The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (10 page)

With a howl, the knight threw himself forward, hacking savagely with his slender blade, any pretence of form now gone. The white-eye again suppressed the almost overwhelming urge to charge, instead contenting himself with warding off the blows while waiting for the opening he knew would come. The crowd moved to keep up with Isak’s steady retreat.

The knight was beginning to tire now, and finally Isak launched his own attack. He might not have been trained to the rapier, but Isak was young, and immensely strong, and extremely fast. Now he used all that roaring power to direct a flurry of blows at Sir Dirass that stopped the knight in his tracks. His thrusts were clumsy, but they were fierce. Carel had been trained on the battlefield, and that was the way he’d taught Isak: momentum was crucial: the advancing infantry, the charging cavalry - theirs was the victory to take.

For the first time, the knight looked a little uneasy, but then Isak moved forward and suddenly realised he was closer than he had intended. He jumped back quickly, but Sir Dirass had seen it too and lunged as hard as he could. Isak just escaped, arms splayed out wide as he fought for balance, then swung out hard at the knight’s neck. Sir Dirass had almost lost his footing in the lunge but he got his shield up in time. Both stepped back unscathed.

There was a smile on Isak’s face now. He had the measure of his enemy; now to irritate the knight into foolishness. His darting steps became more pronounced; his shield dropped a little lower and his grin broadened. Sir Dirass’s face tightened. A pace forward closed the ground between them. The knight’s sword was ready as he waited for Isak to retreat to where a second step would bring the knight close enough to run Isak through. That second step never came.

With an astonished gasp, Sir Dirass looked deep into the cold eyes of his killer as Isak stepped into the feint. No emotion showed on Isak’s face as his sword-tip slid between the knight’s ribs.

Sir Dirass shuddered and went completely still, his fury turned to disbelief. He took an involuntary breath, and the onlookers gasped with him. Isak’s movement had been so smooth that it took them a moment to realise he’d run Sir Dirass through. The knight’s arms wavered, then dropped. He fell to his knees. With a quick jerk, Isak withdrew the blade. A spurt of blood followed it, splashing on to his borrowed boots. The corpse sagged and crumpled to the ground.

No one spoke. Isak stared down at the body with the rest of them. Now his stomach felt empty. The addictive rush of violence had been replaced by a palpable absence, a cold ball aching inside. He couldn’t regret what he’d done; the man had meant to kill him - even an inexperienced swordsman like Isak recognised that. The breeze brought a taste of bread on the wind, a tantalising smell. He was starving. He wiped the blade clean on his shirt, turned, without a word, and headed back to the Great Hall.

Tila watched him go, sickness and fear welling inside. The bitter taste of bile sat at the back of her throat.

What sort of a man are you?
She wanted to scream out the words. How
can you be so meek and unsure one moment, then so brutal the next! Are you no different to the rest of your kind after all?

She had once watched her uncle killed in a duel, but that fight had been wild and ragged. Here, Isak had moved like a Harlequin dancing the steps to an epic poem, but he had been so dismissive when he ran the man through. For certain Sir Dirass had tried to kill Isak, but the vacant expression on Isak’s face chilled her. Tila stood and stared with the soldiers until Isak had disappeared through the tall doors of the Great Hall, then the spell was broken and Swordmaster Kerin barked an order - angry sounds that Tila could not form into words. She drifted forward, hardly noticing that she had picked up the scabbard, and went after Isak. She was terrified to face him, but still she followed.

‘Well, Kerin, please explain yourself.’ Lesarl’s voice sounded cold, but his eyes laughed and danced. ‘Our new Krann was in mortal danger, he not?’

‘Yes, Chief Steward.’ Eyes downcast, Kerin felt the weight of the day’s events grow darker and heavier with every passing moment. ‘I did not foresee Sir Dirass acting that way - we were far from friendly, but I didn’t think he would disobey a direct order. Sir Dirass went for a cut to the groin, then Lord Isak began to bait him, insulting his family to get him angry. I think the Krann decided to kill him after that.’

