be Suzerain Cormeh, from what I bear. I could tell from his expression that the pious little shit disapproved of my cursing; he was lucky to get out of the room without being strangled. Next, a knight from Foleh, who lacked any personal¬ity, nodded at everything and managed no more than three words in any given sentence. I can't trust any man who's going to follow every order I give without question – I am a bloody white-eye, after all.'

Jachen fIroze. Gods, I didn't say it out loud, did 1?

Lord Isak turned like a sergeant on the parade ground and con-tinued his, lecture Then there was the colonel with the ridiculous

moustache. Despite Kerin's recommendation, the man was a complete idiot. He obviously considered my opinions worthless because I was less than half his age. The last one was… well, he was ugly. Very ugly. Face like a ten-week-old side of lamb. It annoyed me.' He shook his head. 'I didn't get close enough to smell the man, but I'm confident he stank – and as you know, I'm never wrong.'

Lord Isak glanced towards the door. Jachen followed the movement, but he saw nothing untoward. The door remained steadfastly shut and he could hear nothing beyond it. When he returned his attention to Lord Isak, the white-eye was scrutinising him again.

'Kerin gave me those four, then you. You don't really fit with the rest of the list, so why?'

'I don't know,' Jachen said with feeling. 'The Swordmaster knows I have done some things right in my life, though he's no great admirer. I led a night assault on a castle. I saved the life of the former Suzerain Danva, who showed his gratitude by buying me my commission. I also served as his hurscal for a year.'

'Only a year?'

'I have a history of making bad decisions.'

'So what do you imagine were Kerin's thoughts on the subject of including you on this list?'

Jachen took a deep breath. He was warming to Isak: the young man had an unnervingly intense air about him, but Jachen was beginninig enjoy the luminary presence of his lord. Either that, or abject terror had made him light-headed. Probably best not to speculate which- 'A counter-point to the others, no doubt. If you are making a choice, variety is always preferable.'

'Does that strike you as like the man?'

'No, not really,' Jachen admitted. 'Swordmaster Kerin's too clever for that.'

'So why send me men likely to annoy me?'

'To direct your choice towards the one he wants.'

'And that would be you?'

'I'd say I've managed to annoy you at least as much as the others, so who comes after me?'

Lord Isak grinned. 'You might be right there, but there's no one else. Any other thoughts?'

Jachen hesitated. A history oj bad decisions. Oh well, all or nothing here. 'That you're hellish to serve, dismissing perfectly competent

officers for no good reason. You want a commander who suits your eccentricity, but is experienced in battle and able to think on his feet.'

'How many think when they're on their back?' Lord Isak countered, his grin widening.

'Quite; you also need a commander who understands your puer¬ile sense of humour. Lastly, that a sensible man would have to be desperate to take the post because there's a good chance of being run through or blasted by the wrath of the heavens, or both, even.' He dared a breath. Isak was still smiling. In fact, the Duke of Tirah appeared decidedly pleased.

Perhaps Kerin has got this right after all, Jachen thought hesitantly. With Count Vesna at his side, Lord Isak doesn't need the best tactician in the army, nor a champion as commander of his guard. He needs a man he can stand to speak to every day as much as anything.

'It's a fair point,' the white-eye replied. 'Do you know what my last commander did when he thought I was making the wrong decision? He clouted me round the head in public. For that I almost squeezed the life out of him. Do you think you could do the same if you thought it was right? Do you still want this post?'

'I don't ever remember wanting this post, my Lord. Certainly I don't know whether I'd have the guts to face you down from doing something stupid, but I'll take it if you'll have me. Maybe I do want a. chance to prove myself again.'

'Only maybe?'

'Maybe I just don't care any more.' The comment came out with the flippancy of truth before Jachen could bite it back.

Lord Isak's expression fell. He looked grave.

Damn. How much did 1 really mean that?

'I hope that's not the case. I need a man to temper the flames of any.anger, not let them run amok. Don't you have any family to prove

yourself to?"

Don't think there's much hope there,' Jachen sighed. 'In any case, I've served long enough to know that there's only one person you can prove anything lo and that's yourself. Men who look to be heroes are usually the dead ones.'

Good. Tell me one thing: what exactly did you do to get in Kerin's bad books in the first place?'

