The Stormcaller

by Tom Lloyd

  ‘Among others, I suspect.’ As he spoke, Suzerain Ked and Count Vesna appeared from different directions in the growing gloom, both wrapped against the cold in heavy, plain cloaks. They were alone, and trying to draw as little attention as possible. Isak nodded to both, then entered the tent ahead of the other three men.

  Inside Bahl and Suzerain Torl were already seated, while General Lahk stood over a steaming pot, ladling what smelled like venison stew into bowls. Isak stopped suddenly when he caught sight of a copper-haired woman standing to one side - the last thing he’d expected to see out here in the middle of nowhere was a strange and very beautiful woman. He ignored Sir Cerse’s polite cough behind him and caught Bahl’s eye, hoping the woman’s presence would be explained.

  Bahl couldn’t fail to notice his Krann’s interest. ‘One of my Chief Steward’s agents,’ he said dismissively, ‘bringing me information that does not concern you.’

  Isak remembered Bahl’s warning after the battle that there were some secrets he was not privy to. He nodded in acceptance and moved further in, allowing the others to enter.

  ‘My Lords, gentlemen,’ Bahl greeted them once all four were inside and the hide flap fastened against the wind.

  Isak caught the scuff of boots on grass outside: Ghosts, he guessed, loitering outside to prevent eavesdroppers.

  ‘Please, make yourselves comfortable, for we have matters to discuss.’

  There were stools enough for all while Bahl sat back in a campaign armchair, one that was easily folded for transport but strong enough to support his massive weight.

  Isak took an overfilled bowl of stew and picked out a hard lump of bread, then sat himself on Bahl’s left. The general paused, then found himself another stool, his face impassive, as usual. Isak hoped the others hadn’t seen it as a deliberate slight - Bahl never gave anything away, so he’d wanted to be able to watch every other face there. He hadn’t intended to be deliberately rude to the general. Vesna secured the place on Isak’s other side.

  ‘Sir Cerse, you may speak as a peer here,’ Bahl said quietly, and the colonel gave a nod of appreciation at the courtesy - as the only man there without court rank, he would otherwise have had to stay quiet unless directly addressed.

  Bahl didn’t waste time. ‘The Malich affair is not quite over. You will all have noticed the failure of some to answer the call to battle, and the problems the cavalry have been having with the bloodstock. My authority still lacks the weight in some places that I would wish.’

  ‘My Lord,’ interrupted Ked carefully, ‘I have had my best man watching the young wolf, but he reports nothing of this importance. Certinse left for Lomin today.’

  ‘I have also heard nothing to say those suspected—’ began Torl.

  Bahl raised a hand to stop him. ‘Neither have I, but neither do they rush back to the fold. My lords will need convincing, it seems, and that is what we will do.’

  ‘Lesarl?’ asked Isak with a faint smile, looking quickly at the woman, who was crouching easily at the side of the tent. He noticed that Ked wore a look of pained resignation. No doubt he’d hoped the time for savage measures had passed.

  ‘Legana has other duties,’ Bahl said. ‘She will be returning to Helrect, where she will join the White Circle. We have little information about them or their plans because they have been so hard to infiltrate. We have few female agents of Legana’s talents; to waste her on this would be foolish. In any case, Lesarl will have to restrain his feelings for Duke Certinse for the moment. I do not destroy powerful families lightly, for that would, I think, come back to haunt us.’

  ‘And counts?’ prompted Vesna quietly.

  ‘Kinbe and Solsis should both disappear. There’s no doubt that they are guilty of murder and heresy, though we’ve never had evidence enough for a public trial. That should send a clear message to Duke Certinse; after that, we will have to watch how he reacts. I will have Suzerain Nelbove in my pocket by the time his daughter marries Certinse. His allegiance to Malich was only ever intended to further his fortune.’

  ‘Count Vilan and those marshals of his,’ supplied Sir Cerse. ‘The count sent ambiguous letters to my predecessor - they were delayed and by the time they arrived the colonel had died and a relative in the city had claimed his personal papers. There is no reason for Vilan to know his letters were not burned, as I’m sure the rest were. I’ve known him for years, so I doubt his importance to the general plot, but it would send a message to anyone thinking of pulling strings.’

