'So, did you wake me for a reason, or just concern for my health?' he asked, grumpily.
'I thought you would prefer to be awake as we enter the next town. It's not seemly for the Krann to be asleep when his subjects come out to cheer him. I also have word from your knights from Anvee.'
'What about them? Have I offended them by not sending them orders to accompany me?' In his other life he'd found people took offence at most things, but a court rank had apparently enlarged the range of possibilities, and the things he didn't do were causing him almost as many problems as the things he did.
'They are your subjects. You may offend if it so pleases you.'
'Enough scolding, General, I'm too tired.'
'I lack the rank to scold you…'
'Just shut up and tell me what they said.'
'They were enquiring as to whether they could present themselves to you.'
Isak turned in his saddle, shifting Eolis on his back to sit more comfortably as he waited for further explanation.
'They number five hundred – an impressive number for Anvee, which of course is the intention. They are most anxious to please their new liege. The problem is that a number of the knights and most of the cavalrymen are your bondsmen.' He waited for a response, but got none.
Isak sat with a blank expression. As a wagon-brat he'd never had any reason to leam the laws of land-locked men. His father had called it a collar that choked honest men into slaves. Carel had laughed at that and not bothered to argue, his chuckles indicating that Herman's opinion was so foolish it didn't even merit a response.
The general persisted. 'Lord Isak, Anvee has been without a suzerain for many years. It has therefore been of advantage to pledge a bond of service to the title of Suzerain Anvee itself, since the benefits of that bond come with few of the requirements one normally expects. They are therefore now a little unsettled that a suzerain has been appointed – they now have responsibilities to you, and they are trying to keep to the letter of the law until they can judge your disposition.'
'And?'
He sighed. Isak thought it was in irritation for a moment, but the reply was as bland and patient as before. 'And the law states that a bondsman must secure his liege lord's permission before he can leave the shire. Technically, this constitutes desertion. They could be hung.'
Isak's face turned from confused to incredulous.
'And they are actually worried I might do that? Execute my own soldiers? Before a battle, no less?'
'They thought it prudent for me to speak to you first. You are a white-eye.'
Isak felt the general's words sink like a stone in his stomach. It didn't matter that such a decision would be lunacy: they feared the monster inside him. Even General Lahk had not disputed the possibility that Isak might respond that way – it was as if Atro were still alive and every evil rumour about him had been true.
Isak felt too sickened to reply. He waved his hand in the direction of the general, telling him to get on with it, then nudged his horse
away, unable to bear company. General Lahk spurred his own horse into a trot and disappeared behind the banners of Suzerain Tehran's hurscals.
How does he live like that? They must think the same about him, worse perhaps. Is there nothing he cares about? Would he disobey any order from Bahl, no matter how obscene? Would he even notice? Maybe what they say is true; maybe Nartis did burn out his soul.
The Chief Steward had told Isak the strange circumstances of the general's birth, and how Bahl had taken him to be tested in the Temple of Nartis. Lahk was far stronger than any other white-eye, but Nartis had rejected him, scarring his body with lightning instead of raising him to the ranks of the Chosen. He was left with two choices: reject Nartis and leave, or become a perfect servant of the God. He had taken the harder path, discarding those parts of his soul that would nurture the pain of his rejection. Isak almost admired him for that, however much the thought horrified him.
A few flakes of snow swirled around Isak as he stared through the banners to see where the general was going, but his idle gaze was soon lost in the flags and colours themselves. The livery of the Palace Guard was a dour black and white – no doubt it reflected Bahl's uncompromising mind, but it seemed to suit Lahk more, especially after a few weeks of wear and dirt had dulled everything. Slowly, as they had marched through the shires collecting troops, passing through Tebran to Nelbove and Danva, then following the border of Amah and Vere, flashes of colour had begun to appear in the ranks. The Chetse called the Parian cavalry 'steel peacocks' – gaudy and arrogant, but fearsome, however much silk and lace they wore.
With the army now marched a total of eight suzerains, including the Krann himself, and eleven counts, some fifty marshals and six hundred-odd knights. The hundreds of banners and badges, pennants and tunics, clashed in a melee of colour across the dull canvas of a wintry forest. Every single noble had presented himself to the Krann and had his title announced, but it was only the suzerains that Isak had remembered. The rest had been just a blur of pomp and ceremony.
That old rogue Fordan had the honour of the vanguard, ahead of higher-ranking suzerains – a decision of Isak's that had made Sir Cerse, Colonel of the Palace Guard, wince. But Fordan had proved to be both good company and a sensible advisor. Isak was less sure about Sir Cerse, the young ambitious knight from Tori who had surprised
most by earning a Swordmaster's Eagle-blade shortly after he joined the Ghosts. Fordan's Red Keep banner was too far ahead to be seen, as were the Gold and Green Hounds of rich Suzerain Nelbove and the Green Griffin of the odious Suzerain Selsetin. There was something about that man that set Isak's teeth on edge, even before Fordan had muttered something about both Nelbove and Selsetin being implicated in the Malich scandal. Without knowing quite what that meant, Isak did realise it made them far from friendly to his cause. The other nobles had nodded sagely at Fordan's words; whatever it was, the scandal was obviously common knowledge.
The swooping Golden Falcon of the newly raised Suzerain Danva fluttered just ahead. His brother was dead only two weeks and a book was already running on the life expectancy of his infant nephew, who would take the title if he reached adulthood. The suzerain's superb voice carried well over the breeze, and Isak could also hear an insistent debate between Suzerains Amah and Ked. The White Hart of Amah seemed to be faring well against the Yellow Lion, despite having to concede nearly twenty summers to his peer.
The last suzerain present was foremost in rank, being from the oldest family and one of the richest provinces, but to Isak's surprise, the dour, excessively devout Suzerain Tori had presented himself only briefly before setting off to ride with the ranging scouts. His Ice Cobra emblem was as uncommon as the strange and secretive suzerain himself. Just as rare was his decision to wear simple leathers, with the badge of his family sewn to his breast as a sworn soldier would, instead of the grand armour a knight was expected to be seen in. His plate was carefully packed away, as was that of his hurscals, the unit of knights that acted as his bodyguard.
At first, Isak thought the man was a coward, dressing as a simple cavalryman to avoid making a target of himself like his fellow noblemen, but as he found out more about the man, he was deeply relieved that for once he'd not let his tongue run away with him. General Lahk, not one to overly praise anyone, told Isak that when it came to battle, Suzerain Tori was always to be found fighting side-by-side with the white-eyes of the Guard.