Jachen grimaced, 'In the first place would be going back a ways, but what the men hate me for is leaving my post. I abandoned my regiment for the sake of my wife and daughter.'

'Did they survive?'

'Of the regiment? A few.'

I meant your family,' said Lord Isak.

'My daughter did. She hates me for a coward, like the rest of the tribe.'

'Most men would want to justify what they'd just said.'

'It's my tale, and mine to tell as much of it as I want.' Jachen couldn't help sounding petulant as he said it. The insinuation in Isak's voice had been obvious, and Jachen had risen to it.

'True. I'm just intrigued when a man makes so little effort to defend his actions, especially when he has been recommended by one of the most respected soldiers in the Land. Kerin's covered himself well, though; he's not formally suggested you, merely arranged a meet-ing. That way no one can complain about being passed over, and he doesn't get in trouble if I hate you. About which, by the way, Major Jachen Ansayl, I'm still undecided.'

'Ah, Lord Isak, might I make a request?' Jachen said, hesitantly. Could I ask that you call me Major Jachen, or even just Jachen? I realise it's informal, but there'll be enough men reminding me I'm a bastard without you doing so.'

'Done – but I still might call you one from time to time.'

Before Jachen could think of a suitable reply, there came a sharp rap on the door behind him, and a dazzling young woman strode in without waiting for a response. She spared him a puzzled glance before falling into a graceful but perfunctory curtsey. She looked as if she was about to attend High Reverence at the Temple: her white dress was spotless and a silk scarf was draped over her arm, as if ready to cover three of the four beautiful charms pinned into her lustrous braided hair (after all, no one would go into Nartis' Temple leaving uncovered devices of Triena, Goddess of Fidelity, Ial, an Aspect of Hit, and Anarie, Goddess of Calm Glades, an Aspect of Amavoq). With a slab of guilt, Jachen realised that Anarie was the only God he had prayed to in the last few years. She'd not answered.

'My Lord, it is time.'

He sighed. 'Of course – but Tila, first I want you to meet the new commander of my personal guard, Major Jachen Ansayl, who prefers to be called Major Jachen. Jachen, this is Tila Introl, my political advisor. I suggest you keep your temper around her. Lady Tila's tongue is barbed and she lacks my sweet temper.'

'Major Jachen.' The woman acknowledged him with an incline of her beautiful head. Her long lashes fluttered down, and Jachen felt as if she had recorded every detail of his person in an instant, from the scuff marks on his boots to the missing button on his cuff. His head skipped a beat when her rich brown eyes met his own, then ached at her frosty words as she continued, 'Your reputation precedes you.' She made no attempt to hide her disapproval as she dismissed Jachen with a flick of the head.

She turned to Lord Isak. 'I doubt the men will accept him.'

'That's his problem,' he replied. 'If he can't lead them, then he's no use to me. He told me about abandoning his men, but I think he's worth a second chance.'

'Did he tell you everything? That he was a mercenary for years, fighting for Duke Vrerr, and other thugs? That he once slaughtered a castle's entire garrison when it surrendered-'

'Hold on there!' Jachen broke in, suddenly finding his voice. 'That's a lie. We wiped them out, yes, but no man of that garrison ever asked for quarter. If they fight to the last, you don't get a choice about taking prisoners.'

Tila shrugged. 'The truth won't matter in the barracks. As you say, my Lord, it's his problem. The Synod awaits you.'

Lord Isak gave an exasperated sigh and gestured for Tila to lead the way. Jachen followed them like a lost child. Every dozen steps they were interrupted by people greeting Isak, most formal, but a few more friendly – at one corner he was set upon by flurry of liveried clerks, warning him Chief Steward Lesarl was searching for him. Jachen was ignored by everyone, lost in his new master's shadow. That suited him line. From there he could observe the Land as Isak strode though it Like a catalyst, affecting everyone he passed. But if that's true, what have I got myself into! You're a damn fool, Jachen, he thought. Next time, first find out what happened to the last man who did the job.

