Tom Lloyd - The stormcaller

'Come here, Master Toquin,' he said softly, and beckoned to the boy.

His mother tightened her grip for a moment, then released him and gave him a little push forward. Brandt's son took a few steps towards Isak, unafraid of the white-eye until he closed on him and realised just how big he was – even hunched over in his seat, Isak towered over

the boy.

Moving slowly so he wouldn't take fright, Isak pointed at the ring hanging from a leather thong around the boy's neck. He had no idea whether this was how one treated children this age, but the boy looked ready to flee back to his mother at the slightest provocation. He was a thin child, looking more like his mother than his father to

Isak's eyes.

'Did your father give you that?'

The boy nodded.

'Did he tell you it was mine?'

Another nod, then the boy's trembling hand reached up and touched the silver ring about his neck. 'Do you want it back?' The boy sounded understandably upset at the thought of returning his last gift from his father.

Isak chuckled, but it turned into a painful wheeze that almost caused the child to bolt. 'No, it's yours to keep, and maybe even to give to a son of your own one day. Do you remember what your father told you when he gave you the ring?'

'He said that we're all men, and nothing more. But that didn't mean we shouldn't try to be as good as we can.' The boy recited the lines carefully, making sure he remembered every word.

'Good. You must always remember your father when you look at it, and remember that he died to protect others. He saved my life, your father did – and probably the lives of the king, the queen, and every-one else in the palace. Always remember that your father was a hero, and not just a hero, but one worthy of the Age of Myths.'

The boy nodded miserably. Reality began to sink in and his lip trembled. He tightened his eyes against the welling tears.

Isak reached out and gently nudged the boy back towards his mother. Lady Toquin knelt and sobbed unashamedly into her son's hair as he buried his face in her neck, her scarf bunched tightly in his little fists.

Isak drew himself to his feet, wincing slightly, but unable to remain still now. 'I don't know whether you have any traditions of your own, but the commander's body would be welcome at the Temple of Nartis if you wish it. He deserves a hero's grave.'

Suzerain Toquin blinked several times as he took in the offer. From his reaction, Isak assumed few were permitted interment in the temple here. Isak didn't care what objections the priests might have – he couldn't imagine even the most senile refusing the new Lord of the Farlan. It might still be a matter of heated debate whether Nartis's Chosen was in fact the head of the entire cult, but even the most fervent secessionist could guess King Emin's position on the subject.

'Thank you, my Lord,' replied the man stiffly. 'My Order requires burial to be completed before sunset, which the priests may object to, but if that is possible, we would be very happy to accept your offer.'

'It will be arranged for this afternoon, when I go to sacrifice at the temple with the king. Burial under moonlight is preferable because Nartis attends, but I must grow used to being his representative in the

Land anyway. It will be done as you wish. Until then, if you would excuse me – we have much to do here.'

'Of course, my Lord. You do my brother a great honour. Thank you.' The suzerain bowed and turned, looking deflated now his anger had dissipated. It was a less imposing man who left to grieve, one arm supporting his trembling mother, the other around his nephew, who was clinging tightly to his mother.

'The commander's body has been found, I assume?' Isak murmured to the small palace official once Suzerain Toquin had reached the door of the hall.

'I, ah…It has, my Lord, but it was, um, badly burned.'

'Then find a casket, and nail it shut so no one can view the body. Mihn here will go with you. You are to get the body prepared and down to the temple. Explain to the priests what is going to happen, and ensure they are ready for the commander's funeral this afternoon. Mihn will hurt anyone who gets in your way, and continue to hurt them until they agree to help. If they still do not agree, you will be lifting the casket over their corpse. Understand?'

The servant stared at Isak, quivering slightly at the coldness in his voice until Mihn grasped him firmly by the arm and led him away.

It was late afternoon by the time Isak and the king managed to extricate themselves from the chaos of the aftermath. The shadows had begun to lengthen as a line of litters started out from the temple quarter, back through the shocked silence of the city streets to the palace. Mounted soldiers clattered along on either side of the gently swaying litters. Isak watched the faces of those he passed: the bloody and the scared, the tired and confused.

King Emin's reign had brought more than a decade of peace to the entire kingdom. A professional navy dissuaded even the raids of the Western Isles pirates. War was something that happened in other countries.

Now, talk of the Saviour and rumours of strange events in Raland that had left part of the city aflame had restored to Narkang a grim uncertainty that everyone had devoutly hoped would be a thing of the past.

Emin had insisted they use the litters to go to the temples as a symbol of normal life for the rest of the city. It seemed to work, for the procession brought people out of their houses despite their fears and the risk of more fighting. Even with the dead at the palace – the Fysthrall soldiers who'd not died at the breach had fallen on their swords – there were hundreds of people still unaccounted for.

Fleeing mercenaries tried to hide in alleys and sewers, but Nar-kang's criminals, directed by the Brotherhood, had dealt with them, leaving corpses all over the city. Herolen Jex's body had not been among them so far, but King Emin was still hopeful.

The arrival of the relief troops, delayed for several hours by White Circle mages, had helped matters, but still there were too many questions unanswered. The first Emin had asked himself when walking in the corpse-strewn gardens with Isak: Why had this happened? Getting together a division of men, secretly, showed organisation and determination. There had to be a purpose behind attacking such a powerful nation, but too much didn't make sense. Emin concluded – because he could see no other explanation – that the massive effort had failed through bad luck.

Isak decided not to voice the opinion that sense might not have played too great a part; privately, he thought that prophecy might have supplanted practicality when the Fysthrall came to make their plans. Perhaps worse, prophecy itself had been supplanted – or more likely, perverted.

There was a commotion up ahead. Isak leaned out past his bearers to see what was happening.

Vesna, walking alongside, stepped away to get a better view. 'There's a carriage up ahead,' he reported.

'Can you see who's in it?'

A burst of magic shivered out from the direction of the carriage – nothing aggressive, but enough to announce a presence.

'A woman,' Vesna said. 'Her hood is hiding her face.'

Isak eased himself off the litter and set off without another word towards the tall black carriage blocking the road. He moved awkwardly to begin with, his muscles still feeling stiff and sore. Ahead he could see soldiers crowding around the coach, gesticulating to the driver and to the woman leaning out of the open door. A young lieutenant was crouching beside the king's litter, talking in an urgent voice, as Isak passed.

'A friend of yours?' Emin climbed out of his litter, pushed past the lieutenant and joined Isak.

'I think I met her yesterday, at the arena.'