'How're things within your border?' Isak asked.
Saroc's scowl deepened. 'Difficult. There are too many armed men in the suzerainty for my liking. They're even trying to dictate behaviour in the abbeys and monasteries. They're pressuring those not as rabid as their leaders to at least declare their public support. If it wasn't for the fact that we've standing garrisons in our towns, there'd have been serious bloodshed already.'
Isak sat back and sighed. 'Whatever we do, it's only a matter of time before that happens.'
His Chief Steward looked worried.
Despite the weather, everyone retired outside once the ceremony was concluded. A regiment of servants waited with plentiful jugs of hot spiced wine to ward off the cold. Inside, the tables were being moved back into position and a feast was being laid out to honour their guests. It wasn't often the vast majority of the tribe's most powerful men were seen together in one room; Lesarl intended to keep them there as long as he could.
As evening fell, Count Vesna stood at the top of the wide stone stairs watching the noblemen and clerics as they cautiously mingled. Their faces were lit by a perimeter of torches driven into the ground. His role as Lord Isak's bodyguard was over now the ritual had been concluded, but he'd decided to forego the festivities all the same. There were plenty of young men in the crowd below who would doubtless be interested in discussing their wives' merits with him — men whose pride mattered more than Vesna's much-trumpeted duelling skills. As it was, none had yet had the opportunity to provoke an argument with him so they could call him out, but in such company it was always a possibility. If that happened, he'd be needing a clear head.
It had appealed to the Chief Steward's sense of humour to use Vesna's charms as a weapon; he had bought the count's personal debts to ensure his loyalty. Vesna shook his head with a rueful smile. I'd never have thought I'd feel too old for all that now, but it's happened nonetheless.
Lord Isak was only a few yards from the bottom of the stair, looking a little bewildered in such company. It was sometimes easy to forget he hadn't been brought up in these circles. He was almost kneeling so he could hear what Suzerain Ranah was saying. Ranah, an octogenarian who sat bolt-upright in his chair, was most likely telling a filthy story, judging by the looks on people's faces.
Qods, and Tila thinks I was bad, Vesna thought suddenly, remembering when he'd stayed for an evening at the suzerain's manor. That old goat claims all three of his wives died because he wore them out.
From time to time, Vesna could see Isak look up and direct a plaintive glance in his direction. He didn't move. Lesarl had made it very plain that Vesna was to keep clear unless there was a threat to Isak's person — and that was highly unlikely: Isak had been wound so tightly since the incarnation of the Reapers in Irienn Square that he'd likely cut any threat in slices before Vesna even had his sword drawn.
'It reminds me of one of my father's hounds,' Vesna said softly to Mihn, who had joined him. He indicated the group of men around Isak.
Mihn blinked, taking in the scene. He was dressed in black, as always: a tunic of tailored cotton that wouldn't catch or snag as he fought — though since returning to the palace, he had done little apart from haunting the cold corridors and ignoring offers from the guardsmen to wrestle.
'The dog had a litter of puppies,' Vesna went on, 'with one much smaller than the other four. The rest bullied it constantly, but my father never let me separate them: it had to find its own way. They weren't going to kill it, so it had to learn to rough-house with the rest.'
'Well, I am pretty sure Lord Isak could take the one in the chair,' Mihn said, nodding towards the group.
Vesna burst out laughing for a moment before disapproving faces hushed him. 'Sweet Nartis, I think that's the first time I've heard you make a joke. Morghien must have had more effect on you than I realised!'
Mihn's only reply was a shrug. Vesna looked at him for a moment, before giving up. 'Still close-mouthed though, eh?'
They watched Chief Steward Lesarl doing the rounds of the various groups. From time to time he would sidle up to Lord Isak and mutter something, then he would be off again, never staying long with any one person, never allowing any real response from those he'd ambushed.
'Strike and withdraw, strike and withdraw — that is the Farlan way,' Mihn said suddenly.
Vesna frowned. 'I suppose so; would you have us do any different?'
Mihn shifted his steel-tipped staff from one hand to the other, still watching Isak. 'It is a fine tactic, as long as you know where your enemy is. You were out-manoeuvred in Scree, however. The enemy was the one to strike and retreat — or so it appears. The Chief Steward has not had much success in tracking them down.'
'So we must learn a new tactic?'
'Perhaps so,' Mihn said, 'though I am no general, and I do not presume to know more than you on the subject.' He paused and Vesna felt a moment of indecision hang in the air. 'I… Of late I find myself only with questions, never answers.'
'What sort of questions?' He didn't need to say he sympathised with the feeling; he knew Mihn had observed it already. Tila had brought the possibility of a new sort of life to the famous rogue: real happiness, instead of fleeting pleasure. He was not far from forty summers now, and the bruises didn't fade as fast these days, but with more than half his life spent on one path, it wasn't easy to contemplate another.
Again, Mihn hesitated. 'Chief among them is how I can be of use to my lord. I will not break my vow again. I will not use edged weapons in anger, even if it means my death, but I realise that makes me of less use.'
'I think you help him by your presence. It calms him just to have you nearby. You've seen how hard he's finding this all' — Vesna waved at the suzerains, most trying to suck up to the new Lord of the Farlan — 'and who could blame him? There's more pressure on that boy than any king could bear.'
'I know. I fear it is taking its toll.'
'His dreams?'
Mihn nodded again. 'He does not confide in me, but I see it in his eyes…' He paused. 'It's not the dreams themselves, but the fact that they might come true. He feels the presence of the Reapers in his shadow, the incarnation of violent death, and he dreams of his own death.'
'Has he bound them to himself somehow?' Vesna asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. 'Isak brought them into life in Scree — a place where the Gods had been driven out… Could he have broken their link to Lord Death by doing so?'
'And thus be to blame for intensifying the rage of the Gods?' Mihn finished his question. 'I do not know. I don't think he does either, but he fears so, especially after Irienn Square.'
'Then what do we do?'
'Do you remember what Morghien did for him the first time we met?'
Vesna cast his mind back to their journey to Narkang, and the stranger who'd been waiting for them at the behest of Xeliath. 'I remember. The spirits inside Morghien attacked Isak's mind, to prepare him for what Aryn Bwr would do.'
'Exactly, Morghien prepared him. When one can see what is coming, there are only two real choices: to try and avoid it, or to accept it and be prepared.'
'My vote's for avoiding death; that would be preferable here, don't you think?' Vesna's laugh sounded a little forced.
'Of course. But he has said nothing of the manner of his death. All we have is his past certainty that Kastan Styrax would kill him. To avoid death means killing Kastan Styrax first, and from all we've heard, that is not so simple a task.'
'"The Gods made their Saviour the greatest of all men",' Vesna said, recalling what Isak had related of his conversation with Aryn Bwr. 'They made him too perfect, too strong and skilled.'