The Chief Steward came upon them moments after his clerks. His formal clothes indicated Lesarl had important meetings this morning, yet he still managed to retain his customary air of dishevelment and disorder Beyond a sharp look at Jachen – unsurprising, considering his reputation he said nothing, but led Isak into a small office. Jachen, with no futher orders, followed behind. As he watched the exchange between the two men, he wondered if there was any truth to the rumours that the men detested each other. He could see nothing untoward; Lesarl was a prickly, brusque man as far as Jachen knew, but the Chief Steward's manner was sufficiently deferential. It was widely known that Lesarl treated some suzerains with open contempt, but here gossip appeared to be growing its own fertile ground. He could discern no truth to any of it.

'Since you're calling the nobles to Tirah,' Lesarl said, standing close to the white-eye, as if to a long-time confidant, 'I've set the investiture ceremony for two months' time. It's a rare event, so we might as well make the most of it and have all the suzerains there. After getting the Synod's approval you have a number of other meetings.' Lesarl nodded towards Jachen. 'You might want to think about whether you take him in to all of them; you don't trust him as you do Carel.'

'It appears I'm the only person who didn't know he was a candidate for the position,' Lord Isak said pointedly. 'Perhaps I should be asking you whether 1 can trust him.'

'My Lord, of course Kerin asked my opinion, and I have no objec¬tion – if I had, the Swordmaster would not have put him in front of you. As it is, I always suspect folk who covet a position of influence. Far better to find an unknown man you consider useful.' He acknow¬ledged Jachen with a cold smile. 'Easier to kill this one too, if he's not up to the job.'

Isak snorted. 'Let's give him a week or two first. What about these other meetings?'

'Principal ministers, the City Council, the Honourable Association of Merchants, and then later tonight my coterie.'

'Coterie?' Isak asked.

Lesarl gave Jachen a warning look as he explained, 'My personal – let us call them advisors. They hold no actual position, and you will never see them at meetings, but they are integral to keeping the nation running. You need never speak to them again, but it is right you meet them and know their faces and their skills. That you will do alone, for their identities remain a state secret. Whilst it is rumoured abroad that I have my own network of spies, if I discover Major Jachen has been talking about my coterie, he'll disappear – and not just up a mountain this time.'

Lord Isak waved a hand in dismissal. 'Fine, it'll probably be the only thing I properly remember. There are so many meetings, so much to

sign – it's all starting to blur. No wonder Lord Bahl left so much of this up to you!'

'My Lord, no one man can run a nation. It will take you time to absorb all the details – you were not trained from birth to do this, after all, but your aides were. After a few weeks the legal requirements will all be resolved and government will return to normal. Until then, trust me to ensure that everything is being attended to. Your priority is to establish yourself as Lord of the Farlan, a head of state the people can trust, one who will keep life going as usual. Your position as a warrior has, I think, been adequately affirmed. Now, just remember to conduct yourself in meetings as calmly as possible. We would prefer people forgot about stories of the battle of Chirr Plains and saw only the intelligent ruler they now have.'

'And begging the favour of the Synod is the first step in that?' Lord Isak sighed.

'The approval of the Synod is an ancient custom,' Lesarl said. 'It may be a formality now, but that was not always the case. It is a good reminder of how divided the tribe once was.'

'So there won't be any political bargaining going on?'

Lesarl's smile sparkled back to life, reminding Lord Isak of King Emin of Narkang. 'My Lord, that you could think such a thing of our holiest men…'

He sighed. His Chief Steward found his entertainment in the strangest of ways. 'Gods, it's going to be that bad? Tila said they'd at least conform to the ritual format.'

'I'm sure it will start that way,' Lesarl agreed, 'but I suspect the sitting cardinals will be keen to get to business soon enough. After all, you intend to execute Cardinal Certinse's sister and nephew. There is one final thing: your father. I don't know if you want to give him a position, or a manor, in Anvee, perh-'

'No. He won't accept anything from me.' He sighed. 'Just keep an eye On him, keep him out of trouble.'

'As you wish, my Lord,' Lesarl said with a.sniff. For a moment he looked as il he would speak further, then he bowed low and hacked

away.

'Isak, concentrate, Repeat it back to me.' Tila grabbed his deep crimson tunic and tugged it left and right, finally succeeding in straightening the rucked shirt underneath It that was ruining the line.

