intelligence and wisdom, then make it clear that people will die if it becomes common knowledge that Siulents and Eolis are back in play. We’ll decide how to deal with anything the priests might say some other time. For now, let’s go and see whether the boy is worth all the trouble he brings.’
Isak dozed at the table, his head resting on his arms, despite the constant rumble of conversation that filled the room. The bitter scent of fat drifted over from the fire and in his soporific state he licked his lips, tasting again the venison stew with which he’d filled his belly. Meat was a rare pleasure in Isak’s life, for hunting rights were exclusive to those folk who paid for permission. Nomads, travellers, the poor - they could only supplement their usually meagre diet with birds shot on the wing, and that was difficult enough without the clatter of a wagon-train to scare them away. It was one of the few times that Isak’s natural skill and keen eye served his people well: bringing down a goose or wild duck for the communal cooking pot was one of the rare times his father ever came close to praising him.
Slowly, through his reverie, he became aware of a change in the hall. The voices had stopped. The hairs on his neck rose and a tingle of anticipation ran down his spine. He looked up to see every man in the room standing. One ranger at the next table glared at him and after a moment of panic, Isak jumped up - and found himself face to face with a thin man several inches shorter than he was, and behind him, a giant, close to a foot taller than Isak, wearing a blank blue mask.
‘So, you’re the new arrival,’ said the smaller of the two. The man’s smile widened as he looked Isak up and down. Isak, feeling like a cow in a cattle market, fought to keep his calm.
‘Welcome to Tirah Palace. Does my Lord have a name?’
‘Ah, my name is Isak. Sir.’ Isak’s eyes darted from one face to the other. The masked giant hadn’t moved even a fraction. It was as if he were a statue, thought Isak. A memory stirred in the depths of his mind, a shape just below the surface. Oh Gods, this is Lord Bahl. Still the man didn’t move or speak, but his eyes stared deep into Isak’s own, and Isak felt as if the man gazed on his soul itself, inspecting and assessing with cold dispassion.
Isak could feel all eyes on the old white-eye; Lord Bahl possessed an aura of command that demanded the attention of everyone. It was like a blazing fire in the centre of the room; even with his back turned Isak would have felt the heat prickle on his skin. Abruptly, the man held out his hand. Isak stared at the huge fingers before him, blinking as if he’d never seen a hand before, then, shakily, he took Bahl’s wrist and felt the massive hand close about his own.
‘Isak. Not a name I’d have given a son of mine, but a man must make his own name in the end. I imagine the Gods will not hold your father’s crude humour against you. Welcome, Isak.’
‘Th.. thank you my Lord,’ was all Isak could manage. He was used to his name; he scarcely even remembered these days that Horman had named him Isak - Kasi backwards - to mock the Gods who had taken his beloved wife from him. Now, as Bahl gripped his forearm, Isak felt a sudden pressure behind his eyes. He could feel the immense presence of the Land beneath his feet, and the thump of his heart booming through his head. Then the memory of his dreams flooded back, coursing in a torrent through the contact. Isak’s knees buckled under the weight, stars bursting in his vision before everything faded to black.
CHAPTER 4
He remembered the island, the feel of the scorching sun and chill marble… and the numbing terror. He remembered the chamber, the ranks of pillars supporting a bloated dome set with sparkling clusters of stars, and the sound of ringing steel and death; the shocking scarlet of blood. He remembered the dead man whose face now rose out of the shadows.
When Isak opened his eyes
Isak dozed at the table, his head resting on his arms, despite the constant rumble of conversation that filled the room. The bitter scent of fat drifted over from the fire and in his soporific state he licked his lips, tasting again the venison stew with which he’d filled his belly. Meat was a rare pleasure in Isak’s life, for hunting rights were exclusive to those folk who paid for permission. Nomads, travellers, the poor - they could only supplement their usually meagre diet with birds shot on the wing, and that was difficult enough without the clatter of a wagon-train to scare them away. It was one of the few times that Isak’s natural skill and keen eye served his people well: bringing down a goose or wild duck for the communal cooking pot was one of the rare times his father ever came close to praising him.
Slowly, through his reverie, he became aware of a change in the hall. The voices had stopped. The hairs on his neck rose and a tingle of anticipation ran down his spine. He looked up to see every man in the room standing. One ranger at the next table glared at him and after a moment of panic, Isak jumped up - and found himself face to face with a thin man several inches shorter than he was, and behind him, a giant, close to a foot taller than Isak, wearing a blank blue mask.
‘So, you’re the new arrival,’ said the smaller of the two. The man’s smile widened as he looked Isak up and down. Isak, feeling like a cow in a cattle market, fought to keep his calm.
‘Welcome to Tirah Palace. Does my Lord have a name?’
‘Ah, my name is Isak. Sir.’ Isak’s eyes darted from one face to the other. The masked giant hadn’t moved even a fraction. It was as if he were a statue, thought Isak. A memory stirred in the depths of his mind, a shape just below the surface. Oh Gods, this is Lord Bahl. Still the man didn’t move or speak, but his eyes stared deep into Isak’s own, and Isak felt as if the man gazed on his soul itself, inspecting and assessing with cold dispassion.
Isak could feel all eyes on the old white-eye; Lord Bahl possessed an aura of command that demanded the attention of everyone. It was like a blazing fire in the centre of the room; even with his back turned Isak would have felt the heat prickle on his skin. Abruptly, the man held out his hand. Isak stared at the huge fingers before him, blinking as if he’d never seen a hand before, then, shakily, he took Bahl’s wrist and felt the massive hand close about his own.
‘Isak. Not a name I’d have given a son of mine, but a man must make his own name in the end. I imagine the Gods will not hold your father’s crude humour against you. Welcome, Isak.’
‘Th.. thank you my Lord,’ was all Isak could manage. He was used to his name; he scarcely even remembered these days that Horman had named him Isak - Kasi backwards - to mock the Gods who had taken his beloved wife from him. Now, as Bahl gripped his forearm, Isak felt a sudden pressure behind his eyes. He could feel the immense presence of the Land beneath his feet, and the thump of his heart booming through his head. Then the memory of his dreams flooded back, coursing in a torrent through the contact. Isak’s knees buckled under the weight, stars bursting in his vision before everything faded to black.
CHAPTER 4
He remembered the island, the feel of the scorching sun and chill marble… and the numbing terror. He remembered the chamber, the ranks of pillars supporting a bloated dome set with sparkling clusters of stars, and the sound of ringing steel and death; the shocking scarlet of blood. He remembered the dead man whose face now rose out of the shadows.
When Isak opened his eyes
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