The Grave thief

CHAPTER l0

The sky was slate-grey, angry. A broken mountain burned in the distance, wreathed in black coils of smoke. The freezing wind pierced his ragged clothes as he struggled to find purchase in the churned mud underfoot. He staggered on over the ruined ground, exhausted, using his bloodstained sword for balance and fighting for every step, but it made no difference. The mountain came no closer, and the darkness behind advanced relentlessly.

Collapsing to his knees, he gasped for breath and looked around. The landscape was ruined; there were great furrows carved into the earth, and even the weeds were crushed and dead. Death was all around him, and despite an occasional discarded item — a helm here, a broken scabbard there — he saw no one else, neither alive, nor dead. The broken black tooth of the mountain seemed to loom over him, unreal and untouchable.

He dug his fingers into the mud and felt it suck them down. He wrenched his hand from the dead land's grasp and tried to stand, but his legs rebelled as the darkness closed in on him. He tried to scream, but he couldn't voice his terror. He tried to lift his sword with what feeble strength he had left, but to no avail. The darkness bent over him, as insubstantial as smoke, until cold fingers grabbed him by the throat. He fell back and the mud welcomed him, burning as it drew him in, the hand at his throat pushing him inexorably down and down into the cold of the grave.

'Can I guess why you chose this place?'

Isak turned his head to where Mihn was sitting, a motionless figure silhouetted against the light creeping through the warped boards.

'Couldn't it be that I just wanted somewhere out of the way and one stable's as good as another?' Isak gestured around at the hay loft they were sitting in. Oxen shifted in the gloom below. 'It's warmer than standing about in an alley, isn't it?'

'Indeed it is, but I suspect this is one stable you've been in before.'

Isak shrugged. 'Perhaps. Doesn't mean it's significant.'

Isak doubted Mihn would be fooled. The taciturn northerner never indulged in idle chatter; he rarely initiated conversations at all, even if several months in Morghien's company had made him a little more open. Morghien had lingered in Tirah for a fortnight before the road called too loudly and he gave in to his itinerant nature. During that time Isak had seen the unspoken bond between them, similar to the one he himself had with Mihn. It was as if Mihn had forgotten what it was to have friends, but was slowly getting used to the notion again.

'I do think it significant, my Lord. You are not much of a romantic, so I doubt nostalgia is why we're here.'

'Are you mocking me?'

'No, Isak, I'm concerned. Scree has changed you, in more ways than one. The witch of Llehden agrees with me, and I'm not just talking about the appearance of the Reapers in Irienn Square.'

'What are you talking about then?' Isak snapped, barely remembering to keep his voice low.

The wind, a mournful moan overhead that rattled the roof of the stable, had been building throughout the day until now, past midnight, it was whipping at the city. There had been a light flurry of snow earlier that week, and Isak was sure he had felt the cold deepen as those first flakes fell.

'I'm talking about you,' Mihn said patiently. 'You don't joke as much as you used to. It's almost as if you have forgotten that you once used laughter to draw others to you-'

'I'm Lord of the Farlan,' Isak broke in, 'I shouldn't need laughter to make them obey me.'

'That's not what I mean; you used to do it as naturally as breathing. Being Lord of the Farlan does not mean they will thoughtlessly follow you, only that they will obey your orders.'

'Your point?'

'That you appear haunted. I've seen you glance over your shoulder, even when you're eating and your back is to the wall — and you move your chair further back than anyone else's. Yes, I noticed.'

Isak looked down at the stable floor below. 'What would you have me say?'

'That I am your bondsman and you trust me with your secrets.'

'Of course I trust you.'

'Then let me help,' Mihn said calmly. 'I am yours to command, whether I know the purpose behind your order or not.'

'And that'll help, will it?' Isak said sourly.

'You're a white-eye, my Lord. Your nature is not to accept things meekly. That you look so unsettled leads me to believe you have not yet found a way to fight it. When you do that, you'll find purpose relieves much of your anxiety.'

Isak gave a soft, hollow laugh. 'You could be right, but I have a few problems I can see no solutions to.'

'Name them.'

He looked at Mihn, almost expecting the man to be joking, but he was deadly serious.

'Okay, since you ask: first, this religious fervour that's driving everyone to madness, demanding idiocy in the place of policy. Next, since the fall of Scree I have dreamt of nothing but death, and it grows insistent.' He scowled and scratched his cheek. 'And there are no traces of those of Azaer's disciples who survived Scree, we still have little clue as to what the shadow's motives are, and I'm at a loss where to even begin.

'So do you have solutions for me now?'

