by Tom Lloyd
'So what's your plan?' Isak's question cut to the point and silenced the room.
All heads turned to the king as he stood and leaned heavily against the desk. His head was down as if scanning a map or battle plan. Slowly, he lifted his cold eyes. 'An educated guess would put their numbers at one and a half thousand men. The normal strength of the Kingsguard in Narkang is five hundred. This has been doubled over the past few days, carefully enough that I doubt they have noticed. This still leaves us at a disadvantage, for all that their mercenaries should be inferior to my Kingsguard.
'I have a man who should have reached Brodei Castle by now. Reinforcements will arrive sometime around the end of the fair. What we have to do is be ready for the assault and fight a running retreat to the palace. Once inside, they'll not have the time, nor the skill to break us.'
'Jex is an arrogant man,' added Antern severely, 'but he's no fool. He knows the running retreat will be our instinctive reaction; the king is never unguarded. We expect him to divide his force with the bulk attacking the king, and perhaps a third at the city gates to cut off any break-out we might be planning.'
'What if they close the gates? Barricade them? Even with troops in the city you'd be dead before they fought their way through and opened the gates again.' There were murmurs in support of Isak's objection, but Emin merely smiled evilly.
Then they will have a deeply unpleasant surprise. For the duration of the fair the gates remain open. This is, of course, to encourage the debauchery and excess that my people expect and require. While I can hardly be enthusiastic about that, it is convenient that the Gatekeepers do not have to be in residence, as they would normally. I don't know whether our little traditions are known to the Farlan, but the opening and closing of the gates are normally accompanied by a small ceremony. Nothing overly complicated, but significant nonetheless.'
'And the point?' interrupted Isak.
'And the point, my Lord, is that it is merely a pleasant little tradition that the folk of the city have grown fond of over the years. Without one of the Gatekeepers there the ceremony will naturally be omitted and the reason for it will become apparent.'
'A magical lock?' All heads turned to Mihn at his suggestion. Emin shook his head.
'Not quite. I must admit the inspiration came from tales of the black gates of Crafanc, though we have employed the idea in a different way. I must admit I'm keen to see how well it works, since we've not really been able to test it out. What isn't public knowledge is that the Gatekeepers of the city have all been ordained Priests of Death. If a priest opens or closes the gates, all is well. If anyone else does so, the daemon bound within the shrine above the locking mechanism will be released.'
A gasp ran around the room. Even the two men of the Brotherhood, Sir Creyl and Marshal Tohl, looked shocked. The Chief Librarian shuddered. Isak had to suppress a chuckle. It was just the sort of evil idea he was beginning to expect from Emin.
'Please, calm yourselves. It is perfectly safe for the citizens. The daemon is restricted to the gatehouse and we will have none of our people inside for the entire fair. Watchmen will be guarding the gate, of course, but I believe the duty is known as a retirement post since it is essentially ceremonial. They will surrender before pointlessly laying down their lives.'
Isak looked around at the men in the room. Mihn had a thoughtful expression on his face: but he was quite as calculating and dispassionate as King Emin. Antern and Coran had obviously heard nothing new, but the others were completely unsettled.
'What role can I play?' Again Isak brought a sudden hush to the room.
A smile crossed Emin's face. 'I appreciate the offer, my Lord. At the risk of sounding crude, you are the most effective killer in our midst. While your men are few in number, each and every one would have an honoured place in the Kingsguard, and that would make a nice surprise for Jex – but it would also make you as important a target as me. I would be more than grateful if you did find an opportunity to
kill Jex, but please remember that there are witches and mages within the White Circle. Keeping yourself alive might prove complicated enough-'
He broke off as a clatter came from the cupboard. Coran immediately pushed away from the wall he was leaning against and advanced, hand on hilt. Isak shifted his body so Eolis was in an easier position to draw, but as the door crashed opened it was a panting Veil who tumbled though. He held a lamp in one hand. It was clear from his gulping breaths that he'd sprinted the length of the tunnel.
'Your Majesty, you must return to the baths!'
Emin, apparently ignoring the urgency in Veil's voice, reached leisurely for his sword as he asked, 'What's happened?'
'Herolen Jex, my Lord. He's challenged Lord Isak's man to a duel.'