‘And you’re surprised?’ Bahl’s voice was quiet, restrained. Kerin had expected fury, but this disturbed him even more. ‘The knight went for a killing blow; Lord Isak’s a white-eye, you do remember that? What were you thinking to put him in a duel? You’d not have done that with any of the other white-eyes under your command.’

‘I-‘ Kerin looked helpless, hardly able to explain a decision he himself didn’t understand. His memory was dream-like, as though he was not completely sure he had even given the order. ‘I thought Isak would keep his temper, I thought Sir Dirass would obey my orders-‘

‘I think the Swordmaster is showing his age,’ Lesarl interrupted. ‘Perhaps it is time I organised a quiet pension somewhere; some rich widow out in the country, maybe?’

‘My mind is as sound as ever,’ snapped Kerin. ‘Dirass Certinse was always an impetuous man. Yes, he was desperate for his Eagle, but killing the Krann? He has -
had -
more sense than that.’

‘Then why, my Swordmaster, is that exactly what he tried to do?’ Still Bahl was not angry.

‘I cannot say. He looked like a man possessed, but-‘

‘That,’ said Lesarl firmly, ‘is a theory you will refrain from advancing in any other company, unless you want to find yourself closeted away in a monastery for the rest of your life.’

Kerin was taken aback at the strength of Lesarl’s reaction. ‘I didn’t mean-‘

‘I don’t care what you meant, or what you think. If I hear the slightest mention of malign influences affecting the decisions made out there today, I will hold you responsible for them.’

‘Yes,’ rumbled Bahl in a thoughtful way. ‘That idea is a disturbing notion. It will be dissuaded. Let them dwell instead on the fact that he is a natural soldier. By the time he leads troops into battle, he will be able to match more than just one potential Swordmaster.’ The old lord gestured towards the door. ‘Thank you, Swordmaster. That is all.’

Unable to voice any of his many questions, Kerin bowed his head in acknowledgement, still a little stunned that the matter had been dealt with so swiftly. By the time he collected himself and made for the door, Bahl had already turned his attention back to the papers on his desk.

Bahl waited until he heard the door close behind Kerin, then pushed the papers away and looked over to his Chief Steward’s expectant face-

‘I will speak to the boy, remind him of the importance of retaining his composure, and not destroying valuable soldiers.’

‘And what of Certinse’s parents? When they hear of it, the suzerain will lodge a suit against Isak and the Swordmaster. Damn the boy, why couldn’t he have killed someone rather less important? If he’s desperate for blood there are plenty of criminals in the gaol.’

‘Enough, Lesarl; his blood was up and the man tried to kill him. You can’t expect less from a white-eye; I would have done the same. I’m more interested in why this happened at all. Kerin’s too sensible to start this duel, and Sir Dirass was a grown man. Quite aside from the fact that he’s fought with white-eyes before and must know their temper, the political problems it would bring alone would have stopped his hand.’

Bahl stared over his desk at the blank wall, deep in thought. Then he looked at Lesarl. ‘Aracnan said there had been something wrong when he met the boy; you say the father demanded Isak be hanged last night, and now a intelligent man takes it upon himself to defy orders and attempt to kill him,’ he said softly.

Aracnan’s words the previous night came back to him.
The boy’s trouble, but now he is your trouble.
He expected those words to come up rather often now.

‘Well, speaking of problems,’ Lesarl broke in, ‘Cardinal Certinse has demanded an explanation. The arrogant bastard’s already acting as though he were High Cardinal of Nartis. He informs me that he has written to both of his brothers to let them know about “this latest outrage”. I don’t know whether the man still thinks he can intimidate me, but I had hoped to put this problem with the Knights of the Temples behind us. Knight-Cardinal Certinse might use this as an excuse to come home, and perhaps bring a few of his men along for Protection. If that looks likely, I’d sooner have him killed before he crosses our border.’

‘I think you’re getting ahead of yourself there.’

‘Well, you must admit it is a possibility. The Cardinal and Suzerain Certinse I can probably shut up; the Knight-Cardinal is a different matter. What would you have me do there?’

Bahl sighed. ‘Let’s deal with Isak first. The Devoted are a problem for another day.’

