The stormcaller

As Isak descended the main staircase, he felt a flicker of trepidation in his stomach. Beside him, Tila's shoes scuffed on the stone steps as she kept up with him. In deference to the High Priest, she wore a white scarf over her head, wrapping it around the single plait that

ran down her back. As they reached the top of the stair, Tila asked whether any of the charms in her hair were showing.

Isak suspected that he didn't know the reason for that tradition either, but at least he understood that she didn't want to wear another God's rune so obviously in front of a High Priest, even though adults could wear as many charms as they wanted. Tila had inherited four antique pieces from her grandmother that she loved.

'Lord Isak,' called the guardsman at the foot of the stair, 'you're expected. This way.' He pointed to his left towards the Great Hall where the last door before the entrance to the hall was open. Swordmaster Kerin stood in the doorway looking uncomfortable in his formal uniform, a dress version of the Palace Guard's black and white livery. The Swordmaster bowed as Isak approached, which made Isak frown in surprise – only that morning Kerin had been screaming curses at him out on the training field.

'Inside,' he muttered. 'Relax and do what you're told, even if you don't feel like it. The man's going to look inside your mind; it's dangerous, so don't fight him or decide to 'try something' yourself, understand?'

Isak nodded and Kerin backed away through the door to let the Krann pass into the ducal audience chamber, a room fifteen yards long and empty of furniture except for the Lord of the Farlan's ceremonial seat. The room was seldom used these days as most suits and requests went through Lesarl. The Chief Steward maintained offices at both Tirah Palace and Cold Halls, once a palace, now the city administra-tors' offices, on the north side of Irienn Square. He had been known to make people queue outside in bad weather, just to ensure their business was sufficiently important. His personal suite of offices commanded a fine view of the square below.

Inside, the cluster of men stopped talking and turned. Lord Bahl, in formal attire and wearing a silver circlet on his hooded head, was seated on the massive ducal throne. Beside him, on a more temporary seat, was the High Priest. The flashes of purple and yellow on his dark blue robe marked him as a follower of Larat. There was another priest in similar robes standing beside the High Priest's chair.

Despite Isak's misgivings, the man – Afger Wetlen, so Tila had told him – looked a far cry from the conniving devotee of Larat he d been expecting. The High Priest was a bony old man with a sickly complexion and rheumy eyes. He seemed to be having difficulty

enough remaining upright in his seat, let alone pursuing the schemes Of a duplicitous God. The sharp-eyed priest supporting his master's elbow was a different matter, but Isak reminded himself that most people looked that way at a white-eye, so there was no point reading anything into it.

Four novices who had accompanied them were huddled in a far corner, no doubt terrified by the presence of Lord Bahl. They'd probably been brought along because they were showing some tendency towards magic – it usually started to manifest at puberty. If they could sense power on even the most basic level, they would find Lord Bahl's presence extremely disturbing. Isak grinned widely at them, which made them shrink back even further, and walked over to the seated men.

Lord Bahl introduced Isak, saying formally, 'High Priest Wetlen, may I present to you my Krann, the Chosen of Nartis, Lord Isak.'

'My Lord.' The old man struggled to his feet, helped by the young priest at his elbow. 'I presume Lord Bahl has told you something of what I intend.'

'Not really, not in detail,' Isak admitted, trying not to feel any fear.

'It is rather difficult to explain. No doubt he thought it best to leave that to me, so I will do so while we get settled.' The old man gestured at a door in the wall of the main chamber that Isak hadn't noticed. 'Lord Bahl has been kind enough to allow me the use of an antechamber as we will need to be alone.'

'Your Eminence?' The young priest at his side looked rather alarmed, but High Priest Wetlen just waved him away.

'I will be fine. Your presence will just complicate matters,' he said sternly. 'I'm not so old I can't sit still without your help.' He swatted at his assistant, but his effort ended abruptly with a sharp hiss of pain and he capitulated. 'Very well, help me in there, and then leave us.' Isak could hear the old man's frustration at the failings of his body. The attendant priest made no comment, but waved at one of the novices to bring the chair. The boy scuttled about his task, his eyes darting from one white-eye to the other as the four of them passed Bahl and went and went through the door on his right.

‘Come on boy, put it down there – no, facing the table. Fetch that

cushion and place it before the chair. Lord Isak, I suggest you sit on the cushion and focus your attention on the painting above the table.

It will help things go smoothly if you have something to concentrate on.' The High Priest eased himself into the seat and gave a quiet sigh of satisfaction before patting at the various charms at his belt.

'Now then, my Lord – yes, Unmen, you can go, and shut the door behind you – now then, Lord Isak, Lord Bahl has requested that my Aspect guide is not present during these sessions. If you would sprinkle this powder in a circle around us, it will ensure that is the case.'

Isak took the brass vial the old man had proffered, but he made no move to remove the stopper. Instead, he asked, 'Aspect guide?'

'Yes- oh, but of course, you wouldn't have one; limiting, if you ask me, but perhaps it is for the best. Do you not know about them at all?'

'I know what an Aspect is.'

High Priest Wetlen gave a phlegmy chuckle. 'I assumed you would know that, at least. What I meant was whether you knew about magical guides, but I presume not. The mages understandably don't want it to become public knowledge, but this is how it works: to aid their researches, an apprentice mage of sufficient promise will find a guide to bind to him, and to use to build his grimoire.

'These guides are creatures of magic, very minor daemons, too weak to exert any control over their mage, but knowledgeable enough to substantially build on what is taught at the colleges. Crucially, they are also intelligent enough to know that their own power will increase proportionally if they do cooperate, and as creatures of magic, their perspective is most valuable.

'Theologically this is difficult ground, so priests with similar promise take an Aspect of their chosen God instead – a weaker choice, but more acceptable for a religious figure. Ducohs, my own guide, has been with me for more than sixty years.'

'It has a name?'

'But of course.' Isak's comment seemed to amuse the old man. 1 have been High Priest for more than twenty years now, and as my strength and ability have increased, so have Ducohs'. Now, make a circle with the powder.'

This time Isak did as he was told. His curiosity about this withered old man was mounting: he talked about an Aspect of Larat as he would an old friend. When he had finished, Isak replaced the stopper and handed the bottle back. The priest fumbled as he attempted to reattach it to one of the chains that hung from his waist, but the

determined set to his mouth made it clear enough that he wanted no

help.

'Right, now we are ready. Sit in front of me and concentrate on the picture. This will be disconcerting, so it is better to keep your eyes open and focused on something.'

Isak sat and stared intently at the painting while High Priest Wetlen wheezed and muttered unintelligibly. The painting, a classical image of Nartis hunting, was old and ugly. Isak scowled. Whoever the artist was, he was an idiot who had no idea how living creatures moved or stood. Nartis himself was grossly parodied: shown almost naked, with deep blue skin and an excessively muscular body. The figure looked brutal, like a daemon, not a God, with no grace or subtlety about it.

Isak kept his eyes on the painting as the High Priest reached out and touched his head, gently drawing magic from the air around them so Isak's ears began to buzz and ring at the sensation of energies rushing through him. It felt like cool, ghostly fingers dipping into his mind. Then he felt the powers pause and hold, and he himself relaxed and unclenched his fists.

He smothered the alarm he felt in the back of his mind and took a deep breath, waiting for the High Priest to continue. He trembled as the smooth but relentless fingers traced the shape of his soul, and closed his eyes.

Swordmaster Kerin watched Lord Bahl as they waited outside in silence. The white-eye had his eyes closed