'No, my Lord,' Mihn replied gravely, 'but I have advice, whatever small use it might be. You must always play to your strengths. A blacksmith will lay out those tools he possesses before starting work, and so must you.'

'Have all my suzerains stand in a line?' Isak asked, a brief grin lightening his face.

'No, Isak, the tools of the man, not the duke.'

'They're few enough,' he said grimly, noting Mihn's use of his first name, not something he did often. 'I'm a white-eye, which means I've as many bad qualities as good.'

'You've never hidden from those before,' Mihn pointed out. 'I've seen the look on your face whenever anyone mentions the battle on the Chir Plains — it's one of determination rather than embarrassment.'

Isak raised a hand to stop him as they heard footsteps outside the stable door. There was a rattle as the door was pushed open and a face appeared in the gap. Vesna looked all around the stable before catching sight of Isak in the hay loft.

'Go on, quickly,' Isak said to Mihn, pushing himself to his feet.

'Take the religious matter: this is an unsavoury element of society as a whole. Consider your temper, it remains volatile even now; what did you do about it?'

There was a frown on Isak's face as he stood, towering over Mihn, then he said, 'I accepted that it was part of me, it was never going to go away so it needed to be shackled.' He started carefully down the creaking ladder.

'Exactly; you brought it within and channelled it to a more useful end. It was either that or be eternally at war with yourself.'

'You might have a point there.' Isak smiled weakly. 'And the other problem? My dreams of death? It seems foolish to just accept death — and something that's rather difficult to work around! Aryn Bwr tried it and look what happened to him! I'd prefer to be completely dead than a broken passenger in another's mind, even if I had the skill to achieve that.'

Mihn nodded soberly. 'Of course, but even there perhaps the principle remains sound? Your life is bound by prophecy and the forces driving that — without those on your heels you might not be so haunted by your own existence. There are tales of men tricking Death himself; might that free you from these burdens?' He gave a sigh and gestured to the stable floor. 'On the other hand, you told me yourself that Lord Bahl's dreams were used as a weapon against him; this may be nothing more than a mage's artifice directing you down a certain path.

'However, this discussion must be continued another day, my Lord. The dukes await you.'

Three more men had now entered the stable. They looked wary, and stood with their hands on their swords. The Duke of Perlir was flanked by burly hurscals dressed in plain brigandines — sworn soldiers knighted for their prowess, Isak guessed, noting a swirling blue tattoo on the neck of one man. The duke could hardly have been more of a contrast to his guards. He was a slim man with a long waxed moustache, and his clothes of red, brown and gold were fine enough for a formal ball. After a moment scanning the stable he gestured to his guards and the three of them unclipped their scabbards and knelt with sword-hilts pointing towards Isak in formal greeting.

'Duke Sempes,' Isak said as warmly as he could manage, 'thank you for coming. Please, rise.' Instead of offering his hands upturned Isak gripped the duke's arm in greeting, receiving a slightly puzzled but appreciative look.

'I thank you, my Lord. The whole of Perlir grieves for the loss of Lord Bahl; he was a greater man than many gave credit for.'

'I have considerable shoes to fill, that's for certain,' Isak said, but broke off as another trio entered the room, led by a white-eye bigger than General Lahk and followed by a scowling copper-haired woman. A devotee of the Lady, Isak realised, as the Duke of Merlat sidled in after her, his eyes darting around nervously.

Duke Shorin Lokan was a little older than his counterpart from Perlir, and very different physically. He was a waddling, rather large, sickly creature, his thinning hair scraped over his head. Chief Steward Lesarl had already advised Isak that the duke was by no means a fool, but to Isak the man looked as intelligent as a toad in a blue coat.

'Duke Lokan, a pleasure,' he said, trying not to focus on that image.

The duke managed to get down so he was kneeling, more or less, and tugged his rapier — plainly just ornamental — vaguely in Isak's direction.

'Every inch a lord,' Lokan muttered nervously, tottering backwards as his bodyguard gave him a hand up. 'You have Lord Bahl's bearing, a reassuring sign in one so young.'

'I thank you. Now, my lords, there's a back room through here where we can sit and have a cup of wine together. I realise the surroundings are hardly fitting to your rank, but the wine's excellent, of that I can assure you.'

Without waiting for an answer, he led them past the cow stalls to a doorway set into the back wall. Light spilled through the cracks from a pair of large oil lamps just inside. A plain oak table sat in the centre of the room, four chairs already set around it. Tila waited at one side, holding a tall jug in her hands.

'You must be Lady Tila then,' said Lokan as he followed the Duke of Perlir inside.

'I am, my Lord,' Tila replied with a startled look and a curtsey.

