The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘A few mages will make little difference,’ Lokan blustered, but Isak knew it was a generous offer. With mage assistance, work could be massively accelerated; the College of Magic was located in Tirah precisely so the Lord of the Farlan could limit their employment in other cities.

  The portly Duke of Merlat drained his cup and poured another. ‘What I really need is the taxes on the Carfin River to be controlled, and sections dug out to allow deeper-hulled vessels to use it.’

  The Carfin ran from Tirah to Merlat, and was the best way to transport goods from the plains in the north, where the majority of the Farlan’s food originated. Since it ran through half-a-dozen suzerainties, the issue of river taxes was a vastly complicated one.

  ‘You can’t have both,’ Isak pointed out, ‘but it might be possible for Lesarl to put together a proposal for the suzerains responsible, with a little encouragement from Tirah, of course.’

  ‘The herds from Merlat can at least walk,’ Sempes pointed out.

  ‘Remember, the tribe is dependent on my crops too. Raiding from the south is my greatest single problem. Will you give me assistance there?’

  ‘What is it you need?’

  ‘Southmarch.’

  There was a defiant look in the duke’s eyes that set Isak’s instincts on edge, and at the back of his mind he felt Aryn Bwr stir. The Last King had been quiet of late, cowed into near-silence by the disturbing appearance of the Reapers on Irienn Square. Whatever fears Isak might have about his recurrent dreams of death, Aryn Bwr was even more terrified of the grave. There was no exaggeration when folk said that the darkest pit of Ghenna was reserved for him.

  ‘A fortress?’ The name meant nothing to Isak, and he felt a flutter of concern in his stomach. Thus far, Lesarl had prepared him for every step of the conversation, but now he was on his own. The sour look on Lokan’s face told Isak that his concern was justified.

  ‘Once a fortress, now little more than a ruin - past the end of the mountain line south of Perlir in a region called Hartoal’s Steps.’

  ‘Vanach territory,’ Isak said, seeing in the duke’s eyes that he was correct.

  ‘The border is a bottleneck between the mountains and the sea’, hissed Aryn Bwr in Isak’s ear. ‘A man who wants to defend his lands builds a fortress there; one who builds outside it wants a base for conquest.’

  ‘Only nominally,’ Sempes said. ‘The region north of the Turnarn River has only the barest semblance of civilisation these days, hence the frequency of the raids. They’re little more than savages, living in squalid chaos.’

  ‘Savages with a few decent vineyards, so I hear,’ Lokan commented.

  Sempes turned towards his peer and said scornfully, ‘They have good ground, but barely a clue what to do with it. They find it easier to raid Farlan lands than to farm their own.’

  Isak raised a hand before Lokan could open his mouth to retort. He knew the two had disputes of their own. ‘These are details that can be worked out later,’ he said firmly. He rose and went to the door, poking his head outside to catch Tila’s eye. She was talking softly with the bodyguards, but at Isak’s gesture she made her apologies and hurried out.

  ‘You expect us to take it on faith that this will all be resolved?’

  Sempes said, guessing that Isak was having his choice of duke summoned.

  ‘I do. The only thing that remains is for you both to meet Major Ankremer. You need to be satisfied that he is strong enough to keep hold of the ducal circlet.’

  ‘Does he know why he’s here?’

  Isak shook his head. ‘No, he believes this is part of Cardinal Disten’s investigation, but I’m confident you will both find him satisfactory, then we can tell him the good news.’

  The Duke of Perlir stood, his cheeks colouring. ‘The last three negotiations I have had with your Chief Steward ended in chaos. The man is unstable and unreasonable. I have no reason to think this one will turn out any differently, so I fail to see how I can give my approval of this bastard’s legal recognition for no tangible reason - quite aside from the fact that this is a dangerous precedent to set. Bastards have never had any legal claims and now you want to hand a duchy to one?’

  Isak closed the door and approached the table. There was no conciliation on his face now; he was done with being friendly. ‘You’ll do so because I tell you to. I have instructed Lesarl to ensure a fair resolution is reached, but have no illusions; there will be Farlan deaths this year. My concern is not the delicate balance of relations within the tribe; it’s surviving to see the next winter festival. I need your support most especially now that the cults have become militant, but you shouldn’t expect me to worry over-long about the consequences of having you both killed.’

