and camouflage and swift arrows flashing out from the trees.
Those who bothered to look back at Isak spared the boy only a moment's disinterested gaze. Perhaps they knew why he was here, perhaps not: the only thing Isak knew was that he had much to prove before he would be accepted. No one appeared to care about the colour of his eyes – that made a change, for it made most people keep their distance. He wasn't totally ignored, though, for now the dogs roaming the hall came to greet him, licking at the mud and blood on his bare toes and sniffing up to the empty plate, but once satisfied there was no food left for them, they returned to loiter by the great open fire where they panted and stared longingly at the spitted joints of meat that perfumed the hall.
High above, at the very top of the Tower of Semar, Lord Bahl paced in his quarters as the gifts destined for his new Krann called out through the lonely night. Whatever they were, they gnawed at his mind, but
Bahl was a disciplined man, one who knew well the corrupting nature of magic- He had no intention of letting magic rule him as it had Atro, the previous Lord of the Parian.
Lord Atro had ruled the tribe for four hundred years before Bahl killed him. An evil man even before he came to the palace, he had delighted in his newly found power and had murdered, tortured and defiled as he pleased. Raiding tombs and desecrating temples had fed his addiction for magical artefacts, and the more he loved them, the more they called to him. By the time that Bahl fought his celebrated duel with Atro, the old Lord had been barely coherent, but even so, the battle had nearly cost Bahl his life.
'My Lord, please calm yourself. The boy is down below, but he can wait. I need you to relax, or we will lose our new Krann in a matter of minutes.' Lesarl, Bahl's Chief Steward, stood at a table to one side of the room. Bahl was not one for fine surroundings: the chamber, the smallest and loneliest room at the very top of the tower, was unimpressive by anyone's standards. Bahl was content with simple but sturdy furniture – a small oak table, a pair of overfilled bookshelves and an oversized bed that took up much of the remaining room. It was a retreat from life as much as from the opulence in the palace's public rooms below. Apart from that, all that could be said for it was that it commanded the best view of the mountains – on those days when mist didn't obscure the city.
'Why today?' He looked at his Steward.
'I have no idea. A test for you?'
This elicited only a grunt, but Lesarl hadn't expected much more. He poured a glass of wine from the jug on the table and held it out to his lord until Bahl sighed and took it. With Lord Bahl in this mood he was capable of anything. Getting a jug of wine down his throat might actually help matters.
'I was wondering whether you would return tonight. You've never spent so long in the forest before today.'
'I always return.'
'Is it worse?'
Always worse.'
Lesarl warmed his hands in front of the fire and looked up at the only painting in the room. What was most remarkable about the Painting was not the artistic detail, nor the undeniable beauty of the woman who lay beside a stream, but the contented smile on her lips, for these were the lips of a white-eye. Lesarl had never – he thanked the Gods – actually met a female white-eye, but they were known to be as selfish and aggressive as their male counterparts. All white-eyes were born with violence in their blood, and no matter how lovely, how serene she looked in this picture, this woman would have been a real danger when roused.
'Lesarl, stop staring. Your place is not to remind me of the past,' Bahl growled, his hand reaching for the ring hanging from a delicate chain around his neck. Inch, the girl in the painting, was pictured wearing that very ring. The painting and the ring were the only things Bahl had kept.
Tm sorry, my Lord,' the Chief Steward said, turning back to face Bahl. 'Her face always distracts me. I swear those eyes follow me down every corridor like a nursemaid.'
'A nursemaid? She should have been mother to her own children.' For a moment Bahl forgot the boy and the God's gifts below and was drawn into a happier time, but the call of the present – or maybe the future – brought his attention back to Lesarl. 'So, are you going to tell me what you took down there with Lord Hit? I can feel something unusual, nothing I am familiar with. There is…' His words tailed off.
'Are you sure?' began Lesarl.
'Yes damn you,' roared Bahl, 'I think I know my own weaknesses well enough! Your place is not to lecture me.'
Lesarl shrugged, hands held out in a conciliatory gesture. He could not argue with that: it was Lord Bahl's ability to turn those very weaknesses into strengths that had rebuilt the Parian nation. 'It's a suit of armour and a blade.'
'And?' demanded the white-eye. 'I can tell there's something more – I feel it grating at my bones.'
'My knowledge is limited, my Lord, but I don't believe there can be any mistaking them. Siulents and Eolis, the weapons of Aryn Bwr, are back.'
Bahl inadvertently spat out his mouthful of wine and crushed the glass to powdered crystal. Aryn Bwr: the last king. His crimes had caused his true name to be expunged from history. Aryn Bwr, first among mortals, had united the entire elven people after centuries of conflict, and the Gods had showered him with gifts – but peace was not the elven king's true motive. Aryn Bwr had forged weapons
powerful beyond imagination, powerful enough to slay even Gods of the Upper Circle, and he had led his people against their makers. The Great War lasted only seven years, but the taint of the horrors committed by both sides lingered, millennia on.
'Gods, no wonder Hit didn't come to me…' His voice tailed off.
'I couldn't believe it, holding Eolis in my hands…' Lesarl's voice
was shaking too.
'Is our new Krann fortunate or cursed?' Bahl wondered.
'Who knows? The most perfect armour ever made, a blade that killed Gods -1 don't think I would want them at
They will make him the focus of every power broker and madman in the entire Land. That is something I would curse few with.' Bahl frowned, brushing fragments of glass into the fire.
'How many prophecies mention them?'
'Neglecting your studies, Lesarl?'
He laughed. 'I cannot deny it – but in my defence I
'It is the most complicated of sciences; it can take a lifetime to understand the rambling mess they come out with.'
'So what are we to believe?'
'Nothing.' Bahl laughed humourlessly. 'Live your life according to prophecy? That's only for the ignorant and the desperate. All you need to know is what others believe: the cult of Shalstik, the prophecy of the Devoted, of the Flower in the Waste, of the Saviour, of the Forsaken… Know your enemy and anticipate his attack. With the unexpected arrival of this new Krann, the eyes of the whole Land will be upon us. The longer we can keep his gifts a secret, the better.'
'Will that be possible?' Lesarl looked dubious. 'When the Krann is seen without gifts, half the wizards in the city will become curious. I don’t know what their daemon guides will be able to tell them, but power attracts attention. Someone will work it out, surely. The Siblis ~ they could sense them from who knows how far away?'
‘The Siblis used magic so powerful it was killing them, I doubt anyone else will be making so great an effort. But yes, you're right: at some point someone will work it out, but any delay helps us. If the mages get there first, at least they will probably come to you for confirmation. Flatter their intelligence and wisdom, then make it clear that people will die if it becomes common knowledge that Siulents and Eolis are back in play. We'll decide how to deal with anything the priests might say some other time. For now, let's go and see whether the boy is worth all the trouble he brings.'
Isak dozed at the table, his head resting on his arms, despite the constant rumble of conversation that filled the room. The bitter scent of fat drifted over from the fire and in his soporific state he licked his lips, tasting again the venison stew with which he'd filled his belly. Meat was a rare pleasure in Isak's life, for hunting rights were exclusive to those folk who paid for permission. Nomads, travellers, the poor – they could only supplement their
