by Tom Lloyd
Out of the corner of his eye Carel saw Mihn follow Isak outside. He smiled: at last his boy had friends, and ones who’d watch out for him at that. It was just what Isak needed, some friendship and reassurance in his life. But he still lay awake at nights worrying about how long it would last. Isak would always be a white-eye. Even if they stopped him looking for trouble, trouble would still find him one day.
A curtain of pink washed across the eastern sky as dusk closed in. A long tear just above the horizon glowed ruby-red and to the west, towards the Gods, the sky was dark and forbidding. The bloody shard seemed to be pointing out the group’s direction; the Gods ignored them. Behind them, in the north, a mass of clouds were ready to sweep down over the plains and pound them with sleet. The boats were waiting for them on the river, but Ghorent itself was still half a day’s travel over the floodplains. More than once over the last few days, parties of bowmen had appeared at the side of the river to watch them pass. They were in no doubt that their passage was being carefully monitored.
Ghorent had to be close now, Isak reckoned - despite the sense of menace that hung over the borderlands, he was looking forward to a night in a town, anywhere with clean beds and fresh food. All those years as a wagon-brat had been wiped out by a few brief months in Tirah Palace, he laughed to himself, until he saw movement, a jerking shadow in the evening gloom.
He readied himself unconsciously, relaxing only when the shadow resolved into Jeil to answer his unspoken prayer. The ranger reined in just before reaching the party and called out in a clear voice, ‘My Lord, there’s a fortified town up ahead with scouts watching the road; do you want us to announce you?’
Isak looked to Vesna and nodded. The count reached out and touched Tila on her gloved hand, an apology for cutting their conversation short, before handing her the reins to his second horse and cantering forward. Jeil wheeled about and then sent his stock pony in eager pursuit.
‘Do you want to approach under a flag?’ Carel knew the answer already, but Isak must confirm all decisions. The white-eye might not care about minor details like where they camped, knowing that if he did object, his word would be heeded, but he had to get used to the protocols of Farlan life. So when the rangers pointed out a possible camp-site, the greying soldier would turn to Isak and ask whether he would like to stop.
‘No,’ Isak replied, ‘Somehow I don’t think that would be appreciated here.’
The villagers around here saw Ghorent as the heart of these disputed lands. This was where most of the inhabitants came for guidance or justice. The town council was respected precisely because it had no authority and expected none. The arrangement seemed almost absurd to the Farlan, who were used to rigid laws and conventions: there were no taxes paid, no real system of governance, certainly no army. What the people of the borderlands did have was a fierce pride in their way of life, and respect that bordered on affection for the views of Ghorent.
‘Clearly not: they would see it as a boast of strength. Humility and respect is what these people want,’ Tila said from within the pale blue folds of her cape, wrapped around her to keep off the evening chill. Isak bobbed his head in agreement and nudged Toramin into a brisker pace.
‘Well, let no man say I’m lacking in respect. We had better not keep them waiting.’ As the charger kicked forward into a canter, he heard Tila mutter something to Carel. The words were too soft to hear, but when they caught up and drew level with him they were both smiling.
It wasn’t long before they caught sight of Ghorent’s three towers and the wooden palisade that encircled the hilltop town. The gateway itself was made of stone, set into the tallest of the towers. Beacons shone out against the encroaching night, illuminating a line of bowmen who watched their approach with keen interest.
Vesna and the two rangers waited a hundred yards from the gate with two men, also on horseback. As they approached, Carel gave a signal and the Ghosts riding ahead split into two columns to allow Isak to the fore.
‘Welcome, Lord Isak. You honour Ghorent with your presence,’ called the better-dressed of the two men with the count. His Farlan was heavily accented. His choice of words reminded Isak of an observation Tila had made a few minutes before: The people see Ghorent as an entity. ‘We’ were not honoured, Ghorent was. She was right. It was Ghorent that was respected, not the individual people. A foreign dignitary would be unlikely to find such unity in Tirah.