  He pulled the door open again to reveal a heavyset man of some thirty summers wearing the red and black uniform of an officer in the Lomin legions. Isak caught sight of a tangled mess of curly brown hair and a glum expression - before the surprise at seeing an enormous white-eye took over.

  ‘Good evening, Major Belir,’ Isak said smoothly, guessing the man was like the commander of his own guard; Major Ansayl went by his first name, Jachen. He preferred not to use his surname.

  ‘Ah, my Lord,’ the major replied in a daze before he dropped to one knee, ‘good evening.’

  ‘Enough of that - come in and have a drink with us.’

  ‘Us?’ Ankremer repeated in confusion. He took a half-step inside and saw the two dukes waiting at the table. He narrowed his eyes to make out the devices on the breast of each. Lokan’s Kraken badge was as distinctive as the Perlir Reaper’s Scythe. ‘My Lords,’ he said, bowing to both. Suddenly he froze, looking from the dukes to Isak and back. ‘Oh Gods, you’re joking.’

  Isak clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘ “You’re joking, my Lord”,’ he corrected with a chuckle, ‘but aside from that, I’m afraid not.’

  CHAPTER 11

  Isak opened the door and stopped. He could feel the hostility in the air before he had even entered his chambers. ‘Bickering again?’ he asked.

  Xeliath and Horman glared at Isak as he entered. They reclined on sofas either side of the fire, covered by thick quilts bearing Isak’s emerald dragon crest. Xeliath was familiar with her condition and knew how best to make herself most comfortable, especially now her strength had returned. Horman was still not used to being disabled - his remaining hand, which Isak had broken in the Temple of Death in Scree, had not healed well, and was of less use than Xeliath’s.

  After a moment of irritation Xeliath’s face softened and Isak felt the radiance of her smile wash over him. ‘How handsome you look,’ she said in Farlan, and Isak had to fight the urge to blush like a boy. He was impressed at her command of the language already, and it was growing stronger every day.

  He had thought to stop in to check on them both before the day’s business, the investiture ceremony, began, but maybe that wasn’t the only reason he was here. Today the Synod would formally confirm him as Lord of the Farlan, so he was resplendent in white tunic and trousers, detailed with gold and pearls, with the crowned dragon emblazoned on his breast and echoed on his cloak. His hair was trimmed and his cheeks shaved smooth, and Tila had told him he had never looked more respectable. Isak realised it felt nice to have that remarked upon.

  Gods, Isak thought wryly, if I’m not trying to gain my father’s approval, I’m trying to show off to women. I’m not even sure which is more foolish of me!

  ‘Don’t look too pleased with yerself,’ Horman growled, almost as if reading his thoughts. He winced as he shifted position, but Isak was pleased to see he had more colour in his cheeks, even though he was still drawn, and much too thin. ‘This little slut has been saying the same to every man who’s been in this week. Girl was practically drooling over your noble count.’

  Xeliath shot Horman a filthy look, but he only laughed at her.

  ‘Hah, don’t like it when you can’t bat yer eyes at a man and make him do what you what, do yer? Girl, I’ve put
up with this one’s idiocy most o’ his life - white-eye charms don’t do shit for me.’

  ‘Stinking peasant,’ Xeliath hissed in reply before switching to her own language and unleashing a stream of invective. Isak didn’t need a translator to tell him the soldiers of her father’s household were responsible for these terms rather than the noble ladies. The tall lacquered shutters rattled under the assault of the gusting wind, reminding Isak of when Xeliath had entered his dreams and the landscape had echoed her mood. He’d been outside earlier and the rain was lashing down with a rare fury.

  ‘And to think Tila said I should split the two of you up,’ Isak snapped. ‘You’d both be bored to death if you didn’t have each other to bitch about. I’ve half a mind to manacle the pair of you together.’

  Horman raised his arm. The ruined stump was still bandaged. ‘Thanks to you I’d be able to slip ‘em easy enough,’ he grumbled.

