The stormcaller

I believe he is one of Duke Forell's guests. Tell him the duel will take place after the presentation of the prizes at the fair. That should relieve them – I'm sure the others know about Count Vesna's ability.'

'Others?' asked Vesna, his coming duel forgotten as his suspicion flared.

'I will take my leave and let your master explain. Oh, the excitement of the Spring Fair…' He was almost dancing as he left the room, Coran at his heel at ever. Only a thin trail of smoke and a line of confused faces remained.Isak suspected that was a frequent happening.

CHAPTER 31

In the grey gloom of early morning, the soldier's shifting feet on the cobbles sounded oddly loud. The night had seen rain clouds roll in from the ocean and with them had come a cool mist and rain, nothing heavy but still not what most had hoped for the coming Spring Fair. His muscles felt cold and stiff after long hours of guard duty. He stared out over the damp empty street, another still, silent part of the city. It was too early for most of Narkang's citizens; only a few distant sounds, some mysterious, most mundane, haunted the empty streets. Even the dawn chorus had yet to rouse into action.

His partner was in the guardroom above, warm and comfortable, seated by the arrow-slit window that overlooked the approach to the palace. The solider opened his mouth to call up and demand they change places when a movement caught his eye. In the inky lee of one house, a cloak fluttered out from the shadow. The soldier flexed his fingers round the shaft of his halberd. Someone was watching him. He hawked noisily and spat on the ground, the saliva glistening in the half-light. A tap-tap came; almost inaudible, but enough to be sure his partner was alert to the possible danger.

The figure remained in the shadows for another ten heartbeats, then slipped round the corner and moved stealthily along the wall. His long cape covered most of his body, but the breeze held it open for a moment, long enough to make out bronze scale-armour and a red sash with markings of rank – an officer of the Devoted.

Tonight has just got more interesting, thought the soldier. The Devoted and the Kingsguard found themselves at odds more often than not. The officers of the Devoted were usually recruited from birth and title. No man in the Kingsguard went anywhere unless it was on merit. He reached back and rapped his knuckles on the door behind him. At night the gates to the palace were, of course, barred. A low door in

the left-hand gate provided the only access until the king was awake. The soldier heard the bolts drawn back as he kept scanning the street beyond. From here he could see no one else, neither companion nor pursuer, but when the hurrying figure crossed the open stretch of road, the soldier kicked back against the door to open it for him.

'I-' The man's voice broke off as the guard jabbed a thumb towards the door. He hesitated for a split second, then nodded and ducked down to step through the small aperture. Staying in the street would expose the visitor, and he was clearly trying to avoid notice. The guards behind the gate could deal with him. The soldier flicked his upright halberd through two well-practised circles and returned his attention to the fading gloom of the streets.

As the officer came through the door, two pairs of boots and two gleaming sword tips welcomed him. He froze, then gently brought himself upright to match the unfriendly gaze of a Kingsguard soldier. The second moved around him to nudge the door closed again and restore the bolts. Only once the gate was secure did anyone speak.

'So, Major,' said the soldier opposite him as he noted the markings on the Knight's scarlet sash. 'What can we do for you this fine night?'

The man looked about the fine courtyard before answering. Even in the murky light the White Palace was beautiful. The roses were black shadows, the gravel paths soft grey, and the host of statues loomed like resident spectres.

'I must speak to the Krann of the Farlan.'

The soldier gave a short laugh. 'Oh well, excuse me a moment while I drag him out of bed by his ear.'

'It is a matter of utmost importance.'

'I'm sure it is,' drawled the soldier. He regarded the earnest face of the major, a young man for his rank, and sheathed his sword. 'It's always important to pious bastards like you lot, but the Lord Isak might not agree. Got a nasty temper on him, I hear.'

'Then wake one of his men and let him decide. I need to be out of the palace before the city wakes.'

The soldier sighed and scratched at his neck idly. 'I'm not so sure you'll make that, but I'll go and wake the commander of the Krann's guard. You can wait in the guardhouse there.'

Isak sat on the side of his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Eolis rested on his thighs. The Kingsguard who'd eventually brought Major Ortof-Greyl to him had spoken first to his senior officer, then to one of the black- clad King's Men who prowled the palace at all times. Finally someone decided it was probably important enough to wake the Krann.

Carel scowled at the major. The marshal looked ruffled and irritable. He'd not bothered with uniform, but the curved blade that he'd named Arugin was ready at hand. The sword reminded him of an aru-gin, a marsh harrier, for the blade's smooth, silent stroke was like the black bird's gliding flight, and the sword, though made of black- iron, had a curious white shimmer, almost like pipe smoke, that resembled the bird's white-tipped wings.

'My Lord, we must speak in private,' the major insisted again.

'I have no secrets from these two,' replied Isak, nodding towards Mihn and Carel. A sudden pang of sadness hit him: that wasn't quite true. Mihn had seen the scar on his chest, but had been given no explanation, and he had kept it hidden from Carel, his oldest and dearest friend, because Carel would demand answers, and Isak didn't know yet what those answers were.

He decided to compromise. 'You can leave,' he ordered the man of the Brotherhood hovering behind the major. The man didn't move for a second, then he bowed. His face remained steadfastly blank as he marched from the room, Mihn close on his heels to ensure the man had no chance to listen in.

'So, Major, why are you here? I thought you people were keeping your distance from me.'

'I- It is true that the Council are unconvinced that you are the Saviour-'

'Well, how did I persuade them of that? No one else seems to believe me.' Isak gave a bitter laugh.

'That is not why I am here. What I came to tell you is that the Knights of the Temples are not as united as you might believe.'

Isak stopped laughing and leaned forward, listening more intently.

'Our Order is going through significant changes. While the old guard remains in control of the Council, the younger generation grows stronger every year.'

'What are you telling me?'

That very soon the Knights of the Temples may not be so hostile towards you – but that is not the main reason I demanded to see you at

so inconvenient a time. There is a group of men within the Knights, of whom I am one-' He stopped, trying to compose himself.

He was less than thirty summers, Isak guessed, and young to be a major. He was obviously finding the situation daunting. Isak smiled. 'I'm listening, Major,' he said encouragingly.

The major swallowed and, almost whispering, said, 'We are few in number, but we know a secret that even the Knight-Cardinal is ignorant of. We believe we have proof enough that you are the Saviour – or if you are not the Saviour, you will be his champion when his coming is nigh.'

'His champion?' wondered Isak aloud.

Mihn looked noncommittal, as usual. The Harlequins did not bear the official history of the Land, but they were impartial recorders of most events. Isak assumed the mention of a champion was just Devoted doctrine, since Mihn offered no other explanation.

'So you want an ally when you try to take power?' Carel didn't bother to disguise the scorn in his voice, but the man looked genu-inely hurt by the suggestion.