Quitin Amanas was a strange man. His family and friends all knew it, and it looked like the palace guardsman standing stiffly before his desk was well on the way to forming that same opinion. No doubt his reaction to Lord Bahl’s summons was not quite what the man had expected, because Amanas was relieved rather than apprehensive. Though the new Krann had been in the palace barely a week and the city was still aflame with gossip about him, Amanas had been expecting this summons for a lot longer; he would be glad to finally meet the one at the root of all this excitement. Tell me, young man, what’s the Krann like?’

The soldier blinked in surprise. ‘He’s-well, he’s a white-eye. They’re all pretty much the same, aren’t they, sir?’

‘But he’s one of the Chosen, and that will make him different.’ ‘Still a white-eye, sir - quiet till you piss him off - ah, if you’ll pardon the expression, sir. Killed a man on his first day; they say he did it like it was an everyday occurrence.’ ‘I’m sure there was more to it than that.’

‘Oh, probably, sir,’ the guardsman agreed quickly, rather patronisingly in Amanas’s opinion, ‘but that’s all I’ve heard.’

‘Tell me, do you know what I do?’

‘You, sir? Well the library is where all the family trees are kept. I suppose you’re needed to sort out his estates, now that he’s a suzerain.’

Amanas wrinkled his nose, the guardsman smelled how soldiers always smelled: a damp scent of metal and ripe sweat-stained leather that the pristine white livery covering it could do nothing about-The longer the guardsman stood there, the more palpable it became - hardly his fault, of course, but still it made Amanas uncomfortable-Men of violence were unpredictable. He imagined it would be a small thing for the guardsman to draw the sword at his side and run him through. No doubt as a soldier he had done it many times before. Once more would probably matter little at his day of judgement. It troubled Amanas to be confronted by such a person.

‘I do keep the library, but I also produce the crests and colours for newly ennobled men, as well as personal emblems for men of good family when they come of age. No doubt you thought that was just a case of drawing a suitable creature to carry on your shield?’

The soldier shrugged, plainly confused by the whole situation. ‘I won’t deny that I’ve dreamed of a knighthood, like every man in the Guard, but I’ve never really thought about that part of it, how the crest would be drawn up.’

‘Actually, it is a little more complicated than just “drawing something up”. It requires a blend of magic and artistry. If you like, I could show you how. Give me your hand.’

At the mere mention of magic the guardsman recoiled from Amanas’s outstretched hand.

‘No? Oh well, perhaps it would be tempting Fate - her sense of humour is somewhat notorious, after all. In any case, my powers are very weak and specialised. When I touch a man I can visualise something of his spirit, and what he could become. The interpretation is, of course, a vastly different matter, and much depends on context. Karlat Lomin is a good example of that; you know of him, Scion Lomin?’

The guard nodded. ‘Of course, sir. Everyone’s saying how his father the duke has taken a turn for the worse; that he won’t last through winter. It won’t be long until the scion becomes the fourth-most powerful man in the country. And last week,’ he added in a concerned voice, ‘the Krann killed Scion Lomin’s cousin in weapons training - ran him right through, sir.’

‘So I heard, most unfortunate. The scion’s crest is that of a snarling wolf’s head. The obvious implications are borne out by his noted prowess at arms, but if you take his family crest into consideration - a castle keep - then it could just as easily refer to how men see wolves, as savage and violent creatures.’

The guardsman took a step back. ‘I wouldn’t know about that, sir, but I’d advise you to be more careful with your opinions of the scion; you’d have to be mad to get on the wrong side of him.’

‘Oh, I’m not important enough to bother the great house of Lomin.

In any case, my talents are very useful to the nobility in general. You need to have a tendency towards prophecy to do what I do and that’s rare enough to protect me.’

The guard took another step back, his expression showing that he really did think Amanas was mad now.

‘Oh now, don’t look like that. There are clear signs of becoming a true prophet. You’re quite safe from me.’ Amanas chuckled. It was nice to have the man of violence worried. The poor souls who went beyond foresight and became prophets were left utterly insane by the things they saw; most had to be chained up for the safety of everyone concerned.

‘My point was that this is something I can do when I’m in the presence of the man, in contact with him,’ he explained. ‘But this Krann… I’ve never met the man, but for months I’ve been dreaming of a crest. I’d had it made up it into a shield even before the Krann was Chosen. He must be more than just a white-eye to have that effect.’