‘I am Councillor Horen, this is Captain Berard,’ the man continued. ‘Please, enter Ghorent as friends. We’ve been looking forward to your arrival.’
Isak cocked his head, wondering if they would comment on their very effective tracking system.
The councillor noted Isak’s face and smiled. ‘All will be explained when you meet the Seer. He has asked that you be brought directly to him before being presented to the council.’
Without waiting for a reply, Horen turned his horse and indicated for them to follow. Captain Berard, dressed in mail with a sheathed sword at his side, smiled in a guarded manner. He looked tough and proud, a professional soldier rather than just a mercenary, but his long dark hair drawn back from his face revealed a welcoming face. Life here must been strange, considering neither man appeared either awed or surprised - most people were taken aback by Toramin’s monstrous size even before they got to Isak.
Isak nudged his horse to follow and Vesna dutifully fell in beside his lord, moving closer when Isak learned over to whisper, ‘The Seer?’
‘I’m not sure. A mage of some sort, I assume. That might account for the town’s prosperity.’
Isak looked up as they approached the town walls. Vesna was right. The walls might have been of wood, but they looked strong and well maintained. The councillor was dressed as a Tirah city official might; he didn’t look like the wealthy tradesmen who populated most town councils. As they passed through the gate, Isak and his party were watched by guards who betrayed little emotion: these were obviously disciplined men who trusted their leaders. They had no form of uniform or livery but they were clearly a strong and ordered unit.
Within the walls were tidy rows of wide, solid houses, well built and well maintained, for all their lack of decoration. Isak concluded that the security Ghorent offered had attracted men and women of many different skills. There were too many curls of smoke rising from squat chimneys to count: whoever had organised these people had a very tidy mind. If the Seer was the one running the council, he must be a dour man of facts and figures, to keep this town so well-ordered, Isak thought.
The houses this close to the wall were no more than two storeys high, but Isak could see taller buildings further in. Councillor Horen led them down the wide main street and past a tavern that looked like it was doing good trade - until sight of the visitors stopped the noise and bustle.
Toramin noticed the audience and picked up his feet a little more, showing off his well-muscled shoulders and flanks. Isak had no need to make an effort to impress; he gave the beast a tap on the neck, but Toramin responded by tossing his head haughtily and continuing to prance. In Kasi’s dim light, Isak’s white-sleeved cape took on an ethereal glow. The deep blue of his hood looked even more forbidding to the onlookers. More than a few found that dark face disturbingly similar to the icons of Nartis in the temple. They all heard the mutters that sounded like prayers in the sudden quiet.
Once past the tavern, Isak smiled slightly at the voices behind. It felt good to stir excitement in others. The wagon-brat had come a long way: now his presence in town was an event - he would be remembered wherever he drank or spent a night. The innkeepers would be able to say to customers, ‘I’ll give you the best room in the inn, Lord Isak himself slept in it.’ More curiously, people would care that he had.
Up ahead, Isak saw that the road ended abruptly at a copse of trees standing at the centre of the town, where he would have expected a market square. The undergrowth had been cut back enough to allow passage and the councillor and captain went straight on in without pausing. Is
ak and Vesna exchanged glances. The trees were not densely packed - there was no cover for an ambush - so they followed their guides into the gloomy thicket. Isak could make out carved stones, sitting upright in the ground. They formed no apparent pattern, but were evenly spread - Isak could sense some echo there, a faint presence lingering in the copse. He guessed that this was dedicated ground, probably a temple of sorts to an Aspect of Amavoq or Belarannar.
On the other side, no more than thirty yards away, they rejoined the street, now dominated by a large building, the smaller houses looking almost as if they were keeping a respectful distance. By the standards of Tirah’s wealthy the building was modest, but it was a surprising sight in Ghorent.
The councillor stopped at the ornate door and turned to his charges. ‘My Lord, I leave you in the capable hands of Ahden, the Seer’s man.’ He gestured to the emerging figure, a tall, gaunt man who appeared from the bright interior. He padded down the stone steps, hands piously clasped together.
