The stormcaller

impatiently.

Doranei followed the suzerain out and allowed his eager grey to catch up to the horsemen fading into the twilight. Up ahead he could see a neat troop of soldiers, bright against the shadows in their white tunics. At their heart, riding the biggest charger Doranei had ever

seen, was the Krann, gleaming in what light remained of the evening. Even Doranei caught his breath at the sight. The Krann was masked to resemble the blue face of Nartis, but it was the liquid silver that encased his body that made him appear like a God looming in the dark.

The soldiers around him were in full battle-dress, yet their drapes were not the austere colours of the Palace Guard but a dragon design Doranei recognised only from the reports they had received. With the eyes of the forewarned, he picked out the black and gold of Count Vesna riding just behind the Krann, and a startlingly beautiful woman, obviously noble, close to the hero. Behind them rode a thin woman of middle-age and proud bearing, a chaperone, presumably, given Count Vesna's reputation. Who the man riding alongside her was, Doranei could not imagine. He wore the dark, functional clothes of a scout instead of armour, but two rangers already flanked the soldiers.

Well, this is a curious collection we have here, the King's Man thought as he watched the formalities unfold. Suzerain Coadech reined in and the Krann's guards split neatly to allow their Lord to pass through them to the front. The drill had obviously been well practised, Doranei noted with a soldier's eye: there was not a horse's hair moving out of step.

The Krann trotted forward with serene grace, towering over them all. Already I'm wondering how many stories are playing out here, and I've yet to meet the man at the centre.

'Lord Isak, Chosen of Nartis, Heir to Lord Bahl and Suzerain of Anvee,' called the suzerain in a clear voice. 'On behalf of Emin Thonal, King of Narkang and the Three Cities, I bid you welcome to his realm.'

Isak looked out of the window and down on the rows of tables set out in the square below. The old suzerain had given them his own house to use – the finest in town, from what Isak could see. A bath sat, grey and cooling, behind him as he surreptitiously observed the feast being prepared below. The servants were scurrying about, flowing neatly around the town official whose efforts at ordering them around seemed to be creating only disorder. A raised platform stood at the far end of the square, cordoned off from the rough benches where the townsfolk would congregate and toast the health of any foreigner whose arrival prompted free beer.

The platform itself had been draped in white linen and carefully decked in flowers. There was enough room for at least eighty people to sit. Isak sighed heavily at the thought of all the preening nobles and officials lined up and oozing affected pleasure at his presence, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it. Bahl wanted him to be comfortable in court life. Perhaps he intended to reduce the distance that existed between the Lord of the Farlan and his nobles; perhaps he just didn't want to do it himself.

Isak watched the view while drying off, then let the towel drop to the floor as he ran his hands over his head. It was strange to have hair again. Tila had advised him not to keep shaving his head, pointing out that he looked intimidating enough without highlighting the blunt lines of his skull. Turning back to the room he eyed Siulents on the armour stand that had been provided. He took a step towards it, and then caught sight of himself in the mirror.

The armour forgotten, he stood before the full-length mirror and angled it up to observe his naked frame. His reflection had always fascinated Isak: the image he presented to the world was so different to how he saw himself. The stranger in the mirror peered back with equal curiosity, looking for the slender child Isak still pictured himself as. Neither his increased height nor added bulk looked quite right. He didn't particularly care to look as brutally powerful as he obviously did. He sighed. He did like the power residing in his limbs. That would have to be compensation enough.

A knock on the door caused Isak to jump and his gaze flew immediately to Eolis, hanging from one corner of the four-poster bed.

'My Lord?' Mihn's voice sounded from behind the door.

Isak grabbed at the fresh underclothes that Tila had laid out on his bed, pulled them on and then called for his bondsman to enter. Now he knew Mihn's past, Isak found himself remarkably secure in the failed Harlequin's presence. He'd kept all other enquiring eyes from the scar on his chest – the mark of Xeliath's affection, as he joked to himself – except for Mihn, who had seen it and said nothing. Bahl considered it Isak's own business, and Mihn would stay silent until Isak was ready to talk about it. Isak wasn't sure whether he should involve the others to such a degree – Carel, Vesna, Tila: they still had the option of another life.

Vesna grew more devoted to Tila each day. Just watching them share a joke, or smile tenderly at each other, spurred a pang of guilt in Isak. He knew he might well have to ask a lot of his bondsman in the years to come: would he be able to endure Tila's silent condemnation if he called upon the father of her children to commit murder – or worse?

He felt a different shape of guilt at how he might use and abuse Mihn, but he understood the need, and Mihn had nothing else. The foreigner shared something with Xeliath: another broken life Isak carried as a burden, another damaged soul he'd use as a weapon when the time came.

That thought made Isak pause. Even he was beginning to think that he had a purpose in life… In the darkest hours of the night he lay alone and worried that the assumption the Land made, that he had a cause for which to fight, would bring destruction, that any prophecies would be self-fulfilling. Could he cope with what might be required of him?

Mihn entered the room, took one look as Isak and slammed the door shut behind him. Isak's eyes darted up in surprise. The man Doranei has come to speak with you. He will wait.'

Isak pulled on a linen shirt and cream trousers similar to those worn by his guards. 'Send him in,' he ordered. Picking up the tall cavalry boots sitting at the foot of his bed Isak sat and began to fit his feet into them. Doranei sauntered through the door and past Mihn, checking the room for whatever he'd been excluded from seeing before his eyes settled on the Krann. Mihn cut across his path, forcing the King's Man to stop dead, and knelt at Isak's feet to help him with his boots.

Isak gestured to a chair and Doranei drew it up, carefully placing it to one side of Mihn before sitting.

Isak left the boots to Mihn and inspected his visitor. ‘That's an interesting tattoo on your ear.'

Doranei stiffened slightly and turned his head slightly away. Isak couldn't see the actual shape, but he didn't want to make it appear that he was too interested. He'd have bet the entirety of Anvee that he had something to match it.

'Merely the product of a wayward youth, my Lord. I trust everything has been to your satisfaction thus far?'

'It has, but I don't think you're here to see I have enough blankets. So would you like to tell me what a member of the Brotherhood is doing here?'

Doranei didn't blink. 'I, that is, the king, merely wishes to ensure

your passage to Narkang is as unimpeded as possible.' Doranei's Farlan was fluent, with barely a trace of an accent. Lesarl had told them that Farlan was fast becoming the country's second language. Most traders in the north-west spoke Farlan, and the keen merchants of Narkang took even greater pride in their linguistic proficiency. It showed how cosmopolitan Narkang was.

'And I had been advised that these lands were remarkably lawful. Or does the king expect any trouble in particular?' Isak asked.

'Of course not, my Lord. However, I wear the king's device and that gives me the right to commandeer supplies or lodgings on his behalf for your party. Some might also say that our laws are rather more permissive than those of the Farlan. There are several, sometimes competing, parties who call these lands home.' He paused. The Knights of the Temples, for example.'

'Well then, I trust there will be no unpleasantness on their part,' Isak growled.

'I am sure that will be the case. The Knight-Cardinal has submitted a request via the king for an informal meeting, but as such it can be refused with little offence given. In part, my visible presence will ensure that those you meet will not have another guise unknown to you.'

The king's spies are that efficient?'

They are more than competent. Our enemies cannot be certain of what we do or do not know – that limits them in itself.'