'Thought as much.' Lokan huffed heavily and sank down into the chair Isak had gestured for him to take. 'My wife was cursing your name only this morning.'

'Your wife, my Lord? But I believe I have not had the pleasure…'

'Curious, isn't it? It's as if you had done something to upset her — but since you have never met, I cannot see how that can be the case,' Lokan said airily, the hint of a smile on his lips. 'Of course, she is younger than I, and ten years ago was considered quite a catch — one of the most beautiful women in the entire tribe, don't you know? No doubt it is just that your beauty rivals her legend, nothing more. After all, it's not as if you have beaten her in competition for anything, now, is it?'

Tila couldn't help but glance over to the door where Count Vesna was stationed, now staring determinedly at his feet.

'Oh, well, no, of course not,' she said, rallying, and curtseyed again before filling the cup he held out. 'I thank you for the compliment, though I doubt I could ever rival your wife's beauty, then or now.'

'Four chairs?' said Sempes, taking a seat himself opposite Lokan.

'Someone will be joining us,' Isak said. 'For the moment, perhaps the three of us could share a few words alone?'

Both men looked suspicious, but they nodded all the same and Tila retreated with the bodyguards. When the door banged shut, Isak sat down himself and looked carefully at the dukes.

'I know only a little of how relations were between you and Lord Bahl,' he started, 'but now is a time for a fresh start, whatever the problems of the past.'

Isak could see the dukes knew full well he was entirely up to speed with their previous relationship with Lord Bahl; Lesarl would never have let such a meeting happen without carefully briefing his lord beforehand. But they understood the implication.

'Over the next few years we are going to find ourselves facing unprecedented- well, let's call them difficulties,' Isak continued. 'For that, we will need a united nation, and historically that's something the Farlan have always found difficult.'

'May we speak frankly, my Lord?' Sempes said suddenly. He was sitting bolt-upright in his seat, making Isak wonder if he was wearing some sort of custom-made armour underneath his fine clothes.

'Of course.' Isak ignored the unusual bluntness, taking it as caution rather than hostility.

'You want a show of support, my Lord? I appreciate the courtesy to our positions that you've shown thus far — keeping this meeting deniable if necessary, even asking for our support in the first place. I am well aware that you could force us to publicly support you at your investiture ceremony. However, a white-eye taking great pains to show such consideration? I hope you will forgive an older man's trepidation at this; I find myself wondering what it is you require our support for.'

'I will,' Isak said gladly. 'The situation is simple, but — to speak absolutely plainly — I want you on my side because I believe there'll soon be no space for anyone but my allies.' He raised a placating hand. 'I don't mean that as a threat, just a statement of fact. I'll be requiring much of you over the coming years and for the Farlan to remain strong we must all accept sacrifices.'

'And the support?'

'I intend to issue an edict regarding the vacant duchy, to appoint the next Duke of Lomin rather than confirming the natural line of succession.'

'You intend to deny a successor?' Duke Lokan was hunched forward in his seat, peering intently at Isak, almost as though he could divine the truth by looking hard enough.

'I do. I've brought you here to explain my reasons before publicly asking for your support. If it doesn't come as a surprise at my investiture, your reactions will send a message to the rest. If the dukes are united, every suzerain not already loyal will fall into line.'

'A reasonable assessment,' Sempes nodded, 'but I do not see why there is a need for the denial. I hear there is some argument over succession, but your intervention should not be required once Disten's investigation is complete. Your Chief Steward will surely have told you that relations between us are not friendly; some of our conflicts have been public and because of that I will need a good reason to overlook years of hostility.'

Isak nodded, well aware that the disputes between the cities of Tirah, Perlir and Merlat had seen noble deaths on all sides. 'The denial is necessary because I believe you will not find the rightful duke acceptable.'

'Oh?'

'Lesarl takes an interest in such things. He alerted me and I asked Lady Tila to investigate; she spotted it immediately. If Tila only requires a single glimpse, there are others who'll not take long to follow suit. I asked her to meet with the son of the old duke's cousin, the man whose family has the best combination of claim and power. His name is Sir Arole Pir, knighted after battle by the previous duke and expected to have a great future ahead of him.

'Tila reported him to be "a charming and extremely handsome man".'

'Hah,' grunted Lokan, a fat grin spreading across his face, 'and my wife will do the same, no doubt! The whole tribe knows what sort of man Lady Tila finds attractive.'

Isak grinned. 'Exactly. While he might surprise us all and prove a fine duke, I suspect many might find it all a bit too convenient.'

'Accidents have happened for less reason than that,' Sempes added, 'and even with our approval, it wouldn't be accepted by those most likely to already know the truth. The suzerains of Meah have never liked being the lesser cousins to the duke's family, and shared territories always cause a problem.'

