The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection

by Tom Lloyd

  Having dropped the new legion chaplain squarely into the middle of the lake, Vesna collected General Lahk and together they made their way through the Great Hall to the quieter private areas beyond. Just before the wide, ornately decorated main staircase was the ducal audience chamber. A pair of guards suggested Lord Fernal’s presence within.

  Vesna didn’t recognise the livery, but it wasn’t much of a surprise: a dark-blue snake coiled around a sheaf of arrows, its head raised toward an occluded moon. They were admitted without a word and entered to find five people standing before the massive ducal throne, the seat of Farlan power.

  The throne, hewn from a single piece of dark wood and inlaid with symbols of the Gods, was built for white-eyes. It lacked the intricate detailing found on its equivalent in Narkang. Too heavy for two normal men to lift together and able to resist an axe-blow: everything about it said solidity, strength and permanence — and the blue-skinned Demi-God Fernal suited it perfectly.

  At the sight of the new Lord of the Farlan Vesna was reminded of Lord Bahl. Fernal wore plain, loose breeches and a white linen shirt over which spilled his mane of dark cerulean fur. The last time they had met Fernal had been wearing only a tattered cloak, replaced now by one of blood-red, to show he too mourned Isak. But it was the silver circlet on Fernal’s crumpled brow that gave Vesna the biggest start.

  He had to move quickly to catch up with General Lahk and kneel before the bastard son of Nartis, barely remembering in time to unclip his sword from his belt and offer it forward. As he did so, Vesna cursed his own stupidity. He’d had weeks to get used to the idea of Fernal being named the Lord of the Farlan, but still the sight of Fernal wearing a ducal circlet had tripped him.

  ‘General Lahk, Count Vesna, welcome home. Please, rise.’

  Fernal still had trouble with the rolling vowels of a dialect unsuited to one with the teeth and tongue of a wolf, but his deep, booming voice was that of a lord all the same.

  He looks the part, he sounds the part, Vesna thought as he returned his sword to its usual place. Now we just need to find out how much he’s willing to fight for the part.

  ‘Lord Fernal,’ the pair said in response, for the benefit of the envoy as much as tradition.

  ‘General, I’m sure you have much work to do dealing with your troops,’ Fernal said. ‘If you wish to leave and see to them please do so.’

  Lahk bowed and left as smartly as he had arrived. He had no interest in the dealings of politicians.

  Vesna glanced at the others in the room. His eyes went first to Tila — it had been all he could do not to seek her out immediately, but he knew the envoy would have been watching and any deviation from tradition would have been noted. When at last their eyes met he felt a weight lift at pleasure which had blossomed on her face.

  Tila wore a plain white dress, and her luxuriant dark hair had been swept to one side and wrapped in a red mourning scarf embroidered with a prayer for the dead, one of the few in the Palace to have done so. The period of mourning was technically over, but it was traditional for the army to mourn until it had returned; Vesna guessed Tila was doing the same.

  The envoy himself was a knight Vesna didn’t recognise, despite being of a similar age; he too had battlefield honours tattooed on his neck. He bowed respectfully to Vesna while Chief Steward Lesarl, looking older and more fatigued than Vesna had ever seen, gave him just the briefest of nods.

  Behind Lesarl were two armed men who looked like neither noblemen nor soldiers; each was carrying a rapier and long dagger, the weapons of a trained duellist, and Vesna guessed them to be agents of the Chief Steward. Curiously enough, they flanked Lesarl rather than Fernal, suggesting they were there to protect him rather than their lord.

  ‘Count Vesna, your own business will have to wait until we are finished here,’ Fernal said as the door was shut behind Lahk, ‘unless there is anything you wish to say first?’

  Vesna shook his head. Fernal was asking whether he still considered himself a subject of the Lord of the Farlan. ‘No, my Lord, I await your pleasure.’

  ‘In that case, Sir Jachers here was just outlining the position of the Farlan’s westerly dukes.’

  ‘Both of them?’ Vesna asked sharply, looking at the envoy.

  The Dukes Lokan and Sempes rarely agreed on anything since Lokan had poisoned his uncle — Sempes’ distant cousin — to take the dukedom, and their ‘disagreements’ had resulted in one sea engagement and three outright land battles, not to mention an entire dossier of clandestine actions.

  ‘Both. I am a man of Perlir,’ Sir Jachers clarified, ‘but Duke Lokan contacted my lord when he heard of Lord Isak’s death. Their concerns on the subjects in hand are close enough that they speak with one voice.’

  ‘And that would be your voice. What are the subjects being discussed?’

  ‘Principally: the legality of Lord Fernal’s appointment, Lord Fernal’s intentions regarding this position, the continuing problems with the cults, and Lord Isak’s crusade.’

  ‘Has Duke Lomin added his voice to this discussion yet?’ Vesna asked, wondering how Lord Isak’s appointment would be reacting to the news.

  Lomin had shown the rest of the tribe he was as independent as his peers when he refused to send troops to join Isak’s ‘crusade’, but how he would react now was anyone’s guess. Their information on the man was not complete enough for sensible guesses to be made, he’d proved that much.

