‘Lord Bahl’s long reign saw many changes,’ Veck continued. ‘The strength of our nation was rebuilt by his hand, there can be no doubt. However, there will always be some changes that are for the worse. We certainly do not blame Lord Bahl for such things but it is felt by the Synod that certain figures, the Chief Steward first among them, have pursued an agenda that has diminished the influence of the Gods within this great nation of ours.’
‘If you wish to accuse Chief Steward Lesarl of something, it should be done in a more formal -more
public -
arena, I believe.’ Isak’s tone was soft and level, without a hint of antagonism. Let them think he was willing to sacrifice the man - maybe they believed the rumours of his dislike for Lesarl. The truth was that while Isak might not count Lesarl as a close friend, he was entirely aware that the Chief Steward was invaluable to the Farlan. If others hoped he might put personal feelings first, they were welcome to think that way. It cost him nothing, and left them running in the wrong direction. Lesarl was as aware of his importance to the nation as Isak was.
‘Nothing so dramatic as that, my Lord. The Synod is a little concerned that the government has become too secular, that we are forgetting the guidance from our Gods.’
‘And you have proposals for me to consider?’ A wave of nausea hit Isak. These men could think only of their petty wants; this is what they were reduced to: comparing their own fiefdoms to others and squabbling over the differences. Had they ever been devoted to a cause higher than their own, or was this the measure of their life’s work?
‘We have certain suggestions, yes.’
‘Please, name them.’
His abruptness caused the cardinal to hesitate momentarily. Tila’s voice drifted through his mind.
Don’t get angry, that’s how mistakes are made.
Isak scowled at the admonishment from his subconscious. He bit his lip and tensed his gut around the building swell of anger. His fist tightened at the effort, but when he released it, Isak found the petulant clouds dissipated.
‘First, the treatment of sacred creatures,’ Veck went on, blithely oblivious to Isak’s inner turmoil. ‘Bear- and wolf-baiting is now a regular occurrence in many regions. Fighting-snakes command prices of up to fifty silver crescents apiece. These activities are grave insults to the Gods. They must be stopped.’
Isak smiled inwardly. He was being eased in to the argument.
‘As far as I am aware, the only species of snake willing to fight is the ice cobra, and if you’ll consult your texts I believe you’ll discover ice cobras are not sacred -they’re noted for it, in fact. There are no other snakes in these parts that will fight each other. An adder is more likely to curl in a ball than fight.’
‘Fighting-snakes are being imported from other states.’
‘Your point is noted. Please, continue.’
‘The organisation styling itself “The Brethren of the Sacred Teachings” has been recently active, and you yourself,
my Lord
, have met with them. These “Brethren”,
my Lord
, are unsanctioned by any cult. They are no better than wild mercenaries. Their secrecy is violently guarded, even against the proper authorities.’
‘The proper authorities, meaning you? They came to my aid during an attempt on my life. I hardly think that constitutes wild behaviour - good citizenry, perhaps?’
‘That there happened to be several hundred of them ready for war in Saroc does not constitute good citizenry to my mind,’ sniffed Cardinal Veck.
‘My Lord,’ broke in Cardinal Certinse, ‘I have had word that a company of dark monks even now inhabits my ancestral home, thieving and arresting as they please.’
Isak leaned forward, a flash of controlled fury in his white eyes. ‘Do you really wish to argue with me over the meaning of good citizenry?’ he growled. ‘The Brethren were not the only soldiers riding in Saroc that day. Did you not read that in your reports? The reason they are in your family home, Cardinal Certinse, is because a number of your family have proved themselves traitors, and the Brethren provide escort to those I have charged with rooting out those others also involved. Surely you cannot object, as it is one of your fellow cardinals conducting this investigation?’
‘Disten?’ spluttered Cardinal Certinse. ‘The man is a maniac, a delusional monster. His hatred of my family is well known. He is a disgrace to the office. His appointment was nothing more than an indulgence.’
Isak breathed deeply, determined his temper would not boil over. He could see beads of sweat on the cardinal’s brow, unsurprising, since he himself had been accused of consorting with daemons by that very same Cardinal Disten. Though Disten might find something in Tildek Manor, Cardinal Certinse would have been far more careful than the rest of his family. Even Lesarl was less than confident of finding evidence against him. In his usual style, the Chief Steward was forming alternative plans to deal with the cardinal.
