'Commander, I hear you have a simple job policing this city,' Isak said, leaning forward slightly.
Commander Brandt gave a snort of laughter, but as he opened his mouth to retort he caught the smile on Isak's face. 'In what way, my Lord?' he asked, anxious to hear the young Lord's reply.
'Well, if Narkang is all controlled by the Brotherhood then surely whenever a crime has been committed you just arrest one of the leaders.'
Brandt laughed, but Isak saw him stiffen too. The mention of the Brotherhood had triggered the reaction Isak was seeking.
'It's not quite so simple,' the commander said. 'The Brotherhood might have great influence over what happens here, but it's still a long way from controlling all activity in the city. I think that if it tried that, the leaders might well wake up to find Coran explaining how this would not be an entirely good idea.'
'Coran?' Isak asked, then he recalled, 'Ah yes, the king's bodyguard. Tell me, do the Devoted have a significant presence here?'
Brandt opened his mouth, but said nothing – maybe he didn't know what to say. He looked over the crowds, looking for distraction to excuse himself, but saw none. Reluctantly he returned to Isak, who was waiting impassively. 'They do, my Lord. The Knights of the Temples are far older than this kingdom, and in some part it has been the maintenance of those links that has prevented all-out war in these parts, not just recently, but for hundreds of years.'
'So they're popular then?' Isak's tone was cold.
The commander understood, and ignored the question as best he could.
They are traditional, Lord Isak – that's perhaps the best way to describe it. In some families boys grow up knowing they are expected to join when they leave childhood. The Knights that rule the cities are sometimes seen as overly strict, perhaps, but they have strong sympathisers among the ruling families.'
'And your own?'
Brandt frowned, but didn't hesitate to reply. 'Certainly in my family. My father was a member, my elder brother, Suzerain Toquin, is a major in the Order. My sister is married to a colonel, who may one day be vying with my brother for the post of Knight-Cardinal.'
'And you?' Isak wondered whether the king was playing a game, setting a Knight of the Temples to guard him.
'My father didn't bother with me. I was too far down the line of succession. He thought a watchman might be of more use to the family than a priest. Not that I regret it; I'm truly married to this city and the laws that keep it. That, I think, is enough ambition for any man.'
Isak nodded, lost for a moment. It was easy to envy Commander Brandt if he spoke the truth: he knew his city, and loved it like a mistress. He could see his purpose and pursue it; his successes and failures were clear and immediate. Isak lacked that luxury. He'd never even
seen most of his nation. The flag, the tribal characteristics clear in a man's face, the Farlan dialect – were these things enough for someone to love? Wars had been started over nothing more than one man's fits of pique – did it even matter what was real under the weight of history's tide?
'An ambition fit for any man,' Isak agreed at length, and with approbation. Now he lay in silence, wondering about the course of his life, playing with the ring he wore on the middle finger of his left hand: a shaped tube of silver an inch long engraved with his Crowned Dragon crest. Farlan men did not generally wear signet rings, ever since Kasi Farlan, young and impetuous then, had lost his temper with the older and more skilful Koezh Vukotic. He had lost his little finger and signet ring in the subsequent duel.
'Commander, do you have a son?'
The man looked startled at the question, but answered, 'Yes, my Lord. My eldest is a boy, nine winters.'
Isak pulled the ring from his finger and held it out to the man who, after a slight hesitation, took it. He inspected the engraving.
'Give this to him,' Isak said. Tell him to look at that dragon when he wonders what the future holds – and not to dream too hard. Tell him never to forget that he's just a man, like any other.'
The commander tucked the ring carefully into a pocket before re
plying, 'My Lord, that's good advice for anyone – a boy of nine or a
king.'
Isak nodded sadly, unable to meet the commander's gaze.
The rhythmic slap of the bearers' leather-sandalled feet and the swish of their linen skirts on their bare legs marked the procession's steady progress into the heart of the city. The pungent scents of waste, smoke, food and sweat swirled all around. A line of brown-coated watchmen kept the people back as the crowds swelled, all eager to see the foreign princeling. The houses were wooden here, and closer together, though still prosperous-looking. They all had roofs of the distinctive purple-slate tiles.
Up ahead Isak caught sight of what had to be their destination: an imposing stone building that looked down upon the whole district through massive vaulted windows. The two-storey-high apertures lined both of the longer sides, and each contained a bronze statue, taller than Isak, that watched the streets below. He could see three: Ilit carrying the Horn of Seasons, Belarannar, Goddess of the Earth, with ivy curling about her shoulders, and, in the centre, Vasle, God of Rivers, for the baths were dedicated to an Aspect of the river God.
They entered a wide courtyard, in the middle of which stood a statue of a woman clothed only in sheets of rushing water. A brass plaque on the plinth she stood upon gave thanks to Baoliss, daughter of Vasle. A large copper bowl half-filled with water sat at her feet; coins, jewellery and small figurines had been left there as offerings and thanks.
'My Lord,' Mihn's soft voice barely carried above the bustle around them, 'it might be sensible to leave a generous gift with the Goddess. This place is her only domain; she might find your presence threatening.'
Isak thought for a moment, and quickly agreed; his encounter with Morghien had left him wary of divine sensibilities. A handful of gold emins would be a small price to mollify Baoliss; he had enough to worry about already without upsetting a Goddess. He patted his pockets for a suitable offering, but he'd not come prepared. He whispered to Mihn, who nodded and ran over to Vesna's litter. Another short conversation and he was back with a small but heavy leather pouch, which he handed up to Isak.
Isak reached out and tapped a bearer's arm. The man gave a short whistle and the litter-bearers stopped, but before they could lower the litter, the white-eye had slipped his legs over the side and was standing.
Ignoring the staring faces, he approached the stone figure and carefully poured the emins into her bowl, silently thanking Vesna for having the forethought to provide himself with local currency. He smiled to himself: typical of the king to name the coins after himself! As the emins splashed in, Isak felt a presence at his shoulder. A shiver ran down his spine as a whispery breath floated over his ear, then vanished. The echo of a giggle wafted up from the gravel, and then he was alone, with just a vague feeling of a smile touching his skin. That was enough to reassure him.
'My Lord,' called King Emin. The queen and Coran stood behind him, both with an air of anticipation. Count Antern seemed to have disappeared somewhere; Isak couldn't see him in the crowd of faces. The Krann took one last look at the statue and bowed almost imper-
ceptibly, then cast around for his own retinue. They had gathered at an appropriate distance behind him. Isak and his party joined the king at the marble-pillared entrance and followed him in.
Isak stared at a massive, beautifully intricate mosaic that showed the God Vasle leading a torrent of water down a river towards a column of elves. He had no idea if this was some famous battle.