‘Let them complain,’ Xeliath croaked. ‘Their dreams will become nightmares.’
Isak, hearing the rasp in her voice, poured her a cup of pale tea, which she accepted gratefully. When he turned to offer his father a cup, Horman gave him a furious look and he gave up.
‘Give it time,’ he continued. ‘By spring everything will have calmed down. Lesarl and I are going to deal with the priests - then you’ll have no need to terrorise them.’
‘A purge?’ Horman said sharply. ‘I brought you up better than to murder priests.’
‘Why in the name of the Dark Place would you care about that?’ Isak growled before silently cursing himself. Horman had aged a decade since Isak had been Chosen. He was a broken man now, his face pinched, his body frail, and when Isak looked at his father he felt an unfamiliar clash of pity and guilt - but even now, all it took was one look from his father, one sniping comment, to provoke him. Horman could stoke Isak’s temper as quickly as he always had.
‘
Kill them both,
’ snarled Aryn Bwr in Isak’s mind. ‘
Cut their throats and let the whining cease; snap her fingers and tear them from the Skull. They are nothing, they are dead weight around our neck.’
‘Our
neck?
’ Isak replied angrily in his mind, ‘
I think you forget yourself. At least they’re alive, and even broken, they are greater than you.
’ Out loud he was only a little less vehement. ‘Don’t put words in my mouth, Father. You don’t know me well enough for that, not any more.’
‘You never gave a damn about the cults and that’ll never change.’
Isak sighed. ‘Perhaps not, but these days I can’t ignore them. The path they’re on leads only to civil war, they know as well as I do - and I can allow that to go only so far.’ He pushed himself upright. ‘I only came up here to see how you were faring. I see you’re as happy as ever, so I’ll leave you to your squabbles.’
He retreated, feeling the glower of two pairs of eyes on his back, even after he’d shut the door behind him. He kept walking until he’d turned the corner and was out of sight of the guards on the door, then he stopped and pressed his forehead against the cool stone wall for a few moments. He breathed deeply and tried to massage away the headache he could feel.
‘This was easier when people were just trying to kill me,’ he muttered. After a while he reluctantly straightened up and headed for the main stair, where he found Tila and his Chief Steward waiting for him.
‘They are well, my Lord?’ Tila asked as he reached them. Her face was a careful study of calmness. Lesarl’s was quite the opposite: he looked as if he had a thousand thoughts running though his mind.
Isak grunted in response and glanced suspiciously at the door leading to the Great Hall. It was shut, with two of his personal guard stationed on either side, but still he felt a little trepidation. It had taken months of preparation, but now every suzerain in the nation was assembled on the other side of that door, with the exception of the two eldest, who had been unlikely to survive the journey to Tirah; their scions would stand in their place.
Isak’s investiture was to be conducted by High Cardinal Echer, and the other three Farlan dukes would lead the people in swearing fealty to their new lord. It had sounded like a good idea at the time, but now Isak wasn’t so sure. Would the room be large enough to comfortably contain so many powerful men?
Isak’s fears were, of course, Lesarl’s delight: the most powerful men of the tribe, all together in the same city. That meant deals, alliances, even friendships. The vast majority of the Farlan’s economic wealth was in the hands of the nobility, and most of them would be looking to make the most of this rare gathering. For weeks now, men and women from different retinues had been running in all directions while Lesarl, like a gleeful spider, sat at the centre of this vastly complex web, the recognised master at this clandestine game. He hadn’t even bothered to hide from Isak how much he was enjoying all this.
‘My Lord?’ Tila’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
‘Both well enough to be bad-tempered,’ Isak said, ‘but for the moment that’s all I can ask. My father is at last on the road to recovery, but that means he’s back to being a bastard. Lesarl, you have somewhere for him once he’s well enough to walk? Enjoying the comforts of the palace means acknowledging I’m Lord of the Farlan every day - he can cope with the pain of his injuries, but that’s beyond him.’
‘I have a place in mind, my Lord; one of Suzerain Tebran’s stud farms needs an overseer. It’ll keep your father out of the way and protected, even if he doesn’t want a bodyguard.’
‘So let’s hope he doesn’t refuse just because I’m the one to offer it.’
‘Let me handle that, my Lord,’ Lesarl said with a grin. ‘I’m sure I can help him to make the right choice - you have more important concerns to deal with right now.’
