that same face was staring down at him, blank but unmistakable. The rest of the room was a buzzing distraction, nothing more. Obeying the burn in his throat, Isak gasped for air.
‘Wha-‘
‘Be still,’ said a calm voice beside him. Isak turned his head slightly to see a middle-aged man kneeling beside him. A green patchwork cloak and battered mail marked him as a ranger. Isak tried to raise his hand, but it felt like he was moving another person’s limbs rather than his own. The ranger reached out to stay him a little longer, but Isak shrugged his hand off. With an effort, he forced himself to sit upright; he still felt undignified with his legs splayed out wide, but it was better than remaining flat on the floor like a fainting maid.
‘You can stand?’
Isak nodded. He refused the offer of a hand from the ranger, pulling himself carefully upright. He was still shaking a little and tried to hide it by brushing the mud from his shirt. The man with Lord Bahl had a curl of a smile on his lips. Once he judged that Isak had regained his equilibrium he stepped forward, hands held out with palms up in greeting. ‘I am Lesarl. I place myself at your service.’
Isak hardly heard the words; he was taking a better look at Lord Bahl, the man in his dreams. Under a snowy cape the gigantic white-eye wore a misty-grey suit of armour and a broadsword strapped to his back. It was all Isak could do not to faint away again: his dreams, had always been vague, obscure - perhaps for his own sanity - but he, with terrible certainty knew that this was the face he’d always seen blank and inhuman: now he knew why. Bahl’s hood echoed the smooth expressionless features of statues of Nartis.
Shaking the feeling of strangeness from his head, he turned his attention to Lesarl. ‘Are you useful for anything?’
Despite the snorts of laughter that crept from the corners of the room, Lesarl showed not a flicker of reaction. He had dealt with wits sharper than a white-eye’s before. ‘Your master finds tasks for me to perform from time to time. I am the Chief Steward.’
His words had the desired effect. Even as cut-off as the wagoners were, they all knew perfectly well that the Chief Steward ruled the Parian nation; if Isak had not been so dazed, he might have recognised Lesarl’s name in time. The Chief Steward wielded complete authority, as he saw fit, in Lord Bahl’s name, but this was balanced against an untidy death if Lord Bahl ever became displeased with his conduct. He was not a man to casually insult.
Isak nodded dumbly, not knowing how to apologise for his rudeness, but Lord Bahl passed over it. ‘We can deal with who’s who tomorrow. For now, you need sleep. You will have a room in the tower. Come.’ The Lord of Storms didn’t wait for a response, but turned to lead the way.
Isak tried to collect his wits. The aura that surrounded the huge man was almost tangible and his physical presence was breathtaking. Isak felt as if Bahl’s powers, both temporal and physical, were radiating out, enveloping all those around him. Bahl stood over seven feet tall and was bulky for a Parian, but every step was graceful; he moved with purpose and efficiency. As Isak’s head cleared, he remembered that Bahl’s armour was magical - though he couldn’t see any runes inscribed on its surface, he knew they would be there somewhere.
Merely focusing on the misty surface of Bahl’s cuirass seemed to thicken the air in his throat. Something deep inside Isak recognised that metallic taste and craved more. Then his mind snapped back to what Lord Bahl had said. ‘A room in the tower? I don’t understand, my Lord.’
Bahl stopped in his tracks. He turned back, shoulder shifting up: an instinctive movement. Thanks to Carel’s training, Isak recognised that Bahl was ready to draw and strike if need be. Isak could almost see the massive broadsword appear in front of him and for a moment he wondered if he really had, but then the image
‘Wha-‘
‘Be still,’ said a calm voice beside him. Isak turned his head slightly to see a middle-aged man kneeling beside him. A green patchwork cloak and battered mail marked him as a ranger. Isak tried to raise his hand, but it felt like he was moving another person’s limbs rather than his own. The ranger reached out to stay him a little longer, but Isak shrugged his hand off. With an effort, he forced himself to sit upright; he still felt undignified with his legs splayed out wide, but it was better than remaining flat on the floor like a fainting maid.
‘You can stand?’
Isak nodded. He refused the offer of a hand from the ranger, pulling himself carefully upright. He was still shaking a little and tried to hide it by brushing the mud from his shirt. The man with Lord Bahl had a curl of a smile on his lips. Once he judged that Isak had regained his equilibrium he stepped forward, hands held out with palms up in greeting. ‘I am Lesarl. I place myself at your service.’
Isak hardly heard the words; he was taking a better look at Lord Bahl, the man in his dreams. Under a snowy cape the gigantic white-eye wore a misty-grey suit of armour and a broadsword strapped to his back. It was all Isak could do not to faint away again: his dreams, had always been vague, obscure - perhaps for his own sanity - but he, with terrible certainty knew that this was the face he’d always seen blank and inhuman: now he knew why. Bahl’s hood echoed the smooth expressionless features of statues of Nartis.
Shaking the feeling of strangeness from his head, he turned his attention to Lesarl. ‘Are you useful for anything?’
Despite the snorts of laughter that crept from the corners of the room, Lesarl showed not a flicker of reaction. He had dealt with wits sharper than a white-eye’s before. ‘Your master finds tasks for me to perform from time to time. I am the Chief Steward.’
His words had the desired effect. Even as cut-off as the wagoners were, they all knew perfectly well that the Chief Steward ruled the Parian nation; if Isak had not been so dazed, he might have recognised Lesarl’s name in time. The Chief Steward wielded complete authority, as he saw fit, in Lord Bahl’s name, but this was balanced against an untidy death if Lord Bahl ever became displeased with his conduct. He was not a man to casually insult.
Isak nodded dumbly, not knowing how to apologise for his rudeness, but Lord Bahl passed over it. ‘We can deal with who’s who tomorrow. For now, you need sleep. You will have a room in the tower. Come.’ The Lord of Storms didn’t wait for a response, but turned to lead the way.
Isak tried to collect his wits. The aura that surrounded the huge man was almost tangible and his physical presence was breathtaking. Isak felt as if Bahl’s powers, both temporal and physical, were radiating out, enveloping all those around him. Bahl stood over seven feet tall and was bulky for a Parian, but every step was graceful; he moved with purpose and efficiency. As Isak’s head cleared, he remembered that Bahl’s armour was magical - though he couldn’t see any runes inscribed on its surface, he knew they would be there somewhere.
Merely focusing on the misty surface of Bahl’s cuirass seemed to thicken the air in his throat. Something deep inside Isak recognised that metallic taste and craved more. Then his mind snapped back to what Lord Bahl had said. ‘A room in the tower? I don’t understand, my Lord.’
Bahl stopped in his tracks. He turned back, shoulder shifting up: an instinctive movement. Thanks to Carel’s training, Isak recognised that Bahl was ready to draw and strike if need be. Isak could almost see the massive broadsword appear in front of him and for a moment he wondered if he really had, but then the image
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