The Stormcaller: Book One Of The Twilight Reign (54 page)

‘Yes, I’m sure you’ll find something to look at there. All those married women bathing ... Tila won’t speak to you for a week,’ Isak teased.

The designers who turned Narkang’s half-dozen natural hot springs into one of the great wonders of the Land had created three smaller chambers alongside the main public bath. The first was reserved for soldiers; the king’s habit of ennobling his supporters meant many of the city’s rich elite were scarred veterans. The smaller chamber afforded them a degree of privacy, and allowed the younger generation to mingle with military heroes. King Emin hoped lessons learned by the older soldiers would be passed on not only through training, but by talking.

The second was for women only, so unmarried girls were not on public display, as they would be in the main bath.

The last, the smallest, was a private bath chamber reserved for the royal couple. Few had ever been invited into this sanctuary; it was a rare honour. Since Doranei had been the one to bring Isak’s invitation to join King Emin there, it was clear that there was real business to discuss - business that needed to be kept private.

 

They were summoned to the courtyard an hour or so later, to find King Emin and a line of litters ready for them. His entourage was smaller; the only newcomer was a rather harassed-looking man, unevenly shaved and obviously uncomfortable in his dress uniform. The man couldn’t have been more than thirty summers, but from the way he was shifting from foot to foot it looked like he could think of far more productive ways of spending his time than sitting in the public baths with some foreign dignitary.

‘Lord Isak, this is Commander Brandt of the City Watch. I know you have your Ghosts, but it will be Commander Brandt’s responsibility to ensure they are not required. You have the freedom of the city, but I’m afraid you might find a rather troubled Brandt trotting along behind.’

Isak smiled. That made sense: Commander Brandt might have started out as one of the ambitious noblemen of the Kingsguard, but he’d obviously had the shine rubbed off by years of chasing criminals. ‘He’s young to be Commander of the Watch,’ Isak commented. There was a tense pause and then the Krann grinned at Brandt. ‘I assume that means he’s good at his job, so I’m delighted to have him on hand.’

Relief flushed over the commander’s face. At King Emin’s gesture, the Krann made for the litter with the largest bearers. Most of them had a half-naked man at each corner, their skin oiled, jewellery hanging from their ears and about their necks. Each bearer had curious leather thongs hanging from their wrists. As Isak stepped towards his litter he saw four more bearers move up discreetly to share the weight.

Tila had warned him that litters were the normal choice inside the city walls, but Isak doubted that the bearers had ever had someone of his weight. He tapped the edge of the frame before sitting down, glad at least to feel a strong metallic frame under the cloth. Satisfied the litter at least would bear him, Isak made himself comfortable.

The bearers allowed him a moment to settle, then carefully wrapped the leather thongs about each handle and lifted. A slight grunt came from one of the men, but none wavered. The man on the back-right comer checked his team to make sure they were not about to drop one of the most powerful men in the Land, then they stood ready while the rest of the party did likewise.

Mihn ignored the litter and stationed himself on Isak’s left, steel-shod staff held as a walking stick. A small bag hung from his shoulders, tied tight to his back so the book and scroll it contained would not restrict his movements in case of trouble. Commander Brandt took up his station on Isak’s right. His hand rested on the rapier at his hip; his eyes checked out every other figure in the courtyard.

King Emin waited until his guests were sorted before he climbed into his own litter, then the whole procession set off, quickly finding a natural rhythm. They shuffled with surprising speed, out under the peaked arch and into the city. Each litter had a thin bamboo framework hung with silk so the passenger could draw a curtain and block out the city, but Isak was far too interested in seeing Narkang. Tirah was a grey city, all ancient stone and brooding clouds. The buildings in the main streets were tightly huddled, and many of the canopied walkways on each side had evolved into covered arcades. Narkang was completely different: life took place in the wide avenues, and the streets served as extra space for the hundreds of taverns and stalls.

It was hard to see much of the buildings surrounding the palace, but Isak got the impression that most were centred on large open courtyards. Gates opened as they passed, people crowding outside to watch the royal procession. There were fruit trees laden with blossom, clay tiles and colourfully painted shutters on the tall windows: they all combined to make the city look bright and friendly - an appearance that belied the iron bars crossed over every accessible window.

‘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 replying, ‘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 imperceptibly, 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.

He turned his attention back to the long hallway, trying to ignore the stares from those sitting on the sofas and chairs that lined the room. At least a hundred people sat, or stood facing them. Isak recognised the hostile expressions, even if the faces were unknown.

There was a wide range of dress and colour, but Isak noticed a good many red sashes bearing the crest of the Runesword of the Devoted, and several clusters of white-shawled women. One of the parties of women included a man in their group, though the others appeared to have male escorts at the side.

As King Emin and the Krann began to walk down the hall, talk recommenced, though Isak noticed the women in white watched silently. He began to feel rather like an insect that had crawled on to the best carpet: a particularly large and interesting insect, but still not one they intended to touch.

King Emin, for his part, appeared to notice nothing. Nodding to smiling faces as they presented themselves, he swept down the corridor with all the confidence of a crowned monarch. This, Isak thought in passing, was what Tila had been trying to drum into him.

And here was the first lesson. The king commanded the room immediately, dominating the attention of all, secure enough to merely note those faces that didn’t smile at him. The tangible air of confidence Emin brought with him made up for the fourteen inches he conceded in height to Isak. Even the brisk stride he had adopted to keep up with Isak’s long legs contained no element of rush or hurry.