The Stormcaller: Book One Of The Twilight Reign (20 page)

Bahl tossed the bundle to Isak, who snatched it from the air like a dog catching a bone. The weeks together had given the two of them some sort of uneasy familiarity; both were cautious of intruding on the other, but there was an unspoken sympathy between them.

Isak, his books forgotten, set the bundle down on the desk and, with a gleam in his eye, he ripped open the linen packaging. He held the under-suit up to inspect it.

‘It is time for you to take possession of your gifts.’ Lord Bahl’s voice sounded unusually sonorous, and Isak looked up quickly.

‘It’s a suit of armour then?’ He looked as though he wanted to ask more, but controlled himself.

‘A suit of armour,’ Bahl confirmed. ‘And whilst I assume you would like to know why you’re only just getting your gifts now, the only answer I will give you is “because”.’ He smiled a little at Isak’s expression. ‘Not the answer you were hoping for, I see, but something you will have to get used to one of these days. The actions of the Gods are not there to be questioned. Sometimes it is simply a question of faith.’

He saw no reason to tell the boy that he and Lesarl had wanted time to better prepare him for his gifts.

‘There are two undersuits; the other is larger so you have one to grow into; no doubt you’ll need more by the time you return. You lead the army out of the city in one hour, so come quickly now.’

Without a word, Isak rolled the under-suit up again and handed the other to Tila. ‘Can you put that with my baggage and make sure everything is waiting for me?’

Bahl saw her rouged lips part fractionally. She obviously wanted to argue, but dared not in his presence. Had they been alone, Bahl could see she would have asked to go with Isak. A bad sign, that; the youth’s infectious humour had drawn the girl closer to him than was good for either.

After the briefest of pauses, Tila ducked her head in acknowledgement, managed a quick curtsey and fled the room. It was clear she feared for Isak in his first battle, as well she might. The boy was reckless and inexperienced, but every soldier had to muddle through a first battle, and it would be no different for Isak. He, like every other soldier, would return a changed man, but Bahl felt a flicker of concern at what those changes might be.

‘Are we going underground?’

‘We are; leave Kerin’s Eagle-blade here. I think we’ll be able to find something better for you.’

Isak grinned. He looked uneasy as well as excited, and with good reason, for the changes Nartis had wrought over the past few weeks had made him taller and stronger. He was now of a size with General Lahk, already twenty stone in weight and strong enough to kill a grown man with his bare hands. His gifts would elevate him to a level no normal soldier could hope to reach: speed and strength accentuated beyond even a normal white-eye’s power - and that took no account of what spells might be imbued into the metal.

‘Your shield?’

Isak leaned over the desk and drew the shield out from the footwell. Bahl frowned when he saw it, once again reaching out his senses to touch the gleaming silver. He still could not place whatever spell it contained: it wasn’t complex, but that simplicity confused him.

‘Can you read any of the runes on it?’

‘There aren’t any.’ Isak held up the shield for Bahl to see, keeping a tight grip on it. Bahl made no attempt to touch it as he inspected the surface.

‘Not on either side?’ Isak turned it over to show his master the inside. There was nothing, not even written on the leather straps for Isak’s arm.

‘I did dream of a rune the night I got this. Tila found me a book to look them up in.’

‘Them?’

‘It—there were, ah, lots, of runes in the book. It was a core rune, meaning something like “Merge” or “Union”.’

‘Ah.’ Bahl drew back from the shield, understanding suddenly dawning as he remembered the thread of magic that had wormed its way between the flagstones of the Great Hall that day. ‘That makes sense - although I suspect the connotations will be a puzzle.’

‘Why? What makes sense?’

‘Best you see for yourself. Come.’

The pair descended the main stair side by side. The chaos of preparations for the army’s departure was strangely absent here; the running feet and bellowed commands were distant, behind thick walls of stone. As they neared the bottom, a scampering soldier in Tebran’s livery appeared before them, on an errand to his lord’s chambers. Startled by the two white-eyes, the man accidentally careened into a wall, then pressed himself up against it to make room for them. As soon as they had passed, he took off again, and they heard his feet pounding heavily on the stair as he made his way to the suzerain’s suite.

