have as your Chief Steward, to fully handle the duties required of that position, he - or she - must have the capacity for cruelty and scheming. And that sort of person enjoys the position of power all too much. Lord Bahl understood it well enough to insist that I do indeed suffer his every whim.’ Lesarl gave a small smile. ‘It was only several years after I took over from my father that I realised you train a dog in a very similar way. Without blind obedience to my master I might well have started to question why it was that I was running the nation yet he wore the duke’s circlet.’
‘So you’re as much a slave to your instincts as I am?’ Isak replied.
‘I’m saying that those who love power are often least suited to it. Megalomania has its uses in a nation, whether anyone will admit it or not, but left unchecked, it is its own worst enemy.’
‘And so for the good of the nation,’ Isak continued, ‘such a person should be trained to come running when I whistle?’ He grinned. ‘I see your point, I suppose. Maybe I should get you a collar as your badge of office.’
‘Yes, Master,’ his Chief Steward said, baring his teeth.
Isak laughed and led the way over the drawbridge. The gate was already opening, the light of a torch creeping through the widening crack. On a whim Isak turned right and headed for the guardroom, just as a Ghost in full armour stepped out. The man removed his helm when he saw Isak approaching. The white-eye stopped, recognition flourishing on his face.
‘You, soldier, what’s your name?’
‘Me, my Lord? Ah, Private Varner, my Lord,’ the soldier replied quickly, his voice sounding rough, almost grating. He was careful to keep his manner deferential, but he looked apprehensive, and Lesarl remembered how Isak had described his first meeting with Lord Bahl, and the aura of power that hung around him like the heat from a roaring fire.
Isak had kept clear of the other white-eyes in the palace during the last year there. Kerin had made it clear they were a vicious, foul-mouthed lot that Isak had nothing good in common with. It was a full-time effort for the Swordmasters to keep them in check, and there was a pretty high chance that any encounter would result in a fight, which in turn would result in Isak killing a valuable soldier.
‘I remember you,’ Isak said. ‘You were on duty my first night here, weren’t you? You punched out my father.’
‘Was me, yeah, my Lord.’
Isak smiled. ‘That was something I’d wanted to do for years. Thank you.’
The white-eye blinked up at Isak in surprise. Like the rest of his kind the man was tall and powerful, but he was closer to a regular soldier in build than to Isak. It clearly fascinated Isak to see the same snowy irises and black pinprick pupils in the eyes of another, but Lesarl saw the scrutiny was not welcome. There was no kindred spirit in those eyes, only ice.
‘I’ll go in this way, remind myself of simpler times,’ Isak said eventually. ‘Keep the gates open, though; we’re about to have a few visitors. They’re not to be delayed in any way; I want them in the duke’s chambers as quickly and as quietly as possible.’
‘As you wish, my Lord.’ The man bowed low, cast a glance back at his comrade still in the guardroom and then headed for the half-open gates.
‘Come on,’ Isak said to Lesarl, and ducked through the small doorway into the cramped guardroom, only just missing the lintel. He turned and frowned - he had grown so much over the last year, from an outsized youth to a seven-foot-tall giant, - that everything from that former life felt greatly reduced now.
Making his way to the Great Hall, Isak awkwardly acknowledged the various salutes he received. The deference was easy to accept, but he was still occasionally surprised when an entire room of strangers jumped up to salute, bow or curtsey every single time he hoved into view.
The hall was nearly full, as it had been ever since Isak had returned
‘So you’re as much a slave to your instincts as I am?’ Isak replied.
‘I’m saying that those who love power are often least suited to it. Megalomania has its uses in a nation, whether anyone will admit it or not, but left unchecked, it is its own worst enemy.’
‘And so for the good of the nation,’ Isak continued, ‘such a person should be trained to come running when I whistle?’ He grinned. ‘I see your point, I suppose. Maybe I should get you a collar as your badge of office.’
‘Yes, Master,’ his Chief Steward said, baring his teeth.
Isak laughed and led the way over the drawbridge. The gate was already opening, the light of a torch creeping through the widening crack. On a whim Isak turned right and headed for the guardroom, just as a Ghost in full armour stepped out. The man removed his helm when he saw Isak approaching. The white-eye stopped, recognition flourishing on his face.
‘You, soldier, what’s your name?’
‘Me, my Lord? Ah, Private Varner, my Lord,’ the soldier replied quickly, his voice sounding rough, almost grating. He was careful to keep his manner deferential, but he looked apprehensive, and Lesarl remembered how Isak had described his first meeting with Lord Bahl, and the aura of power that hung around him like the heat from a roaring fire.
Isak had kept clear of the other white-eyes in the palace during the last year there. Kerin had made it clear they were a vicious, foul-mouthed lot that Isak had nothing good in common with. It was a full-time effort for the Swordmasters to keep them in check, and there was a pretty high chance that any encounter would result in a fight, which in turn would result in Isak killing a valuable soldier.
‘I remember you,’ Isak said. ‘You were on duty my first night here, weren’t you? You punched out my father.’
‘Was me, yeah, my Lord.’
Isak smiled. ‘That was something I’d wanted to do for years. Thank you.’
The white-eye blinked up at Isak in surprise. Like the rest of his kind the man was tall and powerful, but he was closer to a regular soldier in build than to Isak. It clearly fascinated Isak to see the same snowy irises and black pinprick pupils in the eyes of another, but Lesarl saw the scrutiny was not welcome. There was no kindred spirit in those eyes, only ice.
‘I’ll go in this way, remind myself of simpler times,’ Isak said eventually. ‘Keep the gates open, though; we’re about to have a few visitors. They’re not to be delayed in any way; I want them in the duke’s chambers as quickly and as quietly as possible.’
‘As you wish, my Lord.’ The man bowed low, cast a glance back at his comrade still in the guardroom and then headed for the half-open gates.
‘Come on,’ Isak said to Lesarl, and ducked through the small doorway into the cramped guardroom, only just missing the lintel. He turned and frowned - he had grown so much over the last year, from an outsized youth to a seven-foot-tall giant, - that everything from that former life felt greatly reduced now.
Making his way to the Great Hall, Isak awkwardly acknowledged the various salutes he received. The deference was easy to accept, but he was still occasionally surprised when an entire room of strangers jumped up to salute, bow or curtsey every single time he hoved into view.
The hall was nearly full, as it had been ever since Isak had returned
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