'Indeed, Count Vesna,' the general said. 'Now, with your permis-sion, my Lord, I will give orders to the legion colonels.'

Isak gestured for Lahk to leave, even giving the general a nod of respect. It was hard for him not to smirk as the other men there did the same. Certinse had no choice but to follow suit, bound by the rules, laws and traditions of his class.

Suzerain Fordan then cleared his throat, his face a picture of innocent helpfulness. A pitcher of wine had not dimmed his intelligence: he could see that Certinse was about to leave and impose his own will on the execution of the plan. General Lahk was known for his utter obedience to authority; the last thing they needed now was for him to have to face down a superior.

'Duke Certinse, Lord Bahl wrote to me recently expressing a concern that soon the dukedom of Lomin might be without an heir, knowing how ill your beloved father was. Since this unhappy situation has now arisen, and we have so many of your peers at hand, this would seem the perfect opportunity to discuss a betrothal.'

The duke squirmed for a moment and then shrugged. He had the sense to know when he was out-manoeuvred and forced a smile at the craggy old man, who beamed in return. It was over an hour before the matter was settled: a magnificent dowry would accompany his marriage to Suzerain Nelbove's daughter. Nelbove was close to Tirah, and the suzerain knew he was suspected of treachery so he'd not risk angering Lord Bahl further.

With the evening's work done, the nobles retired to await the morning. 'Now then, my lady, don't you think you've spent long enough in here for one week?'

Tila flinched in her chair, hands reaching for the armrest to push herself up until she realised it was only Swordmaster Kerin standing before her. He grinned and eased himself down into the seat opposite, sighing with pleasure as he turned his attention to the fire. Tila had kept it banked up throughout the day; by Kerin's reaction she guessed it was bitterly cold outside now night had fallen. The Swordmaster was dressed in his formal uniform – as he had been every day since Lord Bahl's departure – and it didn't look nearly as warm as the leather and woollens he normally wore.

'I've spent quite a lot of time in here,' Tila admitted, rubbing the tiredness from her eyes as she inspected the Swordmaster, 'but I don't have any real duties until Lord Isak returns – and as you can see, I've quite a way to go yet.' She gestured at the books and scrolls on the walls with a weary smile.

'You intend to read them all?'

'I intend to read anything I think might be useful to Lord Isak.' She raised the book resting in her lap so Kerin could read the curling writing on its cover. 'A collection of prophecies about the Saviour.' She grimaced.

'Do you think-' Kerin began.

Tila cut him off. 'No, but there's been talk of all kinds since Lord Isak received his gifts. You must have heard the preachers out on the Palace Walk.'

'I've heard about them,' Kerin said, 'but I've got better things to do than listen to a bunch of unkempt madmen. Anyway, as Knight-Defender, I can't leave the palace until either Lord Bahl or a general relieves me of my duty; otherwise it's desertion of duty and that means a trip to the nearest tree and a quick drop.' They both smiled: the thought of Swordmaster Kerin even considering dereliction of duty was laughable.

'My men have been bringing back reports of all kinds of preachers throughout the city, and talking about the Saviour isn't their only favourite subject. There's been no trouble though; they're not rabble-rousers, just barking mad.'

Tila sniffed. 'You might find one of them to be a real holy man, then you'll be in trouble for dismissing them all as insane.'

'Oh Gods, they'd be worse!' Kerin exclaimed, leaning forward in

his seat to emphasise his point. 'As any man involved with keeping the peace will agree: merciful Gods, save us from the religious.' 'And what do you mean by that?'

'I mean I've seen how some who claim to be truly religious behave, and I tell you, Lady Tila, no creature of the Dark Place would ever turn on its own kind for such small reasons as these will. Religious foIk'11 burn or hang a man for smiling wrong.' Kerin wasn't smiling now. He sat gripping the armrests of his chair and glaring fiercely.

Tila thought better of trying to explain the difference between fanatics and the devout: some people had no interest in seeing one. 'Well then, if people are going to act that way it would be sensible to be prepared for it,' she said calmly. 'We should be able to recognise whatever dogma they're obeying.' She tapped the open page of the book. 'Have a read of this one and tell me what you think.'

She handed the book to Kerin who frowned as he scanned the lines of text. The prophecy she meant had come down on a stable-boy in Embere two hundred years ago; apparently no one, not even the scholar who had written this book, knew quite what to make of it. The Swordmaster's lips moved as he read – Tila recognised that amongst the palace's soldiers who'd come late to education – and his expression became graver at every sentence.

'Well I don't understand half of it, but this is no Saviour I'd like to meet,' he growled. 'A shadow rising from the faithful of the West; his twilight reign to begin amid the slain.'

'Comforting, isn't it?' Tila took the book back, placed it on the table beside her and stood up. Automatically, Kerin rose as well. 'But it is better to know what madness our enemies might follow than to wallow in our ignorance.' She presented her arm and nodded towards the door. 'Come on then. If you think I've been locked away in here too long, let's go and find some form of entertainment.'

CHAPTER 13

From one of the towers still standing he saw the damage to his beautiful home. From up there the ruin had an almost glorious quality, an air of decadence. Like paint on canvas, great sweeps of the brush had carved rents in the ground and spread the stones of the fallen towers with careless abandon. He remembered the rage of his return, and the misshapen beasts capering in the destruction. Heavy jutting muzzles gnawed with relish; curling tongues lapped at the dark pools of dirt and blood. They'd screamed as they died, knowing agony for their crimes, and yet there had been so many. Wounds unhealed had been overlaid by fresh burning hurts, and as he lay beside those dear to him, broken and alone, they tasted his blood.

A name had saved him. A single word that hung thick in the air and ate into the stiffening wounds on his body. The sweet stench of corruption and loss lingered still, long after it had twisted his attackers into grotesque ruin. He felt himself contaminated, infected with something there could be no cure for. Desperately he searched about for some means of escape, some possibility of redemption. Running down corpse-strewn corridors he came to a decaying garden – so recently his refuge from the horror of life. Now it was dead, along with the creatures that had once been his beloved pets. Some no doubt had fled, but most lay in stinking heaps, their bones breaking with tiny snaps under his heel as he walked to a clear, serene pool. Looking in, he caught his own reflection – and felt the grip of damnation as he saw a face that was not his own. The face screamed and he heard himself echo that scream as the colour faded to black.

In a tangle of sodden blankets, Isak awoke with a gasp. The clammy touch of early dawn whispered over his skin and a shiver ran down his back while the memory of his wounds from the dream burned hot on

his body. It was dark inside the tent, and distances were treacherous in the weak light, shapes shifting subtly in the corner of his eye. He closed his hand around Eolis – the blade always found its way to his side as he slept – and raised it to see his reflection. The silver gave him a slightly distorted picture, but he'd settle for anything resembling his own face after that dream.