enough remaining upright in his seat, let alone pursuing the schemes Of a duplicitous God. The sharp-eyed priest supporting his master's elbow was a different matter, but Isak reminded himself that most people looked that way at a white-eye, so there was no point reading anything into it.
Four novices who had accompanied them were huddled in a far corner, no doubt terrified by the presence of Lord Bahl. They'd probably been brought along because they were showing some tendency towards magic – it usually started to manifest at puberty. If they could sense power on even the most basic level, they would find Lord Bahl's presence extremely disturbing. Isak grinned widely at them, which made them shrink back even further, and walked over to the seated men.
Lord Bahl introduced Isak, saying formally, 'High Priest Wetlen, may I present to you my Krann, the Chosen of Nartis, Lord Isak.'
'My Lord.' The old man struggled to his feet, helped by the young priest at his elbow. 'I presume Lord Bahl has told you something of what I intend.'
'Not really, not in detail,' Isak admitted, trying not to feel any fear.
'It is rather difficult to explain. No doubt he thought it best to leave that to me, so I will do so while we get settled.' The old man gestured at a door in the wall of the main chamber that Isak hadn't noticed. 'Lord Bahl has been kind enough to allow me the use of an antechamber as we will need to be alone.'
'Your Eminence?' The young priest at his side looked rather alarmed, but High Priest Wetlen just waved him away.
'I will be fine. Your presence will just complicate matters,' he said sternly. 'I'm not so old I can't sit still without your help.' He swatted at his assistant, but his effort ended abruptly with a sharp hiss of pain and he capitulated. 'Very well, help me in there, and then leave us.' Isak could hear the old man's frustration at the failings of his body. The attendant priest made no comment, but waved at one of the novices to bring the chair. The boy scuttled about his task, his eyes darting from one white-eye to the other as the four of them passed Bahl and went and went through the door on his right.
‘Come on boy, put it down there – no, facing the table. Fetch that
cushion and place it before the chair. Lord Isak, I suggest you sit on the cushion and focus your attention on the painting above the table.
It will help things go smoothly if you have something to concentrate on.' The High Priest eased himself into the seat and gave a quiet sigh of satisfaction before patting at the various charms at his belt.
'Now then, my Lord – yes, Unmen, you can go, and shut the door behind you – now then, Lord Isak, Lord Bahl has requested that my Aspect guide is not present during these sessions. If you would sprinkle this powder in a circle around us, it will ensure that is the case.'
Isak took the brass vial the old man had proffered, but he made no move to remove the stopper. Instead, he asked, 'Aspect guide?'
'Yes- oh, but of course, you wouldn't have one; limiting, if you ask me, but perhaps it is for the best. Do you not know about them at all?'
'I know what an Aspect is.'
High Priest Wetlen gave a phlegmy chuckle. 'I assumed you would know that, at least. What I meant was whether you knew about magical guides, but I presume not. The mages understandably don't want it to become public knowledge, but this is how it works: to aid their researches, an apprentice mage of sufficient promise will find a guide to bind to him, and to use to build his grimoire.
'These guides are creatures of magic, very minor daemons, too weak to exert any control over their mage, but knowledgeable enough to substantially build on what is taught at the colleges. Crucially, they are also intelligent enough to know that their own power will increase proportionally if they do cooperate, and as creatures of magic, their perspective is most valuable.
'Theologically this is difficult ground, so priests with similar promise take an Aspect of their chosen God instead – a weaker choice, but more acceptable for a religious figure. Ducohs, my own guide, has been with me for more than sixty years.'
'It has a name?'
'But of course.' Isak's comment seemed to amuse the old man. 1 have been High Priest for more than twenty years now, and as my strength and ability have increased, so have Ducohs'. Now, make a circle with the powder.'
This time Isak did as he was told. His curiosity about this withered old man was mounting: he talked about an Aspect of Larat as he would an old friend. When he had finished, Isak replaced the stopper and handed the bottle back. The priest fumbled as he attempted to reattach it to one of the chains that hung from his waist, but the
determined set to his mouth made it clear enough that he wanted no
help.
'Right, now we are ready. Sit in front of me and concentrate on the picture. This will be disconcerting, so it is better to keep your eyes open and focused on something.'
Isak sat and stared intently at the painting while High Priest Wetlen wheezed and muttered unintelligibly. The painting, a classical image of Nartis hunting, was old and ugly. Isak scowled. Whoever the artist was, he was an idiot who had no idea how living creatures moved or stood. Nartis himself was grossly parodied: shown almost naked, with deep blue skin and an excessively muscular body. The figure looked brutal, like a daemon, not a God, with no grace or subtlety about it.
Isak kept his eyes on the painting as the High Priest reached out and touched his head, gently drawing magic from the air around them so Isak's ears began to buzz and ring at the sensation of energies rushing through him. It felt like cool, ghostly fingers dipping into his mind. Then he felt the powers pause and hold, and he himself relaxed and unclenched his fists.
He smothered the alarm he felt in the back of his mind and took a deep breath, waiting for the High Priest to continue. He trembled as the smooth but relentless fingers traced the shape of his soul, and closed his eyes.
Swordmaster Kerin watched Lord Bahl as they waited outside in silence. The white-eye had his eyes closed and his head rested heavily on one hand. It was an unnerving sight: a tired king on his throne. To the Swordmaster, Bahl had always been a man of boundless strength and energy, impervious to the burdens imposed by power.
Bahl's eyes jerked wide open and he was already upright as a blinding crash of light and noise burst through the antechamber door. Kerin
flinched away from the explosion, arms held protectively over his face as pieces of shattered door flew across the room.
In the silence that followed, they saw the broken corpse of High Priest Wetlen, and Isak, still sitting on the cushion, his face a rictus of terror as a golden nimbus glittered and surged above his shorn head.
CHAPTER 9
'Well, will it work?'
The engineer mopped his heavy brow with an oil-stained cloth and chanced a look at his lord. The huge white-eye was standing perfectly still, looking out through the cloud to the city walls beyond. Either Lord Styrax was moving swiftly, albeit with economical purpose, or he was as motionless as the many statues of Karkarn, God of War and patron of the Menin tribe, that adorned their home city; there was no middle ground, and it was disconcerting to behold. There was no wasted effort on personal quirks: it was as if the Gods had perfected their design for the white-eye, and Kastan Styrax was the fruit of their efforts. Since their first meeting two months back, the engineer had remained in utter awe, and even now, as he looked at Lord Styrax's emotionless face, he found it hard to imagine the man was a mere mortal, made of flesh and blood.
'I believe so, my Lord,' he said after taking a moment to smother the nervous hiccoughs that threatened to interrupt. 'The wood is sound and my men have done a good job; I could expect nothing better, given the circumstances. I would prefer to test-fire it first, but without that option, all I can say is that I believe it will serve as you asked. If you were using a cut stone I could estimate-' His voice broke off as Styrax raised his hand. Apart from his head, it was the only par of the white-eye's body not encased in forbidding black armour, but the hand, like the armour, was the result of his greatest victory. Bone-white from wrist to fingertip, it had twisting swirls of scar tissue covering the skin and deep bloody stains forever caught under the fingernails. Rumour said Kastan Styrax had allowed it to be burned to achieve this great triumph: cutting down Koezh Vukotic in battle. No lone warrior had managed such a feat since the vampire had risen from the grave for the first time; he considered the price minor.