The only sound that escaped Certinse's lips was a hiss of pain as a Ghost roughly removed the armour obscuring his wound and tied a tourniquet around the upper part of his arm.

Isak slipped from his horse and began to check the soldiers mill-ing around. Those few knights who had been slow to surrender had been herded into a circle and battered to their knees. Everywhere he looked, men lay contorted in agony, screaming, or moaning softly. A pair of Ghosts appeared on either side of him as he knelt beside one of the injured on the ground, a Lomin hurscal. Isak gently pulled away the helm to reveal a man about Vesna's age, his eyes wide with fear and pain as he huffed in short sharp breaths, his hands awkwardly clasped about the broken stub of a lance protruding from his side. The bubbling rasp indicated the head of the lance was embedded in the man's lung. There was no hope for him. Taking the man's head in his ma.s.sive hands, Isak ended the pain as quickly and gently as he could.

He looked around at his cream-liveried guards, their emerald dragons easy to pick out. 'Carel?' he called, a flutter of anxiety in his heart. He spun around, seeking the veteran's familiar build, but his old friend was nowhere in sight. Isak stood and took a few steps forward, looking around in increasing panic.

'Here, my Lord,' one of the Ghosts called, waving Isak over to where he knelt. Despite the lack of urgency in the man's voice, Isak ran the twenty yards to his side, a heavy feeling in his gut. Before he got there, he heard a familiar voice swearing, 'careful, you ham-fisted b.a.s.t.a.r.d!'

Isak smiled with relief as he reached Card's side. It was the quiet ones you had to worry about. The soldier was easing off Carel's cuira.s.s, having already cut away the arm section. There wasn't much blood; Isak guessed it might be a bad break. Crouching down, he picked up the arm section and ran his finger over the split and dented plate just above the elbow. It had been badly mangled.

'Fell off your horse, did you, old man?'

'p.i.s.s on you. It was a mace and you know it,' snapped Carel in reply. He winced again as the cuira.s.s snagged on his tunic. 'Not everyone's made of iron, you s.h.i.t-brained lump. Oh G.o.ds, that hurts! Someone find me a flask of something strong.'

The soldier tending his commander pulled a knife from his belt to cut away the sleeve. Carel's once-powerful arm looked white, except for the deep sickly bruise that had begun to reveal itself. Isak could see from the angle that it was a nasty break, and the colour made him think that Jeil would have his work cut out to save the arm at all.

'G.o.ds, it doesn't look good,' said the soldier, unthinkingly.

'I know that, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' Carel spat. 'Nartis be blessed it's my left.'

'Lord Isak,' called a booming voice and Isak turned to see the man Vesna had identified as Cardinal Disten advancing towards him. He was indeed dressed as the chaplain he had once been but, as he neared, Isak could see the cobalt-blue hems of his robe were faded and patched. The cardinal himself was an imposing man several years older than Carel, Isak guessed, but standing over six feet tall, and still with a young man's bulk. His long beard and the straggly remains of his hair were completely grey and his lean, lined face bore more than a few scars. Only his eyes belied the impression of age, burning fiercely from beneath thick dark eyebrows.

'My Lord, it's an honour to meet you,' Cardinal Disten said as he dropped to one knee. Isak could see the moon-glaive hooked to his belt was still dripping blood onto the torn gra.s.s.

'As it is you. But if you'll excuse me, I'm a bit busy for pleasantries right now.' A groan from Carel made him turn back to the injured man.

'Isak, go and do your job. You are no surgeon, and if you think I'm going to let you touch me, then you must have been brained in the battle.' Carel forced a smile that Isak returned. He touched Carel lightly on his good hand and rose.

'Well, Cardinal, it appears I do have time after all. Please, rise.' He gestured over at the figure of Karlat Certinse being stripped of his armour. 'And now you can at last write the final chapter of your book.'

'Hah,' the cardinal replied humourlessly. 'It's been a long time coming, for certain, but I don't intend to stop until I'm sure I've got them all. Life will be happier when I see his mother off to face the judgment of the G.o.ds. I'll be praying the creatures of the Dark Place find something sufficiently inventive for the lot of 'em.'

To Isak's surprise there was little satisfaction in the cardinal's voice, just a grim determination. He guessed the long years pursuing Malich's followers had been his job rather than his calling. Perhaps the cardinal was just tired of dark secrets and death. Isak was already learning that too much of either could sour any man's soul.