  ‘How long must I stay in this room?’ Xeliath demanded. Her head was uncovered, which was unusual. Normally she wore a scarf, draped to cover most of her damaged left side. ‘I can be more use to you than keeping idiots company.’

  Not even Lesarl had any idea how the volatile cardinals and priests would react when they found out Isak was harbouring a member of an enemy tribe, but neither of them were keen to find out. It was a fair bet that Xeliath wouldn’t back down from any form of provocation; she was a white-eye, and needed no good reason to start a fight.

  ‘I know you’re bored,’ Isak said in a placatory voice, perching on the end of his father’s sofa so he could see them both, ‘but it shouldn’t be too much longer now. I want the investiture ceremony out of the way first - the Synod are troublesome enough at the moment, without knowing about you. Most of the suzerains will leave in a few days, and that’ll help ease the pressure too. I don’t want you to end up being dragged into the argument for as long as possible.’

  ‘Let them complain,’ Xeliath croaked. ‘Their dreams will become nightmares.’

  Isak, hearing the rasp in her voice, poured her a cup of pale tea, which she accepted gratefully. When he turned to offer his father a cup, Horman gave him a furious look and he gave up.

  ‘Give it time,’ he continued. ‘By spring everything will have calmed down. Lesarl and I are going to deal with the priests - then you’ll have no need to terrorise them.’

  ‘A purge?’ Horman said sharply. ‘I brought you up better than to murder priests.’

  ‘Why in the name of the Dark Place would you care about that?’ Isak growled before silently cursing himself. Horman had aged a decade since Isak had been Chosen. He was a broken man now, his face pinched, his body frail, and when Isak looked at his father he felt an unfamiliar clash of pity and guilt - but even now, all it took was one look from his father, one sniping comment, to provoke him. Horman could stoke Isak’s temper as quickly as he always had.

  ‘Kill them both,’ snarled Aryn Bwr in Isak’s mind. ‘Cut their throats and let the whining cease; snap her fingers and tear them from the Skull. They are nothing, they are dead weight around our neck.’

  ‘Our neck?’ Isak replied angrily in his mind, ‘I think you forget yourself. At least they’re alive, and even broken, they are greater than you.’ Out loud he was only a little less vehement. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Father. You don’t know me well enough for that, not any more.’

  ‘You never gave a damn about the cults and that’ll never change.’

  Isak sighed. ‘Perhaps not, but these days I can’t ignore them. The path they’re on leads only to civil war, they know as well as I do - and I can allow that to go only so far.’ He pushed himself upright. ‘I only came up here to see how you were faring. I see you’re as happy as ever, so I’ll leave you to your squabbles.’

  He retreated, feeling the glower of two pairs of eyes on his back, even after he’d shut the door behind him. He kept walking until he’d turned the corner and was out of sight of the guards on the door, then he stopped and pressed his forehead against the cool stone wall for a few moments. He breathed deeply and tried to massage away the headache he could feel.

  ‘This was easier when people were just trying to kill me,’ he muttered. After a while he reluctantly straightened up and headed for the main stair, where he found Tila and his Chief Steward waiting for him.

  ‘They are well, my Lord?’ Tila asked as he reached them. Her face was a careful study of calmness. Lesarl’s was quite the opposite: he looked as if he had a thousand thoughts running though his mind.

  Isak grunted in response and glanced suspiciously at the door leading to the Great Hall. It was shut, with two of his personal guard stationed on either side, but still he felt a little trepidation. It had taken months of preparation, but now every suzerain in the nation was assembled on the other side of that door, with the exception of the two eldest, who had been unlikely to survive the journey to Tirah; their scions would stand in their place.

  Isak’s investiture was to be conducted by High Cardinal Echer, and the other three Farlan dukes would lead the people in swearing fealty to their new lord. It had sounded like a good idea at the time, but now Isak wasn’t so sure. Would the room be large enough to comfortably contain so many powerful men?