  The grey-haired Torl blinked in surprise. Vilan was one of his subjects - and one of his most important. ‘I had no idea,’ he said, looking at Bahl. ‘It’s true I have never been on the best of terms with Vilan, but I’ve had no reason to think him a traitor. His family have always supported mine; he’s my second cousin.’ The suzerain pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. Isak watched, fascinated at the effect of this revelation on the normally granite-faced soldier. ‘If you would be good enough to show me the documents, Sir Cerse?’

  The knight nodded. ‘Of course, sir. They are under lock and key in Tirah. If it helps, it mentions your hidden armouries at your hunting lodge and Riverbree Manor - I assume that was information he shouldn’t have shared.’

  ‘Vilan was the only one outside my family to know of those, damn him. I will deal with him, but I want it to be seen as an accident. The Vilans have done my family good service over the years; I don’t want their reputation to be stained because of one man.’

  ‘May I ask something?’ asked Isak. He looked around at the expectant faces and felt the memory of his display on the battlefield rise in his throat. He’d been trying to avoid being the centre of attention since he regained consciousness. ‘I’m sure you’ve all grown up discussing this sort of thing, but I didn’t. It’s obvious there is disloyalty, and problems with the Cult of Nartis, but I still don’t know what Malich actually did. Could I get the short explanation before we decide who to murder?’

  A barking laugh came from Suzerain Ked, not mocking but brotherly, as if Isak’s request had made him appear human again. There were smiles all round and the sombre mood evaporated.

  The colonel cleared his throat to attract Bahl’s attention. ‘I think that perhaps I might be the best person for that, my Lord. I know enough to give a brief outline.’ His tone was respectful but bold as he warmed to his new position in Bahl’s inner circle. He could make a good guess at the sort of man the lord would value.

  Bahl gestured for Sir Cerse to continue.

  ‘The scandal was brought to light by a cardinal of the cult of Nartis, Cardinal Disten,’ he said. ‘He was once chaplain to a cavalry regiment in Amah. He discovered daemon worshippers spreading a cult devoted to a being called Azaer, mostly in the cardinal branch, but they were slowly gaining control of the whole cult of Nartis. It was rumoured that the Dowager Duchess Certinse was at the centre of the plot, taking orders directly from Malich. I heard that the men who found Suzerain Suil’s body were on their way to arrest him for high treason. They were preparing for a full-scale rebellion when Cardinal Disten uncovered the plot last summer.’

  ‘But how could any Farlan rebel against the Chosen of Nartis?’ demanded Isak, unable to keep from interrupting.

  ‘Firstly, if you’ll forgive the observation, my Lord, even a white-eye of Lord Bahl’s ability cannot face an entire army. With necromantic powers augmenting their forces and the military support of those nobles they controlled, the danger was very real.’

  ‘But surely most are loyal still?’

  ‘Possibly, but by rigging the election of one of their own to High Cardinal of Nartis they have great authority over the people, as well as the ability to declare Lord Bahl Forsaken.’

  Isak sounded confused. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Forsaken means abandoned by the Gods. While we are servants of the Gods, they rarely pay much attention to us. Nartis is like any other God of the Upper Circle. The Chosen must be able to protect both their positions a
nd persons, otherwise they do not deserve his blessing. If the cardinals declare Lord Bahl to be Forsaken, then they can order those loyal to join them or stay away. Not all would obey, but enough. Lord Bahl is head of the cult of Nartis, but the cardinals speak with divine authority. With intelligence and magic they could manipulate the mood of crowds; they could turn public opinion even against the Chosen Lord of the Farlan.

  ‘Half the tribe seems to have been implicated by one rumour or another. Mostly these have been false - petty revenge or family feuds, such is court life - but some must be true. I believe that there was a large faction of Devoted involved.’