In the lower level of the tower, the air was cold and dank. With no fire burning, it felt like a dungeon. Since the advancing elven army had first been drawn to their attention, the call of Isak’s gifts had intensified. Bahl was sure Isak had felt it too; more than once he had left his room in the morning to find Isak lingering at the base of the tower, instead of eating breakfast in the Great Hall.

Isak pulled his paral shirt tighter against the clammy air, which pushed the dragon brooch pinned to it to a strange angle, snout down, as though it was digging into the ground. It reminded Bahl that he had not spoken to the beast below in six months. He had no idea how it would react to Isak’s presence.

The cycle of a dragon’s life consisted of long periods of rest and sleep, then perhaps half a century of destruction and terror in the mating rituals. In return for a safe haven for this beast, Bahl had secured the promise of assistance in battle when it was required, and that the destructive phase would take place far from Farlan lands. It was a strange bargain to have struck, but the cost of feeding a dragon was far less than maintaining troops enough to match the dragon’s worth.

 

Down they went, deep into the belly of the earth, far from prying eyes. Isak, used now to the tower’s magic, guessed the distance to be half the height of the tower - a long way down to put a strong-room; when he announced that, it elicited only a humourless snort by way of reply.

Now it was pitch-black, and Isak could see nothing at all, not even the hand he reached out in front of his own face, until Bahl muttered a few words under his breath. Isak detected the dirty-sour smell of magic as a ball of flame appeared in Bahl’s palm. Although the words were too quiet for Isak to hear, they rose in his memory: one of many spells he’d memorised over the past few weeks but couldn’t make work.

They were in a cave, a hollowed-out space some ten feet high and wide, unfinished walls still marked by the tools used to carve out the hole. The flame gave off only enough light to see that not even an iron brand adorned the walls. Bahl led him through a hole in the wall into an undulating tunnel, wide enough only for one at a time. Isak trailed along behind, wondering where this was taking them.

He tried another attempt at conversation, something that had been nagging at his mind for a while. ‘My Lord?’

‘Hmm?’

‘When we return from Lomin, what will I do?’

‘You’re the Krann, you do what you like.’

‘That’s not what I mean. If I’ve proved myself in battle - if I have gifts like yours - what should I be doing with my life?’

Isak knew it was a strange question, but in a nation of allotted roles, he could not now see one for him - at least until he became the Lord of the Farlan, and that was a long way ahead.

Bahl stopped, his expression hidden by his mask. ‘What should you be doing with your life? A good question, I suppose.’ Abruptly, he started walking again. ‘You’re a suzerain. You have an estate and a shire to manage; just getting your lands in order may take years. Lesarl will provide you with records of the suzerain’s possessions in Anvee - I think you’ll have quite a lot of evictions, rent collecting and deal-making to do. Crops grown on your land now belong to you, no matter who planted them, your nobles will have redrawn boundaries, your shire seat will be in disrepair, your bondsmen need accounting—’

‘Oh, playing with bits of paper, measuring land, counting money.’ Isak couldn’t hide the boredom in his voice.

‘Hunting, hawking, practising your magic, horse-breeding, bullying old aristocrats and charming their innocent daughters; I assumed you’d enjoy it. Estate managers can be found to deal with the administrative side. Did you expect more?’

‘I suppose—’ Isak sounded a little diffident now. ‘Well, I had wondered whether you’d be sending me on diplomatic missions.’

‘You? A diplomat? What a curious concept.’

Isak smiled at Bahl’s tone, glad for any levity between them.

‘There will certainly be lots to keep you busy here if you want it, but our relationships with other states are limited. We are too powerful for them to attack us, and trade agreements are already in place, so your principal official role if you want it would be patrolling our borders to discourage raiding.’

‘What if—’

Isak got no further as Bahl interrupted, ‘Another time. We’re here.’