Isak snooed Tila's hands away, The sitting cardinals are named Certinse, Veck Honestly, what sort of a name is Vreck"

'Never mind that now,' Tila snapped. Her voice- sounded strangely loud in the bare antechamber. They were alone, aside from Jachen, who lingered uncomfortably by the door. Two of Isak's personal guards, clad in full armour, stood outside the room, warning everyone away. This was the administrative side of the palace, part of the main wing given over to governmental use. The high-ceilinged oval hall on the other side of the door was the Synod Chamber. It was intentionally set apart from the main wing. Isak hadn't asked why. No doubt there was symbolism involved, but he had quite enough to remember already.

'Yes, mistress,' Isak growled without a trace of contrition, and par¬roted back to her, 'Certinse, Veck and Echer are the sitting cardinals. Echer is High Cardinal, but he's very old now so he'll let the other two speak. The high priests always defer to the three most powerful of their number, and of those Jopel Bern, the High Priest of Death, will take the lead since Voss Aftal will not want to come into direct conflict with the head of his own cult. The only other high priest who might speak is from the Temple of Belarannar, the white-eye Roqinn.'

'Good, and your two allies there?'

'The Corlyn, and High Chaplain Mochyd. Satisfied now? Tila, calm down; I remember everything you've told me. Now give me a moment to myself, will you?'

Tila hesitated, then curtsied in acknowledgement and stepped back. Isak stretched his back and shoulders. The suit of thick linen Tila had produced might be striking, but he felt constrained by it. She had a thing about putting him in scarlet and gold. He put his palm against the wall; it was cold, and for a moment he felt like it was drawing the very life out of him. When he withdrew his hand, he could feel the ghost of its touch still, a chill tingle running over his skin. How much am I going to have to give to this place?

'Right,' he announced, 'Major Jachen, if you would lead the way? The Duke of Tirah must be presented by a soldier, demanding entrance by knocking on the chamber door with the pommel of his weapon.' He grinned at Tila, who looked pleased he had remembered what she'd been drumming into him.

Jachen bobbed his head and stepped forward, slipping his sword from its scabbard and reversing it. He rapped three times on the brass

plate' screwed Into the heavy wooden door, sheathed his weapon, took a deep breath and placed a hand on each of the handles. He looked

at Isak, who nodded, flung open the doors and swept into the room, announcing Isak's new title in a clear voice.

He stepped aside, and Isak walked past, looking at the collection of wizened laces peering up at him from a massive oval table. Jachen and Tila pulled the doors shut, then followed to take up their positions on either side of the Duke of Tirah.

'The Synod welcomes you, Lord Isak, Chosen of Nartis and Duke of Tirah.' Isak followed the cracked voice to its owner, High Cardinal Echer. The withered old man raised his arthritis-clawed hands, palms towards Isak, in formal greeting. 'May the hand of Nartis guide you.'

Isak returned the greeting and bowed low to the assembled men and women, sitting in this dim and dusty chamber, silently awaiting the future. Only two could be called young and relatively healthy: Cardinal Certinse, whose family connections had heretofore advanced his career, and Roqinn, the white-eye High Priest of Belarannar. At nearly one hundred summers, Roqinn, like Lord Bahl at more than twice his age, looked no more than forty. Even the jittery new High Priest of Larat, obviously mindful of his predecessor's violent demise when he had tried to look into Isak's mind, was white-haired, his face a mass of lines.

'My Lord,' said someone, Cardinal Veck, he guessed from Tila's de¬scription, 'in deference to our High Cardinal's frail state of health, it has been agreed that I speak in his place. Do you object to this change of protocol? Would you request another in my place?'

The cardinals wore robes of white and midnight blue, edged in scarlet. They reminded Isak of the Knights of the Temples, but he told himself not to get hostile – there would be time for that later.

Isak nodded his agreement and looked around. There was one wall of long thin windows, but half a dozen torches burned brightly to aid the aged priests' failing sight. The walls were decorated with the flags of each of the Gods represented by the Synod. The two largest, Death's golden bee on a fresh white field and the coils of Nartis' black snake, outlined in white thread, on a deep blue background, hung opposite Isak.

