'Murdered?' Amanas asked, aghast.

'By elves, not by Farlan hand. The problem is his son, Scion Lomin. He has taken the name of Duke Certinse.' Dancer's eyes narrowed. The Certinse family now directly controls a suzerainty, a dukedom, the Knights of the Temples and it may soon control the Cardinal branch of the cult of Nartis.'

Amanas sighed and heaved himself to his feet. From the sideboard he picked up an oil lamp and used it to gesture towards the door. 'Well then, you'd better come with me. We have a long night ahead of us.'

CHAPTER 19

Isak's horse almost sagged with fatigue. The snowflakes turning to water as they landed on the cloth covering weighed down the poor beast even further as it laboured on through the dirty sludge that passed for the forest highway. The local suzerains employed roadmen to maintain these routes, but several thousand horsemen coming through in the depths of winter made it impossible to tell whether those duties had been neglected or not. Since they were in Amah, a rich and prosperous suzerainty, it was likely there was someone sadly shaking his head as the troops passed, wondering how he'd ever get his road back into top condition.

'Remind me why we need to do this,' Isak muttered, eyes fixed on a single snowflake that was precariously balanced on the rise of a seam.

'Because wintering in Lomin would be as inconvenient as it would be fraught with complications.' Vesna's reply sounded mechanical: he was quite as bored and cold as the Krann, and he had answered this question half a dozen times already. 'Quite aside from the fact that you'd probably end up fighting Duke Certinse, Lomin is eight hundred miles from Perlir. With life as it is, that's too far. Duke Sempes hasn't caused trouble for quite a while and the Chief Steward is probably mad with suspicion by now.'

'Have we reached Danva yet?'

'Soon. The next village we come to should be flying red banners.'

'Why red?' Now Isak looked a little more interested. 'Surely it should be white if they're mourning their suzerain?' He looked at his bondsman, who looked significantly more noble than his master ~ Isak's heavy fleeces were stained with mud after an ignominious spill from his horse when the hunter had stumbled and fallen badly. At least they'd had a decent meal out of it – the break had been too bad for the horse to be of any further use and the Farlan were a practical people. Horses were the lifeblood of their nation, valued by all, but they were a tool. Isak had heard the Yeetatchen treated their horses like family, but the Farlan were much more sensible.

'No, my Lord, they fly the red when the suzerain dies in battle. I thought everyone knew that.' Vesna looked puzzled. 'Where were you born?'

'On the road to the Circle City. My mother went into labour just as they sighted Blackfang, I'm told. That's where she's buried, at the foot of a willow by the road.' There was a tinge of pain in Isak's voice. Like all white-eyes, he knew exactly why his mother died.

‘I’m sorry-'

'Long in the past,' replied Isak, shaking himself free of the memory. 'I might not remember her, but at least I've seen where she was buried – that route was my life for ten years. Three trips every two years, and I had to sneak off to visit her grave and get a whipping when I returned.'

'Your father hates you that much?' Vesna sounded like he couldn't believe a parent would act that way, but Isak had seen men worse than his father. At least Horman had a reason to hate his son. Some men did worse, for no cause other than that they had been born vicious.

'Father never forgave the loss of my mother. He named me to mock Kasi Farlan – maybe he hoped the Gods would take me young because of that. Without Carel to keep me in check I'd probably have hung as a result of our combined tempers.'

'I've heard you speak of Carel before; who is he?' the count asked.

'Carel – Sergeant Betyn Carelfolden,' Isak said. 'He taught me eve-rything I know, not just how to fight, but to rein in my temper, to think before reacting – it may not look like it, but I could have been much worse!' He laughed, then explained, 'Carel was a Ghost, so he was fair. He didn't despise me just because I was a white-eye, and he didn't hate me for killing my mother like my father did.' He smiled, remembering. 'He's probably the reason my father and I didn't end up killing each other.'

'Why don't you send for him, this Carelfolden, if he's your friend. Vesna asked curiously.

Isak shrugged. He'd thought of doing just that from time to time, but somehow he'd never actually done anything about it – he wasn’t sure why that was. Carel's smile and gruff voice composed almost the

entirety of Isak's good childhood memories. He was the one who had

urged Isak to be more than just a white-eye, who'd borne in silence

the brunt of a young man's frustration as it boiled over. Carel was almost the only person Isak gave a damn about, and the only person he

wanted to be proud of him. Still something held him back.

'My Lord? Would it not be good to have another man you could trust? One whose opinion is worthwhile? If he was a Ghost, then he'll

be trustworthy and capable, and will already know that the life of the

nobility is often less than noble. You'll need men of your own, men

who are loyal to you before anyone else.'

'Are you saying I can't trust whoever Bahl does?'

Vesna shook his head. 'Not at all. But the Chief Steward is the servant of the Lord of the Farlan, no matter who that is. Suzerains like Tori or Tehran, or Swordmaster Kerin, they're devoted to Lord Bahl himself: they're friends as well as vassals. I'm not saying they're a danger to you, not at all, but you have to recognise that you now wield great political power in your own right. But you're only one man, and a young one at that. I'm loyal to Lord Bahl, and Nartis of course, but my bond is specifically to you, Suzerain Anvee. My point is: Lord Bahl has his own people to worry about his interests, and friends to act as confidants.'

Isak held up a hand to stop the count, already convinced. He didn't want to think too hard about the political situation right now: all the secret agendas and wheelings and dealings were still a mystery; he was having a hard enough time remembering who could be trusted and now much now without adding a whole new layer of intrigue. 'You're right, you're absolutely right. I'll send for Carel – don't ever call him Carelfolden; he saves that for formal occasions only. Can you send a messenger for me? Probably best to leave it at the Hood and Cape in the Golden Tower district.' He didn't add 'before I change my mind', though the words were lurking at the back of his throat.

He sighed. Carel had truly made him what he was – he recalled as if it _Were yesterday, his fifteenth birthday, when, after yet another brawl with the other boys of the wagon-train, Carel had taken him aside, dismissing Isak's whining complaints with one sentence: You have to act as more than the colour of your eyes. Those words imprinted themselves on to Isak's heart, and when worry or anger clouded his thoughts, he tried to cling to that conversation to help him come to his senses… but now he had the memory of his behaviour in the battle. His disadvantages might not be obvious, but Isak knew they were there, and that he had to overcome them.

Bringing Carel to the palace was the sensible course. His mantra whenever Isak's fiery temper got the better of his brain was more soldiers' wisdom: You're not perfect, life isn't perfect. There are more important things to be pissed off about, so save your temper for a real problem.

'I'll do so immediately,' said Vesna, relieved. 'He'll be good for you to have around. If Carel knew you in your previous life, he'll give his opinion to the man, not the title.'