'So tell me what happened,' Isak said quietly. They were sitting in his apartments at the palace, large, airy rooms that were sumptuous even by Farlan standards. The style was almost opposite to what they were used to: smooth white walls instead of the grey stone of Tirah. Highly polished stone, inlaid marquetry and etched metal decorated almost every piece of furniture, even the candelabras, and doors and panels were beautifully carved into intricate designs.
Carel stood with his head low and hands clasped together. 'My Lord, it was my fault. I'm not used to being around noblemen. In the barracks, things are simpler-'
'No.' Tila placed herself between the two men and glared up at Isak. 'It was that man Jex at‹fault. He was insulting me and Carel stepped in to stop him.'
'And Jex took offence at what he said and challenged him to a duel?' the king asked. He was lounging on a long sofa, a thin cigar clamped between his lips.
'Well, the Marshal was not wholly tactful, but Jex was looking for an excuse.'
'So now you have to fight him?' Isak did not shout, but his friend still shrank back. 'Carel, in case you've forgotten, you retired from the Ghosts years ago. You can't fight a man like Herolen Jex at your age.'
His companions looked back at him, confusion on their faces.
'How do you know him? I'd not heard of the man.' Vesna put down the empty glass he'd been restlessly turning in his hands.
The king told me.' Isak turned back to his ageing friend. That's hardly the problem now. Carel, you're not going to fight this man.'
'He doesn't have to,' answered Vesna before Carel could speak. 'I am.'
'And he accepted? I suppose he would,' mused Emin. 'He'd not have heard of you. Jex is too arrogant to refuse a duel without good reason. Well, there is at least a little good to come out of this. I assume you asked for a full joust when given choice of weapons?'
Vesna nodded. A man with a long-standing reputation as an adulterer didn't survive long without being a good duellist – with any weapon. Vesna was not just a master adulterer, he was a hero of the Parian Army, and his reputation both on the battlefield and on at a formal tourney was well deserved. With any luck, the pirate Jex would probably have never tilted in his life,
'Unfortunately, it also creates a problem. I assume the duel is to be in the morning?'
'No, my Lord,' said Tila. 'I'm afraid 1 couldn't think of anything fast enough to stop the duel, but for what it's worth the duel will happen after the fair.'
'What?' To Tila's surprise, the king's face lit up. As she looked at Isak she saw similar excitement.
'It was the only excuse I could think of to put off the duel. I hoped it would give you time to find a way to stop it. I told Jex that you and the king had already made a wager on the fair, five hundred gold emins that Vesna would win the tilt. I banked on betting law being the same as in Tirah: since his duel puts a wager of yours at risk, if Jex wants to fight immediately, he has to provide the money, because he's forcing you to default.' She blushed. 'He didn't look like he had five hundred emins to hand.'
'My dear,' purred Emin, rising and taking her hand, 'if I were not a married man I would be on my knee to you this minute.' He kissed her palm with affected reverence. 'I could not have asked more of you if I'd o
rchestrated the whole thing myself.'
He stood up and craned his head around Isak's massive frame to attract Coran's attention. 'Go to Herolen Jex, I believe he is one of Duke Forell's guests. Tell him the duel will take place after the presentation of the prizes at the fair. That should relieve them – I'm sure the others know about Count Vesna's ability.'
'Others?' asked Vesna, his coming duel forgotten as his suspicion flared.
'I will take my leave and let your master explain. Oh, the excitement of the Spring Fair…' He was almost dancing as he left the room, Coran at his heel at ever. Only a thin trail of smoke and a line of confused faces remained.Isak suspected that was a frequent happening.
CHAPTER 31
In the grey gloom of early morning, the soldier's shifting feet on the cobbles sounded oddly loud. The night had seen rain clouds roll in from the ocean and with them had come a cool mist and rain, nothing heavy but still not what most had hoped for the coming Spring Fair. His muscles felt cold and stiff after long hours of guard duty. He stared out over the damp empty street, another still, silent part of the city. It was too early for most of Narkang's citizens; only a few distant sounds, some mysterious, most mundane, haunted the empty streets. Even the dawn chorus had yet to rouse into action.
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 aru-gin, 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 genu-inely 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 expedition 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.
