The stormcaller tr-1

by Tom Lloyd

  wool.

  'Here, take this for the moment. It's rather more fitting to your

  station than a cavalry blade from the armoury.'

  Isak took the sword, drawing it halfway from the scabbard to inspect the blade. It looked old and worn, but it was still in fine condition. The metal was black-iron, ensorcelled steel that was both lighter and stronger that any other metal. The symbol of an eagle had been engraved near the hilt, outstretched in flight as on Bahl's personal

  crest.

  'Thank-' Isak's reply was cut short as one of the men watching gave a strangled cry of outrage. The Krann turned to look at him, a man of about thirty summers, obviously wealthy, with a scarlet sash draped over his shoulder and across his body; Isak saw that echoed in the dress of three or four others there. 'You have something to say, Sir Dirass?'

  'Master Kerin,' the nobleman began angrily, 'he's little more than a boy. Whatever his rank, he's certainly not worthy of carrying any Eagle-blade, let alone yours. Just because he bested you with a staff-It's an insult to those of us who've dedicated our lives to earning an Eagle. If my father were to hear of this-'

  'If your father were to hear of this,' Kerin interjected quietly, ‘he would remember the oath he swore when he received his Eagle-blade,

  and he would also remember that I am the one who commands the Swordmasters. Suzerain Certinse's rank does not give him authority over me, as you well know.'

  'So because this boy can best you with a farmer's stick he deserves ne of our highest honours?' The knight's voice was thick with contempt as he moved forward to Kerin. Cosep stepped in between the two.

  'That's too far, Certinse. You will apologise now and remember your place.' Swordmaster Cosep reached out to rest a hand on Sir Dirass's shoulder, but the man shrugged him off angrily.

  'Apologise? My family is not in the habit of apologising to inferiors. I don't intend to set the precedent.'

  'Your family,' retorted Kerin, 'seems to be more in the habit of running away with tails between legs, if recent history is anything to go on.'

  Sir Dirass made a grab for his sword, but Cosep saw it coming and slammed his fist into the knight's shoulder. Dirass stumbled back with the point of Cosep's blade at his throat.

  'Do you think you're ready for an Eagle then?' Kerin asked the enraged nobleman.

  Sir Dirass blinked at the question. With a slow, wary movement, he nodded.

  'Do you think the Krann to be unworthy of one?'

  Another nod.

  Well then; if you can take it off him, the sword is yours. I don't deserve it myself if my judgement is so wrong.'

  ‘Kerin,' roared Cosep before Sir Dirass could accept the challenge, 'this goes too far!'

  Keep out of this. This is my blade, and my decision.' Kerin rounded on his colleague, pointing a warning finger at the Swordmaster who, after staring at Kerin for a moment, threw his hands up in disgust and withdrew.

  ‘Sir Dirass Certinse,' the Swordmaster said formally, 'if you accept this tesst and fail, you will never receive an Eagle. If you accept, you must

  disarm the Krann to take your prize. Make no mistake, this is

  a duel; we've had enough blood spilled already today. If you agree, fetch a shield and make ready.'

  Kerin took a teardrop-shaped shield from one of the onlookers and walked over to Isak, who was not quite sure what was happening – other than what Kerin had said about the knight's family had upset him enough to make him draw on his unarmed superior. Kerin held out the shield.

  'You want me to fight a duel for you?' Isak asked.

  'It's not a duel; I think you're fast enough to avoid getting anything more than a nick if you pay attention.'

  'With the mood he's in? And anyway, I've not been taught to use a sword like this – this is a nobleman's blade.'

  'Dirass knows the rules well enough, he's sparred like this a hundred times. If he goes too far, I'll stop the fight and have him thrown in a cell, no matter who his father is.'

  'And who is his father?'

  'Suzerain Certinse of Tildek, but technically you outrank the man

  now.'

  Isak stepped back and frowned. This wasn't his battle, but the faces around him made it clear he had no choice. 'Fine, give me the shield,'

  he said.

