The stormcaller

'It's far too strong to be silver,' he repeated.

'It's silver.' Bahl's confirmation brought a frown from Isak. 'Silver absorbs magic better than any other substance. That's a gift from the Gods for you, and emerald is the colour of the Lady, Fate herself.'

Amanas had slipped out of the room long before anyone remembered to look for him. He was pleased, and returned to his wife with a satisfied smile on his face and a refusal to discuss what had happened earlier that evening. It was only when the Duke of Tirah paid them a visit the next day that she discovered why.

CHAPTER 8

'I can't do it. I can feel it there, but nothing's happening.'

'Nothing?'

'Nothing. Can't you tell?' Isak struggled to control his boredom. Running through the drills Kerin had devised for the last fortnight was dull enough; standing and staring at a wooden post for a whole hour was infinitely worse.

'To me, it feels like you simply won't relax and let go.' Bahl's voice was irritatingly calm and steady, as if the man was used to spending his days like this. They were out on the training ground. Nearby, a cavalry squadron was perfecting a variety of complicated formations. This one involved a wedge of soldiers of the Palace Guard who stood in the centre, flanked on either side by wheeling lines of light cavalry. The cavalry might not have been professional soldiers like the Ghosts but they were made to work hard for their annual stipend.

'Why would I not let go? This isn't exactly entertaining.'

Bahl's eyes flashed. 'Watch your tone, boy. Even if you did manage to use the magic inside you, I could still cut you down like a child. Do you think I'm trying to teach you conjuring tricks? Magic can turn the tide of the battle; you must be able to command it at will, or you'll be as dead as your men on the field.'

Isak looked up at Bahl's tone of voice and saw his hand tighten slightly. This was the first time it had contained even a trace of anger. He turned and bowed his head. 'I'm sorry, my Lord, I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that I don't understand what I'm not doing.'

Bahl didn't reply immediately and an awkward silence descended-When Bahl spoke again, his irritation was entirely absent. Isak knew he was in sore need of learning that particular skill.

'Then we will have to get around the problem. I will ask the High

Priest of Larat to come and see whether he can shed any light on the matter.'

'Larat? No, not a chance-'

'There will be no arguments about this,' said Bahl firmly.

'But what about the light in my dream?'

'I said no arguments. The High Priest is a good man and understands the nature of magic as well as any. If I ask the College of Magic, they will try to turn it to their advantage; the Temple of Larat is poor, so they will be glad to receive our favour.'

'But-'

'Enough. It's lucky for you I am not Atro. He was not so forgiving when questioned.'

'Luck? I don't know whether I believe in that any more.' Isak looked up and stretched his shoulders, flexing muscles that were aching from uncomfortable nights and daily weapons practise. He caught Tila's eye and smiled. She was sitting off to one side, so bundled up against the chill of the wind that only her eyes were visible.

The girl had been reserved around him for the first week, jumping at any sudden movement, but the familiarity of Isak's company soon began to wear away at her resolve not to forget the death of Sir Dirass. Isak had even made her laugh – the first time it had happened he was not sure who had been more surprised, but it was not the only time he had brought a smile to her lips. 'How did you manage?' 'Hmm?'

'With Atro – how did you manage to live around such a bastard?' I kept quiet and ignored what he did. I wasn't like you when I came to the palace; I had joined the Guard as a child, as soon as my family could get rid of me. I was twenty-four when the Tyrant of Mustet appeared at the barbican gate and announced I was Chosen Nartis. While I had no interest in being Atro's tool, I didn't care that he was destroying our tribe either. I was more like General Lahk than you.'

Isak nodded. He'd seen the stern-faced white-eye stamping around

the Palace, but the general had offered neither friendship nor con-

versation. The guards said Lahk had been taken to the Temple of Nartis by Bahl twenty years back. Lahk was the only white-eye other than Bahl to have reached a position of some power, but Nartis had

rejected him as Krann. His body had been scarred with lightning, and it was whispered in the barracks that his soul had been burnt out too, for the general cared for nothing but serving his lord.

'Until you met Inch?'

A flicker of pain ran across Bahl's brow, but he just nodded sadly. 'Ineh.' He savoured the name as he said it, as though it left a sweet taste on his lips. Isak was desperate to ask more, but he was nervous of going too far.

'Are they right in what they say?'

'Which is?'

That it's better to have loved and lost?'

Bahl gave a short, bitter laugh. There was no humour in his eyes when he answered, 'You really are a strange one. I can't think of that occurring to any other white-eye. No, it doesn't matter; just be careful not to pry too far. Is it better? Perhaps, I felt more alive then; she gave me a reason to be more human. Atro was a tumour in the belly of this tribe, but it was only when I met Ineh that I cared. Only then did I bother to notice the hurt he was causing. To live with such loss I would not wish on any man, but to live without the joy that came before… if a man can stand before the Gods and choose not to have known the one he has lost, he never truly loved her.'

'I'm sorry.' The words sounded absurd, worthless, and Isak almost winced as he said them. Bahl didn't reply, other than for a tired sigh. For a minute he looked like a sad old man, then the blank visage reasserted itself, burying all emotion deep inside once more.

'Don't be sorry. Regrets are no use to a Lord of the Parian – which reminds me, Lesarl tells me you have a problem with keeping your own counsel during meetings. That's another skill you could happily study.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean what you called the Marshal of Quetek. However apparent it was, that observation cost Lesarl severely.'

'Well, the man was being paid enough already, and he was demanding that Lesarl help him arrange a marriage. He was practically drooling at the thought.'

'The girl's a maid in the palace, no? I've seen her. You'd probably drool yourself.'

The girl's fourteen summers! The Marshal of Quetek is over sixty, with a grown heir already. He's in no need of another wife.'

'But he will have one, whether you like it or not. And if you did

somehow manage to stop him, he would no doubt force his maids into his bed and turn them out of the house when he tires of them. If he marries, there is some constraint on his behaviour – and the girl is going to be married anyway. To wed an old Marshal means she'll soon be a widow of property. Next time, think before you start to moralise to your elders.'

'I wasn't moralising. I just didn't like the man. Why should I hold my tongue?'

'And that's what you should learn.'

Isak frowned. 'Perhaps I should, but I've no desire to. I've spent my whole life biting things back, keeping quiet when I'm in the right and taking every insult I get from men I could break in half. People might still hate me, but at least now they're going to have to be careful about it.'

For a moment Bahl looked concerned, as though he had just been reminded of a deeply troubling conversation, then he muttered, 'Fine, just don't try to make any more enemies – those will come fast enough without you adding to them. Now go and clear your mind for when the priest comes. The calmer you are, the easier it will be for both of you.'

'Isak, it's time.'

Isak didn't reply, but raised a hand to acknowledge Tila's words. He was sat on a cushion in the palace shrine, high under the eaves of the palace. There were scenes of Nartis hunting on ev/ery wall, and the ceiling represented a night sky. The many pillars iin the room were painted like trees, each one reaching up and spreading branches into the ceiling to meet the sky.