The butler entered, casting an apprehensive look at his mistress before saying, 'Sir, I apologise for interrupting, but you have a visitor who demands to see you urgently.'
Amanas didn't have time to reply before a voice came from the open doorway and a man stepped into the dining room. 'My apologies, dear lady,' he declared, bowing low and kissing her theatrically on the hand. The man was tall and slim, with a distinguished touch of grey in his hair, dressed fashionably, if on the young side. 'I'm afraid the matter could not wait. I must drag your husband away for a while.'
Jelana Amanas gave a curt nod of the head and rose, patting her husband on the shoulder on her way past. She said not a word to the newcomer. When she had left, the man took her seat and leaned forward, fingers interlocked, as he studied Amanas with a predatory expression that reminded the Keymaster of the Chief Steward.
'So, Amanas, how is life in the Heraldic Library?'
'As it always is, Dancer. You have interrupted my dinner for a good reason, I hope?'
The man called Dancer chuckled at the use of that name. He was one of Lesarl's personal advisors, a member of the Chief Steward's very personal coterie. Few knew that name for him; it was reserved for business done well away from the public eye.
'You have a set of files here that my employer asked you to prepare a few years ago; you have not destroyed them?'
'Files?' Amanas asked. For a moment he had no idea what Dancer was talking about, then he realised. The Malich affair? Yes, I still have them, though I resent the Chief Steward using me as his personal blackmailer. Why do you need them? Surely we're no longer in danger of civil war now that Malich is dead.'
'I have just received a message from the army in Lomin. Duke Lomin is dead.'
'Murdered?' Amanas asked, aghast.
'By elves, not by Farlan hand. The problem is his son, Scion Lomin. He has taken the name of Duke Certinse.' Dancer's eyes narrowed. The Certinse family now directly controls a suzerainty, a dukedom, the Knights of the Temples and it may soon control the Cardinal branch of the cult of Nartis.'
Amanas sighed and heaved himself to his feet. From the sideboard he picked up an oil lamp and used it to gesture towards the door. 'Well then, you'd better come with me. We have a long night ahead of us.'
CHAPTER 19
Isak's horse almost sagged with fatigue. The snowflakes turning to water as they landed on the cloth covering weighed down the poor beast even further as it laboured on through the dirty sludge that passed for the forest highway. The local suzerains employed roadmen to maintain these routes, but several thousand horsemen coming through in the depths of winter made it impossible to tell whether those duties had been neglected or not. Since they were in Amah, a rich and prosperous suzerainty, it was likely there was someone sadly shaking his head as the troops passed, wondering how he'd ever get his road back into top condition.
'Remind me why we need to do this,' Isak muttered, eyes fixed on a single snowflake that was precariously balanced on the rise of a seam.
'Because wintering in Lomin would be as inconvenient as it would be fraught with complications.' Vesna's reply sounded mechanicaclass="underline" he was quite as bored and cold as the Krann, and he had answered this question half a dozen times already. 'Quite aside from the fact that you'd probably end up fighting Duke Certinse, Lomin is eight hundred miles from Perlir. With life as it is, that's too far. Duke Sempes hasn't caused trouble for quite a while and the Chief Steward is probably mad with suspicion by now.'
'Have we reached Danva yet?'
'Soon. The next village we come to should be flying red banners.'
'Why red?' Now Isak looked a little more interested. 'Surely it should be white if they're mourning their suzerain?' He looked at his bondsman, who looked significantly more noble than his master ~ Isak's heavy fleeces were stained with mud after an ignominious spill from his horse when the hunter had stumbled and fallen badly. At least they'd had a decent meal out of it – the break had been too bad for the horse to be of any further use and the Farlan were a practical people. Horses were the lifeblood of their nation, valued by all, but they were a tool. Isak had heard the Yeetatchen treated their horses like family, but the Farlan were much more sensible.
'No, my Lord, they fly the red when the suzerain dies in battle. I thought everyone knew that.' Vesna looked puzzled. 'Where were you born?'
'On the road to the Circle City. My mother went into labour just as they sighted Blackfang, I'm told. That's where she's buried, at the foot of a willow by the road.' There was a tinge of pain in Isak's voice. Like all white-eyes, he knew exactly why his mother died.
‘I’m sorry-'
'Long in the past,' replied Isak, shaking himself free of the memory. 'I might not remember her, but at least I've seen where she was buried – that route was my life for ten years. Three trips every two years, and I had to sneak off to visit her grave and get a whipping when I returned.'
'Your father hates you that much?' Vesna sounded like he couldn't believe a parent would act that way, but Isak had seen men worse than his father. At least Horman had a reason to hate his son. Some men did worse, for no cause other than that they had been born vicious.
'Father never forgave the loss of my mother. He named me to mock Kasi Farlan – maybe he hoped the Gods would take me young because of that. Without Carel to keep me in check I'd probably have hung as a result of our combined tempers.'
'I've heard you speak of Carel before; who is he?' the count asked.
'Carel – Sergeant Betyn Carelfolden,' Isak said. 'He taught me eve-rything I know, not just how to fight, but to rein in my temper, to think before reacting – it may not look like it, but I could have been much worse!' He laughed, then explained, 'Carel was a Ghost, so he was fair. He didn't despise me just because I was a white-eye, and he didn't hate me for killing my mother like my father did.' He smiled, remembering. 'He's probably the reason my father and I didn't end up killing each other.'
'Why don't you send for him, this Carelfolden, if he's your friend. Vesna asked curiously.
Isak shrugged. He'd thought of doing just that from time to time, but somehow he'd never actually done anything about it – he wasn’t sure why that was. Carel's smile and gruff voice composed almost the
entirety of Isak's good childhood memories. He was the one who had
urged Isak to be more than just a white-eye, who'd borne in silence
the brunt of a young man's frustration as it boiled over. Carel was almost the only person Isak gave a damn about, and the only person he
wanted to be proud of him. Still something held him back.
'My Lord? Would it not be good to have another man you could trust? One whose opinion is worthwhile? If he was a Ghost, then he'll
be trustworthy and capable, and will already know that the life of the
nobility is often less than noble. You'll need men of your own, men
who are loyal to you before anyone else.'
'Are you saying I can't trust whoever Bahl does?'
Vesna shook his head. 'Not at all. But the Chief Steward is the servant of the Lord of the Farlan, no matter who that is. Suzerains like Tori or Tehran, or Swordmaster Kerin, they're devoted to Lord Bahl himself: they're friends as well as vassals. I'm not saying they're a danger to you, not at all, but you have to recognise that you now wield great political power in your own right. But you're only one man, and a young one at that. I'm loyal to Lord Bahl, and Nartis of course, but my bond is specifically to you, Suzerain Anvee. My point is: Lord Bahl has his own people to worry about his interests, and friends to act as confidants.'