  He took the curved wooden shield Kerin handed him and watched as his opponent slid his on so the point was up by his shoulder. He did the same, gripping the leather handle at the wide end tightly, and twisted his arm back and forward to get the feel of it. Reaching his left arm out as far as he could, he looked over his shoulder to check that the tip could not catch him, no matter how far he stretched out. The edge of the shield was bound in steel, roughly hammered into shape with the tip bent outward so it would be a danger only to his

  opponent.

  Now Isak tugged Kerin's beautiful blade clear of the sheath. It was perfectly balanced, that much he recognised, but he knew nothing oi duelling. He needed to see how this man moved. The knight had light and quick step that belied his bulky frame. He didn't enjoy height or reach, but he did have years of experience instead.

  Something deep inside Isak wanted to charge the knight immedi- ately, but Carel had sliced and battered the young man often enough to curb that instinct. Not all of the scars on Isak's body were punishment from his father; some were down to Carel's incessant drilling-

  Isak walked briskly up to Sir Dirass, wasting no time, and swung a clumsy overhand swipe at the knight. It was parried easily, but the knight wasn't going to be fooled into thinking Isak was a complete novice, no matter what he claimed. The Krann's second strike was

  a thrust at the nobleman's leg; Sir Dirass struck back with two neat blows, which Isak just stepped back from.

  Now the knight moved into his stride, giving Isak no time to get a

  feel for the delicate weapon. Sir Dirass cut right and left, fast and

  accurate, and turned aside every one of Isak's blows with practiced ease,stepping with the grace of a dancer. He used his shield as skilfully

  as his sword. Now he almost clubbed the sword from Isak's hand with his shield, now he delicately flicked his own blade out to catch Isak off-guard, the in-drawn breaths of the onlookers testament to his skill. His eyes were red, blood-shot with rage, but his experience meant his anger added purpose to his movements rather than recklessness.

  The knight stabbed forward, the edge of his sword running along the rim of Isak's shield, then stepped to one side and slashed at Isak's hamstring. His shield, held high, caught the downstroke of Isak's weapon as his own failed to reach.

  Isak pulled his weapon back, then thrust fiercely, uncontrollably, and to everyone's surprise caught the knight's sword, twisting so for a moment the blades locked. Sir Dirass disengaged with a savage flick, then smashed his shield into Isak's shoulder. Falling backwards, Isak slammed his heels into the dirt and brought his own shield down as fast as he could. It wasn't fast enough to stop the sword flashing up past his groin, but the stroke missed.

  A bellow from Kerin prevented a second: 'Certinse! I said disarm, not mortally wound him!'

  Isak crouched on the ground, the knuckles of his right hand ground into the packed earth and his shield covering his body. He had managed to get his foot underneath his body in time to stop him falling flat on his back. Now he forced himself upright again.

  Sir Dirass looked unashamed. He kept his sword low. His eyes never left Isak's.

  ‘That was a coward's chance,' growled Isak. 'Does that run in the family too?' A snort from the assembled men and Sir Dirass's furious glare told him the jibe had hit home. His opponent had a weakness. ‘Watch your mouth, white-eye.'

  ‘Or what? You'll run away? Hide behind your bitch-mother's skirt?' ‘Enough! This is over!' But Kerin's shout went ignored this time. Isak grinned as he felt a familiar growl of anger stir in his belly. The animal inside him was just warming up. This man needed a lesson.

  'Come on then. If you want it, come and get
it. Or are you just another example of your worthless family?'

  With a howl, the knight threw himself forward, hacking savagely with his slender blade, any pretence of form now gone. The white-eye again suppressed the almost overwhelming urge to charge, instead contenting himself with warding off the blows while waiting for the opening he knew would come. The crowd moved to keep up with Isak's steady retreat.

  The knight was beginning to tire now, and finally Isak launched his own attack. He might not have been trained to the rapier, but Isak was young, and immensely strong, and extremely fast. Now he used all that roaring power to direct a flurry of blows at Sir Dirass that stopped the knight in his tracks. His thrusts were clumsy, but they were fierce. Carel had been trained on the battlefield, and that was the way he'd taught Isak: momentum was crucial: the advancing infantry, the charging cavalry – theirs was the victory to take.