'Would you do me the service of seeing to it? Acting with my authority to bring them all to trial?'

'I will do as I am commanded, my Lord.' Cardinal Disten bowed low, then gestured to a group of men who lingered on foot behind him. 'May I present Brother-Captain Sheln, and Count Macove, a major of our order.'

Both men bowed low to Isak, who nodded as he inspected his newest allies. They were dressed in black studded leather and painted cuira.s.ses and carrying their peaked Y-slit helms. Their heavy cavalry sabres were sheathed. The brother-captain was a grim, craggy-faced man of about fifty summers whose skin had an unhealthy grey pallor. There was a cold immovability about Brother-Captain Sheln that Isak was immediately wary of; there was no compa.s.sion in those eyes, and he had a sense of remorselessness, and ruthlessness not what Isak wanted to see in the face of a religious fanatic, no matter whose side he said he was on. Isak had the impression the man was carved from stone...

Count Macove was younger, and looked like the dour expression worn by most of the dark monks didn't come so easily to him. As if to confirm Isak's first thought, Vesna approached and took the man's arm in a familiar gesture.

'I hadn't expected piety from you, Macove,' Vesna exclaimed, a broad smile cracking across his face.

'Good to see you too,' the man replied in equal cheer. 'As for my piety, we must all grow up and take responsibility for our lives at some point even you'll find yourself doing so one day.'

Isak opened his mouth to make a comment, then closed it again. He was the Duke of Tirah now, and barrack-room banter was hardly appropriate. Instead, he looked around at the other dark monks nearby.

'Is Suzerain Saroc not with you?'

The brother-captain didn't react to his words, but Count Macove betrayed a flicker of uncertainty that made Isak press the matter.

'Come on, I could hardly expect two forces to be tramping around without at least one alerting the suzerain. Since I see no hurscals or banners, I would guess he's part of your order and just too far away to introduce himself yet. If, however, he is deliberately snubbing his new liege lord, I will have to take offence and replace him with someone a little more respectful unless he steps forward right b.l.o.o.d.y now!' Isak's voice had risen to a shout.

'My Lord,' called a cowled figure standing twenty yards off. Revealing his face to the daylight, Suzerain Saroc marched forward to kneel before Isak, his cheeks red. The suzerain was a remarkably short man, but powerful, almost a direct opposite to the second man who stepped forward, a pace behind Saroc, and also knelt. Isak glimpsed the devices sewn over their hearts, the only signs of n.o.bility they wore. Saroc's was a red chalice; the other man bore a white ice cobra. Isak recognised it even as the owner spoke.

'Forgive us for not coming to greet you, my Lord,' said Suzerain Tori, his pale face contrasting with the black uniform when he pulled back his cowl. 'It is our policy to keep those with power in the Order from having to confront their lieges as emissaries for the Brethren. Our Order does not play the great game. We have no wish to act as though we were making a show of who our members are, lest it cause complications.'

Isak frowned momentarily, then reached out a hand to take the suzerain's arm in greeting.

'That's the second time you've fought by my side; if such crimes were the only ones I had to forgive, I would be a far happier man. But what are you doing here? You're a long way from your home...'

'I am. I was in the hills on the Danva-Foleh border on business when an a.s.sociate informed me of Lord Bahl's death. As I came in search of Suzerain Saroc, one of my agents informed me that the Duke of Lomin had left with his hurscals suddenly, so we decided to keep track of them.'

'A welcome decision for me but how did you find out about Lord Bahl's death so quickly if you've come from the Danva border?'

Tori's expression was grim. 'The Brethren have a number of we'll call them a.s.sociates who use unorthodox methods and in certain cases, lack sanity. These are not men we have brought into our Order, but we often find uses for them.'

'That's not an explanation,' Isak pointed out. The suzerain looked uncomfortable for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he struggled to match the looming white-eye's stare.

'The College of Magic would describe him as a rogue mage, which he is, but not in an insane or impious way. His methods simply differ from other mages, and that makes him a valuable a.s.set.'

'So why did you hesitate to tell me that? It's a simple enough explanation.'

Torl gave a sigh. 'That may be, but how he knew of the death of Lord Bahl is not. He first saw an image after spending several hours watching sunlight filter through the branches of a yew; then again in the movement of leaves in a herb garden. To most people that sounds like he's some sort of prophet, and 1 wouldn't want to give you that impression of our order.'

