The stormcaller tr-1 Page 7

  'Enough. You've already asked the Archmage about special training for some of his students. Yes, he came to me with that one, outraged at your lack of ethics.'

  That treacherous old goat, I'll-'

  'You'll take the warning like the good servant that you are,' Bahl snapped. 'I don't remember you suggesting it to me, so let the matter slide. I want the College of Magic close to me and back under our complete control. Now, didn't you have some news for me?'

  Lesarl's face brightened as he remembered and he pulled a battered sheaf of parchment from inside his jacket. ‘The reason I actually went to see the Archmage was that he wanted to give me the deciphered copy of Malich's journals at long last. He wasn't happy about it at all.

  He still thinks that all magic-related research should remain in the restricted libraries until he and his colleagues see fit. He insisted I collect this in person.'

  ‘So they did contain Malich's research? How did you convince him to release them?’ Bahl sounded a little impressed at his Chief Steward's power of persuasion.

  'Because they did indeed contain the research; and because it was principally necromancy, your religious status has legal primacy.' Lesarl gave a satisfied grin. 'I'm sure that with a little prodding I could also have extracted a message of thanks to you for letting them do the translation in the first place.'

  'Despite the fact it would have taken much longer to find anyone else capable?'

  'Well, yes, but he appreciated my point all the same. Anyway, in between bouts of paranoid ranting that greatly flattered the abilities of my spies, Malich focused mainly on one of Verliq's conjectures to develop his rituals that followed a progression of-'

  'What was the conjecture?' The burr of Eolis and Siulents down below was wearing Bahl's patience thin.

  Lesarl thumbed through the pages of parchment hurriedly. 'Here we are: this is what the Archmage wrote as a quick explanation for me: "A Crystal Skull – being created specifically to counteract the magic of the gods in general, and Death in particular – cannot return a soul from the land of no time. Experiments have proved that souls do not retain sufficient integrity when removed from the physical world. However, in the state in-between the realms, ghosts and wraiths should preserve enough of their self to be returned to life if a suitable vessel is found."

  'Malich did not record the actual ritual he claimed to have devised, but the College council believe they could recreate it from his various allusions; not that they would dare do so, of course. There were a number of additional factors: performing the ritual when the Gods stepped back from the Land, during twilight or on Silvemight, as well as the sacrifice of life according to some sort of covenant-'

  The Law of Covenant,' supplied Bahl absentmindedly, 'the most fundamental principle in magic.'

  'Yes, that's it. Anyway, this all requires the channelling of vast amounts of energies through the Skull.'

  'Strange that he would devote his life to something he could never expect to test.'

  That is why I doubt much of what was written. Advancing the theory of necromancy is an odd obsession for a man wanting t° achieve immortality. What use this would be to him I have no idea‹ neither he nor that Menin apprentice could have helped their cause

  by it.This concerns long-departed souls, not the recently dead that he used as soldiers, and who of note could they return to life? Malich does claim that he returned a childhood friend once; that he managed to obtain a Skull for a brief while-'

  'Hah!' said Bahl, with a snort of derision. 'I think we might have noticed that when we took the castle. 'I doubt I would have survived

  a fight against a necromancer of his skill if he held a Crystal Skull. Did he enlighten us as to which Skull?'

  'Surprisingly, yes; he claimed it was the Skull known as Knowledge.'

  Bahl laughed. 'Not only was the man a liar, he was a bad one at that. Knowledge was destroyed almost seven thousand years ago. Mal-ich's mind must have been more rotted that we thought; the owner destroyed Knowledge in his madness after the Last Battle. If he hadn't, it would have resurfaced constantly over the years since, as those that did survive have done.'

  'Exactly, my Lord. It makes Malich's claims as ridiculous as his influence is dangerous. He's caused us enough problems; the Azaer daemon-cult he championed has spread heresy throughout the tribe. Now that he's dead, can we not just erase any possible legacy?'

  'Bring me everything the mages have first. I want to read these theories of his in greater detail.'