The manservant looked rather less impressed with the Krann than the tavern folk had been. ‘Lord Isak, welcome to Ghorent.’ Ahden gave a small bow to the white-eye as he dismounted. ‘My master is coming to greet you as I speak, but in the meantime might I offer you and your men food and wine?’
Isak made a show of stretching his back and shaking the stiffness from his broad shoulders. There was something about the staid figure with his thinning hair scraped carefully over his head that Isak didn’t take to. When at last he deigned to give Ahden his attention, he was cut off by a voice from inside the house.
A second man burst through the door, gesticulating seemingly at random while he gabbled on in a high reedy voice, ‘Lord Isak, at last you’ve arrived. Come inside, your rooms have been prepared. My grooms will see to the horses; we have much more important matters to discuss. My study will be suitable.’
The white-eye found his arm determinedly grasped by the scrawny hands of the man - presumably the Seer - who looked about to be engulfed by his billowing linen shirt.
Isak shot a bemused look to his companions. Few people outside his immediate circle of friends would dare touch the Krann, yet this odd little man was trying to escort him away like a child. Isak raised a hand to tell Mihn his presence was not required and allowed the Seer to drag him inside. As the man struggled to hurry Isak up, he launched into a discussion on the quality of horses they bred in Ghorent, happily providing both sides of the conversation.
The interior was markedly different to the houses in Tirah. Bright swathes of colour adorned the walls and the high hallway was filled with all sorts of wicker birdcages, hanging from the ceiling, from wall brackets and mounted on beautifully ornate carved stands. Isak slowed to marvel at the room and take a closer look at the nearest bird, a delicate green creature the length of his finger, crested with the most glorious golden plume.
As he neared it, the bird cocked its head towards him and sang out, a rich liquid warble. The hallway erupted into a cacophony of song as the other birds took their cue and Isak turned in a circle to watch the sudden riot of noise and exotic colours. Tila, hearing the commotion, came after Isak and stopped dead, beaming with delight.
‘My chorus seems to have taken a shine to you, Lord Isak. They rarely sing at night. They say the creatures of the forest have astounding abilities of perception - interesting that they do not seem afraid of you, a white-eye no less. When an Alyne cat crept in one night, ah the chaos!’
‘You keep them all caged?’ asked Tila, seeing how small some of the cages were.
‘Certainly not; they spend the day in the trees of the town. We’re rather well known in these parts for our exotic birds. When the nights are cold we tempt them into cages of an evening; the tamest do not migrate at all now.’ The Seer gave an expansive smile. His manservant glowered from the doorway as Vesna and Mistress Daran craned past him to see better. No doubt Ahden was the one who had to clean the cages.
‘Did you know that the King of Narkang has a similar passion? He’s carefully cultivated his gardens to attract the migratory butterflies that go up the coast from Mustet to summer around Narkang. I hear it’s quite a sight - the dusted blue is apparently most beautiful.’ The Seer stopped abruptly and his brow furrowed. ‘But this won’t do, we must get on. Please excuse us, dear ladies, dear sirs. Ahden, bring up food and wine to my study when you have served the lord’s companions.’
He took hold of Isak’s arm once more and led him up the wide stairway to a corridor, at the end of which stood a pair of tall decorative doors. The polished wood was a creamy coffee shade, intricately carved with a fantastical pattern of animals and trees, but Isak had no time to study the doors further as his host swept him on into the room.
Piles of books and scrolls were spread across the floor, while jumbled brass instruments littered the many shelves, along with bits of pottery and odd stones, all broken and stained with age and dirt. A large open cabinet housed ancient-looking jewellery, and a few amulets and charms. Isak could tell that they were of very modest magical strength - he recalled the scornful way the mages from the College of Magic had dismissed such things as ‘low magics’, suitable only for village wisewomen or forest witches.
The Seer flopped into a chair, only to bound up again as he compared his to the other chair in the room and considered Isak’s bulk.