'I'm intrigued,' Isak said. 'Perhaps I should meet the man and when you bring him to Tirah Palace, I look forward to your report on your Brethren as well.'

'My Lord-'

Isak quickly cut him off. 'Your loyalty is not in question, but I must know what other allegiances my n.o.bles hold. The events in Narkang and Thotel mean 1 cannot afford to be ignorant of anything, certainly not the activities of my subjects.'

'The rumours about Thotel are true then?' Suzerain Saroc interjected before Tori could continue his objections. He was very conscious that the dark monks and the Ghosts were eyeing each other suspiciously, and neither side had yet sheathed their weapons. 'Has Lord Styrax has taken the city and torn down the Temple of the Sun?'

Isak nodded. 'So I've been told.'

'But what about Narkang? Were you not returning to claim your inheritance because you felt Lord Bahl's death?'

'Unfortunately, it's not as simple as that. These parts may see more fighting before-'

'My Lord,' the ranger Jeil broke in, 'I need your help.'

Isak nodded at the suzerains and returned to Carel. He crouched down beside Jeil to inspect the damaged limb. Carel was terribly pale, and sweat poured off him as he panted, almost gasping for breath.

'I can't save it,' Jeil said calmly. He was too experienced to bother trying to hide the truth from Carel. 'You're his best chance.'

'Me? I've never done anything like this,' Isak protested.

Jeil pointed at Eolis. 'The marshal doesn't need a healer, not at the moment. He needs a butcher, and saving your pardon, my Lord, you're the best we have. Eolis will give the cleanest cut, and with a touch you can cauterise the wound.'

Isak looked down at Carel. He could see the old man was weakening before his eyes.

'There's no other way?'

'None.'

Isak looked around, but none would meet his gaze. He stood and drew Eolis. Carel couldn't stop himself howling in pain as Jeil manoeuvred the injured arm away from the body and indicated where Isak should cut. As Isak raised the slim sword, he looked at Duke Certinse, a glare of such pure venom that the duke shrank back in fear.

'On a spike,' Isak growled. He slashed down.

CHAPTER 4.

'Lord Isak, your health.' Suzerain Saroc, looking markedly different dressed up in silks and fine linens, raised his goblet for the other guests to follow. A bronze brooch bearing his chalice device was pinned to his left shoulder and he now sported his earrings of rank though the three hoops through his left ear were not plain gold, like those worn by Count Vesna and Suzerain Torl; his were intricately carved and set with flecks of jet. To Isak's intense surprise, the deeply religious Saroc, last seen dressed in dour black, had transformed into something of a peac.o.c.k once they reached his estate.

The men echoed the suzerain's words; the women, all wearing tight-wrapped dresses and feathers in their hair, hmmmed agreement. It was the first time Isak had partic.i.p.ated in a formal Farlan toast, but Tila had found a few minutes to coach him in his expected role which largely boiled down to draining his cup whenever his name was mentioned. He still didn't grasp why only men carrying weapons were allowed to speak above a mutter, though she had pointed out one or two wearing ceremonial swords solely for that purpose.

Emptying his goblet: Isak was more than willing to do that in the name of protocol, and he did so with a flourish. He nodded graciously to each of the n.o.blemen around the table and set his goblet down for it to be refilled but somehow he miscalculated, and the thump as it hit the table caused the bowl of rice beside it to jump and overturn. He frowned at the table; it seemed to be closer than he'd first thought but when he looked up, he realised there were startled faces turned his way. Perhaps that had been a little loud; suddenly he was reminded that his huge frame was oversized for this rather delicate dining hall.

A hot feeling began at the back of his neck as he felt the eyes of the room on him. With painstaking care he disentangled his fingers from the goblet and raised his hand in apology to the suzerain, who smiled back and nodded graciously as the rest of the room looked away with embarra.s.sed expressions. Oh d.a.m.n, Isak thought, I'm the guest of honour, I shouldn't be apologising. Didn't Tila say I couldn't do anything wrong at a meal in my honour?

'He's going to be fine.' The soft voice in his ear was accompanied by a waft of perfume. Around them, conversation sputtered back into life as the guests returned to their meals.

