The stormcaller

Chalat waved him to continue.

'Armed with this information, the guards decided to bring Charr back to Thotel. If he was going to die anyway, they believed it would be better to be as close to the Temple of the Sun as possible.'

'Pious of them. Stupid, but pious.'

They brought with them the one surviving member of the group they'd ambushed – as soon as he saw the arrow hit, he ran, but he surrendered later, once he judged their blood had cooled somewhat – he spoke Chetse; told them he had information about the assassin. His behaviour was strange enough that they decided not to kill him immediately – instead, they trussed him like a lizard and put him on the cart next to the Krann.'

'And it's his testimony you want me to hear? What did he tell you?'

'If you don't mind, my Lord, I'd like you to judge it for yourself. He's less likely to lie to you with his hand in the eternal flame. He knows our language well, no doubt why he was chosen for the bait, so he must know about the flame. He did say that he'd been under some sort of enchantment, but that's a detail we can decide later. It's the assassin that I'm worried about.'

'Worried he's lying, or that what he says might be true?'

Harsh voices from the darkness prompted the general to clamber to his feet and walk out to the front of the temple. As Chalat joined him, the shapes of three men slowly appeared from the gloom. Two were Lion Guards, from General Dev's personal legion; the third was a little taller and much more slender, even with the thick cords of rope that bound his arms to his body and hobbled his feet.

Both guards carried crossbows, and had battle-axes slung on their backs. The larger of the two also carried an iron-shod quarterstaff, the foreigner's weapon. They threw the prisoner on to the floor and stepped over him to kneel at their Lord's feet.

'Cut those bonds from his hands,' ordered Chalat, 'and bring him to the flame.' Their footsteps echoed strangely over the polished surface, getting quieter as they reached the centre, as if deadened by the constant whisper of the eternal flame. The prisoner had hair dark enough for a Parian, though he lacked the height or the tribe's distinctive facial features. He stumbled along after the white-eye as best he could. Though the guards kept prodding him along, he couldn't help looking up at the astonishing temple. His mouth fell open in awe as he followed the four pillars up to the apex, almost eighty yards above the altar in the centre. Nothing supported them; the thin white shaft of the eternal flame was the only thing that connected the peak and altar.

An open walkway that ran around the pillars at the midpoint was strictly the preserve of Tsatach's priests. Anyone else who dared enter the stairs in the pillars that led to the walkway – even General Dev ~ would be executed on the spot. The walkways were supported only by air and magic: anyone other than the temple's priests might disrupt the spells that supported the thousands of tons of stone and kill the pilgrims congregating below – on a feast day, they numbered in the thousands.

Chalat wasted no time when he reached the altar. He'd been enjoying himself with four of his favourite concubines and he fully intended to return to their delights as quickly as possible. Grabbing the foreigner by the scruff of the neck, he picked him up bodily and deposited him next to the flame.

'Do you know what happens to liars who put their hands in the flame?' he asked cheerily.

The man nodded, a little nervous, but remarkably calm – the general thought he looked as though he'd resigned himself to execution and had made his peace with the Gods already.

Chalat nodded in approval and took the man's hand in his own. As the Chosen of Tsatach, the flame would never hurt him. If the foreigner lied while his hand was within the flame, his entire arm would be consumed. If he was quick, it would be just the arm.

'What is your name?'

'Mihn ab Netren ab Felith. I am called Mihn.'

'Where do you come from?'

'I was bom into the clans of the northern coast. I have wandered the Land for several years now, often in the wastes.'

Tell me who the assassin was.' Chalat had better things to do than waste time on pointless questions.

'He- he called himself Arlal.'

'What sort of a name is that? Parian?'

'No, Lord, elven.'

Chalat gave a cough of surprise, letting go of the man's wrist for a moment in his astonishment. General Dev shrugged when Chalat looked at him. He looked at the flame; the man's hand was still there and he had not even attempted to pull away, though the flames licked and danced over his skin. Even if Mihn were a sorcerer, he'd still not have the power to stop his hand burning. He must be telling the truth.

The man kept his hand in the centre of the flame, a defiant look on his face while he waited for the next question.

'Arlal was an elf?'

'A true elf, my Lord.'

Now the white-eye gaped. 'You were in the company of a true elf called Arlal? The one storytellers call the Poisonblade?'

Mihn paused, considering how to frame his reply so it was com- pletely true. 'It is possible. I don't know how many true elves there

are in the Land, but it is most likely. The Poisonblade is said to be an assassin.'

'Did he tell you who paid him?'

'No. He said little, other than to give us orders. He had some sort of amulet around his neck, I didn't even consider disobeying him.'

The sound of footsteps running over the plain made them all jump. The two soldiers had their crossbows raised and ready to fire when a voice hailed them from the gloom, sounding far too scared to be a threat.

'General! He's awake!'

'It's Gerrint. Put your bows down,' General Dev ordered. 'It's my adjutant, Lord Chalat. I left him in charge of the Krann.'

The soldier pounded his way over the temple boundary, nearly tripping as he remembered how disrespectful it was. He stumbled to a halt, looked around as if expecting a furious priest to appear from the pillars, then walked as fast as he could to the altar.

'My Lord, General Dev, the Krann has recovered!'

'Don't be ridiculous, Gerrint; he was all but dead when I saw him.'

'I know, sir, but he's up and walking around. But he looks different my Lord, changed. The wound is a black stain on his chest, nothing more. The medic said that the arrow crumbled to soot suddenly and stained his skin – then Lord Charr got up and threw out everyone but his personal guards. I came as quickly as I could, sir, my Lord.'

Chalat frowned, looking deeply concerned, and drawing his sword, walked away from the altar.

The coppery surface of Golaeth glinted in the light of the eternal flame as Chalat used it to score a circle on the floor almost two yards in diameter. A faint black trail followed the path of the sword while Chalat whispered the words of a spell under his breath. That done, he sat down, cross-legged, within the circle, looking faintly comical as he carefully tucked his thick legs under himself. He nicked his finger on Golaeth's edge and placed the sword across his knees, then caressed the ruby gem at his neck with the bloody digit.

General Dev walked nervously around his Lord, keeping far enough away that he didn't disturb his work but, as always, fascinated by the magic. He shivered as the open space suddenly became darker and a sharp chill appeared in the air. Chalat's breathing slowed until it was almost imperceptible. The Bloodrose at his throat smouldered brighter, then blazed for a brief moment before the air around Chalat returned to normal.

'He's at his homestead. There's a darkness surrounding him, something I don't recognise.' Chalat's voice sounded hollow and distant, as though his Lord had been somewhere else and part of him hadn't fully returned.

'I can have the Lion Guard ready in half an hour, the Ten Thousand within the hour-' He stopped as Chalat held up a hand.