Tom Lloyd - The Twilight herald

'I will do as I am commanded, my Lord.' Cardinal Disten bowed low, then gestured to a group of men who lingered on foot behind him. 'May I present Brother-Captain Sheln, and Count Macove, a major of our order.'

Both men bowed low to Isak, who nodded as he inspected his newest allies. They were dressed in black studded leather and painted cuirasses and carrying their peaked Y-slit helms. Their heavy cavalry sabres were sheathed. The brother-captain was a grim, craggy-faced man of about fifty summers whose skin had an unhealthy grey pallor. There was a cold immovability about Brother-Captain Sheln that Isak was immediately wary of; there was no compassion in those eyes, and he had a sense of remorselessness, and ruthlessness – not what Isak wanted to see in the face of a religious fanatic, no matter whose side he said he was on. Isak had the impression the man was carved from stone…

Count Macove was younger, and looked like the dour expression worn by most of the dark monks didn't come so easily to him. As if to confirm Isak's first thought, Vesna approached and took the man's arm in a familiar gesture.

'I hadn't expected piety from you, Macove,' Vesna exclaimed, a broad smile cracking across his face.

'Good to see you too,' the man replied in equal cheer. 'As for my piety, we must all grow up and take responsibility for our lives at some point – even you'll find yourself doing so one day.'

Isak opened his mouth to make a comment, then closed it again. He was the Duke of Tirah now, and barrack-room banter was hardly ap¬propriate. Instead, he looked around at the other dark monks nearby.

'Is Suzerain Saroc not with you?'

The brother-captain didn't react to his words, but Count Macove betrayed a flicker of uncertainty that made Isak press the matter.

'Come on, I could hardly expect two forces to be tramping around without at least one alerting the suzerain. Since I see no hurscals or banners, I would guess he's part of your order and just too far away to introduce himself yet. If, however, he is deliberately snubbing his new liege lord, I will have to take offence and replace him with someone a little more respectful unless he steps forward right bloody now!' Isak's voice had risen to a shout.

'My Lord,' called a cowled figure standing twenty yards off. Revealing his face to the daylight, Suzerain Saroc marched forward to kneel before Isak, his cheeks red. The suzerain was a remarkably short man, but powerful, almost a direct opposite to the second man who stepped forward, a pace behind Saroc, and also knelt. Isak glimpsed the devices sewn over their hearts, the only signs of nobility they wore. Saroc's was a red chalice; the other man bore a white ice cobra. Isak recognised it even as the owner spoke.

'Forgive us for not coming to greet you, my Lord,' said Suzerain Tori, his pale face contrasting with the black uniform when he pulled back his cowl. 'It is our policy to keep those with power in the Order from having to confront their lieges as emissaries for the Brethren. Our Order does not play the great game. We have no wish to act as though we were making a show of who our members are, lest it cause complications.'

Isak frowned momentarily, then reached out a hand to take the suzerain's arm in greeting.

'That's the second time you've fought by my side; if such crimes were the only ones I had to forgive, I would be a far happier man. But what are you doing here? You're a long way from your home…'

'I am. I was in the hills on the Danva-Foleh border on business when an associate informed me of Lord Bahl's death. As I came in search of Suzerain Saroc, one of my agents informed me that the Duke of Lomin had left with his hurscals suddenly, so we decided to keep track of them.'

'A welcome decision for me – but how did you find out about Lord Bahl's death so quickly if you've come from the Danva border?'

Tori's expression was grim. 'The Brethren have a number of – we'll call them associates – who use unorthodox methods – and in certain cases, lack sanity. These are not men we have brought into our Order, but we often find uses for them.'

'That's not an explanation,' Isak pointed out. The suzerain looked uncomfortable for a moment, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he struggled to match the looming white-eye's stare.

'The College of Magic would describe him as a rogue mage, which he is, but not in an insane or impious way. His methods simply differ from other mages, and that makes him a valuable asset.'

'So why did you hesitate to tell me that? It's a simple enough ex¬planation.'

Torl gave a sigh. 'That may be, but how he knew of the death of Lord Bahl is not. He first saw an image after spending several hours watching sunlight filter through the branches of a yew; then again in the movement of leaves in a herb garden. To most people that sounds like he's some sort of prophet, and 1 wouldn't want to give you that impression of our order.'

'I'm intrigued,' Isak said. 'Perhaps I should meet the man – and when you bring him to Tirah Palace, I look forward to your report on your Brethren as well.'

'My Lord-'

Isak quickly cut him off. 'Your loyalty is not in question, but I must know what other allegiances my nobles hold. The events in Narkang and Thotel mean 1 cannot afford to be ignorant of anything, certainly not the activities of my subjects.'

'The rumours about Thotel are true then?' Suzerain Saroc interjected before Tori could continue his objections. He was very conscious that the dark monks and the Ghosts were eyeing each other suspiciously, and neither side had yet sheathed their weapons. 'Has Lord Styrax has taken the city and torn down the Temple of the Sun?'

Isak nodded. 'So I've been told.'

'But what about Narkang? Were you not returning to claim your inheritance because you felt Lord Bahl's death?'

'Unfortunately, it's not as simple as that. These parts may see more fighting before-'

'My Lord,' the ranger Jeil broke in, 'I need your help.'

Isak nodded at the suzerains and returned to Carel. He crouched down beside Jeil to inspect the damaged limb. Carel was terribly pale, and sweat poured off him as he panted, almost gasping for breath.

'I can't save it,' Jeil said calmly. He was too experienced to bother trying to hide the truth from Carel. 'You're his best chance.'

'Me? I've never done anything like this,' Isak protested.

Jeil pointed at Eolis. 'The marshal doesn't need a healer, not at the moment. He needs a butcher, and saving your pardon, my Lord, you're the best we have. Eolis will give the cleanest cut, and with a touch you can cauterise the wound.'

Isak looked down at Carel. He could see the old man was weaken¬ing before his eyes.

'There's no other way?'

'None.'

Isak looked around, but none would meet his gaze. He stood and drew Eolis. Carel couldn't stop himself howling in pain as Jeil manoeuvred the injured arm away from the body and indicated where Isak should cut. As Isak raised the slim sword, he looked at Duke Certinse, a glare of such pure venom that the duke shrank back in fear.

'On a spike,' Isak growled. He slashed down.

'Lord Isak, your health.' Suzerain Saroc, looking markedly different dressed up in silks and fine linens, raised his goblet for the other guests to follow. A bronze brooch bearing his chalice device was pinned to his left shoulder and he now sported his earrings of rank – though the three hoops through his left ear were not plain gold, like those worn by Count Vesna and Suzerain Torl; his were intricately carved and set with flecks of jet. To Isak's intense surprise, the deeply religious Saroc, last seen dressed in dour black, had transformed into something of a peacock once they reached his estate.

The men echoed the suzerain's words; the women, all wearing tight-wrapped dresses and feathers in their hair, hmmmed agreement. It was the first time Isak had participated in a formal Farlan toast, but Tila had found a few minutes to coach him in his expected role