‘How is it I’ve not heard of you when you seem to rule this region?’ Isak blurted out as he took the seat offered and gingerly eased himself into it.
The Seer smiled and sat opposite, suddenly calm. He bridged his fingers as he gazed deep into Isak’s eyes. ‘I certainly do not claim to rule anywhere; I merely offer advice - and only then when it is asked of me. As for having heard of me, well, I’m afraid it has been frequently observed that the Farlan do not take much interest in foreign politics unless conducted by a titled man. I would expect you have been told little more than that these lands are claimed by both Tor Milist and Helrect, but possessed by neither.’
Isak nodded, not offended: he understood the friendly sarcasm. The Farlan were one of the greatest powers in the Land, and they set great store by their traditions and their strong feudal system. A man of noble birth had power and status; anyone who won power would soon receive a title and thus become part of the system. Men such as the Seer were simply not accommodated.
‘Let me begin very simply,’ the strange old man continued. ‘Historically, this region has been either self-governing or conquered and under the thumb of some neighbouring lord. In the current climate it serves the purpose of both Tor Milist and Helrect to not actually take the territory - first because they would find it no easy task, and second because they would then share a border with long-standing enemies.’
‘Can we start with you?’ Isak interrupted. ‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘Me? Ah, of course! Forgive my rudeness. My name is Fedei, Wisten Fedei, and folk here call me the Seer.’
Fedei smiled to avoid that sounding a theatrical boast, but Isak just nodded for him to continue.
‘I am a scholar. My history is rather long and complicated, but in brief, I had a modest amount of magical ability and training as a youth, as well as schooling in the more natural arts. Then, when I was twenty-five or so, I started displaying the classic symptoms of becoming a prophet—’ he paused, waiting for Isak to interrupt, but this time the white-eye just nodded.
‘That’s where you are supposed to say, “surely that’s impossible?”’ the Seer said dryly.
‘It is? Oh, right.’ Isak looked bemused.
Fedei chortled like an amused child. ‘Well, most people do. If you had received any formal schooling in magic you would know that is impossible.’
‘Probably,’ Isak replied haughtily. ‘Would my formal schooling have been wrong about everything else too?’
‘I—No, not at all. In this case, the theory still bears up to scrutiny, but as many of us find the reality of the Land is often very different. In any case, as I’m sure you can tel
l from the lack of frothing and violence, I’m not a prophet. Somehow it was controlled by my magic—’
‘Wait a moment, what magic? I can’t feel anything.’
The Seer bobbed his head in acknowledgement of the objection. ‘My abilities were almost entirely stripped in the conflict. I can still produce simple potions, and I can sense magic, but little more. What I can do is gather insights as a prophet, though only regarding the immediate future, and actually explain to others what I see. Think of it as having visions of impending events. They are not entirely clear, but your arrival, for example, was simple enough to understand. The ripples of your passing are profound even for me.’
‘So can you do any fortune-telling for me?’ Isak hadn’t intended it to sound sarcastic, but Fedei stiffened nonetheless.
His voice was frosty. ‘Perhaps later. For now, I would like to hear about you.’
Isak nodded quickly, annoyed with himself for putting the Seer’s back up when the man had been so welcoming. ‘Of course - though I doubt there is much you don’t know.’
‘Did you meet Morghien on the road?’
Isak jerked in surprise. He had expected questions about his gifts. Only then did he realise that, unlike most people with any magical ability at all, the Seer had hardly glanced at Eolis. Like Morghien, he actually sounded more interested in Isak.
‘I, ah, yes. How did you know that? Did you send him?’
‘Send Morghien? Hah! A man such as that isn’t sent by the likes of me. I just knew he was in these parts, and Morghien has always had the habit of casually meeting interesting people. He’s a curious one, that’s for sure. I first heard his tale when I was studying as a young man; I’m approaching seventy summers now.’ He laughed at Isak’s sceptical expression. ‘You find that so strange? Those who live unnatural lives often find the effects of time slowed. You yourself will stop outwardly ageing around thirty summers.