  Sir Cerse looked at Bahl for comment but received merely a blank stare. He coughed and continued quickly, ‘To best Lord Bahl in battle, Malich would have needed to control at least one duke and five powerful suzerains. That’s the only way he could be confident of defeating the loyal troops. The true extent of how many were involved we may never know, but the tribe has been severely weakened by suspicion. Many have failed to maintain proper, lawful levels of stock, trained soldiers, campaign supplies ...’ His voice tailed off as gloom overtook the tent once more.

  Isak looked around at the faces staring at the ground. Bahl’s own naturally grim expression was reflected on the faces of Torl, Vesna, Sir Cerse - even the beautiful assassin, Legana. Suzerain Ked, normally a calm and reflective man, had his jaw clamped tight and anger tightened his brow.

  With a start Isak realised their dismay was not at the task facing them, but shame that their own people could turn on each other in such a way, and against the will of the God.

  Insurrection was nothing new, but plotting the downfall of the entire nation was a completely different matter. Their tribe had remained strong by relying on its own - an arrogant and xenophobic way of life, possibly, but one that had kept them whole nonetheless.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘Now I understand what’s at stake, of course I’ll be part of it - I’ll do anything you need.’

  Expressions faded to acceptance and resolve. The next few hours saw each man writing a painfully long list while outside, winter tightened its grip on the mountains they called home.

  A discreet knock came at the dining room door. Amanas raised an eyebrow at his wife, but from her expression Jelana knew nothing about it. The Keymaster frequently spent all day in the Heraldic Library, or at official functions. Dinner was their time: they would eat together and undisturbed every night unless it almost was a matter of life or death. As absentminded as Amanas was, he knew his wife felt strongly about this. He actively dissuaded visitors at the best of times; the evenings were sacrosanct.

  The butler entered, casting an apprehensive look at his mistress before saying, ‘Sir, I apologise for interrupting, but you have a visitor who demands to see you urgently.’

  Amanas didn’t have time to reply before a voice came from the open doorway and a man stepped into the dining room. ‘My apologies, dear lady,’ he declared, bowing low and kissing her theatrically on the hand. The man was tall and slim, with a distinguished touch of grey in his hair, dressed fashionably, if on the young side. ‘I’m afraid the matter could not wait. I must drag your husband away for a while.’

  Jelana Amanas gave a curt nod of the head and rose, patting her husband on the shoulder on her way past. She said not a word to the newcomer. When she had left, the man took her seat and leaned forward, fingers interlocked, as he studied Amanas with a predatory expression that reminded the Keymaster of the Chief Steward.

  ‘So, Amanas, how is life in the Heraldic Library?’

  ‘As it always is, Dancer. You have interrupted my dinner for a good reason, I hope?’

  The man chuckled at the use of that name. He was one of Lesarl’s personal advisors, a member of the Chief Steward’s very personal coterie. Few knew that name for him; it was reserved for business done well away from the public eye.

  ‘You have a set of files here that my employer asked you to prepare a few years ago; you have not destroyed them?’

  ‘Files?’ Amanas asked. For a moment he had no idea what Dancer was talking about, then he realised. ‘The Malich affair? Yes, I still have them, though I resent the Chief Steward using me as his personal blackmailer. Why do you need them? Surely we’re no longer in danger of civil war now that Malich is dead.’

  ‘I have just received a message from the army in Lomin. Duke Lomin is dead.’

  ‘Murdered?’ Amanas asked, aghast.

  ‘By elves, not by Farlan hand. The problem is his son, Scion Lomin. He has taken the name of Duke Certinse.’ Dancer’s eyes narrowed. ‘The Certinse family now directly controls a suzerainty, a dukedom, the Knights of the Temples and it may soon control the cardinal branch of the cult of Nartis.’

  Amanas sighed and heaved himself to his feet. From the sideboard he picked up an oil lamp and used it to gesture towards the door. ‘Well then, you’d better come with me. We have a long night ahead of us.’

  CHAPTER 19

  Isak’s horse almost sagged with fatigue. The snowflakes turning to water as they landed on the cloth covering weighed down the poor beast even further as it laboured on through the dirty sludge that passed for the forest highway. The local suzerains employed roadmen to maintain these routes, but several thousand horsemen coming through in the depths of winter made it impossible to tell whether those duties had been neglected or not. Since they were in Amah, a rich and prosperous suzerainty, it was likely there was someone sadly shaking his head as the troops passed, wondering how he’d ever get his road back into top condition.