These images, the two banners fluttering side by side atop temples and city gates throughout FarIan lands, were etched into Isak's mind. For a moment he ignored the Synod members squinting up at him and stared at the flags, thinking of the power represented, and ehe

thrall in which they held mankind. Back in Narkang on the bloodied floor of the jousting arena, religion hud suddenly become something more not polished artefacts on holy altars, not the sombre drone oi voices as incense Idled the air. Instead, a primal force had suffused him, raw and savage power setting every nerve on fire. He'd been connected to the ground beneath him, even as the torrent of energy had borne him up into the glittering surge of spring air. That was the (!od he knew, the God that had claimed him without thought or care lor the consequences.

These priests are nothing, whispered a voice in the back of Isak's head. They care only for worldly matters. Only the white-eye could survive the barest touch of his master. They know nothing of Gods. Such power never flowed through their veins, never shook their bones. Kill them. Even together they could not truly oppose you.

Quiet, spirit, Isak commanded. This is not your business.

You let yourself be commanded by a maid. You tie yourself close to the games of the Gods. Each ceremony and tradition is a string to bind you, each prayer a piece of your soul you offer-

/ said, enough! Your babbling bores me. Every word of sense you speak is twisted; 1 will not be a despot so I must listen to these people.

What difference to the slaves in the field you might send to death on a whim?

Perhaps none, but for me there is. Now be quiet.

'Lord Isak,' Cardinal Veck continued hesitantly, looking somewhat puzzled by Isak's vacant expression, 'you come before us to claim hon¬our beyond that of kings?'

Isak bowed.

'Before a man can be placed above kings, he must look up to the heavens and know his own place. Sit now, without threat or pride.'

Isak unbuckled his swordbelt, letting it fall to the floor for Jachen to sweep up, then approached the table and eased himself onto the stool that had placed ready for him. The Synod members sat in ornately carved chairs, but Isak must sit before them in humility.

'Now, in the presence of the Gods here represented, and the tribe of the Farlan, state your claim.'

Isak waited a moment, trying to gauge how loud he should speak, then began, 'I claim the title of Lord of all Farlan. I claim acknow¬ledgement of the Synod that I am Chosen of Nartis and worthy of this title; His Will done by my hand,His Majesty upheld by my deals.'

'High Priest of Nartis, called Cardinal Veck, On his left, Voss Aftal

flinched.Do you accept this man's claim to Nartis' favour and blessing?

Most ol the Synod looked keenly interested in the proceedings; Altal appeared to be as frightened as the High Priest of Larat. He tried to clear his throat and gave a strangled splutter. 'I- Yes,' he managed finally. 'He has been touched by the storm and emerged from its light marked as a brother. The Cult of Nartis so accepts Isak, Duke ol Tirah, as Chosen of Nartis and first among His Blessed.'

'Then the claim is acknowledged as valid,' intoned Cardinal Veck, looking for all the world like he was enjoying himself.

Isak glanced down the line of faces. There were three women on the Synod. The High Priestess of Amavoq was staring so fiercely at him that Isak began to wonder if he'd done anything to offend her.

/ lave 1 even met her before? 1 don't remember it. Isak suddenly smiled as he realised the old woman's eyesight was failing and she was squint¬ing, trying to bring him into focus. And you suspected the worst. You're a fool. Reasons behind every deed, enemies in every shadow.

Enemies in the shadows! shrieked Aryn Bwr unexpectedly. 'Ware the shadows, their eyes and claws! 'Ware the terrible webs they weave!

Isak ignored the voice.

'High Chaplain Mochyd,' the High Cardinal called next, turning to his right and looking to the furthest seat. 'To be Lord of the Farlan, a warrior is needed to keep us strong. Will you follow this man into battle?'

'I will,' came the gruff reply. 'He has led our armies and rained righteous fire upon the enemies of our tribe. I will follow him.'

Like most chaplains, Mochyd had been a tall man, and powerful. Time and hard living had aged him, not the magic that had so drained the high priests. Though white-haired and wrinkled, yet there was strength and will in those old bones, Isak thought, and that couldn't be said for the men of magic on the Synod. He could see why Lord Bahl's circle of friends had included a number of chaplains. They tended to be fiercely loyal, so devoted to their calling that it became the essence of their being. They were men Bahl understood.

'Corlyn,' called the cardinal next, 'to be Lord of the Farlan, a man of piety is needed. Do you trust this man to be an example to the people?'

