Tom Lloyd - The Twilight herald

'The very image of a gentleman,' agreed the countess with a smile. Isak glowered at the two of them, but goodnaturedly. He had to admit it was nice to be dressed in new clothes; the months of travelling had taken a toll on their wardrobes.

'Everyone will be talking about times changing,' Tila continued. 'Lord Bahl's image was rather that of a hermit, and a threadbare one at that. I'm afraid it didn't serve him well.'

'I hardly think people's opinion on his dress worth worrying about,' Isak said. He spoke without rancour, but Tila stopped. Isak had be¬come extremely protective of Lord Bahl since his death.

'This is your first public appearance as Lord of the Farlan,' Tila said firmly. 'You may not like it, but word of how you appear today will spread to the other suzerainties very quickly. They have heard only that Lord Bahl is dead. They will be reassured that you look the part, that you look like the Duke of Tirah.'

'I suspect they've heard too much about me already.'

'Then we have a new image to present,' Tila said, still composed. 'The refined, sophisticated Lord Isak, Duke of Tirah is a quite differ¬ent beast to the uncivilised Suzerain Anvee!'

'The things a woman will do for a state wedding,' Isak retorted, remembering Lord Bahl's parting words. He grinned at her blush. State wedding indeed, he thought. Better be sooner rather than later, or there might be a little embarrassment – I'd be surprised if a virgin smiled like that!

Before either could say more, Count Vesna ushered them all through the gates. Morghien and Mihn were already there, waiting impatiently, and as soon as they spotted Isak they swung their horses around and broke into a gentle canter. The procession took a while to catch up, but soon everyone settled in to an easy stride.

The early morning mist didn't linger for long and the air was filled with birdsong. Isak noticed the difference in the Land here, far from the mountains and dark forests a wagon-brat had considered home. The undulating ground of Saroc was mostly scrub, where the forest had given way, populated by goats and long-horned sheep, inter¬spersed with cultivated fields neatly enclosed by drystone walls or high bramble hedges.

The hour went quickly as the warmth increased. Brief goodbyes were exchanged on the highway, under the watchful gaze of a solitary, ageing roadman whom Suzerain Saroc had greeted by name. When the time came, Isak found he didn't know what to say to Mihn, the man who had been his shadow for six months now. The words caught in his throat as he realised how much he would miss the silent presence, almost fatherly, though Mihn was only just thirty summers.

As they clasped arms, Morghien stepped away, to allow them some privacy. Isak opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't come. He released Mihn and withdrew his hand, feeling foolish and awkward.

'Don't go and get yourself killed, you hear?' he said, sounding almost angry. 'I'll have things for you to do when you bring her back.'

'Yes, my Lord,' Mihn replied, as inscrutable as ever.

Isak shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 'Well then, I suppose you should be off,' he said gruffly.

'Yes, my Lord.' Mihn gave a bow and turned to leave.

Ah, damn, I'm being a fool, aren't I? Isak thought suddenly. Never had much need for goodbyes before, not to a friend. 'Mihn, wait,' he said on impulse. Right, what do I say now? 'Thank you for agreeing to go; Xeliath is really my responsibility after all. You've been as loyal a bondsman as I could have ever hoped for, as well as a friend.'

A smile crept onto Mihn's usually expressionless face. 'I am glad to have purpose in my life again,' he said. For a moment he hesitated, off-balance himself. 'I- when I was young and still with my people, weaponsmasters from the furthest clans came to watch me in a practice duel. I am- I was the best with the blades they'd ever seen. One said he thought he was watching the King of Dancers.'

'The what?'

'A myth among the Harlequin, that one day we would have a king of our own, one who will end our years of service to the Seven Tribes of Man. It isn't a prophecy – even among the Harlequins we do not know its origin – but it is told to every child, down through the gen¬erations, because it is the only tale we have of our own. None of the history we relate involves the people of the clans. After that day I was treated differently, as though my destiny was assured and I carried their hopes with me.

'When I failed, the old men wept as if they had no future. I know it isn't the same for you, but I do know what it is to bear expectation. It was something I resented. I thought of it as a burden. Now I am glad I have the chance to be part of something magnificent again.'

Isak didn't speak. He was transfixed by the outwelling of emotion, and by Mihn's unwarranted decision to reveal such a personal matter.

'Just remember,' Mihn continued as he composed himself, 'you've been blessed by the Gods. Never forget that, and never regret it.' With that, he turned and walked away to his horse. He had a spring in his step, as though a weight had been lifted from him.

'I hope you remember that too,' Isak said to Mihn's back, but whether he heard, Isak had no idea.

When the pair had disappeared behind a great outcrop of grass-topped granite, Suzerain Saroc led the procession in the opposite direction, eastwards, toward the town. As they travelled, the suzerain explained to Isak that the town was in fact owned by the abbey at its centre, run by the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings. His grandfather had bequeathed them land that hugged the banks of the river, but the second abbot, being a man of sharp business sense, had overseen the village's expansion and now the once-sleepy hamlet was a busy town.

As they drew closer, Isak began to note increasing numbers of fit young men in blue habits, beyond that of any normal monastery. The suzerain was a popular man, and stopped frequently to talk to the townsfolk. He introduced the most important to Isak, but most were too intimidated by the huge white-eye to do much beyond bow and mutter greetings. Even so, Isak felt the atmosphere was one of welcome, more than anything else, and his fears about the Brethren began to subside – until he reminded himself that it was easy enough to put on a show for one day. He would need to hear Lesarl's opinion before he accepted it wholly at face value.

At the abbey a small party stood waiting to greet them. The men were all dressed in dark blue, as befitted monks in the service of Nartis, but on their deep cuffs were thick bands of yellow, which Isak had never seen before. The abbot looked young for his position, barely forty summers, by Isak's guess, although his head was clearly bald, unlike many of his companions, who had had to resort to shaving to correctly mimic their God, Nartis.

Suzerain Saroc went through the formalities, introducing Abbot Kels and Prior Portin. There were two unnamed monks, who were standing beside a third man, dressed as a lay brother and leaning heavily on a wooden crutch, his right leg raised off the ground. The man wouldn't look at Isak, but scowled at the ground between the Duke of Tirah and Abbot Kels. There was something familiar about the man, but nothing he could put his finger on. In the distant re¬cesses of his mind, Aryn Bwr, who had been quiet since the battle, chuckled infuriatingly. Isak tried to concentrate on what people were saying, but when the injured man did at last speak, the words escaped Isak completely.

'But of course!' exclaimed the abbot in response to whatever the man had said. 'I should not have kept you here at all. My Lords, please excuse Brother Hobble, for he has just returned from the hospital with vital medicines, and as you can imagine, it is rather tiring to walk with a crutch.'

Isak motioned for the man to go, which Hobble did without another word. Aryn Bwr muttered something ironic in Elvish, as the man made his way down the street.