Bel licked his lips. He was feeling a little foggy from the drinking, and the question irritated him. ‘You’re a quick man, sir,’ he said after a moment. ‘And a skilful fighter.’
‘True,’ said Munpo matter-of-factly. ‘But those aren’t the reasons. I saw you fight Hunna and Keit. I know, just as Keit does, that you could have beaten him sooner than you did. I imagine he’s thankful that you didn’t injure his pride as you did Hunna’s, but he doesn’t deceive himself. That said, I know he would not refuse you a rematch.’ For the first time Bel saw Munpo smile, a dry enigmatic smile that tweaked the corners of his mouth then dropped away quickly. ‘I almost thought you were going to let him win,’ said Munpo.
‘I thought about it.’
‘Mmm. Now, why did you lose to me?’
‘As I said, sir –’
‘No, blade, that’s not it. You lost because you underestimated me. I’m not saying you would have won if you hadn’t, but you certainly lost because you did.’ He took a swig from his glass. ‘You’re not invincible, lad.’
Bel was openly annoyed by that. ‘I never said I was, sir.’
‘Your expression did, after I beat you. You couldn’t believe it, could you? You, young and strong and full of juice, losing to a tired old scrap like me. Well, I tell you this, blade: you underestimate someone like me on the battlefield and you don’t get to have an expression afterwards. You’ll be face down in the dirt with your eyes seein’ nothin’.’ He stared Bel hard in the eye. ‘Now you listen, lad. You’re good, we can all see that. Corlas warned me, and now I’ve seen you for myself, I might just agree with him. But don’t let your skill go to your head. The battlefield is no training ground. There’s no one on one, no control. It’s unpredictable and fast. You make one mistake out there and you’re dead. You underestimate one opponent because you don’t respect him and you’re dead.’
He sucked his brittleleaf, letting Bel digest his words.
‘You’re young and untried in a dangerous world. I’ve seen skilful, brave and arrogant men die more often than I care to remember because they didn’t keep their wits about them. Don’t go letting someone like me rile you up so much that you fall for a simple trick. And remember, Bel, if a soldier is young, it just means he ain’t been killed yet. If he’s old, it means he ain’t been killed a long time.’ Munpo winked. ‘But enough for now. You’re doing well. Even M’Meska seems to have taken a liking to you. Word of advice though – don’t accept any more drinks from her. It won’t do my pontificatin’ much good if tomorrow you fall off your horse and break your neck because you’re still drunk.’
There was that fleeting smile again and Munpo moved away. Bel felt vaguely patronised, but he could see the point of what had been said. Nonetheless, he was bothered. How could he be expected to lead the light to victory if he couldn’t best an old man? When he’d been young and they’d told him about his destiny, it had made him feel invincible. His was to be a life of adventure and greatness, and if he was to change the world, surely it was preordained that he would survive at least until then? Was any risk really a risk? Once he had stood at the edge of a building, wondering what would happen if he threw himself off. Would some miracle save him, ensuring he could go on to meet his destiny? He’d asked Fahren, who had said it didn’t work like that, but couldn’t really explain how it did work. The encounter with Munpo, while it hadn’t been about life and death, had certainly showed him to be fallible. Feeling unsure of himself was an alien and unpleasant feeling. He took a big swig from the bloodfire, and spluttered immediately.
‘That more like it!’ said M’Meska behind him.
At evening’s end, Bel glanced a final time towards the Soldiers Bar entrance. He hadn’t really expected her to come, but had hoped nonetheless. They’d planned to meet in The Wayward Dog that night, before he’d received his orders for Drel. He’d left a note at the tavern asking her to join him here instead, but a criminal – and he was pretty sure she was one – would not lightly enter the barracks of the Open Halls. Yet excitement about the mission had not purged Jaya from his mind. The night they’d spent together had been something outside his experience. When morning had come it had been hard to part. He didn’t want her thinking he’d abandoned their plan to meet. Why hadn’t she come to find him?
Gods , he thought, been waiting my whole life to join a troop; now all I want is something else . Pushing back his seat, he rose from a table long abandoned by his comrades. Ah well. Tomorrow is going to be a bright new day.
Sixteen
Before the Council
Kakurd glanced around, searching for his friend Peasa. He spotted the old Graka about halfway up the throne room, standing next to the long window. Typical of him to choose a place with the wind at his back , thought Kakurd. He also spied the Arabodedas entourage, who were standing as close to Refectu as they could jostle. Kakurd had recently relinquished his title as Counsellor of the Arabodedas, and was now merely an advisor, like Peasa. Also like Peasa, he did not feel the need to stand with his main party, as there would always be time later for the younger representatives to haughtily discount what wiser old buggers had to say. As he made his way through the assembled council towards his friend, he wondered how long it had been since such a gathering had filled the throne room. Perhaps it had been when Battu had called them all together after the assassination attempt at the beginning of his reign, to let them see he was still in charge.
Peasa inclined his hairless ebony head as Kakurd arrived. ‘His dark lordliness has not yet arrived,’ he lisped quietly, forked tongue flicking out over pointy little teeth. ‘Look, there’s the boy, by Refectu.’
Kakurd followed his gaze. The blue-haired boy was standing by the dais, an empty circle around him into which no council member trod. The Arabodedas representatives were making a show of looking him over then talking behind their hands. The boy appeared not to notice and stood silent and still, his eyes moving about the room slowly, almost imperceptibly.
‘You’ve heard the rumours?’ said Peasa.
‘Yes,’ replied Kakurd. ‘As have the rest of the Arabodedas. They aren’t pleased.’
‘Why not? The boy is a man, is he not?’
‘Not an Arabodedas, Peasa.’
‘He’s as pale as one.’
‘He is paler. And he was born in Kainordas. Most don’t know what to make of him. They have no faith in the prophecy.’ He considered the Arabodedas entourage from under grey eyebrows. ‘Besides, they’ve already picked their favourite.’
Peasa ground his stony bat wings together. ‘Roma?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good.’ The Graka grinned. ‘About time there was some excitement round here. I remember when the throne room was a lively place.’
‘Before Battu,’ muttered Kakurd.
‘Speaking of the great one, I think he’s arriving.’
The goblin aide Turry made his way down the middle of the room, snapping at people to clear a path. He arrived at Refectu and turned, adjusting his gold-rimmed spectacles. ‘Welcome, members of the Shadow Council!’ he called nasally. ‘Prepare to receive the Shadowdreamer!’
The council fell silent as Battu appeared through the archway, followed closely by Tyrellan. The dark lord barely glanced at the assemblage as he made his way up to the dais, where he turned to stand before the ancient throne.
‘Greetings, council members,’ he said, though his tone did not imply much respect. ‘You are called because I have an announcement to make. I would like to introduce to you my student Losara, who has recently come of age. Step forward, Losara.’