by Tom Lloyd
His partner was in the guardroom above, warm and comfortable, seated by the arrow-slit window that overlooked the approach to the palace. The solider opened his mouth to call up and demand they change places when a movement caught his eye. In the inky lee of one house, a cloak fluttered out from the shadow. The soldier flexed his fingers round the shaft of his halberd. Someone was watching him. He hawked noisily and spat on the ground, the saliva glistening in the half-light. A tap-tap came; almost inaudible, but enough to be sure his partner was alert to the possible danger.
The figure remained in the shadows for another ten heartbeats, then slipped round the corner and moved stealthily along the wall. His long cape covered most of his body, but the breeze held it open for a moment, long enough to make out bronze scale-armour and a red sash with markings of rank - an officer of the Devoted.
Tonight has just got more interesting, thought the soldier. The Devoted and the Kingsguard found themselves at odds more often than not. The officers of the Devoted were usually recruited from birth and title. No man in the Kingsguard went anywhere unless it was on merit. He reached back and rapped his knuckles on the door behind him. At night the gates to the palace were, of course, barred. A low door in the left-hand gate provided the only access until the king was awake. The soldier heard the bolts drawn back as he kept scanning the street beyond. From here he could see no one else, neither companion nor pursuer, but when the hurrying figure crossed the open stretch of road, the soldier kicked back against the door to open it for him.
‘I-‘ The man’s voice broke off as the guard jabbed a thumb towards the door. He hesitated for a split second, then nodded and ducked down to step through the small aperture. Staying in the street would expose the visitor, and he was clearly trying to avoid notice. The guards behind the gate could deal with him. The soldier flicked his upright halberd through two well-practised circles and returned his attention to the fading gloom of the streets.
As the officer came through the door, two pairs of boots and two gleaming sword tips welcomed him. He froze, then gently brought himself upright to match the unfriendly gaze of a Kingsguard soldier. The second moved around him to nudge the door closed again and restore the bolts. Only once the gate was secure did anyone speak.
‘So, Major,’ said the soldier opposite him as he noted the markings on the Knight’s scarlet sash. ‘What can we do for you this fine night?’
The man looked about the fine courtyard before answering. Even in the murky light the White Palace was beautiful. The roses were black shadows, the gravel paths soft grey, and the host of statues loomed like resident spectres.
‘I must speak to the Krann of the Farlan.’
The soldier gave a short laugh. ‘Oh well, excuse me a moment while I drag him out of bed by his ear.’
‘It is a matter of utmost importance.’
‘I’m sure it is,’ drawled the soldier. He regarded the earnest face of the major, a young man for his rank, and sheathed his sword. ‘It’s always important to pious bastards like you lot, but the Lord Isak might not agree. Got a nasty temper on him, I hear.’
‘Then wake one of his men and let him decide. I need to be out of the palace before the city wakes.’
The soldier sighed and scratched at his neck idly. ‘I’m not so sure you’ll make that, but I’ll go and wake the commander of the Krann’s guard. You can wait in the guardhouse there.’
Isak sat on the side of his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Eolis rested on his thighs. The Kingsguard who’d eventually brought Major Ortof-Greyl to him had spoken first to his senior officer, then to one of the black-clad King’s Men who prowled the palace at all times. Finally someone decided it was probably important enough to wake the Krann.
Carel scowled at the major. The marshal looked ruffled and irritable. He’d not bothered with uniform, but the curved blade that he’d named Arugin was ready at hand. The sword reminded him of an arugin, a marsh harrier, for the blade’s smooth, silent stroke was like the black bird’s gliding flight, and the sword, though made of black-iron, had a curious white shimmer, almost like pipe smoke, that resembled the bird’s white-tipped wings.
‘My Lord, we must speak in private,’ the major insisted again.
‘I have no secrets from these two,’ replied Isak, nodding towards Mihn and Carel. A sudden pang of sadness hit him: that wasn’t quite true. Mihn had seen the scar on his chest, but had been given no explanation, and he had kept it hidden from Carel, his oldest and dearest friend, because Carel would demand answers, and Isak didn’t know yet what those answers were.
