The Grave Thief: Book Three of The Twilight Reign (19 page)

‘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 overlong 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.’

Isak opened the door and stopped. He could feel the hostility in the air before he had even entered his chambers. ‘Bickering again?’ he asked.

Xeliath and Horman glared at Isak as he entered. They reclined on sofas either side of the fire, covered by thick quilts bearing Isak’s emerald dragon crest. Xeliath was familiar with her condition and knew how best to make herself most comfortable, especially now her strength had returned. Horman was still not used to being disabled - his remaining hand, which Isak had broken in the Temple of Death in Scree, had not healed well, and was of less use than Xeliath’s.

After a moment of irritation Xeliath’s face softened and Isak felt the radiance of her smile wash over him. ‘How handsome you look,’ she said in Farlan, and Isak had to fight the urge to blush like a boy. He was impressed at her command of the language already, and it was growing stronger every day.

He had thought to stop in to check on them both before the day’s business, the investiture ceremony, began, but maybe that wasn’t the only reason he was here. Today the Synod would formally confirm him as Lord of the Farlan, so he was resplendent in white tunic and trousers, detailed with gold and pearls, with the crowned dragon emblazoned on his breast and echoed on his cloak. His hair was trimmed and his cheeks shaved smooth, and Tila had told him he had never looked more respectable. Isak realised it felt nice to have that remarked upon.

Gods
, Isak thought wryly,
if I’m not trying to gain my father’s approval, I’m trying to show off to women. I’m not even sure which is more foolish of me!

‘Don’t look too pleased with yerself,’ Horman growled, almost as if reading his thoughts. He winced as he shifted position, but Isak was pleased to see he had more colour in his cheeks, even though he was still drawn, and much too thin. ‘This little slut has been saying the same to every man who’s been in this week. Girl was practically drooling over your noble count.’

Xeliath shot Horman a filthy look, but he only laughed at her.

‘Hah, don’t like it when you can’t bat yer eyes at a man and make him do what you want, do yer? Girl, I’ve put up with this one’s idiocy most o’ his life - white-eye charms don’t do shit for me.’

‘Stinking peasant,’ Xeliath hissed in reply before switching to her own language and unleashing a stream of invective. Isak didn’t need a translator to tell him the soldiers of her father’s household were responsible for these terms rather than the noble ladies. The tall lacquered shutters rattled under the assault of the gusting wind, reminding Isak of when Xeliath had entered his dreams and the landscape had echoed her mood. He’d been outside earlier and the rain was lashing down with a rare fury.

‘And to think Tila said I should split the two of you up,’ Isak snapped. ‘You’d both be bored to death if you didn’t have each other to bitch about. I’ve half a mind to manacle the pair of you together.’

Horman raised his arm. The ruined stump was still bandaged. ‘Thanks to you I’d be able to slip ’em easy enough,’ he grumbled.

‘How long must I stay in this room?’ Xeliath demanded. Her head was uncovered, which was unusual. Normally she wore a scarf, draped to cover most of her damaged left side. ‘I can be more use to you than keeping idiots company.’

Not even Lesarl had any idea how the volatile cardinals and priests would react when they found out Isak was harbouring a member of an enemy tribe, but neither of them were keen to find out. It was a fair bet that Xeliath wouldn’t back down from any form of provocation; she was a white-eye, and needed no good reason to start a fight.

‘I know you’re bored,’ Isak said in a placatory voice, perching on the end of his father’s sofa so he could see them both, ‘but it shouldn’t be too much longer now. I want the investiture ceremony out of the way first - the Synod are troublesome enough at the moment, without knowing about you. Most of the suzerains will leave in a few days, and that’ll help ease the pressure too. I don’t want you to end up being dragged into the argument for as long as possible.’