This is my gift to you.' His voice was deep and old, full of sorrow and pain. 'This is the legacy that you will inherit from me; your blood, your pain, shed for people and Gods who neither know of it nor care. You will be hated and feared by those your duty leads you to protect, who will show resentment, not gratitude, no matter what you do for them. Do not expect your people to love you, trust you, or remain loyal to you. You will become the man your duty to the tribe permits, the man it forges. If you try to fight that, you will break under the weight of it.'

After a respectful bow to the dragon, they returned to the main wing of the palace in silence. Isak had too much swirling in his head to speak; Bahl had no more to say and instead let his own thoughts fester. The Chief Steward met them on the stair and bowed low to both, then offered Isak a white cape, reaching up as far as he could to set it about the Krann's shoulders. As it unfurled behind his back, Isak caught sight of an emerald dragon detailed in gold. Isak secured it himself, fastening the cloak with his brooch from the bundle of clothes. With his shield retrieved and set securely on his arm, Isak looked at the two men, waiting for their nods of approval before he set off to face his army.

A reverential whisper greeted Isak in the Great Hall. It grew and spread like a tidal wave. Bahl saw men stop dead and stare; men who had felt a change in the air and turned to watch Isak emerge into the training ground where his horse was waiting. More joined the congregation of hushed voices; the awed sound waxed with every heartbeat, echoed back by the encircling wall, then swelled to a roar into the gusting wind and growling clouds. A single fork of lightning split the sky and the men cheered, with all their hearts and souls; they raised a clamour that woke the whole of the city and sent a howl of defiance rolling east over the trees.

CHAPTER 11

The unrelenting north wind heaved and buffeted Tirah Palace's high walls. It brought the voices of the city up to Bahl in his lonely chamber where he sat watching the tiny figures below, a brass goblet of wine cradled forgotten in his hands as he stared out of the window. The people of the city had succumbed to the glamour of Siulents and given Isak a reception Bahl could never have dreamed of. The old Lord didn't want their adulation, but still he felt an unwonted melancholy that, despite all he had given up for them, his people had never loved him. What they cheered was a faзade; a hero they could worship. Isak was the shining figurehead that Bahl had never been, but the Lord of the Farlan wondered about the uncertain youth inside that enchanted armour: was he already buckling under the weight of being Bahl's Krann? But Isak's place in the Land was not merely as Bahl's replacement. His role would be even harder to bear.

'And yet what can I teach him? What do I know of being a king?' Bahl spoke out loud to the empty room.

'More than the King of Narkang, I'll wager, and he's the only one worthy of the title these days.'

Bahl jumped at the unexpected voice from the doorway. Suzerain Tehran gave him a nod as he advanced into the room.

'Kehed, you don't go to wish your son well for his first battle?' The suzerain shrugged and eased his portly frame into the nearest chair. Few men would dare sit without permission, but Bahl would have sacrificed protocol gladly for a few more supporters as loyal.

'I spoke to the boy this morning; there's nothing more he wants to hear from me. His cousin's going to keep an eye on him. He's a sensible lad, he'll see him right. Mayhap he'll grow up in the process.' 'Things are no better?' Tehran grimaced. 'Ah, sometimes I think he can't be mine. Could

hardly have blamed his mother if he weren't, the number of bastards I've got. I've reached the end of my tether with that one. If this campaign doesn't wake him up to the Land, I'll ask Kerin to take him on. I'd hoped to give him a proper education, perhaps find him a seat on the city council for a few years to teach him some responsibility, but he's no interest in it. It'll be hard to let him go though. I hear his mother in every word he says.'

'How long has it been?' Bahl asked softly.

'Three summers now, though I'd scarce believe it myself. The boy won't listen to me. There's nothing more I can do with him. I fear I'll have an empty hall soon enough, for I don't think Fordan's intending to come back. He sees me now and has no intention of getting this way.'

The suzerain gestured down at his straining belly and stained clothes. Age and hard living was catching up with a man whose barrel shape had marked him out on the battlefield almost as much as the distinctive yellow and purple colours of Tehran. His cheeks and nose were scarred red with drink, the skin about his eyes looked heavy and tired and gout hampered every step. With the loss of his wife he'd recognised that all his friends and contemporaries were slowly fading from the Land.

He lifted a goblet and drank, wiping the wine from his chin with the grimy white stripe around his cuff that marked him as a former Ghost. Suzerain Tehran's title had never stopped him earning every shred of trust he had been given, something Bahl wished he could say about more of the nobles who owed him allegiance.

'There's always a place at my table for such a loyal friend. With your son in the Guard, I expect you'll want to keep an eye on him.'

Tehran smiled in genuine gratitude and straightened himself up a little, a flicker of pride driving away his gloom for the moment.

'The Krann seems to have potential. Will he hold up in battle?'

Bahl shrugged. 'We shall see. He's got the strength and skill; if we keep the elven mages off his back then he should be fine.'

'And Shalstik?'

Bahl hesitated. He was far from certain in his own mind. 'By the Gods, I hope not, Kehed. If the elven houses have united under the Shalstik cult, we're in for years of war.'

'How likely is that?' Tehran asked, looking worried.

'Shalstik's prophecy of the last king's return has been a threat hanging over us for more than a thousand years; if that's the case, they'll fight to the bitter end to bring it about.' He grimaced. 'Our first defence has always been their inability to fight as a united group. We are still pretty sure the elves have ten noble houses constantly at each other's throats – I doubt any force we've met in the last hundred years has comprised warriors from more than two houses. I don't know if they have called a truce, but with an army large enough to destroy Lomin's cavalry…' His voice trailed off and he looked out of the window for a few moments before continuing, 'The dragon's mood had better remain good over the next few weeks. We may need him.' Kehed Tehran was one of the few who knew of the truth about Genedel. His private hunting grounds, a forest at the foot of the mountain north of Tirah, was patrolled by rangers and kept as an exclusive preserve, well stocked with enough livestock to feed the dragon. Some believed that Genedel was real, and lived on the very peak of one of the mountains, under their Lord's enchantment; others saw the beast as the embodiment of Nartis, aiding them in times of need. Lesarl hadn't needed to start these rumours; the people had beaten him to it themselves. Bahl found that a little sad, no matter how convenient.

'Fortunate we have a vampire to catch too!' Tehran's laugh was empty. 'Life gets harder for us all. Perhaps we should just get drunk and wait it out.'

Bahl smiled wearily. 'I accept. I'll tell Lesarl to find us some players, or acrobats maybe: someone to entertain us until we're too drunk to care. But first, there's something I must do while I still have my wits about me.'