Isak barely registered the knock at the door; it was Fedei who jumped at the sound, flushing guiltily as he hopped up from his seat. Isak saw the panic on Fedei's face: this man who'd taken a white-eye by the arm and virtually dragged him inside was nervous even talking about the Brotherhood.
'Come,' Fedei eventually called and Ahden strode in with a tray piled high balanced carefully in his hands. Isak helped him lay out the dishes on a side table, then set about them with a will, suddenly starving, and glad of the interruption. The scar on his chest felt tight, constrained, against the beat of his heart.
Eventually, Fedei could stand no more and noisily cleared his throat. 'Speaking of symbols, I see your crest is a crowned dragon. Did the Heraldic Library properly appoint it?'
Isak nodded. 'What of it?'
'Well, the dragon is a portentous symbol. I suppose it is to be expected, but those who have also worn it include Deverk Grast and Aliax Versit.'
'Versit? The Yeetatchen Lord who sacked Merlat?'
'And was only defeated within sight of Tirah. That was him. Grast was the Menin ruler who almost wiped out the Litse, before forcing his tribe to take the Long March. Both men were followed by destruction their entire lives.'
'Did either have a crowned dragon?'
Fedei squirmed under Isak's gaze. 'No. I've never heard of any man to have that,' he said quietly, staring at the floor.
'Tell me about your work,' said Isak suddenly.
Fedei began to relax as he detailed a variety of projects, chattering on for the best part of an hour while Isak ate his fill, then sat nursing a large goblet of warmed wine. It was clear that Fedei relished the opportunity to talk to someone who showed a real interest in him-most of his colleagues were correspondents rather than visitors. While Isak couldn't provide much in the way of intelligent questions, he did display sufficient enthusiasm, and the Seer made the most of it.
Finally Isak interrupted him, changing the subject entirely. 'So if you're a Seer, can you tell anything of my future?' He remembered Xeliath, and what Morghien had said, but he couldn't resist hearing what Fedei might be able to tell him.
The Seer nodded slowly and reached out to take Isak's hand. He closed his eyes, and started breathing deeply, rhythmically. Isak felt more than a little foolish; had it not been for the focused, entirely serious expression on his host's face, he might have pulled his hand away and laughed it off as a joke.
Fedei's hand was perfectly still for a time, then it twitched suddenly and Isak flinched at the unexpected movement. For the first time he felt a slight rush of magic from the Seer, just a trickle. The candles guttered under a draft that didn't touch Isak's skin; he sensed rather than saw a movement, something flashing around the shadows of the room. He twisted in his seat to follow it over his shoulder, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. He would have dismissed it as fancy before he saw Fedei looking in the same direction.
'What was that?'
'I'm not sure, my Lord.' The Seer's voice was level but Isak could smell his fear. He shivered and took a deep breath. 'When I touched your hand, I had a vision of some sort – not a portent of the future, but something else. I saw Aryn Bwr – or perhaps you, but the figure seemed lighter, less substantial than you are – fully armoured, with dragon horns on his helm. He casts a perfectly black shadow. He stands within a circle of twelve crystal columns, each one twisted and bent into some awful shape. Facing him is a figure, a knight with a fanged sword in one hand and a hound's leash in the other.'
Isak couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through his body as he pictured the knight in black armour and his massive fanged sword. He could remember the icy bite of its edge all too clearly from his dreams.
'The leash runs to two figures that sit at his hgelC a naked Chetse on one side and a winged daemon on the other.' The Seer's voice shook a little.
'What does it mean?' Isak could hardly bring himself to ask the question, but he forced out the words.
The Seer, pale as a ghost, slowly swivelled his head to match Isak's gaze. The movement appeared to break the stupor he was in and he sank back into his chair as though drained of strength.
Isak got up and moved quickly to his side. The Seer's breathing was shallow and for a moment Isak thought his heart had given out. He lifted him into a more comfortable position and asked what he should do to help. He felt useless.
'I feel so weak. Please, ring for Ahden,' the old man whispered.
Isak found a bell-pull beside the fire and tugged it hard, setting a jangle of bells going in other rooms. Within a matter of seconds, Ahden was storming in to the room, ignoring Isak as he made his way straight to his master's side.
The servant told Isak curtly that his companions were waiting for him downstairs. Maids would show them to their rooms. Isak looked at Fedei and said softly, 'Feel better. We'll be fine.' He received a wan smile in reply.
Isak rejoined his friends, who were gathered together in a stately but comfortable room, chatting. He said little for the rest of the evening, the image of the dark knight and his fanged sword weighing heavy on his soul.
CHAPTER 27
The desert smelled of age. Looking around at the withered trees clinging to the rocky ground, Kastan Styrax felt his own fatigue even more strongly. The ghost of an evening breeze yawned past his face as he removed his helm and looked at the cultivated scrap of land that, astonishingly, had warded off the desert long enough for the houses here to grow old and dilapidated.
Unhooking the golden rings of his belt from the great padded saddle, he slipped down from the wyvern's back and on to the dusty earth. The freezing air high above had left his muscles cold and stiff, but it took only a few careful steps to recapture his balance. He flexed his huge shoulders twice and then drew the fanged sword from behind
his back.
He stretched his back, arms and shoulders by working through forms, slowly, assuredly. As the massive blade hissed through the cool air, the grunting wyvern behind him turned its head, then returned its unblinking eyes to a figure trotting towards them from the distant
houses.
The figures completed, Styrax returned the obsidian – black sword to its sheath and sucked in a great gulp of air. The scent of the desert was more apparent down here, where the air was warm and calm, and he stood still for a moment to savour it. He spotted a miniva, one of the strange, dust-coloured plants that flourished all over this desert, providing food for animals and humans alike. Styrax bent down to examine the delicate fronds of the miniva leaf that absorbed what little moisture there was in the air. Lifting the flattened leaves, he exposed the deep-red plant stem. The tiny fruits were pale, not yet ripe, but he plucked and ate one, savouring the sharp sourness. A smile hovered on Kastan Styrax's lips as he waited for his vassal to approach.
'My Lord,' said the arriving soldier. He removed his black-iron helm
and dropped to one knee. His hair fell down untidily as he bowed his head. When he peered cautiously up he had to shake the long strands out of the way. After a pause he was motioned to rise. The man was small for a white-eye, and it was even more apparent when he stood before the Lord of the Menin.
'Duke Vrill. Everything proceeds as planned?'
'As well as I could hope for,' replied the duke. He cursed himself as he heard the nervousness in his voice; however slight, Lord Styrax would notice. In recent years their rare meetings had been in the comfortable surrounds of Crafanc and Anote Vrill had forgotten just how overwhelming his master could be, particularly when dressed for battle. The soul-sapping, weirdly curved armour grated on the edges of the duke's soul as much as the vile air of malice radiating from the sword Kobra. He shivered.
Styrax said, 'You've had problems with the centaurs. The Dark Knights are about to return home. Suzerain Zolin ran a sword through one of his own bondsmen, and a mage of the Order of the Five Black Stars was murdered last night.'