  'My Lord?' The Chief Steward looked surprised. 'I wrote the summary myself so no one else would read this material. The evil Malich wrought has been corrosive enough. Even the wizards themselves took no chances; that's why they divided the work between twenty of them. Necromancy will bring damnation to anyone, even to you, my Lord. And Nartis has every reason to hate the Skulls after the death of his brother Veren_'

  Bahl half-rose from his seat, sparks of anger flashing from his white eyes. 'Do not presume to lecture me on theology! The prattling of Priests and the chatter of old wives do not concern me.'

  Lesarl froze for a moment, then dropped to one knee. Grim-faced, he bowed his head in apology. 'Forgive me, my Lord, I forgot my place.

  Of course you know better than I do.' After all these years he should

  be used to Bahl's outbursts, but they were unpredictable and alarming

  and could still sometimes catch him off-guard. Bahl felt a second surge of anger at Lesarl's accusatory expression, but he made it subside. His Chief Steward was correct. Damn you,

  Lesarl; I do know how dangerous a course I'm taking. I don't need you to remind me of that, but you aren't the one tormented by dreams of the dead. Uncomfortable silence reigned for a dozen heartbeats before Bahl eased back into his seat.

  Lesarl took that as his cue to rise again. He had served Bahl for most of his life and had long since learned to bear the old lord's fluctuating mood. There was a longer pause until he spoke again.

  'There was, my Lord, one other point of interest. Malich's Menin apprentice added a footnote which stated that his master had mentioned a Skull being located in the palace on the White Isle. It had been during one of the many fits that the man must have been suffering by then. Malich would not have been capable of writing for long periods, according to the Archmage; the journals are frequently in his apprentice's handwriting. He mentions preparations for a journey, but no destination, so we cannot be sure. My opinion would be that it is merely babble; a madman's raving, but-'

  'But it's hard to be sure,' Bahl finished. 'There are ways to find out such information if you're willing to pay the price. He was in league with several daemon-princes, after all. The elves of the forest? Perhaps they hoped Malich could be made to get it for them. The White Isle is certainly somewhere no elf would dare venture, but a man might survive, and Malich's ascendance did their position no damage at all.'

  'Lord, would it be presumptive to ask what you propose to use the Skull for?' asked Lesarl, his voice wavering a little.

  'Yes, it would. Be content that it is my will. Do whatever you must.' Bahl's face softened a little. 'Lesarl, I know you must ask those queS' tions that no one else would dare, but do not press me any further on this.'

  Bahl thought back to Cordein Malich's beginning: he had been a student of astonishing promise when he arrived at the gates of the College of Magic; talented enough that the conceited mages in Tirah had not questioned why he had travelled all the way from Embere to enrol. After Malich's second summer there, his behaviour had grown increasingly erratic. A number of bizarre accidents befell several. people on his growing list of enemies. The Archmage of the day had been on the point of throwing Malich out – despite his remarkable talent – because of the unhealthy influence he held over the other students, when Malich suddenly disappeared, together with a number

  of forbidden works from the restricted library. Some decades later, Bahl only just managed to prevent all-out civil war when, during a pre-emptive attack o
n Malich's fortress deep in, the forest, he had succeeded in killing the necromancer.

  What they found there had sickened even the white-eyes of the c rd and resulted in more than a hundred Parian nobles and mages u 'ne condemned to death for treason and heresy. Before the castle burnt to the ground, Bahl had removed Malich's entire library. Some of the works were carefully and totally destroyed; some were spirited away to be studied secretly, and at length.

  He'd waited a long time for these journals to be translated. He pressed Lesarl again. 'And there's no clue in Malich's journal about where on the White Isle the Skull is kept? I hate to think how long it would take to walk every corridor of the palace there.'

  Lesarl scratched his chin, clearly unwilling to encourage Bahl in any way, but he knew better than to lie. 'It does say that the Skull is watched over by the first among men. It's a reasonable assumption that this means Kasi Parian, but there is no guarantee. How much help that is, I don't know. The palace covers much of the entire island, doesn't it?'

  Bahl nodded. He drew on his pipe, frowning when he realised it had gone out, then discarded it on a table. In that moment he looked suddenly old. With his shoulders hunched and his gaze distant, Lesarl thought his Lord resembled his own father who, in his later years, had been haunted by all he'd seen in Bahl's service.

