by Tom Lloyd
Mayel took a tentative step back. The minstrel's voice had risen above a whisper for the first time and his hands, once piously clasped, now flew about, gesticulating sharply. He slipped over the rail.
Rojak's words echoed inside Mayel's head, trembling his bones like the crash of falling tombstones. Alarmed by the minstrel's sudden animation, he cast a look at his cousin, who was equally startled.
And then it was over. Suddenly still once more, fingers again inter¬locked, Rojak peered down at the ground, as though saying a silent prayer, not blinking, hardly breathing. He appeared oblivious to their presence.
Shandek was as confused as Mayel. Had those last few moments been a piece of drama, an indulgence by a playwright, or was it some¬thing more? Mayel bit his lip, worried.
Twenty heartbeats passed. Still Rojak didn't move, though his head and shoulders were now bathed in sunlight too bright for Mayel's eyes.
Finally: 'Power has come to this city,' he murmured abruptly.
Mayel recoiled at the sound of his cruel, velvety lilt.
'Slipping furtive and fearful, it comes in the night. There are games being played here – plots to be acted out, blood to be shed. There will be a spring torrent of cleansing, and those born will emerge in the blood of others.' Rojak's head snapped up, the black irises burning like acid into Mayel's skin.
Mayel felt a twist of terror in his bowels, as though that corrosive gaze had seared his gut.
'Take care what games you play, young sparrow. Eagles soar above these streets and vultures watch from the trees. They will prey on you and your like.'
Mayel staggered back as though he'd been struck. His mouth opened, but all sound was stolen from him. In the corner of his eye he caught a movement, a dark flutter in the deep wings of the stage. The memory of Prior Corci's tattoos rose unbidden, the stain of feathers on Jackdaw's cheeks and forehead like a painted helm.
Mayel turned to flee. Shandek called his name and reached out, but Mayel, filled with the fear that had been his constant companion for the last few weeks, slipped through his cousin's fingers. Despite the ghastly spectre of pursuit, he couldn't help but look back. There was nothing in the pit beyond empty shadows. The deep steps leading down to it were all in sun, except the very top, which was cut through by the straight line of the roof's shadow.
Something caused Mayel to hesitate. The worn step with a chipped edge. The unbroken line of shadow. The shadow of the building be¬hind Rojak. He looked up again. The minstrel had not moved. His head was still bathed in the clear morning sun that rose behind his head and left his face in shadow.
Seeing Mayel's aghast expression, Rojak smiled coldly, lips parting to show his small, sharp teeth.
'Where's- Where's his shadow?' Mayel whispered, uncomprehend¬ing. He looked again at the straight line of shadow cast by the rooftop behind Rojak and felt a chill steal down his spine. He bit back a scream, flapped an arm towards his cousin, then fled as though the denizens of Ghenna were calling his name.
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 pati
ently 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.