  Sir Jachers shook his head. ‘The mind of Duke Lomin is not known to my master, they have met but once. Anticipating the wishes of Duke Lokan is somewhat easier. Duke Sempes has sent me here with all possible speed so that swift decisions might be made, if any agreement can be reached. He believes acting before the suzerains do so en masse is the best way to guide their actions.’

  ‘In that he is correct,’ Lesarl broke in. ‘With your permission, Lord Fernal, might I suggest we bring the discussion to a close for the time being? There is much that needs to be done now the Ghosts have returned and you might wish to consider Sempes and Lokan’s positions before proposing a resolution.’

  Fernal nodded. He knew how little of the nation’s politics — Isak had asked him to take this position because he wanted a leader who could be a symbol for all, as well as a warrior. A nose for politics would have been the least of Isak’s requirements.

  ‘A good idea. I will sleep on it. Now, if you would give me the room? I must speak with Count Vesna before he goes about his duties.’

  The others left smartly, Tila ushering Sir Jachers away and Lesarl only too keen to be about his work. Vesna watched her leave, feeling fresh pangs of guilt over leaving Isak on the battlefield. His death would have hurt her badly. Tila was still young, and she had been closer to Isak than to either of her brothers. However much they had infuriated each other, the bond between them had only strengthened with every squabble.

  ‘Vesna,’ Fernal said softly, ‘what have we done?’

  He looked up, startled. ‘My Lord?’

  ‘Look at us,’ Fernal continued, spreading his arms wide, ‘was this a goal for either of us? You, the Mortal-Aspect of Karkarn? I, Lord of the Farlan? How did we end up this way?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, my Lord.’

  Fernal shook his head sadly. ‘I do not know what to do. Lord Isak hoped my appointment would heal rifts, provide the Farlan with a figure to rally around.’

  ‘Lord Isak never fully understood his nobility,’ Vesna pointed out, hearing the bewilderment in Fernal’s voice, ‘but the very fact that you claim the title has delayed outright civil war, that I promise you, my Lord.’

  ‘And now? What do I do now? I keep being asked questions I cannot answer! The dukes claim my appointment is illegal, they are threatening to break away from the nation if I remain.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  Vesna’s question seemed to catch Fernal off-guard. The massive Demi-God peered at him for a while, his mouth open just enough for Vesna to catch a glimpse of pointed teeth.

>   ‘Not this,’ was the eventual answer. ‘Power has never interested me, and the politics of men even less so. If my father chooses a new white-eye for this position tomorrow I will give thanks at his temple for the first time in my life.’

  ‘You wish to return to Llehden?’

  ‘Of course, it is my home. But I do not wish for civil war among the Farlan either; I fear leaving now will spark that.’

  Vesna didn’t speak. There was nothing he could say. Lesarl would have already told Fernal all he needed to know about the Farlan nobility. Without a ruler, they would fight. It was as simple as that.

  ‘If it helps,’ he said eventually, ‘I am as adrift as you, my Lord. Lord Karkarn has given me only one order, to ensure the Farlan Army is ready when it is required. At present I am unsure how that will even be possible without killing every argumentative noble in the tribe.’ Vesna gave a tired laugh. ‘And there are a lot of them!’

  ‘Then for that reason and several others I call you brother,’ Fernal announced with a smile to share the humour. He gave Vesna a dismissive wave. ‘Go, I need to be alone — how you humans think with the noise of a city all around you I cannot understand. Go and greet your intended; life does not stop with the death of any man.’

  Before he went to find Tila, Vesna knew he had one more person to see first. It would take a division of Ghosts to drag him from her side once he was there, but she would understand the delay — indeed, when Vesna went back out onto the training ground, he caught sight of her face, and the little wave she gave told him she had anticipated his next mission.

  Amidst the chaos of the training ground it took him a while to work out where to go. He knew Carel was a typical soldier, however long ago he had retired from the Ghosts. In grief they tended to go silent or loud, and drunk in both cases. Even after he’d lost his arm in battle Carel had been a formidable presence in the palace, never more comfortable than when he had a drink and an audience. With his world turned upside down, Vesna guessed the veteran would go the opposite way and seek out silence the way Vesna wanted himself.

  ‘But he’ll want to work; a man like that can’t sit still for long,’ he said aloud, starting off across the training ground as servants and soldiers parted before him.

  The palace forge was the closest of his choices and when Vesna ducked his head inside and peered through the smoke he realised he’d been correct. None of the few men within looked like a marshal, but he spotted Carel’s swordstick propped against a wall.

  As he closed the door behind him Vesna felt a tremor in his eyes as they adapted with unnatural speed to the gloom. By the time the door was shut he could see perfectly clearly.

  This was the main weapons forge, and Vesna could see it was running at full capacity, in anticipation of the Guards’ losses. Keeping three furnaces and six anvils running day and night was gruelling work, not allowing time for idle talk. Vesna saw Carel at the back, working in unison with another man. They weren’t doing the finesse work, that was left to the skilled smiths, but even a one-armed man could lift a hammer and beat a lump of steel.

  ‘Change it,’ said Carel’s partner when he noticed Vesna standing behind them.