‘Are you prepared for this, Isak?’ Tila interrupted - friend now, rather than political advisor. ‘If you want a few minutes to yourself, the suzerains will wait.’
Isak smiled with more confidence than he felt. ‘I’m ready, better we get it over with. I’ve been practising the spell to block sound all week, and Lesarl’s going to be right beside me, so you don’t have to worry.’
The ducal throne had been brought from its normal position in the audience chamber and placed in the Great Hall, the only room big enough to accommodate every Farlan suzerain, duke, synod member and city councillor, as well as the heads of the College of Magic. Without retainers, bodyguards or advisors, they numbered close to a hundred, with twenty identifiable factions in the mix. There were several that Isak needed to speak to privately, so Dermeness Chirialt, one of the few mages Isak was sure he could trust, had taught him a simple charm to enable that.
‘And you are certain that you’ll be able to sense Cardinal Certinse’s emotions?’ Lesarl pressed. The cardinal remained the only member of that immediate family at liberty - he was a powerful man, and there was no direct evidence of treachery - but Isak had devised an alternative to having the man assassinated, albeit one they both found distasteful.
‘If I can’t, I’ll bluff him. People know about the Crystal Skulls and he’s not so stupid that he’ll disbelieve whatever claims I make.’
‘And the High Cardinal? That frail old man has put me quite to shame when it comes to terrorising his fellow citizens,’ Lesarl said cheerfully. ‘He’s targeted Suzerain Saroc particularly, and I have reports of deaths in several other suzerainties as well.’
‘He’ll get a warning with our offer. If the offer isn’t good enough for him, then your reports are obviously true and he’s lost all sense of reason.’
Lesarl’s network of informers had been busy, and once he’d put together their information, he had ascertained that every priest driven to sudden extremism and rage came from one of six cults: the six Gods given prominence in Scree, namely, Death, Nartis, Belarannar, Karkarn, Vellern and Vasle. It was the Gods most hurt by the actions of Azaer’s disciples whose backlash of rage echoed out through the Land, infecting those bound to their spirits - the priests, who were tied when ordained - with a similar fury.
Predictably, Lesarl’s reaction had been to applaud Azaer’s ingenuity, rather than cry horror at what had happened. Whether by accident or design, it had provoked a reaction from the Gods, which in turn would set the common folk against them - and without the worship of the people, the Gods themselves would only grow weaker. ‘Inspired!’ Lesarl had muttered to himself. Isak, hearing him, had grimaced.
‘Having Jopel Bern whispering in the High Cardinal’s ear isn’t helping,’ Tila interrupted before he could take his Chief Steward to task.
Isak gave a curt nod. Bern, the High Priest of Death, had been as badly affected as the frail old man wearing the High Cardinal’s robes. Unfortunately, at least as far as Isak was concerned, the elderly cleric showed few signs of dying, at least by natural means. Echer was clearly burning himself out with magic; he’d most likely be dead in weeks, but Bern was being more careful.
‘We might have to put up with him for the time being.’ Isak took a deep breath and signalled the guards at the end of the corridor. ‘It’s time; I don’t want them to wait any longer.’
The soldiers pulled open the doors as he reached them. As Isak entered the Great Hall, Lesarl on his heel, he was met by a gust of warm, smoky air and a buzz of voices that lessened as soon as he stepped inside. The place looked completely different: the walls were now adorned with banners of all colours, the crests of every Farlan suzerain, all dominated by a central flag three times the size of any other - Isak’s crowned dragon. It was displayed behind the heavy ducal throne in the middle of the room, facing the enormous fire on the other side.
The throne was an oversized seat carved from a single enormous tree-trunk. The dark wood was highly polished, and the sides were thick enough to stop an axe. The raised back was taller than a standing man. Though there were symbols of the Gods and the Farlan set into the throne in silver, gold and jet, the overriding impression was of strength and size rather than splendour.
Isak took a moment to inspect the crowd as the assembled men turned to face him. In a ripple flowing towards the back of the room, the nobles sank to one knee, their sword-hilts raised up in front of their faces. The assorted priests bowed. It was a riot of colour: the Farlan loved ceremony and ritual, and the noblemen of all ages took great pleasure in sporting the very best of their finery on occasions like this. On his left were the assorted clerics of the Farlan, with the Synod placed closest to the vacant ducal throne. Opposite them, the Dukes of Merlat and Perlir took prime position.
