Isak rose and took the dragon-embossed tunic from Mihn. As he pulled it on and fastened the toggles he retained eye contact with the King's Man.
'You have an unusual manservant, my Lord.'
A flicker of discomfort passed over Mihn's face.
'Really.'
'And Count Vesna rides with you too. I'm sure he will be as popular with the husbands of this town as that attractive young lady will be with the wives.'
Isak made no reply as he fixed his long white cloak about his shoulders with a dragon clasp. The evening was going to be quite long enough without having to banter words now. He turned to the mirror to see how the Land would view him now. There was no hiding the bulging muscles and massive frame, but the reflection was as civilised as Isak had ever looked. A smile appeared on his lips.
Apart from his first fitting of this suit, back at Tirah Palace, this was the first time he had worn his crest like this. He spent a wordless minute following each and every line of that dragon image, the golden curls of its claws and proud rampant stance.
'So tell me about Morghien. I hear he is more than he appears.'
Doranei chuckled at that, scratching at his freshly shaved face as he smiled. To tell you about Morghien, that is where I would start. Unfortunately, it also explains how I would end. Did the Seer tell you about him?'
'No, he was waiting for me on the road.' Isak caught Doranei's reflection in the mirror, but saw nothing more than vague surprise on the man's face.
'I learned a little about Morghien – and you – from the Seer, but not enough, I suspect. What did interest me was that Morghien gave me a letter for your king.'
'And you read it?'
'I could hardly believe that was not the intention. It's there, in that pack by Siulents.'
Isak pointed to the one he meant and Mihn retrieved the scroll. Doranei opened it and scanned the first few lines. 'Velere's Fell,' he muttered to himself.
'A year ago I would have thought that to be a ghost story, but not since I heard about the Malich affair, about the Azaer cult-' Isak saw the hardened soldier flinch at his words and knew he'd scored some sort of hit.
'Please, my Lord, now is not the time. As it is, I am not the man you should speak to about this…' His voice trailed off as Isak held up a hand.
There was an angry glare in his eyes. 'Let me guess, the king is the one I should speak to. I've heard that before and it grows old.' The white-eye took a step forward, but Doranei managed not to shrink away from the looming figure.
Then I can only apologise. I am a servant of the king and I know only what I need to know to perform whatever function is required of me. As you can tell, King Emin is a man who keeps much to himself – but from this letter, from my presence, I can only assume he intends to provide you with answers. I understand your frustration, but please, be patient and enjoy our hospitality until we reach Narkang.'
Isak grimaced, but made no further comment. He swept the
sheathed Eolis off the bedpost and fastened the sword-belt about his waist. With one hand resting on the emerald hilt, he cocked his head at Doranei and forced a smile on to his lips. 'Well then, lead on to this hospitality.'
CHAPTER 29
The journey to Narkang was swift and pleasant. The Parian party was carried by luxurious barge down the Morwhent River, accompanied by a merry procession of boats of all shapes and sizes. To Isak's immense surprise, he found the noblemen who welcomed him into their manors each evening to be likeable and open people; King Emin's rule was now twenty years established, but the titles were still held by those who had supported his conquest. In the place of the old nobility the king had installed merchants, ambitious minor nobles and more than a few pirates and smugglers who'd joined the war effort. It was said that Emin Thonal couldn't resist the friendship of an arrogant rogue, though a number of those had found to their cost that the king was not a man whose trust could be abused.
The Farlan saw a vibrant nation, proud of their successes and unashamed that they had no particular one of the seven tribes to call ancestor. It was a long way from how the Farlan liked to think of the 'lesser peoples', but that it worked was undeniable. When they exercised their horses each morning and evening it was with an escort of elite Kingsguard who clearly held the Ghosts up as their benchmark and were keen to prove themselves their equal in horsemanship and sparring. The competitions were good-natured and cheered on by the local people whose adulation of the Kingsguard was marvelled at by the Ghosts. Leaning over the barge's rail, watching the fields sliding past, Carel pointed out that it wasn't only Isak who had something to learn from this nation.
Isak cantered gently up the slope, studying the King's Man waiting for them at the top of the ridge. They were approaching Narkang, so they'd spent the whole morning in the saddle: tradition dictated that Farlan always ride into a foreign city and Isak wasn't about to break
with custom just yet. Doranei had taken himself off that morning, riding ahead of the party to ensure its path was unhindered.
Despite Isak's initial suspicions, Doranei had proved good company as they travelled through the country he loved. The man knew when to talk and when to keep a comfortable silence. The Krann suspected he had a few secrets of his own – perhaps all of the Brotherhood did – and they had taught him the value of silence.
There was a sparkle of spring in the air. A brisk breeze ran over the fields and whistled over the road before shivering through the branches of a bank of ash trees on the other side. Through the trees Isak could see neat rows of crops and a manor house in the distance. Boys lazed on a paddock fence, coaxing horses over to them, while the cattle they were tending drifted aimlessly in the meadow. As Isak and his companions neared the peak of the rise, the wind changed direction and brought the taste of salt from the ocean.
They reached Doranei, who stretched an arm out to present his city.
'Behold, my Lord: Narkang, First City of the West.'
Beside Isak, Tila gasped. A wide, open plain stretched out before them, painted the vibrant green of spring and dotted with dark copses of copper beech and elm. In from the east came the Morwhent, the river that had carried them most of the way to the city, now running wide and slow. A pair of high arches spanned the river to a small island in the centre, which allowed the sandstone city wall to run unbroken even by the river's passage.
From the banks of the river the wall followed the curve of the ground up and around in a gentle undulation to encircle wide regular streets of purple-slate rooftops.
Occupying the higher ground deeper inside was what could only have been the White Palace, its twin silver- capped towers glittering in the sunlight. The lower ground of the western side, where the river entered the city, was hidden by the walls, but a great copper dome shone in the sunlight. Past that, faint in the distance, Isak could see a soaring slender tower that would have been remarkable even in Tirah.
And somewhere even further beyond, vague and grey in the distance, lay the ocean. Isak could feel the immense weight of water lurking at the back of his mind, an old and powerful presence, but comforting nonetheless. The magnificence of the ocean, stretching out to the distant horizon, beyond which lived the Gods, overshadowed even the glory that was Narkang.
A thousand flags fluttered and whipped from the walls of the city, a disordered mix of colours and shapes, and a huge banner hung above the Southern Gate. The banner was almost as large as the massive copper-plated gate itself, and even at this distance, the visitors could easily make out the golden bee with its wings outstretched over the green background.
'It's a fine sight, is it not, my Lord?' continued Doranei as the remaining Farlan soldiers vied for position to take in the view. 'Visiting foreign climes is an easier thing to do when you've Narkang's smile to return to.'
'A fine sight indeed.' Vesna and Carel nodded their agreement. The city was confirmation that Narkang's power equalled that of Tirah, and they all knew it.
As if Narkang was not enough, the low plain in front of the city was a hive of activity. At least ten great pavilions and stands were being erected, while long swathes of tent cloth lay out on the ground, ready to be
