‘And so I believe he is beating magic into that sword. Whether he recognises it or not, Lord Isak seems to be something of a mage-smith.'
'How can he not know it?'
'If he has the skill, it will come naturally – not the complex spells of Eolis, which would take weeks of preparation, but a white-eye's version. I've heard that mage-smiths go into a near-trance when they forge. I think Lord Isak is pouring raw magic into the blade to help it last, or be lighter to use. With a mind for forging, and his powers developing very recently, it's an unsurprising outcome, but-'
'But that's not what people are likely to think,' breathed Carel. They'll see the greatest mage-smith in history, practising his craft once more.'
'Exactly. Does Lord Bahl have mages he can trust? Could we summon one to be here? It would be best if it were someone willing to take any credit if the sword does have any magic in it.'
'I'm sure there will be. Go and wake Lesarl – he should be able to organise something like that.'
As Mihn slipped off into the chill darkness, Carel turned back to the closed door of the forge. The memory of Isak labouring away, his eyes closed and a smile on his lips, confirmed Mihn's suspicions in his own mind.
'Ah, my boy, you'll be the death of me yet. I should be abed by now. Instead I'm playing nursemaid and waiting about in the dead of night for some fat mage.' He chuckled to himself, pulling his fur tighter around him and taking slow puffs on his pipe until the night air grew too cold for him and he retreated inside the forge. Isak was as he had left him, but this time Carel sat closer and paid greater attention. He still couldn't make out the words Isak was muttering over that blade, but they didn't sound Farlan.
When the old man did finally retire for the night, it was with worry etched into his brow.
CHAPTER 23
Two days later they were ready. The cold heart of winter seemed to have thawed for a moment, and a rare sparkle of sun had lit up the previous afternoon when Isak finally emerged from the forge, happily exhausted. Fetching a mage from the College of Magic had turned out to be a real blessing, for Chirialt Dermeness, a strong, fit man of forty summers, was an authority on magical forging.
The man was not what Isak had expected. Even the battle-mages tended towards the portly, but Dermeness had realised that to be a mage-smith meant first of all being a capable smith. He himself had beaten out every piece of Count Vesna's armour before engraving the necessary runes into its surface.
Mage Dermeness had, in a brief time, taught Isak much about the basics of the art. Isak had an image of the end result in his mind, and the mage had improved the reality. It had taken a full day of engraving, sharpening, sharpening again, and finally detailing with gold-leaf before the sword was ready. Then Isak had staggered away to sleep while Tila prepared his baggage and got everything ready to be off the next morning.
A bright, clear dawn found the Krann and his companions checking over their horses, waiting only for Bahl's signal to be off. Isak stood between his two chargers, comfortable there as they hid his size a little. The smaller, Megenn, was close to eighteen hands in height, the second, named Toramin after a famous Farlan warhorse, was a shade off nineteen. Horses this big were ruinously expensive animals, frequently produced just to demonstrate a breeder's skill. Crossing hunter stock with the largest breed of carthorse normally produced one viable charger in a dozen, but both of Isak's were a horseman's
dream: incredibly powerful, and swift enough to keep up with hunters half their size.
Isak felt the eyes of the whole field on him, and the glare of Tila's chaperone most pointed among them. Resisting the temptation to pull on his hood, he busied himself with checking Toramin's saddle. He would have to get used to people staring; he'd endure far greater
scrutiny than this in Narkang.
The crash of the doors to the Great Hall drew all heads as the Lord of the Farlan, hooded, but for once dressed in all his ducal finery, came through, Lesarl at his heels. Bahl's eagle was emblazoned in white on a deep-red tunic, the sleeves of which were slashed to reveal the white silk underneath. Silver embroidery and pearl detailing gave the richly coloured fabrics texture. No one had expected the normally sombrely clad white-eye to make such an effort.
'Sergeant Carelfolden,' called the old Lord as he approached. The veteran stepped up, a quizzical look on his face. Isak was close behind. Bahl took in the crowd watching with an air of approval before his
eyes settled on Carel.
'Lesarl reminds me that Narkang is a city of crass foreigners who respect only rank and wealth. You seem to have neither, so it would look strange for you to wear the same uniform as the guardsmen you command when you're old enough to have fathered most of them. It would be more fitting if your presence in Isak's party were justified by something more than the fact that you're the only one who can tell
him when to shut up.'
Carel smiled with the rest of the crowd. Bahl had been extremely impressed when, one evening in Isak's chamber, Carel had clipped the youth round the ear for a typically impious comment. The old Lord had been more impressed that Isak had accepted the chastisement without even a flicker of anger.
Later he'd told his Krann that his relationship with the old man was something to be cherished. Bahl had said nothing about the danger it posed; that they both recognised all too well.
'There's supposed to be some ceremony for this, but most of it is unnecessary. I know Isak is keen to be away. Betyn Carelfolden, please
kneel.'
Carel dropped to one knee immediately, his head bowed low, almost
hiding the surprise on his face. Bahl reached to his hip and drew White Lightning. The massive broadsword looked a little incongruous next to the lush velvets and silks. He lifted the blade and laid it down on Carel's right shoulder. The veteran raised his eyes as the blade stayed
there, instead of moving over to his other shoulder, as would happen with a knighthood. Less than a foot from his eye was one of the spikes that curved out from the wide base of the blade. It was hard to fight the prickle of nervousness as that lethal edge sat so close.
'I don't believe a mere knight should lead the Krann's personal guard. Anvee has few enough nobles at the moment, and more than sufficient land to grant, so I dub you Marshal Carelfolden and confer upon you the manor of Etinn, together with all its rights and revenues.'
Carel gasped in surprise, as did the crowd looking on. There was a heartbeat of silence as the weight on his shoulder seemed to grow too heavy and he swayed forward. Then the sword was lifted and the dragon-liveried guardsmen cheered. Isak reached forward and took Carel by the arm, making a show of congratulating him as he helped
him up.
'I- My Lord, I had not-' Carel stuttered. The estate of Etinn made him a wealthy man in his own right; it was the last thing he'd been expecting. 'I thank you, my Lord. I shall try to be worthy of the
honour.'
Bahl nodded curtly, then turned to Isak. 'Everything is in order?' Isak nodded, his eyes darting down to the sword hanging loosely in
Bahl's hand.
The Lord caught the movement and sheathed the weapon. Isak recognised the twitch on his close-fitting hood as a smile. Their friendship was not yet so close that either would be comfortable when, facing each other, one held a naked blade.
'I think so, though the preparations have all been made for me. Tila has the letters of introduction, Vesna and I carry the gold, in various currencies, gems and promissory notes. Lesarl has fully briefed us on agreements and treaties, such as there are.'
'Good. When you are in Narkang you will be extended as much credit as you require. Lesarl's great- grandfather spent many years restoring our treasury; the money is there to be spent if it secures us the links we
