The Twilight herald

'You grew up,' Tila said, squeezing his hand affectionately. 'I've de¬cided that to survive as a soldier, you have to live like a child – to see everything through the eyes of an adult would be too much to bear.'

Vesna looked down at her fondly. 'Perhaps you're right. In Tor Milist, a sergeant told me I was thinking too much. Doing that'll get you killed, but all I could think about was you. What a pathetic place to die; furthering the cause of a man I'd happily kill. All those who died there… for the first time I felt guilty. I'd dragged them some¬where they had no need to be.' He paused, his voice dropping low. 'What a pathetic way it would have been to lose you.'

'Don't think like that,' Tila said. 'Duty took you there. I might not agree with Lord Isak, but he believes it was in the best interests of the tribe, and that decision is now his to make. We must obey our lord.'

Despite his despondency, Vesna smiled at Tila's sudden vehemence. He frequently forgot the twenty summers between them, until some tiny detail brought him up short, and when that happened, the years sat heavier on his shoulders, even as Tila's bright smile lifted him up.

'Aye, we'll follow his will, though he's little more than a lad and you're not much better! Gods, to be that young again.' He pointed at the chestnut tree that dominated the courtyard. 'That reminds me of when I was a lad; we had one at Narole Hall and I'd climb it every time I did something wrong.' Vesna laughed suddenly. 'It happened so often my father threatened to cut the damned thing down.'

And did he?'

'No, it was an empty threat – he did exactly the same when he was a boy.' He shook his head. 'I've started missing that house recently, though I've not lived there in years.'

'What happened?' Tila asked. 'It's your family home, isn't it?'

Vesna gave a weary shrug. 'I inherited my father's debts. He was a good father, but a poor manager of estates, and I ran up a few more myself after he died. Don't think I appreciated the place when I was young; parts of Anvee are beautiful, which is why a lot of old soldiers go there to find a peaceful retirement. Of course, they still need to eat, so they train boys like me, whose parents want them to last beyond their first battle. It's only now I realise those old veterans found some¬thing genuine there. When I was a lad, all I could think about was getting to the city and joining the army.'

'So you had to sell your home?'

Almost. The local magistrate was an old friend of my father's and he found a merchant who liked the idea of living in an ancestral home. The merchant was a good man: he gave me a fair price, and agreed that if ever I could repay that money, with remarkably modest interest, I'd get my house back.'

'But you haven't?'

Her question provoked a flush of embarrassment. 'Somehow 1 never managed to save the money – first of all I had a lot of debts to pay off, but since I had inherited an Elven blade from my father, and I was my swordmaster's finest student, I decided paying debts wouldn't get my home back, so I commissioned my armour from the College of Magic and decided to win honours on the battlefield instead. I knew not hing of trade, so where else was the money to come from?'

'And the money you've made on the field has gone to servicing the remaining debts?' Tila finished his sentence. This was a common story; those who held a debt could sell it or pass it on. It was a cruel system, for one missed payment, maybe because of illness, or an emergency, was often enough to start the descent into bankruptcy. Once they were caught in this trap, few found a way to escape.

'Mostly,' Vesna admitted. 'When I was knighted I was given land, of course, but it's not worth enough to pay more than a third oi thi debt. Perhaps I should give trade a go, now I feel too old lor battle.'

'Nonsense,' Tila said. 'There's no one in the tribe Lord Isak trusts more than you; the sensible money's on him appointing you as General Elierl's replacement in Lomin. There's no duke there, so the eastern border needs an experienced commander more than ever.'

'Hut what if that's not what I want?' Vesna asked sadly. 'What if my nerve's gone, and all I've left is an unsavoury reputation, and not even a child to pass my weapons on to?'

'But that's not true,' Tila insisted fiercely. 'Your nerve isn't gone or you wouldn't have made it here; you'd have died outside lor Milist, Doubting yourself is only human, but 1 know you'd not even pause to think before stepping between danger and your lord – and while we're on the subject, do you think Lord Isak has never doubted himself? He's only a little older than I am and he grew up on a wagon-train, yet we now expect him to make decisions that affect nations! Suzerains, dukes and high priests defer to him on theology and prophecy; Isak must be horrified at the life he's found himself living.' Her voice softened. 'He'll need you to understand a sane man's doubts, otherwise you'll not be there when he no longer knows which way to turn.'

They heard footsteps ascending the stairs from the unused study below and turned to see Major Jachen's face bobbing up into view. Isak's Commander of Guards always looked sheepish when he was forced to disturb them. Clearly he'd come straight from his bed and hadn't passed a mirror on the way, for his hair was plastered down over his scalp on one side and sticking up on the other. He wore a loose linen shirt and, bizarrely, despite the hot weather, a Chetse warrior's kilt.

It was the first time Vesna had ever seen a Farlan in Chetse dress. It had clearly been made for Jachen, for he was taller than most Chetse and the kilt still reached his scarred knees – yet another sign of how far Jachen had gone to evade his past?

Vesna smiled inwardly and breathed in the faint aroma of Tila's skin. He had been forgiven his own reputation once he joined Isak's inner circle; perhaps redemption was also within Jachen's reach.

'Count Vesna, Lady Tila; Lord Isak requests your presence.' Jachen sounded awkward, as though the formality of his position still did not come easily to him. 'We have a visitor,' he added, 'a woman, appar¬ently one of the Chief Steward's agents.'

Vesna hauled himself to his feet and offered a hand to Tila.

'Major, have you managed much sleep recently?' he asked suddenly. Jachen's reddened eyes and sickly complexion made him look like he'd spent the last two days drinking. 'For a man who's just woken up, you don't look very well rested.'

'I find it hard to sleep in this heat, and my head's been aching ever since we arrived here,' he admitted.

'Surely you're used to the heat?' Vesna pointed at the kilt; the Chetse lived far to the south and much of their territory was little more than desert. Jachen must have served there to get into the habit of wearing a warrior's kilt.

'This heat's not natural,' Jachen said, 'but you're right, it shouldn't be enough to stop me sleeping. Feels like there's something in the air, like a song just out of hearing. I'll be glad to see the back of this city.'

'How about your dreams?'

A hunted look flashed over Jachen's face. 'What about them?'

'You don't look like you've been having normal dreams recently.'

The commander lowered his eyes and said quietly, 'Recently? Not lor years now.' He coughed and turned to leave. 'Lord Isak is waiting downstairs.'

'We're coming, but… Commander?' Jachen stopped and Vesna caught up with him and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. 'Get properly dressed first. You're not a mercenary any longer.'

There was a sparkle of defiance in Jachen's eye, quickly checked. He nodded, and excused himself.

The open reception room that served as the heart of the house was ringed by enough pillars for a temple to Nartis. There was a mezzanine balcony, and above, it was open to the sky. Lord Isak circled a young woman, who was sitting comfortably on a cushion, watching her lord. Gone were the trappings of state and title; instead, Lord Isak, clad in a loose sleeveless shirt and cropped breeches, looked more like the suspicious, bare-footed youth he had been a year ago. Only the sheathed sword that he kept switching from one hand to the other and the whitened skin of his left arm that bore the kiss of a hundred searing lightning bolts marked him as someone different.