incomprehension. As he struggled up and propped his body against the wall, he realised he was shivering uncontrollably. Bahl noticed the cold as well and threw several logs on to the dead fire, then made a flicking motion with his wrist. Flames at once sprang up in the fireplace, hungrily devouring the dry wood. Isak stared in wonder at the fire, but Bahl just waved it off and drew up a chair for himself.
‘That’s nothing. I’m surprised that you can’t do that already, considering how the tower responded to you. But that can wait. Right now, we should speak of what you are.’
Isak struggled to answer, his head still fogged from the dream. ‘What I am?’ he muttered. ‘What else is there? Carel said white-eyes are born to be warriors, to fight for the tribe.’
‘Carel?’
Isak opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he realised Bahl’s face was uncovered. The reclusive Lord of the Farlan rarely went out in public without the blue silk hood tight around his face, and Isak had never before seen Lord Bahl’s actual features. He wondered how it could have taken him this long to notice, but after a moment he shook the question from his mind - considering what had happened to him, such a small detail was easily overlooked. Now he saw a powerful man with a harsh face, solid features all sharp lines and blunt comers. His brow was thick and strong, and his nose, but his features had an abrupt look, as if a craftsman had been interrupted in his work. The shape was there, the basic lines hewn with skill, but there had been no time to smooth the edges.
That in turn reminded Isak of the palace in his dreams and its unfinished statues, but before that could distract him further he forced the memory away. This was not a face used to patience.
‘Carel is my friend, a friend of my father’s. He was in the Palace Guard before he joined the wagon-train. Sergeant Betyn Carelfolden, Third Squad, Vanguard Company, Eighth Regiment. He was the only one who didn’t care that I was a white-eye. He taught me to fight so I could come and take the trials for the Guard.’
‘A squad sergeant, that’s good news. He’ll have bawled you into the right habits then, so I won’t have Kerin whining that he has to teach you the different ends of a sword. But that’s not going to be enough now; if you outlive me, you’ll be Lord of the Farlan one day. Before anything else, remember that nothing Sergeant Carelfolden - or anyone else - has taught you can prepare you for the life you will now lead. There are dangers that ignore all of your strength, all of your skill. You are but a child among wolves, blessed by the Gods for the whole Land to resent and envy. You have no friends now; no one you can trust with your innermost thoughts. Over the months to come you will realise that you now stand apart from the rest of the Land, between mortals and the Gods, but kin to neither.’
Isak, following this with some difficulty, broke in and asked, ‘But you had someone once. Couldn’t you trust her completely?’
Bahl stood silent for a few moments, then a deep breath signalled a victory for control. He answered, as if nothing had happened, ‘Her I could trust, yes. She was the only person I could trust completely, and because of that she was used as a weapon against me. Don’t speak of her again, unless you want bad blood to come between us.’
Bahl stopped again, but this time it was to gesture towards Isak’s trembling hands. ‘You’re tired, I know; let me explain why. It was Nartis who spoke to you in your dream. Now that you’re one of the Chosen, you are his property - whether you want it or not. White-eyes were created to signal the end of the Age of Darkness; to show that the Gods were once again with us. We are born to rule, to lead the armies of the Seven Tribes of Man. By choosing one of us to lead, the Gods broke the dynasties and the traditions of blood-ties and birthright that had contributed to the Great War. I know
‘That’s nothing. I’m surprised that you can’t do that already, considering how the tower responded to you. But that can wait. Right now, we should speak of what you are.’
Isak struggled to answer, his head still fogged from the dream. ‘What I am?’ he muttered. ‘What else is there? Carel said white-eyes are born to be warriors, to fight for the tribe.’
‘Carel?’
Isak opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when he realised Bahl’s face was uncovered. The reclusive Lord of the Farlan rarely went out in public without the blue silk hood tight around his face, and Isak had never before seen Lord Bahl’s actual features. He wondered how it could have taken him this long to notice, but after a moment he shook the question from his mind - considering what had happened to him, such a small detail was easily overlooked. Now he saw a powerful man with a harsh face, solid features all sharp lines and blunt comers. His brow was thick and strong, and his nose, but his features had an abrupt look, as if a craftsman had been interrupted in his work. The shape was there, the basic lines hewn with skill, but there had been no time to smooth the edges.
That in turn reminded Isak of the palace in his dreams and its unfinished statues, but before that could distract him further he forced the memory away. This was not a face used to patience.
‘Carel is my friend, a friend of my father’s. He was in the Palace Guard before he joined the wagon-train. Sergeant Betyn Carelfolden, Third Squad, Vanguard Company, Eighth Regiment. He was the only one who didn’t care that I was a white-eye. He taught me to fight so I could come and take the trials for the Guard.’
‘A squad sergeant, that’s good news. He’ll have bawled you into the right habits then, so I won’t have Kerin whining that he has to teach you the different ends of a sword. But that’s not going to be enough now; if you outlive me, you’ll be Lord of the Farlan one day. Before anything else, remember that nothing Sergeant Carelfolden - or anyone else - has taught you can prepare you for the life you will now lead. There are dangers that ignore all of your strength, all of your skill. You are but a child among wolves, blessed by the Gods for the whole Land to resent and envy. You have no friends now; no one you can trust with your innermost thoughts. Over the months to come you will realise that you now stand apart from the rest of the Land, between mortals and the Gods, but kin to neither.’
Isak, following this with some difficulty, broke in and asked, ‘But you had someone once. Couldn’t you trust her completely?’
Bahl stood silent for a few moments, then a deep breath signalled a victory for control. He answered, as if nothing had happened, ‘Her I could trust, yes. She was the only person I could trust completely, and because of that she was used as a weapon against me. Don’t speak of her again, unless you want bad blood to come between us.’
Bahl stopped again, but this time it was to gesture towards Isak’s trembling hands. ‘You’re tired, I know; let me explain why. It was Nartis who spoke to you in your dream. Now that you’re one of the Chosen, you are his property - whether you want it or not. White-eyes were created to signal the end of the Age of Darkness; to show that the Gods were once again with us. We are born to rule, to lead the armies of the Seven Tribes of Man. By choosing one of us to lead, the Gods broke the dynasties and the traditions of blood-ties and birthright that had contributed to the Great War. I know
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