The old man with gentle eyes on Veck's far left gave Isak a benevo¬lent smile, and said calmly, 'I do.'

That was it; the Corlyn said nothing more. Isak tried not to smile at the thought of him as a spiritual leader – he'd only remembered to visit the Temple of Nartis after returning to Tirah because Lesarl had reminded him. A less suitable choice he couldn't imagine.

And yet… And yet, strangely, he couldn't tear his eyes from the Corlyn's silent smile. The head of the Cult's pastoral branch, a man he'd never met, wasn't asking for anything. Tila had said the Corlyn would support Isak simply because he had no personal agenda to push, and he liked to annoy those members of the Synod who disdained him for exactly that reason. He was, in truth, a simple man of his God, wanting only to guide the people in their faith and rejecting the power that becoming high priest offered.

A hand to guide him on the right path. If one old man still had enough faith left to trust a feckless youth with this, why couldn't he be right? Isak was pondering this when a curious, unpleasantly smug smile crossed Cardinal Veck's lips. Isak's instincts kicked into action as he felt his heart quicken. He catalogued every detail of the cardinal's appearance: the neat clipped beard, the rings on his fingers, a pair of diamonds set in gold, a fat silver band engraved with the badge of the cardinal branch, and a firegem surrounded by sapphires. The cardinal was moistening his lips and twitching his thin eyebrows, the only remaining trace of the dark colouring of his youth. Even the long hair protruding from a mole on his right cheek was white.

'Well, my Lord. We have had assurances of your strength and moral virtue. Now it just falls to us to determine whether you will be a good ruler as well as a good man. The requirements of office go beyond the strength of a leader's arm.'

Isak matched the cardinal's gaze impassively. Veck's words were a departure from the ritual, but he had expected nothing less. A rumble of disapproval sounded from the direction of the High Chaplain, but neither man paid him any attention, both refusing to be the one to look away first.

'Lord Bahl's long reign saw many changes,' Veck continued. 'The strength of our nation was rebuilt by his hand, there can be no doubt. However, there will always be some changes that are for the worse. We certainly do not blame Lord Bahl lor such things but it is felt by the Synod that certain figures, the Chief Steward first among them, have pursued an agenda that has diminished the influence of the Gods within this great nation of ours.'

'If you wish to accuse Chief Steward Lesarl of something, it should be done in a more formal – more public – arena, I believe.' Isak's tone was soft and level, without a hint of antagonism. Let them think he was willing to sacrifice the man – maybe they believed the rumours of his dislike for Lesarl. The truth was that while Isak might not count Lesarl as a close friend, he was entirely aware that the Chief Steward was invaluable to the Farlan. If others hoped he might put personal feelings first, they were welcome to think that way. It cost him nothing, and left them running in the wrong direction. Lesarl was as aware of his important to the nation as Isak was.

'Nothing so dramatic as that, my Lord. The Synod is a little concerned that the government has become too secular, that we are forgetting the guidance from our Gods.'

'And you have proposals for me to consider?' A wave of nausea hit Isak. These men could think only of their petty wants; this is what they were reduced to: comparing their own fiefdoms to others and squabbling over the differences. Had they ever been devoted to a cause higher than their own, or was this the measure of their life's work?

'We have certain suggestions, yes.'

'Please, name them.'

His abruptness caused the cardinal to hesitate momentarily. Tila's voice drifted through his mind. Don't get angry, that's how mistakes are made. Isak scowled at the admonishment from his subconscious. He bit his lip and tensed his gut around the building swell of anger. His fist tightened at the effort, but when he released it, Isak found the petulant clouds dissipated.

'First, the treatment of sacred creatures,' Veck went on, blithely oblivious to Isak's inner turmoil. 'Bear- and wolf-baiting is now a regular occurrence in many regions. Fighting-snakes command prices ‹ ›f up to fifty silver crescents apiece. These activities are grave insults to the Gods. They must be stopped.'

Isak smiled inwardly. He was being eased in to the argument.

As far as I am aware, the only species of snake willing to fight is the ice cobra, and if you'll consult your texts I believe you'll discover ice cobras are not sacred – they're noted for it, in fact. There are no other snakes in these parts that will fight each other. An adder is more likely to curl in a ball than fight.'

