Feeling exposed, Tila shivered and pulled her shawl over her shoulders. She didn't speak as they made their way towards the castle, the evening shadows slowly lengthening behind them.
'Looks like Suzerain Foleh has guests,' Isak commented when they were no more than a hundred yards from the castle. Not a scrap of wind stirred the flags on the tower or above the gate. Isak couldn't make out the devices, so he was forced to guess from their colours alone. Foleh's – a raven's wing impaled on a barbed spear, if he could see it – would be the flag on the tower, placed higher than those of his guests. The tradition of bearing flags was introduced to cut down the number of disputes caused by armed noblemen going unannounced through a suzerainty. The Farlan were a proud people, and the sort of men willing to back down from a fight didn't often ascend to the nobility.
'It's strange to think that I've come this way so many limes before, and he'll have never known, but today he'll welcome me in like a conquering hero.'
'And the others?' Tila asked, squinting up at the limp pennants. One was white with a small black design that Isak couldn't make out, beside it one of green and white, and a white flag speckled with red furthest to the right. 'The right-hand one must be Suzerain Lehm's rose petals crest. That means he came as soon as he received your summons. And that means the middle one must be Suzerain Nerlos' thistles and quills – but whose is the one beside it?'
'General Lahk,' Isak realised all of a sudden. 'He rarely wears it, but I saw his colours once. Lesarl told me that Lahk was made a marshal twenty summers ago, though he prefers "general", for obvious reasons. His crest is a black falcon holding a ducal circlet in its claws.'
Tila smiled. 'It can't have taxed the Keymaster's gifts too much to produce that one.'
And he's come to meet me,' Isak mused. 'Interesting.'
'Hardly surprising though,' Tila said. 'The new Duke of Tirah should parade into his city, not slip back in the night accompanied only by a dozen guards!'
The drawbridge was down, the gate open. As they approached, Isak saw a handful of men emerge. From their colours he could guess who was who, but it was the oversized figure of General Lahk who advanced to greet Isak first at the lip of the drawbridge. Lahk, dressed as formally as Isak had ever seen him, greeted Isak with open palms, in his own livery and with an empty scabbard swinging from his hip. Oh Lahk, Isak thought to himself, what foolish ancient tradition does that come from?
'Welcome back, your Grace.' The white-eye general leaned to one side and looked down the column of soldiers behind. 'I had thought to provide you with an escort, but I see you've already found one.'
Isak smiled. From Lahk, that was as close to humour as you could hope for, and he appreciated the effort. He knew full well it would be hard for the general to treat a young man of barely eighteen summers the same way he had the lord he had revered and served for more than half a century. Isak remembered his harsh words to Lahk on the road to Lomin the previous year and felt a pang of shame, but he knew there was no going back. The best he could do was start afresh, and if the man once found unworthy of Isak's previous title could manage it, Isak would too.
'I have,' Isak replied in a bright voice, 'but I'll never complain about having the Ghosts or you at my side.'
Carel raised a hand to signal the halt down the line and Isak slipped from his horse. He returned the general's formal greeting, then stepped closer and grasped Lahk's forearm. Lahk was still a very large man, but Isak was taller now. For a brief moment Isak thought he saw something like gratification in Lahk's eyes, relief that the new Lord of the Farlan might yet measure up.
'This is the first time I've seen you in your own colours.'
'It didn't seem appropriate to use any other's, and I did not wait to have a replacement made. I hope you don't take offence that the regiments I brought had no alternatives to wear.'
'Replacements?'
'Yes, my Lord.' Lahk looked puzzled for a moment. 'The Palace Guard will need a new uniform now, in your own colours.'
'What? No!' Isak exclaimed in dismay. 'Don't change their uni¬forms!'
'But they are your personal legion, my Lord, not independent; they can't wear another man's colours in your service. It would be unseemly
– quite aside from what the rest of our people might think. We must
never give the impression that the Ghosts are not completely loyal to
you.'
'I don't give a damn how it would look. I've spent most of my life dreaming of wearing that uniform. I know the pride they take in it
– as does the rest of the tribe – and I don't care what anyone else
thinks; I won't insult the men who died for that banner by making it
redundant. The Ghosts wear the colours they've had for the last two
centuries. Tell them I never got my chance to pass the trials for the
Guard and I've got to have something to aspire to. Whenever I need
a close guard, then they will have to wear my colours – but that will
just be a company of men drawn from the Ghosts.'
Lahk's face was a blank mask, but Isak guessed at the conflict going on under the surface. Eventually, he cleared his throat and bowed. 'A company, yes, my Lord. I'm sure they will appreciate the gesture.'
'The regiments are camped in the meadows behind the castle? Send someone to direct the cavalry there and get them camped.'
He turned towards the noblemen waiting patiently behind the general. Their host was a half-pace ahead of the others, a grey-haired man slightly stooped by advancing age. 'Suzerain Foleh, would you do me the honour of showing me to your most unpleasant cell? You have an unexpected guest.'
Returning from the privy, Isak turned down the brightly lit corridor hack to the castle's main hall and stopped. On his left he spotted a small, unassuming arch leading to a spiral stair. Half-covering it was a flag, suspended from a rail fixed at the very top of the stone wall. Isak was sure it hadn't been like that when he'd come this way. His need had been pressing, admittedly, thanks to rather a lot of Suzerain Foleh's excellent ale, but his mind wasn't fuddled yet. One of the servants must have just gone through and forgotten to pull the flag hack after him.
Never one to ignore his curiosity once piqued, Isak leaned through the gap and peered upwards. A single torch at the top illuminated the way, hut aside from well-worn flagstones and a musty scent there was nothing to see. With his customary stealth, the Duke of Tirah padded up the stair, which wound round a full circle before opening out on a dim, square room.
The beams in the ceiling were low compared to the rest of the cas-tle, a finger-width from his hair. A banister ran around a wide square hole in the floor that made the room more of a gallery than anything else. Leaning on the banister were two men, one Isak recognised as Suzerain Foleh's steward, and another liveried man. Both were staring intently down to the hall beneath, pointing at the table and the folk helow. The steward said something, and his companion nodded and straightened up. He gave a cough of alarm when he saw Isak.
The steward's eyes widened as be followed his companion's gaze, but Isak motioned for them to be calm. The servant hovered uncertainly, glancing to his left, where two pitchers of wine stood on a small table, and Isak suddenly realised where the man had been going. Then were no servants in the room helow, yet the goblets had remained lull the entire evening. Isak stepped away from the stair and gestured for the servant to continue, which he did with a hasty how. He looked relieved to he leaving.
Isak leaned on the rail as the men had.and looked down to see hiis dinner companions. There were twenty t hree people around the table, settled into an easy informality after a decoroun start He could see three or fout conversations around the table Catching the steward eye, Isak grinned and hunkered led down to enjoy the show The steward visibly relaxed and fetched a goblet of wine, which he pressed it into Isak's hand.