Isak turned to Tila and nodded glumly. The doctors were agreed on that point at least, despite it being the only one they had been able to reach a consensus on. A middle-aged monk with a hard stare, accompanied by three novices, had arrived from a nearby monastery to help tend to the wounded. He'd been friendly to the suzerain and polite to Lord Isak, of course, but his face betrayed his feelings when he saw a local woman also tending to the sick; her hair cut short to display the scars and tattoos around her neck marked the woman clearly as a witch. No one said much, but even the veteran soldiers had deferred to her opinion.

'I know he will be,' Isak said, prodding the lump of pork on his plate with a knife, 'but I can't seem to get the smell of burned flesh out of my mind.'

Looking round at the forty or so faces in the hall, Isak saw a number still watching him with slight concern; the Countess Saroc was one who had little time for alcohol and no patience with drunks. Isak ignored her sharp eyes, which shone from her long, thin face. His natural charisma had a more dramatic effect on inanimate objects than on the Countess Saroc, but her courtesy remained faultless and her compa.s.sion for the injured unmatched; that she didn't like him was a small price to pay.

'He's too old to be leading men into battle,' Isak continued, picking at his meal. It was too rich, and had set his stomach churning. Aside from the wine, he had consumed only rice and a bowl of dressed tomatoes. Popping another in his mouth, Isak licked the oil from his fingers and sighed. 'I shouldn't have asked it of him.'

You're right that he's too old,' agreed Tila, placing her fingers on his forearm. 'You're wrong that it's your fault. The old buzzard knows his own strength better than you do, and you can't claim to be more aware of the dangers of battle than he. Let his decisions be his own.'

Her hand looked like a child's against Isak's green-edged cuff. They had little time to sit together and talk as friends these days. Isak didn't resent the love that had flourished between Tila and Count Vesna, for both had become dear to him, but in his first weeks in Tirah Palace, he and Tila had spent nearly every minute of the day together.

Isak saw a fond smile appear on Tila's rosebud mouth. 'And, of course, a friend should be on hand to cut one's arm off when one makes the wrong choice.'

Isak resisted the urge to reach out and hug her, uncomfortably aware of the eyes on them. Instead, he stuck his tongue out at her, prompting a muted squeal of amus.e.m.e.nt, and went on the hunt for more wine.

'My Lord.' Suzerain Saroc spoke as Isak filled his own goblet from the decanter in front of him, placed there by Mihn so he wouldn't have a servant hovering at his shoulder all night the tale of the battle in Narkang had raced through the suzerain's household, and every one of the staff was surrept.i.tiously trying to catch a glimpse of Isak's left hand that had been left as white as the tunic he wore. Isak turned towards the suzerain, his body feeling heavy and ponderous.

'Might I persuade you to rest here a few weeks before returning to Tirah? We seldom have the chance to entertain our lord down here in Saroc; your presence would be a blessing for us all.'

'A good idea,' Isak said with a smile. 'I think Lesarl can spare me for a few weeks yet.' Off past the suzerain, he saw a frown cross Vesna's face. The count was listening idly to a knight on his right, but his concentration was on Isak and the suzerain. Old maid, thought Isak. He worries about everything if I've not discussed it with him already.

'We will stay a fortnight,' he went on. 'I doubt Carel will be able to travel by then, but I want to see him stronger before I go. And I have a few matters that I want to attend to before I return.'

'Plans, my Lord?' The suzerain's interest was piqued, especially as he saw Tila's puzzlement.

'Plans, my Lord Suzerain,' Isak confirmed with a broad smile. 'The tribe is run by its dukes and its suzerains, and if I am to rule, I should meet them half of those I already knew have died in battle, and I'm planning to hang Duke Certinse in front of a crowd. Suzerain, I would like you to gather messengers ready to send out a proclamation. My advisor here will have it ready in a day or two.' Isak twitched his fingers in Tila's direction he didn't let Tila's ignorance of his plans interrupt his flow. 'I intend every suzerain and duke to gather in Tirah Palace and swear fealty to me at my coronation ceremony.'

A slight gasp ran around the room at that, and all attempts to pretend conversation stopped as Isak took another swig of wine and continued, 'There's been too much treachery, too much plotting in recent years. I want each and every one of my most powerful n.o.bles to swear an oath of loyalty. If they refuse, I'll know where they stand; if they look me in the eye and lie, I'll break them in half and feed them to the pigs.'

Isak spoke with such vehemence that more than a few flinched. From next to Tila Isak heard Suzerain Torl clear his throat to break the silence.

'That will be a difficult undertaking, my Lord,' Suzerain Torl murmured. 'Some are old and infirm; many will have a long way to travel.'