  Isak’s fears were, of course, Lesarl’s delight: the most powerful men of the tribe, all together in the same city. That meant deals, alliances, even friendships. The vast majority of the Farlan’s economic wealth was in the hands of the nobility, and most of them would be looking to make the most of this rare gathering. For weeks now, men and women from different retinues had been running in all directions while Lesarl, like a gleeful spider, sat at the centre of this vastly complex web, the recognised master at this clandestine game. He hadn’t even bothered to hide from Isak how much he was enjoying all this.

  ‘My Lord?’ Tila’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  ‘Both well enough to be bad-tempered,’ Isak said, ‘but for the moment that’s all I can ask. My father is at last on the road to recovery, but that means he’s back to being a bastard. Lesarl, you have somewhere for him once he’s well enough to walk? Enjoying the comforts of the palace means acknowledging I’m Lord of the Farlan every day - he can cope with the pain of his injuries, but that’s beyond him.’

  ‘I have a place in mind, my Lord; one of Suzerain Tehran’s stud farms needs an overseer. It’ll keep your father out of the way and protected, even if he doesn’t want a bodyguard.’

  ‘So let’s hope he doesn’t refuse just because I’m the one to offer it-‘

  ‘Let me handle that, my Lord,’ Lesarl said with a grin. ‘I’m sure I can help him to make the right choice - you have more important concerns to deal with right now.’

  ‘Are you prepared for this, Isak?’ Tila interrupted - friend now, rather than political advisor. ‘If you want a few minutes to yourself, the suzerains will wait.’

  Isak smiled with more confidence than he felt. ‘I’m ready, better we get it over with. I’ve been practising the spell to block sound all week, and Lesarl’s going to be right beside me, so you don’t have to worry.’

  The ducal throne had been brought from its normal position in the audience chamber and placed in the Great Hall, the only room big enough to accommodate every Farlan suzerain, duke, synod member and city councillor, as well as the heads of the College of Magic. Without retainers, bodyguards or advisors, they numbered close to a hundred, with twenty identifiable factions in the mix. There were several that Isak needed to speak to privately, so Dermeness Chirialt, one of the few mages Isak was sure he could trust, had taught him a simple charm to enable that.

  ‘And you are certain that you’ll be able to sense Cardinal Certinse’s emotions?’ Lesarl pressed. The cardinal remained the only member of that immediate family at liberty -he was a powerful man, and there was no direct evidence of treachery - but Isak had devised an alternative to having the man assassinated, albeit one they both found distasteful.

  ‘If I can’t, I’ll bluff him. People
know about the Crystal Skulls and he’s not so stupid that he’ll disbelieve whatever claims I make.’

  ‘And the High Cardinal? That frail old man has put me quite to shame when it comes to terrorising his fellow citizens,’ Lesarl said cheerfully. ‘He’s targeted Suzerain Saroc particularly, and I have reports of deaths in several other suzerainties as well.’

  ‘He’ll get a warning with our offer. If the offer isn’t good enough for him, then your reports are obviously true and he’s lost all sense of reason.’

  Lesarl’s network of informers had been busy, and once he’d put together their information, he had ascertained that every priest driven to sudden extremism and rage came from one of six cults: the six Gods given prominence in Scree, namely, Death, Nartis, Belarannar, Karkarn, Vellern and Vasle. It was the Gods most hurt by the actions of Azaer’s disciples whose backlash of rage echoed out through the Land, infecting those bound to their spirits - the priests, who were tied when ordained - with a similar fury.

  Predictably, Lesarl’s reaction had been to applaud Azaer’s ingenuity, rather than cry horror at what had happened. Whether by accident or design, it had provoked a reaction from the Gods, which in turn would turn the common folk against them - and without the worship of the people, the Gods themselves would only grow weaker. ‘Inspired!’ Lesarl had muttered to himself. Isak, hearing him, had grimaced.

  ‘Having Jopel Bern whispering in the High Cardinal’s ear isn’t helping,’ Tila interrupted before he could take his Chief Steward to task.

  Isak gave a curt nod. Bern, the High Priest of Death, had been as badly affected as the frail old man wearing the High Cardinal’s robes. Unfortunately, at least as far as Isak was concerned, the elderly cleric showed few signs of dying, at least by natural means. Echer was clearly burning himself out with magic; he’d most likely be dead in weeks, but Bern was being more careful.