The guardsman didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. He was disquieted by the whole conversation. After a long pause, he said gruffly, ‘Well, we’d better not keep Lord Bahl waiting.’

Amanas nodded and rose to lead his guest to the library, a dark room panelled in old oak, with scroll-holes down the left-hand side and two rows of reading shelves on the right. A number of lecterns stood in the centre. Some huge books, obviously valuable, were chained to the reading shelves, but the Keymaster ignored these and instead shuffled along to the door at the far end which opened into something that looked like a jeweller’s strong-room.

Once Amanas had unlocked it and retrieved a lamp from one of the lecterns, the guardsman could see neat piles of paper on the narrow shelves that lined the cabby - and on one shelf, something large, wrapped in some sort of dark cloth.

Amanas moved some of the papers out of the way and reverentially withdrew the object. He looked over his shoulder and glared at the guardsman. ‘Do you know why two of your comrades stand guard outside my office door?’

‘No, sir, only that Chief Steward Lesarl ordered it.’

‘Ah yes, the Chief Steward; a man of remarkable insight. This library is more precious thar most people realise. It was all I could do to keep it from being moved to the palace or Cold Halls once Lesarl realised that. Our nobility is a faithless breed that sires bastards as though they were in competition. My records are meticulous - they must be so - and my skills allow me to see through the lies. I suspect only the Chief Steward, one of his agents and I know the full extent of a certain count’s escapades, but since some of those sired are at marrying age now, a watchful eye must be kept on negotiations.

‘Even the Dukes of Perlir and Merlat travel to Tirah to present their heirs to me; they all understand the need for such a tradition, and it has become a rite of passage nowadays. I suspect white-eyes have less of a care for such things though, hence my summons.’

Gathering up the corners of the material, Amanas balanced it precariously in the crook of his arm while he wrestled with the lock. When the guardsman offered to help he gave the man a grim look in reply and struggled on by himself, careful not to expose any part of the object to the man’s view.

He hugged it protectively to himself as they walked down the street side by side. The Heraldic Library was in the oldest district of the city, surrounded by the tall, ancient buildings where the oldest families lived and the richer dukes and suzerains had their - now much-neglected - court residences.

Cutting through the merchants’ quarter took the pair on to Hunter’s Ride, the road that ran from the river to intersect Palace Walk where it began its gentle climb towards Tirah Palace. The day was wet and dull; a scattering of early snow had briefly clothed the city in white, but it was too warm for the flakes to settle. Many of the innumerable statues that lined the city streets were crying tears of melted snow, which struck the Keymaster as a poor omen.

It was market day in Irienn Square up ahead so the guard nudged Amanas right, down Hunter’s Ride, and the noise and bustle of the docks fell away behind them. Folk kept a respectful distance, standing aside to let them past, and one woman with a basketful of eels afforded Amanas a sympathetic look, assuming the worst.

Everyone was out today, going about the ten thousand different tasks that keep any city running smoothly. A portly man stamped heavily down the other side of the street from them; the thick gold chain around the man’s neck and clerks scuttling in his wake marked him as a successful merchant.

Then Amanas caught sight of a gutter-runner moving along the edge of the tiled roof high above the merchant’s head. Like all those who lived above ground, he was dressed only in rags and had little meat on his bones. They were scavengers who used the network of rooftops to travel quickly across the city. People often used them as the quickest way to get important information to its destination. The gutter-runners had a fierce code of honesty that ensured they were tolerated - even somewhat fondly - by Tirah’s citizens. It was perfectly possible that the merchant was the child’s employer that morning.

Amanas and his escort were waved through the barbican gate by the pikemen flanking it. When they emerged back into the daylight, Amanas hissed in irritation at the mud caking his boots. He insisted on stopping to scrape off the worst of it before he was ready to labour his way up the open stairs to the Great Hall.