Beside the Duke of Perlir there was a conspicuously empty seat, and Isak could see a few people squinting around, almost as if the deceased Duke Certinse was about to make a dramatic entrance. Count Vesna, dressed in full formal regalia, stood beside the throne itself. He had not moved an inch. The silver gorget bearing Isak’s crest that Vesna wore over his armour indicated that he was one of Isak’s personal guard, ceremonially, at least, and that excused him bowing.
‘Duke Tirah,’ called High Cardinal Echer in a thin, wasted voice. He scuttled over from the centre of the room and bowed a second time. Isak remembered the first time they had met, when he had presented himself humbly before the Synod. Then, Echer had been a feeble old man who had deferred to another cardinal; now, Isak could feel a thread of magic running through the man’s body, easing the pains of age and lending a ghastly animation to his lined face. How long he could last like that was anyone’s guess, but until Lesarl came up with something to aid nature’s course, the frail old man had been transformed into a spitting, remorseless fanatic.
‘The leaders of the Farlan greet you and honour you,’ Echer continued, ‘Chosen of Nartis, blessed above mortals.’
Isak could see a bloody welt on his cheek, contrasting with the rest of his skin, which was so pale it was almost translucent. The toll was already showing and Isak felt a wave of revulsion at the sight. It made him think of necromancy . . . He forced himself to put such thoughts to one side and concentrate on the moment. He gave a shallow bow.
Echer advanced and grabbed the front of Isak’s tunic with one skeletal hand. ‘Do you serve no master but your patron and Death himself?’ he asked, his wavering voice at odds with the fierce light burning in his eyes.
‘I serve Nartis and Death alone,’ Isak replied.
As soon as he had spoken, Echer tugged and they both took a step towards the throne. Lesarl had explained the tradition: the new lord was taking his place upon his throne reluctantly, each step reminding him of the heavy responsibilities of office. Isak couldn’t imagine Lord Bahl going through this same process - his predecessor had become Lord of the Farlan after killing Lord Atro in a close-fought running battle that had destroyed entire streets in Tirah - and the victorious Bahl had then had to bury the love of his life, the white-eye Ineh. Isak was pretty sure any priest trying to manhandle him, ceremonially or not, would have died in a heartbeat.
Echer’s next question brought Isak back to the present. ‘Do you declare your hatred for all daemons of Ghenna?’
‘I do.’
Another step. Isak felt the hum of magic through Echer, and his fingertips itched to embrace his own power. In the distant part of his mind where he had banished Aryn Bwr’s spirit, he heard the dead Elven king scream and howl for murder to be done.
‘Do you swear to lead the warriors of your tribe; to protect your people with strength and blood?’
A shiver ran down his spine as he remembered Bahl’s words when he’d given Isak the blue hood of Nartis to wear: ‘
Your blood, your pain, shed for people and Gods who neither know of it nor care.
’
‘I do.’
‘Do you swear to show reverence to all Gods and follow their teachings as an example to your people?’
Make your fucking mind up, renounce or revere? ‘
I do.’
I know you’ll be reminding me of that before the week is out. I wonder how many ridiculous laws he’ll be asking me to enact?
‘Do you swear to show mercy to the faithful?’
‘I do.’
Except you, you twisted old bastard.
‘Do you swear to punish heretics and enemies of the tribe with the fury of the storm?’
‘I do.’
That last question took Isak up to the ducal throne. Count Vesna saluted him stiffly and held out a velvet cushion on which sat a circlet of silver and gold.
High Cardinal Echer peered up at Isak for a moment, sly glee on his crumpled face. Isak sat and Echer plucked the circlet from the cushion and held it up for everyone in the room to see.
‘Isak Stormcaller,’ he proclaimed, ‘Chosen of Nartis, Duke of Tirah: the Synod of the Farlan acknowledges your claim to the title Lord of the Farlan as valid. The line of the Farlan kings has ended and we accept no majesty other than that of the Gods, yet this circlet signifies you are Lord of all Farlan. I call on all Farlan, noble and low-born, to kneel before you and acknowledge your rule over them.’