He decided to compromise. ‘You can leave,’ he ordered the man of the Brotherhood hovering behind the major. The man didn’t move for a second, then he bowed. His face remained steadfastly blank as he marched from the room, Mihn close on his heels to ensure the man had no chance to listen in.
‘So, Major, why are you here? I thought you people were keeping your distance from me.’
‘I-It is true that the Council are unconvinced that you are the Saviour-‘
‘Well, how did I persuade them of that? No one else seems to believe me.’ Isak gave a bitter laugh.
‘That is not why I am here. What I came to tell you is that the Knights of the Temples are not as united as you might believe.’
Isak stopped laughing and leaned forward, listening more intently.
‘Our Order is going through significant changes. While the old guard remains in control of the Council, the younger generation grows stronger every year.’
‘What are you telling me?’
That very soon the Knights of the Temples may not be so hostile towards you - but that is not the main reason I demanded to see you at so inconvenient a time. There is a group of men within the Knights, of whom I am one-‘ He stopped, trying to compose himself.
He was less than thirty summers, Isak guessed, and young to be a major. He was obviously finding the situation daunting. Isak smiled. ‘I’m listening, Major,’ he said encouragingly.
The major swallowed and, almost whispering, said, ‘We are few in number, but we know a secret that even the Knight-Cardinal is ignorant of. We believe we have proof enough that you are the Saviour - or if you are not the Saviour, you will be his champion when his coming is nigh.’
‘His champion?’ wondered Isak aloud.
Mihn looked noncommittal, as usual. The Harlequins did not bear the official history of the Land, but they were impartial recorders of most events. Isak assumed the mention of a champion was just Devoted doctrine, since Mihn offered no other explanation.
‘So you want an ally when you try to take power?’ Carel didn’t bother to disguise the scorn in his voice, but the man looked genuinely hurt by the suggestion.
‘Not at all. We hope it will be less of a taking of power, and more of a shift in values. I come to tell you that we will bring you a gift, something that should convince you of our genuine motives. It is under careful guard, so we haven’t yet managed to secure it, but within two weeks we shall. The head of our group suggests you and your men, however many guards you wish, of course, meet us at the Ivy Rings on Silvernight. It is an abandoned temple of standing stones, a week’s ride from the city.’
‘As simple as that? Do you think I’m soft in the head? You’ll have to give me a reason to believe you or I’ll break your legs and pack you back off to Piety Keep.’ Isak didn’t bother to disguise his anger, but then he paused.
Calm again, he asked, ‘What’s this secret you’ve hidden from the Knight-Cardinal ?’
‘It would mean nothing to you, it is merely the circumstances of the finding of the gifts we offer you - though he is unaware of what we offer. I myself do not know.’
Isak didn’t bother trying to unravel the words, which made little sense to him. The major obviously thought whatever it was would go over his head. Try me.’
The man swallowed nervously. ‘Very well. The gifts - what we will offer to you - were brought back by a man of our Order from an expe
dition into the elven waste years ago-‘
‘To Keriabral?’ Isak had a sly smile on his face as the major’s expression turned to one of bewilderment.
‘You’ve heard of it? But he was the only survivor-How could you possibly know?’ There was near-panic on his face as he ran the names of possible traitors in his group through his head.
‘There were two survivors,’ Isak said, ‘well, three with this new one. If we carry on at this rate there’ll have been no one killed there at all.’ Isak’s comment drew a furious look from Carel: every soldier feared dying on a field far from home. Your family and friends might never know how or why you died, let alone where: to be lost without burial or the administering of rites was what petrified most men going into battle. It was not something to be belittled.
Isak shot him a look of apology.