  The Chief Steward shivered at the image and cleared his throat noisily to dispel it. 'I do have one last piece of news, something I had not intended to bother you with until, well-' He coughed nervously. It seems that Duke Nemarse, the ruler of Raland, has been doing a little plundering on the quiet. He discovered some tombs near his southern border. My agent discovered a soldier who had been involved in the excavation; apparently he believed he was not sufficiently compensated for committing sacrilege, and declared as much to the whole tavern.

  One of the things he mentioned was a skull as clear as glass not much to look at, he said, but the duke made a point of personally collecting it from the man who'd brought it out.'

  ‘And where is this man now?'

  ‘He seems to have disappeared, my Lord. My agent is looking for him now. But, there remains the possibility that Duke Nemarse actually possesses a Crystal Skull. Raland would be easier to search than the White Isle, and certainly safer.'

  Bahl nodded. The Palace of the White Isle was vast and otherworldly; Raland was indeed a far easier target. Duke Nemarse was a fool and a coward; every mercenary captain he'd employed had either left within the year or attempted a coup. The only thing that kept the duke in power was a series of expensive commissions to the city's assassins.

  'Send one of your more direct agents to track this soldier down and do whatever is necessary. I want to know every detail of the duke's activities, and stop this rumour going any further.'

  'The agent in question should be eminently suitable: she has the mouth and manners of a cavalryman, according to the temple-mistress, but her "special talents" are described as "proficient". Her standing orders mean she should already be on her way home with the deed done.'

  'Ah, one of those.' Bahl smiled.

  In the city of Helrect, halfway between Tirah and Raland, Chief Steward Lesarl’s agent squinted down at the cup before her. It was a public holiday there; anyone not inebriated at this hour was either well on the way towards it or, quite possibly, dead because of it. Legana had seen examples of all of those when she had travelled through the city streets a few hours earlier, hurrying through the twilight to reach the inn before the day faded completely. Even for a woman of her skills, Helrect's streets under cover of darkness were a dangerous place to be and the general drunkenness only exacerbated the problem.

  She looked past her drinking companions to the bonfires that set the boundaries of what was visible. She didn't have to worry about her safety, not now she was sat in the midst of a company of Chetse mercenaries whose commander was extremely fond of her, but the instinct to constantly check her surroundings was too ingrained to change. She soon regretted the move; focusing was proving rather difficult and even when she did manage to see clearly, she still saw nothing more than the dilapidated sight of Helrect.

  'Oh Gods, I hate this city,' Legana muttered, raising her cup once more. The man beside her snorted with amusement and reached out to give her a pat on the shoulder. His palm felt like a large ham thumping down.

  'Hah you're drunk, woman! You always get depressed when you're

  drunk ' Destech, the commander's lieutenant, considered Legana his

  friend for a reason only a Chetse soldier would ever consider. He

  cocked his head to one side and took a good look at her. 'You're not so pretty when you're drunk either, which is odd, because I'm

  drunk too, and most women'll do once I've got a few jars inside me.’

  'Get your bastard hand off me or I'll break your nose back the way it was,' Legana growled. 'Even drunk, you still look like the arse end of a pig-' She tossed back her copper-tinted hair to look Destech in the eye. He withdrew his hand, chuckling.

  The Farlan agent's dyed hair shone disturbingly in the firelight, a reminder that she was a devotee of the Lady. Some of the Lady's followers were gentle people who spent their lives doing works of charity, but Fate was not a patron who attracted the rich. Her temple communities were self-supporting, rather than relying on endowments from dying aristocrats. The disciplines taught in the temples had a range of uses in the outside world and Chief Steward Lesarl was one of those men delighted to employ every one of those disciplines. Destech was a soldier, a hardened veteran, and he had sense enough to know how far to push her, and when to withdraw.