'Fighting-snakes are being imported from other states.'

'Your point is noted. Please, continue.'

'The organisation styling itself "The Brethren of the Sacred Teachings" has been recently active, and you yourself, my Lord, have met with them. These "Brethren", my Lord, are unsanctioned by any cult. They are no better than wild mercenaries. Their secrecy is violently guarded, even against the proper authorities.'

'The proper authorities, meaning you? They came to my aid during an attempt on my life. I hardly think that constitutes wild behaviour – good citizenry, perhaps?'

'That there happened to be several hundred of them ready for war in Saroc does not constitute good citizenry to my mind,' sniffed Cardinal Veck.

'My Lord,' broke in Cardinal Certinse, 'I have had word that a company of dark monks even now inhabits my ancestral home, thiev¬ing and arresting as they please.'

Isak leaned forward, a flash of controlled fury in his white eyes. 'Do you really wish to argue with me over the meaning of good citi¬zenry?' he growled. 'The Brethren were not the only soldiers riding in Saroc that day. Did you not read that in your reports? The reason they are in your family home, Cardinal Certinse, is because a number of your family have proved themselves traitors, and the Brethren provide escort to those I have charged with rooting out those others also involved. Surely you cannot object, as it is one of your fellow cardinals conducting this investigation?'

'Disten?' spluttered Cardinal Certinse. 'The man is a maniac, a delusional monster. His hatred of my family is well known. He is a disgrace to the office. His appointment was nothing more than an indulgence.'

Isak breathed deeply, determined his temper would not boil over. He could see beads of sweat on the cardinal's brow, unsurprising, since he himself had been accused of consorting with daemons by that very same Cardinal Disten. Though Disten might find something in Tildek Manor, Cardinal Certinse would have been far more careful than the rest of his family. Even Lesarl was less than confident of finding evi¬dence against him. In his usual style, the Chief Steward was forming alternative plans to deal with the cardinal.

'What I know about Cardinal Disten,' Isak replied in a measured

voice, 'is that he did not strike me as mad in any way, and whatever accusations he has made against your family were revealed to be true that day. I saw the evidence myself, for Suzerain Tildek and Duke Certinse led troops under banner into the Saroc suzerainty without invitation, that a crime in itself, and then attacked my person. They would have succeeded in killing me, had the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings not anticipated the act.'

'How can you be sure the Brethren themselves did not engineer this – had my brother attacked you by the time they themselves were under assault?'

'Yes. I had lost one man by then.'

'Which could very well have been a mistake, a stray arrow by a nervous scout,' urged the cardinal, sensing a thread to pull.

'Perhaps,' said Isak, 'but unlikely – by the time the Brethren had appeared, the mages in your brother's company had already reached me with sorcery, sorcery with a particular stink about it, unmistak¬able even to a man like me, not long schooled in the magical arts. Your brother consorted with necromancers, Cardinal Certinse. The Suzerain of Tildek and the Duke of Lomin rode under arms with nec-romancers. Go consult your laws, if you will, but I made sure of the point myself. The penalty is death and their assets are forfeit.' Isak leaned back. 'Currently I am disinclined to completely destroy your family, but that may change.'

'Necromancers?' said Jopel Bern, the High Priest of Death, sharply. 'If that is true, then Duke Certinse has violated religious law and should be turned over to the Synod for trial.'

Isak shrugged. 'Currently he is not charged with that. If you wish to prepare a case, by all means do so, but I will try Duke Certinse before his peers for the attempted murder of a peer, and for treason.'

'Treason? You are not Lord of the Farlan yet,' Cardinal Veck said pointedly.

' That is technically true.' Isak gave the Synod a cold smile. 'We will surely be debating that point. I will be very interested to note all dis-

senting views from the suzerains assembled.' He rose and straightened his tunic with a sharp tug, noting with grim satisfaction that more

than just the High Priest of Nartis recoiled at the sudden movement he cast a hard look down the length of the table. 'Now, honoured members of the Synod, list your other suggestions.'

The High Priest oi Death turned slightly to Veck, raising a hand slightly to dissuade him from speaking further. The cardinal nodded and eased back in his chair, arms flat against the thick armrests.