  For the first time, the knight looked a little uneasy, but then Isak moved forward and suddenly realised he was closer than he had intended. He jumped back quickly, but Sir Dirass had seen it too and lunged as hard as he could. Isak just escaped, arms splayed out wide as he fought for balance, then swung out hard at the knight's neck. Sir Dirass had almost lost his footing in the lunge but he got his shield up in time. Both stepped back unscathed.

  There was a smile on Isak's face now. He had the measure of his enemy; now to irritate the knight into foolishness. His darting steps became more pronounced; his shield dropped a little lower and his grin broadened. Sir Dirass's face tightened. A pace forward closed the ground between them. The knight's sword was ready as he waited for Isak to retreat to where a second step would bring the knight close enough to run Isak through. That second step never came.

  With an astonished gasp, Sir Dirass looked deep into the cold eyes of his killer as Isak stepped into the feint. No emotion showed on Isak's face as his sword-tip slid between the knight's ribs.

  Sir Dirass shuddered and went completely still, his fury turned to disbelief. He took an involuntary breath, and the onlookers gasped with him. Isak's movement had been so smooth that it took them a moment to realise he'd run Sir Dirass through. The knight's arras wavered, then dropped. He fell to his knees. With a quick jerk, Isak

  . withdrew the blade. A spurt of blood followed it, splashing on to his borrowed boots. The corpse sagged and crumpled to the ground.

  No one spoke. Isak stared down at the body with the rest of them. fjow his stomach felt empty. The addictive rush of violence had been replaced by a palpable absence, a cold ball aching inside. He couldn't regret what he'd done; the man had meant to kill him – even an inexperienced swordsman like Isak recognised that. The breeze brought a taste of bread on the wind, a tantalising smell. He was starving. He wiped the blade clean on his shirt, turned, without a word, and headed back to the Great Hall.

  Tila watched him go, sickness and fear welling inside. The bitter taste of bile sat at the back of her throat.

  What sort of a man are you? She wanted to scream out the words. How can you be so meek and unsure one moment, then so brutal the next! Are. you no different to the rest of your kind after all?

  She had once watched her uncle killed in a duel, but that fight had been wild and ragged. Here, Isak had moved like a Harlequin dancing the steps to an epic poem, but he had been so dismissive when he ran the man through. For certain Sir Dirass had tried to kill Isak, but the vacant expression on Isak's face chilled her. Tila stood and stared with the soldiers until Isak had disappeared through the tall doors of the Great Hall, then the spell was broken and Swordmaster Kerin barked an order – angry sounds that Tila could not form into words. She drifted forward, hardly noticing that she had picked up the scabbard, and went after Isak. She was terrified to face him, but still she followed.

  ‘Well, Kerin, please explain yourself.' Lesarl's voice sounded cold, but his eyes laughed and danced. 'Our new Krann was in mortal danger, he not?'

  ‘Yes, Chief Steward.' Eyes downcast, Kerin felt the weight of the day’s events grow darker and heavier with every passing moment. 'I did not foresee Sir Dirass acting that way – we were far from friendly, but I didn't think he would disobey a direct order. Sir Dirass went for a cut to the groin, then Lord Isak began to bait him, insulting his family to get him angry. I think the Krann decided to kill him after that.’

  ‘And you're surprised?' Bahl's voice was quiet, restrained. Kerin had expected fury, but this disturbed him even more. 'The knight went for a killing blow; Lord Isak's a white-eye, you do remember that? What were you thinking to put him in a duel? You'd not have done that with any of the other white-eyes under your command.'

  'I-' Kerin looked helpless, hardly able to explain a decision he himself didn't understand. His memory was dream-like, as though he was not completely sure he had even given the order. 'I thought Isak would keep his temper, I thought Sir Dirass would obey my orders-'

  'I think the Swordmaster is showing his age,' Lesarl interrupted. 'Perhaps it is time I organised a quiet pension somewhere; some rich widow out in the country, maybe?'

  'My mind is as sound as ever,' snapped Kerin. 'Dirass Certinse was always an impetuous man. Yes, he was desperate for his Eagle, but killing the Krann? He has – had – more sense than that.'

  'Then why, my Swordmaster, is that exactly what he tried to do?' Still Bahl was not angry.

  'I cannot say. He looked like a man possessed, but-'

  'That,' said Lesarl firmly, 'is a theory you will refrain from advancing in any other company, unless you want to find yourself closeted away in a monastery for the rest of your life.'