Isak realised he’d forgotten to count the paces as he’d intended, but guessed they’d covered a hundred yards or more. Another twenty paces and Bahl stopped in front of the outline of a doorway hewn in the rock: sharp, irregular lines edged in the faintest of green.

As they’d been walking, Isak had been more and more aware of the presence of magic of some sort up ahead, but the scent was unlike any he recognised. As he followed Bahl inside, the smell of wet lichen, animal dung and a piercing acrid odour grew hugely, as did the magic in the air. There were powerful streams of energy present, not building up, but attracted to this place for some reason, presumably his gifts. The smell of dung bemused him, though: it was not quite like a stable, nor a slaughterhouse, but the aroma was similarly pervasive.

As Isak took in the proportions of the room, he faltered: this was a cavern stretching off into blackness, not the strong-room he’d been expecting. The faint green tint that outlined the walls and uneven floor had no apparent source, other than the magic he could sense swirling all around. The cavern was not one regular open space; the roof dipped and rose as it pleased and the floor rose up in the centre around a group of thick pillars clustered with quartz. Two large holes had been hacked into a side wall, presumably tunnels leading to more chambers. One had great chunks of rock lying broken at its entrance.

‘Where are we? What is this place?’ He found himself whispering.

‘I keep some of the artefacts Atro collected over the years here. We cannot keep them in the palace itself, nor can we destroy most of them, for fear of releasing the magic inside - for the same reason why the Elven Waste is indeed a waste: that is where the Great War was fought and vast amounts of uncontrolled magic poisoned the ground.’

‘That’s all? But this is a cavern, and I can feel something else down here. Gods, is there something alive here? What’s that I can sense?’ Isak stood still, trying to make sense of what he could smell and feel, then he gasped as he recognised the ancient air that lingered in parts of the palace, like the presence of centuries but alive and aware, and terrifyingly potent.

Bahl didn’t reply, but gestured towards the raised part of the floor, where, in the darker parts between the pillars, Isak could just make out a long lump of rock. As his eyes adjusted, he noticed a smooth arc against the irregular stone, that became a tail, huge and scaled, with a fat scimitar tip. Isak’s mouth dropped open; without warning, the tail was whipped back and into the shadows, then a cold rasping rose from the lump of rock Bahl had indicated. It slid forward, the heavy click of claw on stone and the rasp of its scaled tail dragging along the rough surface announcing its living presence.

Inside his head the words echoed and crashed, rising in power until Isak started backwards in surprise.

Now a head appeared from the shadows, dipping down the slope with a deliberate lack of speed. It was fully two yards long, with a frill of bone sweeping back from the top of its head, which in turn was flanked by two huge horns that twisted back and up, another two yards long themselves. A wide snout held rows of glittering teeth; the protrusion of nostrils broke its smooth curve, and a pair of tusk-like horns pointed forward from behind the frill of bone, almost as far as the very tip of the snout. Behind that lay two huge eyes, glimmers of deepest red in the underground night. The rest of the body was hidden, visible only in silhouette. Isak guessed at folded wings sitting high on each side and a relatively slender body supported by wide clawed legs.

‘Ah—’ replied Isak in a daze. ‘And how about burning them?’ As soon as the words came out he realised he was being flippant to a dragon, one that was no more than ten yards from his face. It could probably flame him without even moving.

‘Oh.’

Isak kept his jaw clamped shut; terrified in case his inability to shut up might anger the beast. That was something he didn’t want to see.

‘I ... yes, it is. We ride for Lomin within the hour.’

Isak looked at the inscrutable features of the dragon, then at the two tunnel entrances. Eastern, not left or right. For a second he started trying to picture east in the palace, and then work out which way they had turned to get down here. Then he remembered where he was, and what he was looking for. Starting out towards the tunnels, he felt the keen of his gifts more strongly than ever before. The crunch of broken stone and dirt underfoot danced around the walls, sounding ever louder as his heart hammered inside his chest.