Finally he stepped over the threshold, squinting, and for a brief moment he felt like a fish out of water; foolish and delicate in a world that was not his own. He could hear the laughter of men ringing in his ears. He had dreamed of this scene several weeks past, and though dreams themselves usually meant nothing, dreams of the Chosen before they come to power were different: they spoke of the Gods. He remembered her emerald gaze - eyes that could pierce the darkest recesses of the soul. He knew of only one Goddess whose eyes were green, and Fate was not a patient mistress.

The Keymaster tightened his grip and entered the hall. It was years since Amanas had last come here, and in the intervening period it had hardly changed: it was still a dark and smelly army mess, lacking even the meagre dignity one might hope for in an elite legion. Groups of men were clumped around the two rows of tables that led up to the high table at the far end. Even that was hardly grander than the others, just a little longer and set on a raised platform.

Amanas moved into the centre of the room and paused briefly to look around at the fading heraldry and flags that hung from the root beams. Then he advanced a little further until Lord Bahl looked up-He stopped and waited to be addressed, but the old white-eye did nothing more than tap the young man beside him and returned to his conversation with Chief Steward Lesarl.

The youth was clearly the new suzerain, a white-eye who towered over Amanas when he stood, but still conceded both height and weight to the Duke of Tirah. The Krann stared at the Keymaster for a few moments, then stabbed his eating dagger into the table top and walked around the table to reach the man, licking his fingers as he did. Amanas gave a short bow, cut short as his eyes reached the sword at Isak’s hip. Wgen he saw that he gave a slight sqawk, prompting a smile to-appear on the Krann’s face.

‘Something wrong?’

‘Certainly, my Lord Suzerain; that sword that you are wearing is not your sword.’

‘So?’

‘So it belong to the Knight-Defender of Tirah and should only be worn by him.’

The Krann looked back towards the high table in confusion. ‘I thought it beloiged to Kerin? He’s the one who lent it to me’

Amanas winced at the informality. ‘Swordmaster Kerin is the Knight-Defender of Tirahi - that is the full title of the man who commands the Swordmasters..’

‘I still don’t understand.’

The question in Lord Isak’s voice attracted Lesarl’s attention.The Chief Steward spoke up before Amanas could reply. ‘He means, my Lord, that it’s a gross breach of protocol to wear a ceremonial weapon belonging to arother man.’

‘Kerin didn’t seem to mind,’ Isak countered sharply.

‘Unlike some present,’ replied the Chief Steward, gesturing to the newcomer.

‘Enough. Argue when you’re elsewhere.’ Bahl didn’t look up, but gestured for Lesarl to continue their conversation.

‘Well,’ continued Isak after a careful pause, ‘if you have nothing more to criticise about my attire, Lord Bahl said you needed to speak to me about my crest.’

‘Normally, yes my Lord Suzerain. In this case, however, it will not be necessary.’ With a flourish, Amanas slipped the covering from the shield and held it up to the light.

A gasp ran around the room as the Keymaster held up a polished silver teardrop shield and turned almost a full circle to show everyone present Isak’s crest embossed in gold.

Isak gaped at the shield. It was the work of a jeweler rather than a blacksrnith. Even in the faint light, the glitter of the gold momentarily dazzled him. It took him a while to properly take in the image on the shield itself, the crest that he would wear on his clothes for the rest of his life and would fly from his banners when he rode to war.

Rearing high on its hind legs, claws ready to tear and rend, was a dragon of purest gold. Isak could see the fangs curving down from its mouth and a set of horns curling back past its head. He could feel the anger in the set of its shoulders, the sweep of its wings, something he recognised only too well. This was the taste of his own familiar rage given form.

Then his hand started to tremble as something else drew his eye. He reached out to take the shield from Amanas. A crown hovered above the dragon’s head and as he saw that, foreboding sank into Isak’s stomach, as heavy as gold.

‘Careful, my Lord, the silver is still quite delicate,’ Amanas warned.

That’s solid silver? Then why-?’

The Keymaster held up a hand to suppress the question, then bent down and placed the green velvet in which the shield had been wrapped on the floor. He placed the shield face-up on the material, then stepped back.

Isak opened his mouth to speak, but before he could think of anything to say he felt a pulse of warmth come from the pile: magic… He turned to Bahl. The old Lord had also noticed; he fixed his stern gaze on the shield.