'Well, don't expect me to see him,' Isak growled.

'I don't.'

Isak looked surprised at Carel's easy acceptance. He snorted and slapped his palm on the table. 'You're surprised? My boy, you're not the only white-eye I've known, and I damn well know you better than any man alive. You're as proud as you are nasty sometimes. On top of that Horman, my friend as he still is, has done little to deserve your love.'

'Little?'

Carel waved a finger at him. 'He looked after you better than some I've heard of. Whatever else you say, and however begrudgingly it was given, you never went hungry. Deny that and I'll slap you so hard your armour will fall off. There were some all for giving you a child's portion at meals, instead of more than Valo could manage. Not one would have dared say that to your father.'

'Why not?'

‘Well, for a start, no one wanted to talk about you unless they had

to – they were your mother's folk, and a superstitious rabble, then and now. You look like your mother, and everyone knew what she meant to Horman; he took his loneliness and frustration out on you for that,

but he’d not have seen you starve, whatever words his temper might put in his mouth.’

‘Perhaps. But I'll be more alone than he ever was – at least he had someone once; he had a child, even if it was a white-eye.' And look what the loss did to him.'

Isak didn’t reply, but Carel could see from his clamped jaw that the boy understood more than he was going to admit. Before the

conversation could continue, Tila arrived with a second bowl of food for Isak.

Vesna rose at Tila's arrival, a smile on his lips, but Tila, feeling like he was mocking her, pointedly ignored him and sat down next to Carel, who waved a spoon in greeting. She had immediately warmed to the ageing soldier: there was a warm generosity about him, a feeling of dependability and reassurance, like a loving uncle, perhaps

– quite unlike the handsome charms of Count Vesna, whose glittering eyes were not exactly indecent, but they were most certainly predatory.

Tila wore a simple, warm dress, but with a glance and a smile Vesna managed to make her feel as though she were dressed fit for a summer ball. She had no intention of trusting a man like that. His face was too comely, his words too welcome, his presence too magnetic.

'My Lord, was the battle as much of a success as we have heard?' she asked, breaking her concentration away from Vesna.

'Was that really all of the Ghosts returning today?' Carel asked before Isak could finish his mouthful and reply to Tila's question. He sounded concerned; Carel had been a Ghost; he knew what a full complement looked like and was well able to guess their losses.

Vesna nodded. 'Near enough. Some stopped at their homesteads, but with those killed in battle and winter picking off the injured, we're almost four hundred down. Success? My Lady, it was, but at a high price. Still, Isak led well in his first battle and that's a good sign for the future.'

Isak said nothing – he still felt guilty whenever the battle was mentioned – but Carel took his silence as lamenting the dead. 'Don't think about the fallen, Isak,' he said. 'From what I hear, there would have been even more widows without you: Lord Bahl and the dragon broke the trolls, but they would have been too late if the Ghosts hadn't held

– and without you, they would have been overcome before Lord Bahl got there.'

Isak looked up and met his friend's gaze: Carel had never been adept at lying, nor had he ever made allowances for the feelings of an outcast. He had guessed what happened, and understood.

A sudden draft from the tower corridor heralded the Swordmaster's arrival. Kerin's grim face brightened when he breathed in the aroma that filled the Great Hall. The Swordmaster hadn't yet returned to his training leathers; under his coat was the dress uniform of the Ghosts,

including a heavily braided, double-breasted tunic of black linen woven with gold thread.

He secured a bowl of the stew from the huge cauldrons nestled inside the stone hearth of the great fire and a haunch of the spitted boar, then joined Isak and his friends. He came straight to the point. 'Lord Bahl has been filling me in. You can use magic now?'

Isak's heart sank. From the gleam in Kerin's eye, the Swordmaster had a whole host of new routines already devised. 'Barely,' he said quickly, 'nothing with any skill, just the most basic of energies, not real combat magic at all.'

Kerin smiled. 'Barely will do for me.'

'Magic?' asked Tila sharply. 'What do you mean by basic energies?'

'Do you know anything about magic?' Isak asked. He knew a little more of the subject than when he had left the palace.

'Only that white-eyes are different to wizards.'

The others had leaned forward slightly and Isak smiled. Few people really knew anything about magic – it was the preserve of a select few – but who could fail to be interested? 'Well, it's complicated, and I don't understand most of it myself. From what I've read, there are three types of magic, the basic energies – '

'Like creating lightning?' Vesna interrupted with boyish eagerness. Any man who had seen Bahl fight knew how destructive that could be.

'Yes,' Isak said, 'although I don't think it's exactly the same as real lightning, but we're the Chosen of Nartis so that's how this works. Creating fire is possible but takes more energy – Lord Chalat or his Krann would be able to do it more easily because of their patron.'

It's all the same energy, but different people turn it into different things, lightning, fire or whatever,' said Kerin, who had far more experience of his Lord's skills.

That's how it ends up,' Isak agreed. 'You'd have to ask a wizard from the College why. I don't understand most of what they say, but apparently I don't need to. Anyway, the three types are called energies, enchantments and spells. Enchantments are very simple spells, so simple that even white-eyes can do them. It's just using the energies more carefully, shaping them to a purpose and binding them to stay rather than releasing them in a single burst.'

Isak could see from his audience that his lecture was beginning to lose them. He tried an example. 'Do you remember the story of the and the rope-snake?'

'The children's story?' replied Tila, starting to understand. 'So the rope was enchanted?' Seeing blank expressions on the faces of the three men she smiled and began to explain. 'A jeweller asks a wizard to protect him from thieves – I forget what happened, but the wizard gave him a piece of rope to leave in his shop at night. It would wander the rooms and if anyone else apart from the jeweller came in, it would tie them up.'

'Exactly,' said Isak. There's more to it than just that, of course, but that's as far as I've got. As for spells, apparently they aren't something most white-eyes can do. There's something called "covenant theory", but I didn't really understand that.'

As they all opened their mouths to speak at once, Isak's name was called out from the door. They turned to see the Chief Steward, flanked by his clerks.

Lesarl lowered his voice now he had their attention. 'Lord Isak, the master wishes to see you now, alone. Kerin, there's work to do.' He didn't wait for a response. He was fully up to date now with the events of the last few weeks and there was a mountain of work to do. Quite apart from his normal duties of effectively running Bahl's lands, he was in charge of securing and paying for everything Bahl felt the army would need. The lack of horses was his problem to resolve; his spy networks needed briefing; and now he had to look at securing the loyalty of the Farlan nobility from an economic perspective. He had a big staff, but keeping control of so many threads was a task more demanding than most men could manage.