  Kerin was taken aback at the strength of Lesarl's reaction. 'I didn't

  mean-'

  'I don't care what you meant, or what you think. If I hear the slightest mention of malign influences affecting the decisions made out there today, I will hold you responsible for them.'

  'Yes,' rumbled Bahl in a thoughtful way. 'That idea is a disturbing notion. It will be dissuaded. Let them dwell instead on the fact that he is a natural soldier. By the time he leads troops into battle, he will be able to match more than just one potential Swordmaster.' The old lord gestured towards the door. 'Thank you, Swordmaster. That is all.'

  Unable to voice any of his many questions, Kerin bowed his head in acknowledgement, still a little stunned that the matter had been dealt with so swiftly. By the time he collected himself and made for the door, Bahl had already turned his attention back to the papers on his desk.

  Bahl waited until he heard the door close behind Kerin, then pushed the papers away and looked over to his Chief Steward's expectant face-

  'I will speak to the boy, remind him of the importance of retaining his composure, and not destroying valuable soldiers.'

  'And what of Certinse's parents? When they hear of it, the suzerain will lodge a suit against Isak and the Swordmaster. Damn the boy, why couldn't he have killed someone rather less important? If he's desperate for blood there are plenty of criminals in the gaol.'

  'Enough, Lesarl; his blood was up and the man tried to kill him. You can't expect less from a white-eye; I would have done the same. I'm more interested in why this happened at all. Kerin's too sensible to start this duel, and Sir Dirass was a grown man. Quite aside from the fact that he's fought with white-eyes before and must know their temper, the political problems it would bring alone would have stopped his hand.'

  Bahl stared over his desk at the blank wall, deep in thought. Then he looked at Lesarl. 'Aracnan said there had been something wrong when he met the boy; you say the father demanded Isak be hanged last night, and now a intelligent man takes it upon himself to defy orders and attempt to kill him,' he said softly.

  Aracnan's words the previous night came back to him. The boy's trouble, but now he is your trouble. He expected those words to come up rather often now.

  'Well, speaking of problems,' Lesarl broke in, 'Cardinal Certinse has demanded an explanation. The arrogant bastard's already acting as though he were High Cardinal of Nartis
. He informs me that he has written to both of his brothers to let them know about "this latest outrage". I don't know whether the man still thinks he can intimidate me, but I had hoped to put this problem with the Knights of the Temples behind us. Knight-Cardinal Certinse might use this as an excuse to come home, and perhaps bring a few of his men along for Protection. If that looks likely, I'd sooner have him killed before he crosses our border.'

  ‘I think you're getting ahead of yourself there.'

  ‘Well, you must admit it is a possibility. The Cardinal and Suzerain

  Certinse I can probably shut up; the Knight-Cardinal is a different matter. What would you have me do there?'

  Bahl sighed. 'Let's deal with Isak first. The Devoted are a problem for another day.'

  CHAPTER 7

  Quitin Amanas was a strange man. His family and friends all knew it, and it looked like the palace guardsman standing stiffly before his desk was well on the way to forming that same opinion. No doubt his reaction to Lord Bahl's summons was not quite what the man had expected, because Amanas was relieved rather than apprehensive. Though the new Krann had been in the palace barely a week and the city was still aflame with gossip about him, Amanas had been expecting this summons for a lot longer; he would be glad to finally meet the one at the root of all this excitement. Tell me, young man, what's the Krann like?'

  The soldier blinked in surprise. 'He's- well, he's a white-eye. They're all pretty much the same, aren't they, sir?'

  'But he's one of the Chosen, and that will make him different.' 'Still a white-eye, sir – quiet till you piss him off – ah, if you'll pardon the expression, sir. Killed a man on his first day; they say he did it like it was an everyday occurrence.' 'I'm sure there was more to it than that.'

  'Oh, probably, sir,' the guardsman agreed quickly, rather patronisingly in Amanas's opinion, 'but that's all I've heard.'

  'Tell me, do you know what I do?'

  'You, sir? Well the library is where all the family trees are kept. I suppose you're needed to sort out his estates, now that he's a suzerain.’