'Lord Bahl,' boomed the man as he saw the pair approaching. The Ghosts almost sagged in relief as Bahl motioned for them to lower their weapons.

'Lord Chalat, welcome to my palace,' replied Bahl warmly as the Chetse released the magic. 'May I present to you my Krann? Lord Isak – Lord Chalat, Chosen of Tsatach.'

Isak bowed awkwardly, his obvious discomfort merely widening the Chetse's grin. Bahl then cocked his head to one side and Isak tore his gaze away from the white-eye, finally noticing the curious sight beside the Chetse: pinned up against a wall was a fully armoured guardsman, his weapons on the floor at his feet. The foot of some small foreigner was planted firmly on his throat. The little man held a steel-tipped quarterstaff ready and showed no sign of putting up the weapon. Looking over to the other Ghosts, Isak saw one was sheepishly wiping blood from his mouth and another looked less than steady, his helm knocked askew.

‘And your companion?' continued Bahl after a pause. 'And why is he trying to kill one of my guards?'

Under that gaze, the small man bent his leg at the knee, keeping his stance for a moment before lowering his leg. He stepped back, adopting a rather less aggressive pose, but still impressively proud in he face of a white-eye almost two feet taller.

‘Ah, now there's a man with a story,' replied Chalat in heavily accented Farlan, his good humour undiminished. 'Offer us food and drink and we'll tell you all.'

CHAPTER 21

'And there you have it,' declared Chalat, ending his story with a flourish. The enormous man sat back in his chair, hurriedly fetched from an upper chamber, and took a last bite at the leg of lamb in his hand, then tossed it over his shoulder with a satisfied air. The bone slapped on the wall behind, falling to the ground where a hound fell upon it. The sound of the dog's teeth on the bone was the only thing to break the silence as the small audience considered Chalat's words.

The eight men sat around a circular meeting table in the chamber at the base of the Tower of Semar. Bahl had limited the attendees to his closest aides, Kerin, Lesarl and Lahk, but Isak had brought Vesna with him – it would probably give rise to complaints by the other nobles in the palace, but Bahl had pointedly ignored the count's inclusion. Vesna had mentioned in passing a debt and some sort of assistance given to him by Lesarl. Clearly the count owed a favour, and Bahl was happy for him to be attached to Isak.

As for Carel, Isak decided to have a long talk with the old man before dragging him into the Land's politics.

'Mihn,' Isak said suddenly. The Chetse's companion intrigued him-The man's manner was so quiet and calm; it spoke of great confidence in his own abilities. 'Lord Chalat said you were from the clans on the north coast.' Mihn inclined his head.

'In that case, how is it you speak Farlan so well?' Isak was determined to get more than a nod from the man. There was something about Mihn's speech that nagged, something Isak couldn't quite place

yet.

'All the clans speak Farlan,' Mihn said, almost doubling the number

of words he'd uttered since his arrival.

'But why? You must be too far away to have any contact with us. 'Farlan is the root of our language, and with the Great Forest a

week's ride away we have to keep close ties to the other clans,' the

man said.

'All the Land's languages come from the same source,' interjected Lesarl contemplatively. 'Since Mihn speaks Chetse too, I'm sure we would not be surprised at how quickly he could pick up others.'

Mihn's face was full of suspicion; the Chief Steward was watching him carefully, scarcely even blinking. Isak knew Lesarl was distrustful of everyone, but this time he agreed – and suddenly he knew the answer…but it gave rise to yet more questions.

Perhaps the nobles hadn't noticed, but even after six months, Isak still found their words overly pronounced: Mihn spoke like a nobleman. His cadences and rounded syllables were too cultured for any barbarian clansman. He certainly wasn't Farlan, but he was more than

he let on.

'My Lord,' said Kerin, breaking the thoughtful silence hanging over the table, 'this daemon-arrow sounds like powerful necromancy to me – but Malich must surely have been dead too long to set this in motion. I was under the impression that Malich's skill was an extremely rare thing. So that makes me think this was done by an acolyte, or he's returned from the grave somehow.'

'I would be surprised if he had,' Bahl said. 'Denying death is more difficult than animating corpses or incarnating daemons. From what I know of raising the dead, I think we disposed of the body well enough for that to be an option.' There was a hint of a smile on his face. Isak remembered the sight of Genedel gulping down corpses on the battlefield and shared the old Lord's smile.

'Well then, either way we have a problem,' continued Vesna. 'Either Malich had an acolyte strong enough to cast this himself, which surely we'd have realised, or-'

'Or this has nothing to do with him,' finished Kerin. 1 agree.' General Lahk looked extremely uncomfortable as all eyes turned towards him. He kept his distance from Isak and Bahl whenever possible. Sharing a room with three white-eyes, each vastly stronger than he, was not a comfortable situation.

‘This weakens your army considerably, Lord Chalat. Charr is still young for a Krann, and from what we hear, lacking much intelligence at best of times. That's how the elf was able to draw him out in the first place. I doubt a possessing daemon would have any more understanding of how to lead an army.'

'Siblis?' barked Chalat. Isak felt a wave of anger radiate out from the Chetse Lord as he spoke the word,

'We know they have sent parties north to search for weapons. Perhaps they found allies instead. The elves could have created the weapon they needed. To kill you, Lord Chalat, would have been incredibly difficult, and hardly enough to win the war, since your generals are still there. But to control the commander and direct the war from both sides…' The general's voice trailed off, leaving the conclusions to be imagined.

Chalat clenched his fist furiously, the slabs of muscle in his arms showing a tracery of angry veins. By contrast, Bahl, resting his elbows on the table, was vaguely glum, lost in thought.

'Your point is a good one, Lahk,' Bahl said after a grim pause. '1 cannot think of a more likely reason. It makes me wonder what else the Siblis might have bargained for, and what price was asked in return.'

'Well, such things are beyond me. Charms, curses, enchantments, bugger them all. That's not how I've fought my wars,' Chalat growled loudly.

'But it seems you need a change of tactics.' Lesarl ignored the scowl he received. 'I know the man you should speak to.'

'Well, who is he?' snapped Chalat. 'Where is he? At your College of Magic?'

Lesarl smiled briefly. 'Unfortunately not, though I'm sure the Archmage will be more than willing to help you in whatever way he can – if you can manage to look less like a white-eye, because he rather despises your kind.'

Isak expected a bellow at that, but Chalat merely smiled. The white-eyes who reigned for a long time were obviously the ones who could control themselves.

'The true expert is rather closer to his subject matter. Invriss Fordal has been the authority on elven magic for decades now. I'm afraid he is considered rather eccentric, being one of the few who actually engages in expeditions into the Great Forest, but he is certainly the man to assist you. I'm sure the Duke of Lomin will be delighted to have you as his guest for as long as necessary.'

'Lomin. So if I were to grow bored and need something to kill-'