  ‘Remind me why we need to do this,’ Isak muttered, eyes fixed on a single snowflake that was precariously balanced on the rise of a seam.

  ‘Because wintering in Lomin would be as inconvenient as it would be fraught with complications.’ Vesna’s reply sounded mechanical: he was quite as bored and cold as the Krann, and he had answered this question half a dozen times already. ‘Quite aside from the fact that you’d probably end up fighting Duke Certinse, Lomin is eight hundred miles from Perlir. With life as it is, that’s too far. Duke Sempes hasn’t caused trouble for quite a while and the Chief Steward is probably mad with suspicion by now.’

  ‘Have we reached Danva yet?’

  ‘Soon. The next village we come to should be flying red banners.’

  ‘Why red?’ Now Isak looked a little more interested. ‘Surely it should be white if they’re mourning their suzerain?’ He looked at his bondsman, who looked significantly more noble than his master - Isak’s heavy fleeces were stained with mud after an ignominious spill from his horse when the hunter had stumbled and fallen badly. At least they’d had a decent meal out of it - the break had been too bad for the horse to be of any further use and the Farlan were a practical people. Horses were the lifeblood of their nation, valued by all, but they were a tool. Isak had heard the Yeetatchen treated their horses like family, but the Farlan were much more sensible.

  ‘No, my Lord, they fly the red when the suzerain dies in battle. I thought everyone knew that.’ Vesna looked puzzled. ‘Where were you born?’

  ‘On the road to the Circle City. My mother went into labour just as they sighted Blackfang, I’m told. That’s where she’s buried, at the foot of a willow by the road.’ There was a tinge of pain in Isak’s voice. Like all white-eyes, he knew exactly why his mother died.

  ‘I’m sorry—’

  ‘Long in the past,’ replied Isak, shaking himself free of the memory. ‘I might not remember her, but at least I’ve seen where she was buried - that route was my life for ten years. Three trips every two years, and I had to sneak off to visit her grave and get a whipping when I returned.’

  ‘Your father hates you that much?’ Vesna sounded like he couldn’t believe a parent would act that way, but Isak had seen men worse than his father. At least Horman had a reason to hate his son. Some men did worse, for no cause other than that they had been born vicious.

  ‘Father never forgave the loss of my mother. He named m
e to mock Kasi Farlan - maybe he hoped the Gods would take me young because of that. Without Carel to keep me in check I’d probably have hung as a result of our combined tempers.’

  ‘I’ve heard you speak of Carel before; who is he?’ the count asked.

  ‘Carel - Sergeant Betyn Carelfolden,’ Isak said. ‘He taught me everything I know, not just how to fight, but to rein in my temper, to think before reacting - it may not look like it, but I could have been much worse!’ He laughed, then explained, ‘Carel was a Ghost, so he was fair. He didn’t despise me just because I was a white-eye, and he didn’t hate me for killing my mother like my father did.’ He smiled, remembering. ‘He’s probably the reason my father and I didn’t end up killing each other.’

  ‘Why don’t you send for him, this Carelfolden, if he’s your friend?’ Vesna asked curiously.

  Isak shrugged. He’d thought of doing just that from time to time, but somehow he’d never actually done anything about it - he wasn’t sure why that was. Carel’s smile and gruff voice composed almost the entirety of Isak’s good childhood memories. He was the one who had urged Isak to be more than just a white-eye, who’d borne in silence the brunt of a young man’s frustration as it boiled over. Carel was almost the only person Isak gave a damn about, and the only person he wanted to be proud of him. Still something held him back.

  ‘My Lord? Would it not be good to have another man you could trust? One whose opinion is worthwhile? If he was a Ghost, then he’ll be trustworthy and capable, and will already know that the life of the nobility is often less than noble. You’ll need men of your own, men who are loyal to you before anyone else.’