Isak shook his head.

'An interesting man, one of only a rare few Chetse mage-smiths. I assumed you would have read the histories of forging we have in the library. No matter; when you return. He was a talented smith who produced minor weapons, but they last well and are dependable. This is an axe, called Darklight in the Chetse dialect. It will make our friendship clear to King Emin, while not being powerful enough to put you in danger from him. I suggest you leave it alone, though. It might be little compared to Eolis, but we do get attached so easily.' Isak nodded. The stories about Atro were ample warning. 'Enough of this.' Bahl held out an arm that Isak took willingly, gripping the man's wrist warmly as the old Lord clapped a fatherly hand on to his Krann's shoulder. 'Return when you will. Best to winter in Narkang and set out again a year from now, I think. You know the kind of stories you might hear from home, so make it clear how long you intend to stay and show to the whole Land that we're united.'

Isak held on to the man's arm a moment longer, acknowledging that he understood the trust Bahl was placing in him. With the clandestine campaign Bahl and his Chief Steward had already embarked upon, letting the Krann out of his sight showed a great degree of faith – the count had explained how easy it would be for Isak to start a civil war once free of the Lord's watchful gaze.

Isak saw a flicker of understanding in Bahl's eyes and smiled. 'There is just one more thing,' he said, and turned back to the newly made Marshal Carelfolden of Etinn. He beckoned to a page standing at the side, who brought over a curved sabre sheathed in a plain leather

scabbard.

'Marshal,' he said to Carel, taking the sword from its sheath and presenting it hilt-first, 'it is only fitting that your new rank is marked with a new weapon.' He grinned and said, so quietly that only Carel could hear, 'And I tried to temper it the way you tempered me!'

The joke relieved the high tension and Carel smiled proudly as he accepted the sword a misty shine like smoke wreathing the blade.

'Boy,' he said softly, 'this is the greater honour.' Then, to the watching crowd, 'I will wield it in your name, and the name of the Lord of the Farlan, and of our God Nartis.' He bowed low and backed away, returning to Isak's waiting group.

Isak turned back to Bahl, relieved to see the old Lord's smile of approbation. They gripped wrists firmly one last time, then Isak bowed low and backed away.

The rest of his company did likewise, and then mounted at Isak's cue. They cut a fine sight, the colours of their new livery bright in the cloud-filtered sunlight. Isak stroked Toramin's mane, then raised his arm to signal the advance. He sat tall and proud, his white cape draped over his shoulders. Though the battle's mud and gore had been cleaned off long ago, this was the first time Isak had worn it since – he had insisted that the cloak be repaired instead of replaced, to remind him always of a creature that was little more than burning bloodlust made flesh.

He looked around at the smiling faces. Mihn rode just behind, his face as guarded as ever, but Isak had grown used to that. The man didn't seem to be brooding, but he was among strangers, and he knew well how much interest there was in him. The onlookers smiled as they waved last goodbyes, and the mood of optimism and cheer extended even to the horses as they pranced after Isak.

A ringing clatter echoed down the barbican tunnel and Isak drank in the sights and sounds he wouldn't experience for at least a year. The people of Tirah stepped back and watched, awestruck, as the splendid party cantered down Palace Way and struck out for the south. As they made their way through the ancient streets, each rider fixed the images of home firmly in his or her mind: the bridges and towers, the engraved stones that adorned all but the meanest of buildings, every reason for loving their city.

Within what felt a very short time, they had reached the outskirts, where long straight roads led off to distant lands. The peaks of the Spiderweb Mountains rose on both sides; ahead were river-valleys and open fields. Isak smiled at the sight until he remembered what might be lurking in the shadows. They'd spent hours discussing each and every possible danger.

He sighed, and prayed for a dull journey, something he knew only too well from his previous life. These days, the prospect wasn't as dismal as it had been then, but he still couldn't bring himself to believe that it would be so easy this time.

The first day was easy enough. At times it felt more like a parade than the start of a long journey; they overnighted at a manor belonging to Suzerain Tehran, where they were treated like royalty. By noon of

the second day they were still travelling at the same pace and Isak's patience was beginning to wear thin.

'It's slowing us down,' he said, exasperated. 'Did you really think you could get to Narkang like that? Do you realise how far it is?'

Tila regarded him with a cold eye, refusing to dignify that with an answer.

Isak struggled to control himself- it was as if the girl knew instinctively how to infuriate him.

'No matter how far it is, my Lord, she's an unmarried woman,' snapped Tila's chaperone, a woman of fifty summers or so. She had introduced herself as Mistress Daran and given no first name, so, titled or not, Vesna and Carel had no choice but to address her as such, though it was a respect her station hardly afforded. Tila called her Nurse, and Isak was very proud of himself for managing not to say out loud the name he'd privately given her.

'She could be a sniping old harridan for all I care, as long as she uses a real bloody saddle.' Isak's retort almost had the desired effect, but the women managed to hold back. They stood in a small circle, away from the soldiers, who were watching the entertainment with great amusement.

'Isak, all unmarried women ride side-saddle,' Tila repeated with exaggerated patience. 'If you can't work out why, then I'm sure your bondsman will draw you a diagram. It's apparently something of a speciality of his.'

The count's broad smile fell at this, but Carel chuckled softly. For her remark, Tila received a hurt look from Vesna and a slap on the wrist from Mistress Daran. She won back the first with a smile and ignored the second, planting her hands firmly on her hips as she squared up to Isak.

Isak shot a look of irritation at Carel, who ignored it and suggested, 'Perhaps you should use Tila's spare saddle as penance, my friend.' The looks he received made him throw up his hands theatrically and stomp off to join his men, who were supposed to be changing horses and eating, but were more interested in the little drama playing out a few yards away.

‘Tila, we need to move faster, or it will take a few months to get there. Even if you could manage the pace on that thing, you'd be hurting so badly we'd have to stop for you to recuperate,' he said more calmly now.

'But there is no other choice,' Tila explained again. 'You seem to have forgotten that the only reason my parents allowed me to accompany you was because they think it will mean a better marriage for me afterwards. That'll be worthless if I'm damaged…' Her face was bright red and her voice trailed off. Did she have to draw the wretched man a picture?

'And you seem to have forgotten how long and hard this journey is going to be.' Now Isak was beginning to lose his temper. 'Even using a normal saddle, the first week will be hard enough. You'll be sleeping in a tent more often than not-'

'My Lady will stay in a proper bed in a good inn every night,' Mistress Daran interjected.

Isak glared at the woman. He didn't like conversations with two people in the first place, whatever the subject, since he ended up not being able to concentrate on either. Mistress Daran was not as old as he had first assumed from her permanently sour expression, but she treated everyone – even Carel, a landed marshal, no less – like a foolish child.