Perlir nodded in agreement. The Farlan laws on territory were strict: each duke ruled one of the four cities, but had only limited land, so they were always contained within a suzerainty. With the wealth of a city behind him, the duke often owned as much land in the suzerainty as its lord, and the Farlan were not people to share power happily.

'Suzerain Imis would be even less amused by the situation,' Isak added. 'His border with the Great Forest is longer than any other, so Tirah influences his decisions far more than he'd like anyway. With a puppet wearing the ducal coronet he'd feel gelded.'

'Your solution?'

'Major Belir Ankremer, of the Second Lomin Infantry.'

'Lomin's bastard?'

Like Major Jachen Ansayl, the commander of Isak's personal guard who was a bastard of the Sayl suzerainty, Major Ankremer carried the name of the noble line he was fathered by, even though the old duke, as a gesture of loyalty to Bahl, had taken the name of his territory rather than using his own name, Kremer. It was a gesture his legitimate son, Duke Certinse, had carefully stepped away from too, not once but twice, eschewing both the names Lomin and Kremer in favour of his mother's family.

'You want the Farlan to be stronger, and how is that possible with a bastard soldier handed a duchy?' Lokan pointed out. 'You yourself do not rely on divine mandate; you hold on to your title because of your gifts, and the Palace Guard. What's to stop Major Ankremer being even more of a puppet than Sir Arole?'

'Because he's one of the finest soldiers left in Lomin. The only command a bastard is going to get is in the infantry, because any scion, marshal or knight will go for the cavalry, of course, a far more prestigious posting. But as a result, many of the experienced noble-born officers were wiped out last year when Lomin's cavalry was decimated. Militarily speaking, the game has changed over there, and the eastern suzerains at least respect experienced soldiers because they're usually on the front line. Lesarl tells me that Major Ankremer brings us a number of advantages, the first being that he's a fine officer. Every colonel in the region knows he's worth something; the man has no serious enemies in the army, and he does have the legions of the East behind him.

'Secondly, he is Duke Lomin's bastard, not of bastard stock, and the duke was well-loved. There is apparently no truth to the rumour that Duke Certinse was not Lomin's son, but even if he is true-blooded, he didn't inherit many of his father's better qualities. Major Ankremer is the image of his father in looks and heart, and that buys him political capital, especially when combined with your endorsements. Crucially, he is as strong-willed as his father. Some nobles will flock to him assuming they can manipulate him; Lesarl assures me that will not work.'

Isak paused for breath, and to allow the dukes time to comment.

After a few moments of thought, Sempes cleared his throat. 'Let us suppose,' he said slowly, 'that we agree to endorse your choice, my Lord, and act the devoted subjects while you pursue your wars. All of that will cost us, and not just in reputation… So what are we offered in return?'

Isak tried not to scowl at the phrase 'your wars', as though the two men believed there was nothing more complicated in Isak's mind than a young white-eye's yearning for conquest. 'I'm sure you have a few ideas.'

'I would first like to hear what new taxes will be imposed,' Sempes said sharply, 'and what existing agreements your Chief Steward will actually honour.'

'There will be no additional taxation, but I will require troops and supplies from both of you. In particular we'll need horses, livestock and grain, double the amount agreed under the Lower Temple Levy.'

'Double?' spluttered Lokan, 'my Lord, you have an unusual idea of what "no additional taxation" means.'

'The levy is not taxation; it's part of your responsibility as my subjects,' Isak said, 'and it is already set out in the agreement that in times of war the levy is doubled. All you are agreeing to is to encompass the spirit rather than the letter of the wording. We might not currently be at war, but we will by the time summer comes, and we must be prepared.'

'If we are discussing preparedness,' Lokan replied, having composed himself quickly, 'then the state of the navy must also be brought up.'

'There will be no more funds made available. I agree the navy is in need of overhaul, and that's something you'll be paying for yourselves. Additional taxation of your subjects is, of course, your concern, but we can't afford to have either of you dealing with insurrection over excessive taxes. I can offer you mages from the College of Magic to help, a dedicated group for each of your cities.'

'A few mages will make little difference,' Lokan blustered, but Isak knew it was a generous offer. With mage assistance, work could be massively accelerated; the College of Magic was located in Tirah precisely so the Lord of the Farlan could limit their employment in other cities.

The portly Duke of Merlat drained his cup and poured another. 'What I really need is the taxes on the Carfin River to be controlled, and sections dug out to allow deeper-hulled vessels to use it.'

The Carfin ran from Tirah to Merlat, and was the best way to transport goods from the plains in the north, where the majority of the Farlan's food originated. Since it ran through half-a-dozen suzerainties, the issue of river taxes was a vastly complicated one.