  With a reluctant exhale, Carel let the hammer slide through his fingers. As he took the tongs, he noticed Vesna for the first time. Carel looked ragged in body and soul: sweat- and grime-stained, his white hair was grey with dirt and tied back with a fraying strip of material. His blood-shot eyes looked empty.

  ‘Thought your count was off,’ he said to his companion in a hoarse voice.

  To Vesna he said nothing, but there was no need when the pain and years were plain on his face. The count felt a sudden pang of fear in his belly. He realised he had no idea what to say to the man who had been a father to Isak.

  Carel watched him hesitate and gestured to his partner to continue, turning the steel shard to the correct position. When the man did so Vesna realised the fingers of his right hand were frozen in a twisted grip and he was using his left: another damaged veteran, he assumed.

  ‘You were there?’ Carel called after three blows with the hammer.

  Vesna shook his head. ‘He ordered me to lead the army away. He died to save us all.’

  Carel’s expression darkened. ‘Rode a long way to do that.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean we should’ve seen it’d end that way an’ stopped the boy.’

  Vesna took a cautious step forward. ‘Carel, he was Lord of the Farlan; the choice was his. It wasn’t one he took lightly, I know that much. It was a risk he thought worthwhile, and no one would have been able to persuade him otherwise.’

  ‘Really?’ Carel snapped, glaring up at Vesna. ‘Used to joke the Gods set me on the Land to keep that boy out o’ trouble. Don’t seem like a joke now, just a failure.’

  ‘You couldn’t have stopped him,’ Vesna said firmly. ‘His mind was made up.’

  ‘What if I helped him make it? What if he made those choices ’cos of advice I gave him?’ There was a waver to Carel’s voice that betrayed the guilt hanging over him like a leaden cloud.

  ‘When did you ever know him to do anything but what he wanted?’

  The old man looked down. ‘I told him to face what he feared — an’ if he feared anythin’, it were those dreams of death. He knew they weren’t just dreams.’

  ‘Carel, he wanted to strike at his enemies before they were ready, he wanted to take his destiny in his own hands and not let others dictate to him. The only fault to bear is mine and Lahk’s, for not seeing how the battle was going to unfold.’

  ‘Then maybe I blame you too!’ Carel roared suddenly, his voice loud enough in the enclosed space to stop the smiths mid-stroke. ‘You left that field greater than you were, as blessed by the Gods as he once was! Isak was barely grown, for all his size, alive for fewer years than you been a professional soldier. Aye, he were a wilful shit at times, but he always wanted to be more than the colour o’ his eyes. He trusted us to keep him so!’

  He turned away, staring into the wincing heat of the furnace, and Vesna could see Carel’s whole body shaking. The only sound was the scrape of steel on the anvil’s surface.

  ‘We failed him,’ the veteran continued in a much quieter voice. ‘We din’t stand in his way when he needed us. His blood’s on our hands.’

  Carel looked at his palm as though looking for blood, and seemed to notice for the first time how hard his hand was shaking.

  ‘Leave me be, Vesna,’ he muttered, ‘I got work to do here an’ I can’t do it like this. Go find your bride. She needs you, not me.’

  Karkarn’s Iron General stared at the ageing Ghost and felt the words dry in his throat. It was nothing he’d not said to himself on the long journey home, but to hear it from the mouth of another was completely different. To hear it from someone who’d loved Isak so deeply cut through his armour like a burning shard of light, scorching the hardened soldier’s heart with frightening ease.

  He felt himself stumble as he retreated, the weight on his shoulders even heavier now, hot shame gripping him as he fled outside. Only then could he breathe again, but it did nothing to ease the guilt rekindled inside him.

  Mihn stopped in the woods and looked around. The gentle clatter of rain on leaves surrounded him, drowning other sounds — but for a moment he thought he had heard something, a faint noise ... something out of place that set his palms prickling. After a while he realised he was holding his breath and relaxed, a wry smile on his face.

  ‘I’m getting jumpy in my old age,’ he muttered, starting off down the rabbit-run again. Hanging from his belt was a young hen pheasant, the fruit of a good morning’s hunting. It felt good to be fending for himself again, brushing the dust off skills he hadn’t used in a while and becoming less dependent on the locals.

  What little silver he had brought with him had been enough to buy fowl for egg-laying. The witch appropriated half of everything he trapped as payment for the food she brought — just as well, now ru
mours of the ragged man had spread throughout Llehden. Few would come near the lake now.

  Mihn wound his slow way back to the lake, checking each of his snares as he went. As he came out from the trees he saw Isak standing at the shore, staring over the water, Eolis drawn and by his side. He wore a long patchwork fur cloak the witch had brought, old and ragged enough to frighten Chera if she ever returned, but still serviceable.

  The white-eye stooped badly, his left shoulder dipping as though the lightning-scarred arm was a lead weight, and his head was permanently hunched forward. The damage done to him in Ghenna had turned him old before his time: as old as the hollow look in his eyes.

  Mihn hurried over, but he saw nothing at Isak’s feet, nor any blood on his blade. The sky had remained dull all day, though the rain had lessened to a desultory smattering. ‘Isak? Is all well?’ he asked anxiously.