‘What I know about Cardinal Disten,’ Isak replied in a measured voice, ‘is that he did not strike me as mad in any way, and whatever accusations he has made against your family were revealed to be true that day. I saw the evidence myself, for Suzerain Tildek and Duke Certinse led troops under banner into the Saroc suzerainty without invitation, that a crime in itself, and then attacked my person. They would have succeeded in killing me, had the Brethren of the Sacred Teachings not anticipated the act.’
‘How can you be sure the Brethren themselves did not engineer this - had my brother attacked you by the time they themselves were under assault?’
‘Yes. I had lost one man by then.’
‘Which could very well have been a mistake, a stray arrow by a nervous scout,’ urged the cardinal, sensing a thread to pull.
‘Perhaps,’ said Isak, ‘but unlikely -by the time the Brethren had appeared, the mages in your brother’s company had already reached me with sorcery, sorcery with a particular stink about it, unmistakable even to a man like me, not long schooled in the magical arts. Your brother consorted with necromancers, Cardinal Certinse. The Suzerain of Tildek and the Duke of Lomin rode under arms with necromancers. Go consult your laws, if you will, but I made sure of the point myself. The penalty is death and their assets are forfeit.’ Isak leaned back. ‘Currently I am disinclined to completely destroy your family, but that may change.’
‘Necromancers?’ said Jopel Bern, the High Priest of Death, sharply. ‘If that is true, then Duke Certinse has violated religious law and should be turned over to the Synod for trial.’
Isak shrugged. ‘Currently he is not charged with that. If you wish to prepare a case, by all means do so, but I will try Duke Certinse before his peers for the attempted murder of a peer, and for treason.’
‘Treason? You are not Lord of the Farlan yet,’ Cardinal Veck said pointedly.
‘That is technically true.’ Isak gave the Synod a cold smile. ‘We will surely be debating that point. I will be very interested to note all dissenting views from the suzerains assembled.’ He rose and straightened his tunic with a sharp tug, noting with grim satisfaction that more than just the High Priest of Nartis recoiled at the sudden movement.
He cast a hard look down the length of the table. ‘Now, honoured members of the Synod, list your other
suggestions
.’
The High Priest of Death turned slightly to Veck, raising a hand slightly to dissuade him from speaking further. The cardinal nodded and eased back in his chair, arms flat against the thick armrests.
Bern sat up straighter and cleared his throat. ‘Lord Isak, our goal here today is not to cast accusations, nor to provoke conflict. We mentioned the dark monks to ask you to declare them unwelcome in Farlan lands, unless they submit to the scrutiny of the proper authorities.’
‘The matter is in hand. I have already made it clear to them that I will not tolerate unknown armies marching through these lands.’
‘Your wisdom precedes ours then,’ Bern replied, bowing slightly. ‘Furthermore, we ask permission to create a force to work in conjunction with your own men, to root out heretics and daemon-worshippers so past conflicts are not repeated.’
Isak took a step forward until his thighs were touching the curved edge of the table. He leant forward slightly and said softly, ‘My orders to the Brethren were that I would not tolerate any organised bands of soldiers in these lands if they do not answer to me. There will be no exceptions to this law.’
And I’m buggered if I’m going to let an army of religious fanatics run around burning anyone they take a dislike to,
he added in the privacy of his own head. For some reason, that struck him as amusing.
The Synod wanted proof of my suitability to rule. I didn’t say that aloud - I must have learned something after all.
‘While we’re on the subject,’ Isak continued, ‘the same can be said for the Devoted -just in case you were about to ask for them to be welcomed back into Farlan lands.’
‘There is a rumour that you had allied yourself with the Knights of the Temples already,’ said the high priest.
One of my men has a big mouth
, he thought, a little crossly
.
‘I have made such no alliance,’ he snapped, ‘and Lord Bahl’s edicts on that organisation stand.’
He stopped as a prickling sensation ran through his head. The whole room seemed to shudder before his eyes and from the corner of the room, he heard a whisper: ‘
Isak.
