The armour forgotten, he stood before the full-length mirror and angled it up to observe his naked frame. His reflection had always fascinated Isak: the image he presented to the world was so different to how he saw himself. The stranger in the mirror peered back with equal curiosity, looking for the slender child Isak still pictured himself as. Neither his increased height nor added bulk looked quite right. He didn't particularly care to look as brutally powerful as he obviously did. He sighed. He did like the power residing in his limbs. That would have to be compensation enough.

A knock on the door caused Isak to jump and his gaze flew immediately to Eolis, hanging from one corner of the four-poster bed.

'My Lord?' Mihn's voice sounded from behind the door.

Isak grabbed at the fresh underclothes that Tila had laid out on his bed, pulled them on and then called for his bondsman to enter. Now he knew Mihn's past, Isak found himself remarkably secure in the failed Harlequin's presence. He'd kept all other enquiring eyes from the scar on his chest – the mark of Xeliath's affection, as he joked to himself – except for Mihn, who had seen it and said nothing. Bahl considered it Isak's own business, and Mihn would stay silent until Isak was ready to talk about it. Isak wasn't sure whether he should involve the others to such a degree – Carel, Vesna, Tila: they still had the option of another life.

Vesna grew more devoted to Tila each day. Just watching them share a joke, or smile tenderly at each other, spurred a pang of guilt in Isak. He knew he might well have to ask a lot of his bondsman in the years to come: would he be able to endure Tila's silent condemnation if he called upon the father of her children to commit murder – or worse?

He felt a different shape of guilt at how he might use and abuse Mihn, but he understood the need, and Mihn had nothing else. The foreigner shared something with Xeliath: another broken life Isak carried as a burden, another damaged soul he'd use as a weapon when the time came.

That thought made Isak pause. Even he was beginning to think that he had a purpose in life… In the darkest hours of the night he lay alone and worried that the assumption the Land made, that he had a cause for which to fight, would bring destruction, that any prophecies would be self-fulfilling. Could he cope with what might be required of him?

Mihn entered the room, took one look as Isak and slammed the door shut behind him. Isak's eyes darted up in surprise. The man Doranei has come to speak with you. He will wait.'

Isak pulled on a linen shirt and cream trousers similar to those worn by his guards. 'Send him in,' he ordered. Picking up the tall cavalry boots sitting at the foot of his bed Isak sat and began to fit his feet into them. Doranei sauntered through the door and past Mihn, checking the room for whatever he'd been excluded from seeing before his eyes settled on the Krann. Mihn cut across his path, forcing the King's Man to stop dead, and knelt at Isak's feet to help him with his boots.

Isak gestured to a chair and Doranei drew it up, carefully placing it to one side of Mihn before sitting.

Isak left the boots to Mihn and inspected his visitor. ‘That's an interesting tattoo on your ear.'

Doranei stiffened slightly and turned his head slightly away. Isak couldn't see the actual shape, but he didn't want to make it appear that he was too interested. He'd have bet the entirety of Anvee that he had something to match it.

'Merely the product of a wayward youth, my Lord. I trust everything has been to your satisfaction thus far?'

'It has, but I don't think you're here to see I have enough blankets. So would you like to tell me what a member of the Brotherhood is doing here?'

Doranei didn't blink. 'I, that is, the king, merely wishes to ensure

your passage to Narkang is as unimpeded as possible.' Doranei's Farlan was fluent, with barely a trace of an accent. Lesarl had told them that Farlan was fast becoming the country's second language. Most traders in the north-west spoke Farlan, and the keen merchants of Narkang took even greater pride in their linguistic proficiency. It showed how cosmopolitan Narkang was.

'And I had been advised that these lands were remarkably lawful. Or does the king expect any trouble in particular?' Isak asked.

'Of course not, my Lord. However, I wear the king's device and that gives me the right to commandeer supplies or lodgings on his behalf for your party. Some might also say that our laws are rather more permissive than those of the Farlan. There are several, sometimes competing, parties who call these lands home.' He paused. The Knights of the Temples, for example.'

'Well then, I trust there will be no unpleasantness on their part,' Isak growled.

'I am sure that will be the case. The Knight-Cardinal has submitted a request via the king for an informal meeting, but as such it can be refused with little offence given. In part, my visible presence will ensure that those you meet will not have another guise unknown to you.'

The king's spies are that efficient?'

They are more than competent. Our enemies cannot be certain of what we do or do not know – that limits them in itself.'

Isak rose and took the dragon-embossed tunic from Mihn. As he pulled it on and fastened the toggles he retained eye contact with the King's Man.

'You have an unusual manservant, my Lord.'

A flicker of discomfort passed over Mihn's face.

'Really.'

'And Count Vesna rides with you too. I'm sure he will be as popular with the husbands of this town as that attractive young lady will be with the wives.'

Isak made no reply as he fixed his long white cloak about his shoulders with a dragon clasp. The evening was going to be quite long enough without having to banter words now. He turned to the mirror to see how the Land would view him now. There was no hiding the bulging muscles and massive frame, but the reflection was as civilised as Isak had ever looked. A smile appeared on his lips.

Apart from his first fitting of this suit, back at Tirah Palace, this was the first time he had worn his crest like this. He spent a wordless minute following each and every line of that dragon image, the golden curls of its claws and proud rampant stance.

'So tell me about Morghien. I hear he is more than he appears.'

Doranei chuckled at that, scratching at his freshly shaved face as he smiled. To tell you about Morghien, that is where I would start. Unfortunately, it also explains how I would end. Did the Seer tell you about him?'

'No, he was waiting for me on the road.' Isak caught Doranei's reflection in the mirror, but saw nothing more than vague surprise on the man's face.

'I learned a little about Morghien – and you – from the Seer, but not enough, I suspect. What did interest me was that Morghien gave me a letter for your king.'

'And you read it?'

'I could hardly believe that was not the intention. It's there, in that pack by Siulents.'

Isak pointed to the one he meant and Mihn retrieved the scroll. Doranei opened it and scanned the first few lines. 'Velere's Fell,' he muttered to himself.

'A year ago I would have thought that to be a ghost story, but not since I heard about the Malich affair, about the Azaer cult-' Isak saw the hardened soldier flinch at his words and knew he'd scored some sort of hit.

'Please, my Lord, now is not the time. As it is, I am not the man you should speak to about this…' His voice trailed off as Isak held up a hand.

There was an angry glare in his eyes. 'Let me guess, the king is the one I should speak to. I've heard that before and it grows old.' The white-eye took a step forward, but Doranei managed not to shrink away from the looming figure.

Then I can only apologise. I am a servant of the king and I know only what I need to know to perform whatever function is required of me. As you can tell, King Emin is a man who keeps much to himself – but from this letter, from my presence, I can only assume he intends to provide you with answers. I understand your frustration, but please, be patient and enjoy our hospitality until we reach Narkang.'