Isak closed the door and approached the table. There was no conciliation on his face now; he was done with being friendly. 'You'll do so because I tell you to. I have instructed Lesarl to ensure a fair resolution is reached, but have no illusions; there will be Farlan deaths this year. My concern is not the delicate balance of relations within the tribe; it's surviving to see the next winter festival. I need your support most especially now that the cults have become militant, but you shouldn't expect me to worry over-long about the consequences of having you both killed.'
He pulled the door open again to reveal a heavyset man of some thirty summers wearing the red and black uniform of an officer in the Lomin legions. Isak caught sight of a tangled mess of curly brown hair and a glum expression — before the surprise at seeing an enormous white-eye took over.
'Good evening, Major Belir,' Isak said smoothly, guessing the man was like the commander of his own guard; Major Ansayl went by his first name, Jachen. He preferred not to use his surname.
'Ah, my Lord,' the major replied in a daze before he dropped to one knee, 'good evening.'
'Enough of that — come in and have a drink with us.'
'Us?' Ankremer repeated in confusion. He took a half-step inside and saw the two dukes waiting at the table. He narrowed his eyes to make out the devices on the breast of each. Lokan's Kraken badge was as distinctive as the Perlir Reaper's Scythe. 'My Lords,' he said, bowing to both. Suddenly he froze, looking from the dukes to Isak and back. 'Oh Gods, you're joking.'
Isak clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. ' "You're joking, my Lord",' he corrected with a chuckle, 'but aside from that, I'm afraid not.'
CHAPTER 11
Isak opened the door and stopped. He could feel the hostility in the air before he had even entered his chambers. 'Bickering again?' he asked.
Xeliath and Horman glared at Isak as he entered. They reclined on sofas either side of the fire, covered by thick quilts bearing Isak's emerald dragon crest. Xeliath was familiar with her condition and knew how best to make herself most comfortable, especially now her strength had returned. Horman was still not used to being disabled — his remaining hand, which Isak had broken in the Temple of Death in Scree, had not healed well, and was of less use than Xeliath's.
After a moment of irritation Xeliath's face softened and Isak felt the radiance of her smile wash over him. 'How handsome you look,' she said in Farlan, and Isak had to fight the urge to blush like a boy. He was impressed at her command of the language already, and it was growing stronger every day.
He had thought to stop in to check on them both before the day's business, the investiture ceremony, began, but maybe that wasn't the only reason he was here. Today the Synod would formally confirm him as Lord of the Farlan, so he was resplendent in white tunic and trousers, detailed with gold and pearls, with the crowned dragon emblazoned on his breast and echoed on his cloak. His hair was trimmed and his cheeks shaved smooth, and Tila had told him he had never looked more respectable. Isak realised it felt nice to have that remarked upon.
Qods, Isak thought wryly, if I'm not trying to gain my father's approval, I'm trying to show off to women. I'm not even sure which is more foolish of me!
'Don't look too pleased with yerself,' Horman growled, almost as if reading his thoughts. He winced as he shifted position, but Isak was pleased to see he had more colour in his cheeks, even though he was still drawn, and much too thin. 'This little slut has been saying the same to every man who's been in this week. Girl was practically drooling over your noble count.'
Xeliath shot Horman a filthy look, but he only laughed at her.
'Hah, don't like it when you can't bat yer eyes at a man and make him do what you what, do yer? Girl, I've put up with this one's idiocy most o' his life — white-eye charms don't do shit for me.'
'Stinking peasant,' Xeliath hissed in reply before switching to her own language and unleashing a stream of invective. Isak didn't need a translator to tell him the soldiers of her father's household were responsible for these terms rather than the noble ladies. The tall lacquered shutters rattled under the assault of the gusting wind, reminding Isak of when Xeliath had entered his dreams and the landscape had echoed her mood. He'd been outside earlier and the rain was lashing down with a rare fury.
'And to think Tila said I should split the two of you up,' Isak snapped. 'You'd both be bored to death if you didn't have each other to bitch about. I've half a mind to manacle the pair of you together.'
Horman raised his arm. The ruined stump was still bandaged. 'Thanks to you I'd be able to slip 'em easy enough,' he grumbled.
'How long must I stay in this room?' Xeliath demanded. Her head was uncovered, which was unusual. Normally she wore a scarf, draped to cover most of her damaged left side. 'I can be more use to you than keeping idiots company.'
Not even Lesarl had any idea how the volatile cardinals and priests would react when they found out Isak was harbouring a member of an enemy tribe, but neither of them were keen to find out. It was a fair bet that Xeliath wouldn't back down from any form of provocation; she was a white-eye, and needed no good reason to start a fight.
'I know you're bored,' Isak said in a placatory voice, perching on the end of his father's sofa so he could see them both, 'but it shouldn't be too much longer now. I want the investiture ceremony out of the way first — the Synod are troublesome enough at the moment, without knowing about you. Most of the suzerains will leave in a few days, and that'll help ease the pressure too. I don't want you to end up being dragged into the argument for as long as possible.'
'Let them complain,' Xeliath croaked. 'Their dreams will become nightmares.'
Isak, hearing the rasp in her voice, poured her a cup of pale tea, which she accepted gratefully. When he turned to offer his father a cup, Horman gave him a furious look and he gave up.
'Give it time,' he continued. 'By spring everything will have calmed down. Lesarl and I are going to deal with the priests — then you'll have no need to terrorise them.'
'A purge?' Horman said sharply. 'I brought you up better than to murder priests.'
'Why in the name of the Dark Place would you care about that?' Isak growled before silently cursing himself. Horman had aged a decade since Isak had been Chosen. He was a broken man now, his face pinched, his body frail, and when Isak looked at his father he felt an unfamiliar clash of pity and guilt — but even now, all it took was one look from his father, one sniping comment, to provoke him. Horman could stoke Isak's temper as quickly as he always had.
'Kill them both,' snarled Aryn Bwr in Isak's mind. 'Cut their throats and let the whining cease; snap her fingers and tear them from the Skull. They are nothing, they are dead weight around our neck.'
'Our neck?' Isak replied angrily in his mind, 'I think you forget yourself. At least they're alive, and even broken, they are greater than you.' Out loud he was only a little less vehement. 'Don't put words in my mouth, Father. You don't know me well enough for that, not any more.'
'You never gave a damn about the cults and that'll never change.'
Isak sighed. 'Perhaps not, but these days I can't ignore them. The path they're on leads only to civil war, they know as well as I do — and I can allow that to go only so far.' He pushed himself upright. 'I only came up here to see how you were faring. I see you're as happy as ever, so I'll leave you to your squabbles.'
He retreated, feeling the glower of two pairs of eyes on his back, even after he'd shut the door behind him. He kept walking until he'd turned the corner and was out of sight of the guards on the door, then he stopped and pressed his forehead against the cool stone wall for a few moments. He breathed deeply and tried to massage away the headache he could feel.