'You can't have both,' Isak pointed out, 'but it might be possible for Lesarl to put together a proposal for the suzerains responsible, with a little encouragement from Tirah, of course.'

'The herds from Merlat can at least walk,' Sempes pointed out.

'Remember, the tribe is dependent on my crops too. Raiding from the south is my greatest single problem. Will you give me assistance there?'

'What is it you need?'

'Southmarch.'

There was a defiant look in the duke's eyes that set Isak's instincts on edge, and at the back of his mind he felt Aryn Bwr stir. The Last King had been quiet of late, cowed into near-silence by the disturbing appearance of the Reapers on Irienn Square. Whatever fears Isak might have about his recurrent dreams of death, Aryn Bwr was even more terrified of the grave. There was no exaggeration when folk said that the darkest pit of Ghenna was reserved for him.

'A fortress?' The name meant nothing to Isak, and he felt a flutter of concern in his stomach. Thus far, Lesarl had prepared him for every step of the conversation, but now he was on his own. The sour look on Lokan's face told Isak that his concern was justified.

'Once a fortress, now little more than a ruin — past the end of the mountain line south of Perlir in a region called Hartoal's Steps.'

'Vanach territory,' Isak said, seeing in the duke's eyes that he was correct.

'The border is a bottleneck between the mountains and the sea', hissed Aryn Bwr in Isak's ear. 'A man who wants to defend his lands builds a fortress there; one who builds outside it wants a base for conquest.'

'Only nominally,' Sempes said. 'The region north of the Turnarn River has only the barest semblance of civilisation these days, hence the frequency of the raids. They're little more than savages, living in squalid chaos.'

'Savages with a few decent vineyards, so I hear,' Lokan commented.

Sempes turned towards his peer and said scornfully, 'They have good ground, but barely a clue what to do with it. They find it easier to raid Farlan lands than to farm their own.'

Isak raised a hand before Lokan could open his mouth to retort. He knew the two had disputes of their own. 'These are details that can be worked out later,' he said firmly. He rose and went to the door, poking his head outside to catch Tila's eye. She was talking softly with the bodyguards, but at Isak's gesture she made her apologies and hurried out.

'You expect us to take it on faith that this will all be resolved?'

Sempes said, guessing that Isak was having his choice of duke summoned.

'I do. The only thing that remains is for you both to meet Major Ankremer. You need to be satisfied that he is strong enough to keep hold of the ducal circlet.'

'Does he know why he's here?'

Isak shook his head. 'No, he believes this is part of Cardinal Disten's investigation, but I'm confident you will both find him satisfactory, then we can tell him the good news.'

The Duke of Perlir stood, his cheeks colouring. 'The last three negotiations I have had with your Chief Steward ended in chaos. The man is unstable and unreasonable. I have no reason to think this one will turn out any differently, so I fail to see how I can give my approval of this bastard's legal recognition for no tangible reason — quite aside from the fact that this is a dangerous precedent to set. Bastards have never had any legal claims and now you want to hand a duchy to one?'

Isak closed the door and approached the table. There was no conciliation on his face now; he was done with being friendly. 'You'll do so because I tell you to. I have instructed Lesarl to ensure a fair resolution is reached, but have no illusions; there will be Farlan deaths this year. My concern is not the delicate balance of relations within the tribe; it's surviving to see the next winter festival. I need your support most especially now that the cults have become militant, but you shouldn't expect me to worry over-long about the consequences of having you both killed.'

He pulled the door open again to reveal a heavyset man of some thirty summers wearing the red and black uniform of an officer in the Lomin legions. Isak caught sight of a tangled mess of curly brown hair and a glum expression — before the surprise at seeing an enormous white-eye took over.

'Good evening, Major Belir,' Isak said smoothly, guessing the man was like the commander of his own guard; Major Ansayl went by his first name, Jachen. He preferred not to use his surname.

'Ah, my Lord,' the major replied in a daze before he dropped to one knee, 'good evening.'

'Enough of that — come in and have a drink with us.'

'Us?' Ankremer repeated in confusion. He took a half-step inside and saw the two dukes waiting at the table. He narrowed his eyes to make out the devices on the breast of each. Lokan's Kraken badge was as distinctive as the Perlir Reaper's Scythe. 'My Lords,' he said, bowing to both. Suddenly he froze, looking from the dukes to Isak and back. 'Oh Gods, you're joking.'

Isak clapped a hand on the man's shoulder. ' "You're joking, my Lord",' he corrected with a chuckle, 'but aside from that, I'm afraid not.'