’
He whirled around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary except Tila, staring at him, wide-eyed and a little confused.
Isak frowned as the voice came again: ‘
Isak.
’ Blinking, he turned back to the Synod, who were watching him uncertainly. He took a moment to steady himself and reached out with his mind to the Skull fused around Eolis’ hilt, relieved when he touched the power there to recognise that whatever was going on, he wasn’t under attack. He suddenly realised that the voice was Xeliath. For her to reach him like that, awake and defended, it must have cost her dearly. Panic began to stir. Had someone found her before Morghien and Mihn could get to her?
He took a deep breath and looked around the table. ‘Esteemed members of the Synod, I have urgent matters to attend to. Please send word to Chief Steward Lesarl when you have reached your decision, I have no more time to waste playing games.’ He put both hands on the table and leaned forward, looking at each of the Synod in turn, then said, quietly, dangerously, ‘If you intend to oppose me, think very carefully before you act. I am not a naïve boy, however many summers I may lack in your eyes. I know full well that if a majority of court-ranked men declare for me, your own approval is not necessary. My patience is limited, as you will see tomorrow when my men start building a gallows outside Duke Certinse’s cell, in case we might find a use for it. Good day to you all.’
He didn’t wait for a reply but swept out of the chamber, drawing Jachen and Tila in his wake. He left the mighty Synod, a collection of shocked, frail old men and women, silently wondering how their world had changed.
Voss Aftal, the High Priest of Nartis, gripped the armrest of his chair and tried to control the fear he felt. He had lived for sixty-four summers; most of those had been taken up with the gentle routine of ritual at the Temple of Nartis, a majestic building of pillars and sharp-peaked roofs where only the high altar had walls. The wind rushed through constantly, and during storms, as the God brushed his soul, it was a humbling place to be.
The strength of Nartis was beyond Aftal’s understanding; it was a force that took away his breath and drained his body of the strength to move. It had always frightened him, this gulf between man and God too palpable to ignore. And yet there was a familiarity in the soaring power of the God of Storms, rooted as it was in the patterns of the Land.
Aftal’s heart had grown cold at Isak’s mere presence, because there was no familiarity there. The youth’s power waxed with every day, cold and wild, tied to nothing, controlled by nothing, and it ruled his entire being. The high priest trembled as he wondered what this snarling youth with wild eyes was not capable of. Folk were whispering a new name in the streets now, even his priests: they were calling him
Isak Stormcaller
. The burgeoning terror in Aftal’s heart told him they were wrong.
This boy did not
call
storms. Isak
was
the storm. And they were all caught in his wake.
CHAPTER 13
Isak stomped his way up the stair to the ducal personal chambers in the main wing of Tirah Palace, ignoring Tila’s questions and storming past the guards who snapped to attention. He smashed his fist against the oak door and felt the latch on the inside give way. The door flew open and crashed against the inside wall, causing the elderly man tending the fire to give a yelp of alarm. He jumped up with poker in hand, knocking a log from the hearth in a cloud of soot and sparks, then turned to apologise for crying out -suddenly realising that he still held the poker as a weapon, and it was pointed at Isak’s heart.
‘My Lord, I—I do apologise,’ he stammered, dropping the poker as though it had scalded him.
Isak jabbed a thumb towards the door and growled, ‘out.’
Hard on the servant’s heels, he was about to slam the door shut after him when he saw Tila hurrying up the stair, skirts bunched in her fist so she didn’t trip.
‘No one comes in,’ Isak announced, and the guard on his right gave a jerk of the head. Not waiting to hear Tila’s complaint, he dragged the door closed and roughly twisted the bent latch back into place again, then stalked over to the window, a wide aperture as tall as he was, framed with solid wooden shutters. A balcony ran around that corner of the building, opening onto each of his rooms. He stood looking out at nothing, the breeze ruffling his clothes and calming the angry tangle within his mind. Finally, his tense shoulders dropped a little in relief: Xeliath had only called his name. There had been no fear in her voice. Perhaps he shouldn’t have stormed out of the meeting . . . then he shook his head. No, she may not be in danger, but for her to have reached him like that meant it
was
a matter of importance.