  'Ah my dear, the city's not so bad,' commented the man on Legana's other side. He was middle-aged and powerfully built, even by the standards of Chetse soldiers, but he wore a sour expression that belied his words. Commander Tochet had once been first among the generals of the Chetse Army; Commander of the Eastern Tunnels, the most vicious battleground of their long-running war with the Siblis. His fall from grace had carried him from minor conflict to minor conflict and now he travelled to Raland to be Duke Nemarse's bodyguard.

  Legana laughed. 'You're only saying that because you're trying to get used to the idea of living in Raland; I've just come from there and it’s a bigger shithole than this dump.'

  So you sa,’ Tochet replied, 'but you won't say why you were there that'srather more interesting to me.'

  Legana shifted in her seat. ‘One of the Chief Steward’s little projects, that’s all – nothing to concern.

  Tochet was her friend, but she could say nothing of why she'd been there.The man she'd been

  sent to had died in a bar fight, presumably arranged by Duke Nemarse, and she could guess what Lesarl's next move would be. She didn't want her friend protecting the duke when that happened. 'Why don't you come with me instead?'

  Tochet broke into a smile and put his hand on hers. 'Do you mean all these years of wooing have finally paid off?'

  'Hah, not unless there's something you've been hiding from your men all these years.' She delicately removed the Chetse's hand from hers and gave him her best smile. Legana knew Tochet couldn't resist that; he was a fool for any pretty face. 'You know perfectly well that meant to command the forces in Lomin; Scion Lomin won't accept a Farlan's authority and you're the perfect alternative. He could hardly refuse a man of your experience.'

  'Well now, I've given my word and a mercenary has nothing if he breaks that. I have accepted the commission from Duke Nemarse and that's where we'll go. It will be a good rest for us after Tor Milist; I'm buggered if I'm doing that all winter again. I said as much to Duke Vrerr, so I don't think I'm his favourite mercenary any longer.'

  Destech snorted in amusement. 'You'll be even less popular when his wife gives birth.'

  'And without you to support the duke?'

  'With me, without me. Lords stand on their own feet or they fall on their own. Vrerr is an idiot; he turns his own people against him. No one likes the White Circle, but he's doing g
rand work in bringing over the neutrals. If it wasn't for the men from Narkang he'd have died a handful of times already.'

  'Men from Narkang?'

  'I think so. They're not a friendly bunch, and I must have seen five different agents over my time there, but my orders were always more intelligent when one of them was around. They're hard men. I've seen the type at home; good soldiers, too good to waste on the line. They're the bloody hands that drive history.'

  'Why would the King of Narkang get involved? He knows meddling in Tor Milist might bring him in conflict with the Parian.'

  'From what I've heard, that man's not afraid of anything, but tt would be an inconvenience to him if Tor Milist fell. This fair city of Helrect is run by the White Circle and rumour has it they pull the strings in Scree too. If Vrerr is overthrown, King Emin suddenly haS a nation to rival his own just over the border; one full of experienced soldiers and mercenary companies. As long as King Emin's not obvious about it, vour masters will turn a blind eye because they don't want the White Circle there either.

  Legana glowered: the White Circle was a sisterhood of noble-born women, one so close-ranked that even Lesarl hadn’t been able to penetrate far enough in to discover who was really in charge – or, more importantly, what their real ambitions were. Publicly they claimed no agenda beyond a fairer, less corrupt system of governance, but they were active recruiters and Lesarl considered altruism and power rare companions. Legana expected to be assigned to infiltrate the Circle one day soon; even she, a trained killer of both talent and experience, was willing to admit a slight unease at the prospect.

  'And is there any way I could persuade you to come north?' Legana knew Tochet was a man of his word and would not be swayed, but as a friend she had to try again. 'Land? A title? To go home?'

  'Farlan land? Hah! Too cold and too wet. Don't care about titles; the only words that count are those carved above the entrance of your stonedun. Going home? That I could hope for, and nothing more than that. Lord Bahl might hold better sway with Chalat than any other man, but what I called him, no Chetse would forgive. I lost my head, I know, but there's no taking some words back.' He drained his cup and was about to reach for more wine when his hand sagged. Legana saw the fatigue and sadness on his face, the look of a man who was getting too old to be a mercenary.