'No, my Lord, they fly the red when the suzerain dies in battle. I thought everyone knew that.' Vesna looked puzzled. 'Where were you born?'
'On the road to the Circle City. My mother went into labour just as they sighted Blackfang, I'm told. That's where she's buried, at the foot of a willow by the road.' There was a tinge of pain in Isak's voice. Like all white-eyes, he knew exactly why his mother died.
‘I’m sorry-'
'Long in the past,' replied Isak, shaking himself free of the memory. 'I might not remember her, but at least I've seen where she was buried – that route was my life for ten years. Three trips every two years, and I had to sneak off to visit her grave and get a whipping when I returned.'
'Your father hates you that much?' Vesna sounded like he couldn't believe a parent would act that way, but Isak had seen men worse than his father. At least Horman had a reason to hate his son. Some men did worse, for no cause other than that they had been born vicious.
'Father never forgave the loss of my mother. He named me to mock Kasi Farlan – maybe he hoped the Gods would take me young because of that. Without Carel to keep me in check I'd probably have hung as a result of our combined tempers.'
'I've heard you speak of Carel before; who is he?' the count asked.
'Carel – Sergeant Betyn Carelfolden,' Isak said. 'He taught me eve-rything I know, not just how to fight, but to rein in my temper, to think before reacting – it may not look like it, but I could have been much worse!' He laughed, then explained, 'Carel was a Ghost, so he was fair. He didn't despise me just because I was a white-eye, and he didn't hate me for killing my mother like my father did.' He smiled, remembering. 'He's probably the reason my father and I didn't end up killing each other.'
'Why don't you send for him, this Carelfolden, if he's your friend. Vesna asked curiously.
Isak shrugged. He'd thought of doing just that from time to time, but somehow he'd never actually done anything about it – he wasn’t sure why that was. Carel's smile and gruff voice composed almost the
entirety of Isak's good childhood memories. He was the one who had
urged Isak to be more than just a white-eye, who'd borne in silence
the brunt of a young man's frustration as it boiled over. Carel was almost the only person Isak gave a damn about, and the only person he
wanted to be proud of him. Still something held him back.
'My Lord? Would it not be good to have another man you could trust? One whose opinion is worthwhile? If he was a Ghost, then he'll
be trustworthy and capable, and will already know that the life of the
nobility is often less than noble. You'll need men of your own, men
who are loyal to you before anyone else.'
'Are you saying I can't trust whoever Bahl does?'
Vesna shook his head. 'Not at all. But the Chief Steward is the servant of the Lord of the Farlan, no matter who that is. Suzerains like Tori or Tehran, or Swordmaster Kerin, they're devoted to Lord Bahl himself: they're friends as well as vassals. I'm not saying they're a danger to you, not at all, but you have to recognise that you now wield great political power in your own right. But you're only one man, and a young one at that. I'm loyal to Lord Bahl, and Nartis of course, but my bond is specifically to you, Suzerain Anvee. My point is: Lord Bahl has his own people to worry about his interests, and friends to act as confidants.'
Isak held up a hand to stop the count, already convinced. He didn't want to think too hard about the political situation right now: all the secret agendas and wheelings and dealings were still a mystery; he was having a hard enough time remembering who could be trusted and now much now without adding a whole new layer of intrigue. 'You're right, you're absolutely right. I'll send for Carel – don't ever call him Carelfolden; he saves that for formal occasions only. Can you send a messenger for me? Probably best to leave it at the Hood and Cape in the Golden Tower district.' He didn't add 'before I change my mind', though the words were lurking at the back of his throat.
He sighed. Carel had truly made him what he was – he recalled as if it Were yesterday, his fifteenth birthday, when, after yet another brawl with the other boys of the wagon-train, Carel had taken him aside, dismissing Isak's whining complaints with one sentence: You have to act as more than the colour of your eyes. Those words imprinted themselves on to Isak's heart, and when worry or anger clouded his thoughts, he tried to cling to that conversation to help him come to his senses… but now he had the memory of his behaviour in the battle. His disadvantages might not be obvious, but Isak knew they were there, and that he had to overcome them.
Bringing Carel to the palace was the sensible course. His mantra whenever Isak's fiery temper got the better of his brain was more soldiers' wisdom: You're not perfect, life isn't perfect. There are more important things to be pissed off about, so save your temper for a real problem.
'I'll do so immediately,' said Vesna, relieved. 'He'll be good for you to have around. If Carel knew you in your previous life, he'll give his opinion to the man, not the title.'
And is that what I'm afraid of? Isak wondered. Do I want Carel to continually tell me I'm wrong? Do I want to be the errant child all my life? He turned back to the road ahead, and to the same view they had had for the past two weeks. Only the Palace Guard and one legion of light cavalry were returning with them, and to the casual observer it looked as though every Ghost held the reins of a spare horse. A fog of gloom surrounded them: their losses had been severe, both on the field and in the days following as men succumbed to their wounds. When they arrived home in Tirah, the citizens would have to tread softly for a few weeks.
'And to what do you give your opinion, the man or the title?' There was an edge to Isak's voice that he'd not intended. Uneasy nights as growing pains racked his body coupled with the relentless days of travel were making him irritable and restless. His newly developed muscles were crying out for exercise beyond hacking chunks from unfortunate trees that he passed by. With Bahl in a similar mood – albeit for different reasons – Isak fought extra hard to keep control of his temper, but there was always a trace of pent-up anger when he spoke.
'To both, my Lord.' Vesna's reply was assured and immediate.
'Both?' Isak laughed, a little bitterly. 'You're remarkably honest, especially when compared to your peers. They watch me like a wolf that's just arrived in camp.'
'That's because they are not from Anvee; they are not your bondsmen. You have no reason to trust them; they have no need to earn your trust.'
'And you do?'
Vesna smiled and nodded. 'As my liege and holder of my bond, you could destroy me with a few words. You are also one of the most powerful men in the tribe, so as your star ascends, so will mine. That
means I speak to your title in part, but not all. If I'm going to tie elf so closely to your cause, I might as well try to like you; I can always fall back on being owned by you if that doesn't work.'
In spite of his mood, Vesna's words made Isak laugh out loud. He did like the man, for his confidence as much as his honesty. All he needed was a reason to trust him, and this one sounded as good as any. Bahl certainly seemed to approve; Isak was quite sure he'd have made any disapprobation clear if he thought Count Vesna to be a danger. Isak had been glad of his presence over the last week or two: he was proving to be a useful man to have around.