Bern sat up straighter and cleared his throat. 'Lord Isak, our goal here today is not to cast accusations, nor to provoke conflict. We mentioned the dark monks to ask you to declare them unwelcome in Farlan lands, unless they submit to the scrutiny of the proper authori¬ties.'

'The matter is in hand. I have already made it clear to them that I will not tolerate unknown armies marching through these lands.'

'Your wisdom precedes ours then,' Bern replied, bowing slightly. 'Furthermore, we ask permission to create a force to work in conjunc¬tion with your own men, to root out heretics and daemon-worshippers so past conflicts are not repeated.'

Isak took a step forward until his thighs were touching the curved edge of the table. He leant forward slightly and said softly, 'My orders to the Brethren were that I would not tolerate any organised bands of soldiers in these lands if they do not answer to me. There will be no exceptions to this law.' And I'm buggered if I'm going to let an army of religious fanatics run around burning anyone they take a dislike to, he added in the privacy of his own head. For some reason, that struck him as amusing. The Synod wanted proof of my suitability to rule. I didn't say that aloud – I must have learned something after all.

'While we're on the subject,' Isak continued, 'the same can be said for the Devoted – just in case you were about to ask for them to be welcomed back into Farlan lands.'

There is a rumour that you had allied yourself with the Knights of the Temples already,' said the high priest.

One of my men has a big mouth, he thought, a little crossly. 'I have made such no alliance,' he snapped, 'and Lord Bahl's edicts on that organisation stand.'

He stopped as a prickling sensation ran through his head. The whole room seemed to shudder before his eyes and from the corner of the room, he heard a whisper: 'Isak.'

He whirled around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary except Tila, staring at him, wide-eyed and a little confused.

Isak frowned as the voice came again: 'Isak.' Blinking, he turned back to the Synod, who were watching him uncertainly. He took a moment to steady himself and reached out with his mind to the Skull fused around Eolis' hilt, relieved when he touched the power there to recognise that whatever was going on, he wasn't under attack. He suddenly realised that the voice was Xeliath. For her to reach him like that, awake and defended, it must have cost her dearly. Panic began to stir. Had someone found her before Morghien and Mihn could get to her?

He took a deep breath and looked around the table. 'Esteemed members of the Synod, I have urgent matters to attend to. Please send word to Chief Steward Lesarl when you have reached your decision, I have no more time to waste playing games.' He put both hands on 1 he table and leaned forward, looking at each of the Synod in turn, then said, quietly, dangerously, 'If you intend to oppose me, think very carefully before you act. I am not a naive boy, however many summers I may lack in your eyes. I know full well that if a majority of court-ranked men declare for me, your own approval is not necessary. My patience is limited, as you will see tomorrow when my men start building a gallows outside Duke Certinse's cell, in case we might find a use for it. Good day to you all.'

He didn't wait for a reply but swept out of the chamber, drawing Jachen and Tila in his wake. He left the mighty Synod, a collection of shocked, frail old men and women, silently wondering how their world had changed.

Voss Aftal, the High Priest of Nartis, gripped the armrest of his chair and tried to control the fear he felt. He had lived for sixty-four sum¬mers; most of those had been taken up with the gentle routine of ritual at the Temple of Nartis, a majestic building of pillars and sharp-peaked roofs where only the high altar had walls. The wind rushed through constantly, and during storms, as the God brushed his soul, it was a humbling place to be.

Thie strength of Nartis was beyond Aftal's understanding; it was a force that took away his breath and drained his body of the strength to move. It had always frightened him, this gulf between man and God too palpable to ignore. And yet there was a familiarity in the soaring power of the God of Storms, rooted as it was in the patterns of the Land.

Aftal's heart had grown cold at Isak's mere presence, because there was, no familiarity there. The youth's power waxed with every day, cold and wild, tied to nothing, controlled by nothing, and it ruled his entire being. The high priest trembled as he wondered what this snarling youth wilh wild eyes was not capable of. Folk were whispering a new name in the streets now, even his priests: they were calling him Isak Stormcaller. The burgeoning terror in Aftal's heart told him they were wrong.

This boy did not call storms. Isak was the storm. And they were all caught in his wake.