‘I had no idea,’ whispered the major. ‘The man was sent back alone, soon after they arrived at the castle - he was a woodsman, an expert, able to survive almost anywhere. He made it back to Embere and found an escort to accompany him to the Fortress of the Devoted. When he heard that the others had never returned, he hanged himself in guilt at having abandoned them.’
‘Not much of a secret, considering the consequences if your own leader finds out.’
‘There are ramifications that would cloud our purpose in this Age.’
Isak laughed. ‘How convenient. Well, I’ll think about what you’ve said and let you know.’
‘My Lord, this is a matter of the utmost secrecy; we can afford no contact or the Council will put a stop to everything. If the Knight-Cardinal knew about this, he would have us all killed and take the gifts, perhaps even try to kill you.’
Isak sat back with a sigh. For a few heartbeats he didn’t move, then he looked to both Mihn and Carel. Neither took the opportunity to speak.
‘I still have to think about this,’ Isak said. ‘Count Vesna will be wearing a lady’s favour for the joust. If it’s red on the last day, I will be there. White, I refuse. That gives you enough warning?’
‘It does, my Lord,’ Major Ortof-Greyl said, rising. ‘I thank you for your time.’ He bowed low, then followed Mihn out.
Carel sat down next to Isak, their concerned expressions almost identical.
‘I thought life could not get any more complicated.’ There was no wry humour in Carel’s voice, just fatigue. He was beginning to feel his age. ‘I’m assuming that you’d have told me if you ever believed yourself to be the Saviour, or anything else. So what are we going to do about all those who think you are?’
Isak scratched at the stubble on his cheek. ‘I don’t know. I just hope we can avoid too many people dying over it. I’ve never had much of a plan for my life, certainly nothing so grand as becoming Lord of the Farlan. That was surprise enough.’ He sighed heavily.
‘If we have to go to war over a lie, or over the misinterpreted ramblings of madmen, then perhaps the Land would be better off without me.’
Carel turned in shock, but he saw nothing more than weary resignation on Isak’s face. He placed a hand on Isak’s huge shoulder. These days, whenever he touched his boy, it didn’t feel quite like flesh under his palm. It made him uncomfortable, but he put that aside for Isak’s sake. Then let’s make sure it never comes to that,’ he said quietly.
CHAPTER 32
The day of the Spring Fair came too soon for the brooding Krann. He’d told the others about the major’s visit, but they’d not been able to provide the answers he’d hoped for. Tila pointed out that the Devoted had been founded on decent principles, so there had to be some true men within their ranks.
Vesna worked from the other side: he thought it was a trap, and wondered whether it could truly be an ambush. The Ivy Rings were halfway between Narkang and the Fortress of the Devoted. While killing or abducting Isak was a risky venture, it was certainly feasible: it was no secret that the Devoted considered Siulents and Eolis too dangerous to be at large in the Land.
That would be a dramatic move, and one that would mean they’d have to abandon their strongholds in Emin Thonal’s kingdom, but if they thought the prize worthwhile, it wouldn’t be beyond the Devoted.
The Ivy Rings? Who in the name of Vrest’s beard told you about them?’ Emin actually looked surprised when Isak asked about the temple. They were sitting on a high terrace looking out over the city, overlooking the tents and banners of the Spring Fair. The morning’s rain had lessened and Isak had joined Emin for the midday meal.
The king was dressed as resplendently as ever and Isak could see no trace of the strain that he was surely under. In two days his life and city were to be threatened, yet he was relaxed and at ease.
‘I overheard a conversation, that’s all.’
Then it must have been an odd conversation.’ Emin sounded curious. ‘Few people like to talk about the place. But since you asked, the Ivy Rings are a disused temple, once dedicated to Belarannar, but few people go there these days. They’re in Llehden, a strange place.’
‘Strange?’
‘Yes, strange.’ Emin sniffed. For a moment he became reserved, serious, before he forced the mood away. ‘A friend of mine was lost there a few years past. The shire is a reasonable size - no towns, but a number of villages that are prosperous enough.’
‘And the lord of the shire?’
