Isak trotted down the steps and made his way to a nearby groom who was attending to a tall chestnut hunter. The magnificent animal remained patient and still as the groom inspected a foreleg hoof.
Isak took a moment to admire the warhorse, a finer creature than any he'd seen before, before asking, 'Can you tell me where I can find Swordmaster Kerin?'
‘The Swordmaster?' replied the groom without looking up. 'He's busy with the rich boys of the Guard. Wait till he's finished; some of them are knights and they don't like commoners interrupting.'
Isak smiled. Only a day back he'd have obeyed that advice. 'Tell me which on he is anyway. I tkink I outrank a knight so they won't complain for long.’ The man looked up, and dropped the hoof in shock. He quickly recovered himself and dropped to to one knee, muttering apologies. 'My Lord, forgive-‘
‘don‘t worry, just tell me which one is the Swordmaster.'
The man hopped to his feet and pointed to a group of men gathered in a circle thirty yards away. 'Of course, my Lord… He’s over there, training the high-born men. The, ah, the man in blue, with a quarter-staff.'
Isak turned to follow the man's hand. The group was assembled in a half-circle, centred on the man in blue and a mailed figure frozen in mid-lunge. The S\yordmaster was pointing with tiis staff at the position of the other man's leg. He could see why the groom had been dismissive; it Was a fencing class, teaching nobles how to fight with a rapier. The Weapons were next to useless on a battlefield, but duels were common enough among the upper classes and skill with the narrow blade bad brought many men fame.
As Isak approached, the assembled men stopped paying attention and stared instead at their new Krann. He smiled inwardly, wondering what rumours were flying around the palace. A commoner arriving in the dead of night and soaked in blood, declared as Krann to Lord Bahl and future Lord of the Parian – no doubt there were many assuming, as some part of Isak still did, that this was all a joke.
To the Swordmaster's credit, he hardly hesitated as he felt his audience's attention stray. Turning smartly, the slim-built, greying man hefted his staff, took a step towards Isak and then dropped to one knee. 'My Lord Isak, you honour us with your presence.' As he spoke, Kerin looked up, assessing Isak with an unwavering gaze that betrayed no trace of apprehension. 'You're Swordrnaster Kerin?'
'I am, my Lord.' Kerin didn't blink or shift his attention for an instant. For a man kneeling, the Swordmaster showed no intention of being impressed yet.
'Well then, Lord Bahl told me to report to you.' Kerin rose, leaning heavily on his staff, but Isak wasn't fooled. From the rapt attention the others had been giving him, he guessed Kerin was worthy of his title.
‘That he did, my Lord, and now you're out here, you're under my command. There’s no room for titles here; no room for more than one commander. If you don't like doing what I say, tough shit. You'll do it or you'll not walk this field.'
Isak blinked in surprise; that hadn't been how he'd expected things to start out – but then he remembered Carel repeating to him, again and again, whenever the subject of joining the Guard came up: Keep
your damn temper under control and your mouth shut. Either you'll learn to take orders, or they'll chew you up and spit you out. There's nothing that the Swordmasters haven't seen before; make sure you show yourself to be more than just a white-eye.
Isak gave a small smile; if he was now the Krann, none of these men had seen one of those before, but he still had something to prove to them. Better he showed them the man he could become, rather than the animal they all expected.
'Think I'm joking, boy?' The Swordmaster broke in on his reverie. 'There's near enough a thousand men on this ground; defy me and you'll find out whether their loyalties lie with me or some wet-behind-the-ears suzerain of a place no one's ever been.'
Isak held up his hands in submission. 'I've not yet had a chance to get used to my title; I think I can put it aside for the moment.' He looked around at the men assembled. Disappointed at what he saw, Isak craned his head past them at the nearest troops. 'I thought there were other white-eyes in the Ghosts?' he asked finally.
Kerin snorted. 'That there are – seventy-six of the vicious bastards at the last count.'
'You don't like white-eyes?'
'Hah! Boy, to me you're just a soldier – and right now, you're not even that. The best way to piss me off is to be touchy about what you are. You want to know why I call them vicious bastards? It's because they are. I could count on my fingers those white-eyes in the Guard who've spoken more words to me than you just have. General Lahk is the only one that's properly civilised, saving yourself perhaps, and the general broke another white-eye's neck with his bare hands a few years back.' There was a hint of a smile of Kerin's face as he spoke, the confidence of a man in his element. Isak §uspected even the white-eyes of the Guard, bastards or not, would follow the Swordmaster's orders without question.
‘ I’m keeping the others away from you because they'll want to get into it first chance there is. Like their pecking order, do our white-yes, and none of you can control your temper. If it starts, someone will die; that's why they'll be flogged if they even walk past you. Now, enough talk. Can you fight?' Isak nodded, biting back his frustration. Kerin seemed to be suggest Isak didn't even have much in common with other white-eyes -even amongst his own, would he still be an outsider?
'Good. Give him a staff, Swordmaster Cosep,' Kerin ordered a stout officer in Bahl's livery. The eagle on his chest was gold rather than the usual white, and Isak guessed that was the mark of a Swordmaster, the most skilled of all Parian soldiers. Kerin acted as if he were the highest-ranked among them; he must be high enough that he had no need of markings or livery.
Isak had not even managed to gauge the weight of the staff when a loud crack broke the air and a burst of pain flared in the side of his head. He stumbled forward, almost dropping his staff in the process. Cosep stepped smartly back as Isak staggered and winced. His vision went black for an instant, then he saw Cosep smiling, the Swordmas-ter's eyes angled to Kerin rather than Isak. Instinctively, Isak threw himself to the right as Kerin's staff flashed towards him again – this time it would have done more damage than just a clip round the ear. 'Come on, boy, at least try to defend yourself,' the Swordmaster called, sounding bored.
Isak took a step back to collect his wits, but Kerin was on him again, swinging a sloppy stroke at Isak's head, perhaps hoping to tease a reaction out of him. Instead, he almost lost his staff as Isak lashed out angrily at the oncoming weapon and smashed it away. That gave him the moment he needed and now he was on the attack. He struck out, again and again, and as Kerin stepped smoothly over a long swipe at his shins, he grinned at Isak's unexpected speed.
Now Isak held the staff like an axe, hands apart until he slid them together for a stroke, aware that his height and reach gave him the advantage. Kerin was chancing the odd blow, but was too sensible to go toe-to-toe with a white-eye. Isak felt the man watching his every step and movement, drinking in the details while watching for a flaw
to exploit.
For a man approaching fifty summers, Kerin moved with the speed of one of his pupils, diverting one strike over his head with apparent ease, then turning in behind a straight thrust with a delicate pirouette and jabbing backwards at Isak. Years of experience meant Kerin im- mediately dived away when he felt his blow meet nothing but air, but the pleased astonishment was plain on his face as he rolled and jumped up, staff ready to defend himself.