Isak gave a dismissive wave of the hand. 'If they wish to present their apologies instead, I'll leave it up to my Chief Steward to decide who has a valid excuse... and who should be stripped of their t.i.tle.' Isak gave a dangerous grin. 'I think recent events have proved that divisions remain, but that cannot continue. We will make a festival of it. Business will be done and matches made, no doubt. I'm sure most of the suzerains will have requests to present to me as well, and they will be heard, but any who consider the journey a waste of time I shall consider a wasted t.i.tle. The Chetse have been conquered, the Fysthrall have returned and who knows how many new enemies we will find ourselves with come the end of the year.'

Isak saw Tila tense slightly at that. d.a.m.n, he thought, I didn't mean him but you've got a point all the same. How long until the Elves discover their king is reborn? Long enough 1 hope; I don't want to be fighting on too many fronts all at once.

Looking around, Isak saw worried faces, men dropping their eyes as Isak's glittering gaze swept over the tables. A handful were nodding their agreement, but most just looked shocked. It was understandable, Isak reflected. Lord Bahl had ruled for almost two hundred years, and while he had sometimes been unpredictable, the man had largely left his n.o.bles to their own devices. Now they had an arrogant young pup who wore dark tidings like a cloak announcing two hundred years of tradition was about to change. Perhaps they were right to look nervous. He was a white-eye, after all, and wherever he went trouble tended to follow.

Isak stood, motioning the others back down as they rose with him.

Hooking two fingers around the neck of the half-empty decanter, he excused himself to Suzerain Saroc and his countess. He knew he was being rude, but he didn't want to be drawn further on the subject tonight; his sour temper and too much wine might lead him to say something he didn't intend. Now he wanted a chance to hear what his advisors had to say before discussing the matter further.

Making his way out of the hall, Isak followed the corridor to the terrace that overlooked the suzerain's formal garden, apparently in the Tor Milist style. Mihn was on his heel, as normal. He crossed the terrace and felt the lush dew-kissed gra.s.s underneath his shoes and breathed in the smell of evening blooms.

The suzerain was proud of his gardens, and though the concept remained alien to Isak, who knew nothing of such things, in the warm gloom of twilight and lit by scattered paper lanterns, he had to agree that the sight before him was beautiful. Low yew hedges sectioned off the long garden, each enclosing a different style. Thin swirls of flowerbeds cut paths through the gra.s.s, blazing with the colours of summer, but it was the stillness that Isak savoured the most.

A dwarf apple tree the height of Isak's chest stood at the centre of a piece of lawn, flanked by slender stone birdbaths. Resting the decanter on the nearest, Isak fumbled in his pocket for Carel's tobacco pouch; the countess had forbidden it to the veteran. Soon, the thick smell of pipe-smoke was drifting through the slender branches of the apple tree and fading to nothing in the darkening sky. Isak inspected the snow-white skin of his hand. It hadn't changed at all since the battle in Narkang, where lightning had burned the colour from it. Not even weeks of riding with it exposed to the sun had tanned it.

'Had you planned that?' asked Mihn quietly, having checked for anyone who might overhear their conversation.

'Of course.'

'Then why did Lady Tila and the count look quite so surprised?'

Isak sighed. 'Because I'd not planned to announce it quite like that. Did it just sound like the ranting of a drunk?'

Mihn shook his head. 'No, it was a little more eloquent. There will be serious opposition, though, even from your supporters.'

'Good, that's the point.' Isak jabbed the pipe towards the high roof of the hall. 'Most of the Farlan legions are led by fat, contented old men. If they object to a trip to Tirah, they'll be of no use on campaign. They need waking up, Mihn, our blades have become dulled.'

'What threat is it you want them to be ready for?' Mihn sounded unconcerned, but Isak could tell the man was worried by the fact they were conversing at all. He would go several days on end without speaking a word to Isak when Mihn deemed conversation necessary, Isak knew that he'd d.a.m.ned well better pay attention.

'Take your pick. I don't think there's any way to tell yet, but Lord Bahl wasn't killed by accident. If Morghien and King Emin are to be believed, this is all some artifice of Azaer's or it might be Lord Styrax, building himself an empire. And we must not give the White Circle time to regroup they all add up to one thing: we must be prepared for war.'

'You intend to punish the White Circle?'

Isak shrugged. 'They brought the fight to us; what can I do except strike back?'