‘Does not exist. There’s not been a Lord of Llehden for generations. As I said, strange things happen there and folk prefer to steer clear. The inhabitants aren’t hostile to outsiders, but they live under rather different rules. I have yet to find a tax officer who is willing to go there for me - at least more than once,’ he added darkly. Emin’s smile was ambiguous, not angry, but he clearly didn’t relish his lack of control.
‘Llehden is like an island: the region feels much more isolated than it actually is. If you go there you’ll find the landscape feels - well, sharper, as if natural magic influences the environment and folklore and myth have a greater grip on reality. The Gentry, Coldhand Folk, Dead Man’s Wives; these things are much more common there. Unless you have a reason to go, I would suggest you avoid Llehden. A place like that has a natural balance to it. I doubt it would welcome you.’
‘So not a great sight-seeing destination then,’ Isak said quietly, and changed the conversation, asking instead about the origins of the Spring Fair.
Emin smiled, relieved, and launched himself into a potted version of Narkang’s history.
On the second morning of the Spring Fair, Isak awoke to see a single bright shaft of sunlight piercing the shutters of his room. The gloom of previous days had dissipated and as he opened the windows, he was met by a warm sea breeze. Yesterday the air had been full of the murky tang of seaweed and sodden driftwood. Now he could taste the life and energy of the waves. It put a smile on his face as he pulled on Siulents and belted Eolis around his waist. The blue hood of Nartis went into his belt. He felt no need to retreat behind it today, but with so many people out on the plain he wanted to be able to relax without worrying how much people could read in his face.
They went out early. Isak elected to ride so he had horses at hand in case things became desperate on the last day. To justify being the only nobleman on horseback, he toured the fair, using Toramin’s great bulk to dissuade people from approaching. Tila accompanied him, riding side-saddle on Megenn. The saddle was actually a normal one, but with tightly wrapped blankets they had managed to construct something that was comfortable enough for her to ride. If it came to a mad rush for the gates, Isak wanted Tila to be safe. Her own mare was fine for travelling, but Megenn was bigger, faster, and battle-trained.
The entire city seemed to have descended to the plain. A riot of noise, bustle and activity surrounded the Farlan as they trotted past open kitchens, acrobatic displays, parties of minstrels and a host of weird and wonderful games. Vesna was naturally at the jousting fences, watching the competition and preparing himself for his first match. He’d been drawn against a commoner who’d won the morning’s
competitions. It was traditional for a few peasants or apprentices from the city to be allowed to cross lances with the noblemen. The king provided armour and horses, and any victory - rare though they were - would win the man a personal congratulation from his monarch.
Vesna was hardly worried by the tall, ruddy-faced youth who was ecstatic just to be scheduled to face the legendary count. He was more concerned about two men wearing the colours of the Devoted: the Kingsguard champion and a wealthy knight of the city, who’d made a point of coming to greet him. Vesna had noted the tattoo on his ear as they spoke.
As the man departed, casting one last avaricious look at Vesna’s ensorcelled sword, Vesna had felt a sudden pang of unfamiliar nervousness. Fool, he chastised himself with a grin. Fall in love and you’re suddenly a shy little boy again. There’s a reason a man of the Brotherhood made a point of coming to see you now, because you’re that good. Just remember: these people know your name for a reason.
Isak found himself enjoying the fair far more than he’d expected. He loved the exotic, sometimes bizarre foods on display; they were mainly drawn from the ocean and though he recognised little of the samples offered up by beaming cooks, he’d made significant inroads on his hunger long before he was due to eat with the king. The further in they went, the stranger the sights became.
He lingered for a long while to watch a hedge wizard in ragged robes perform a meagre repertoire of tricks. Unsurprisingly, the audience was mainly young children, but Isak was fascinated by the display, mean as it was. By watching the movements and tasting the changes in the air, Isak quickly understood how the man was keeping the children enthralled. His abilities were minimal, too minor perhaps even to have been trained, but Isak greatly enjoyed the invention.
