She was angry, he could tell. Her expression rigid, eyes avoiding his gaze as they walked the track to the Governor’s mansion, her heavy chest of curatives weighing on his shoulder.
“ I didn’t kill him,” Vaelin offered when the silence became unbearable.
“ Because Brother Frentis stopped you,” she replied, eyes flashing at him.
She was right, of course. If Frentis hadn’t stopped him he would have continued to beat Brother Iltis to death on the quayside. The other brothers from the Fourth Order had unwisely begun reaching for their weapons when Vaelin’s first blow sent the man sprawling to the ground, quickly finding themselves disarmed by the surrounding Wolfrunners. They could only stand and watch helplessly as Vaelin continued to smash his fist into Iltis’s increasingly bloody and distorted face, deaf to Sherin’s pleading and leaving off only when Frentis hauled him away.
“ What is this?” he snarled, wrenching himself free. “How could you allow this?”
Frentis looked more shamed and miserable than Vaelin could remember. “The Aspect’s orders, brother,” he replied in a soft murmur.
“ Excuse me!” Sherin jangled her chains, glaring at Vaelin. “Do you think I might be freed to tend to our brother before he bleeds to death?”
And so she had tended to Brother Commander Iltis, ordering her chest be carried from the ship and applying balms and salves to his cuts before stitching the gash Vaelin had left in his brow when he pounded his forehead against the cobbles. She worked in silence, her deft hands doing their work with the clean efficiency he remembered, but there was a sharpness to her movements that bespoke a restrained anger.
She didn’t like seeing it, Vaelin realised. Didn’t like seeing the killer in me.
“ Get this lot to the gaol,” he told Frentis, waving a hand at the Fourth Order brothers. “If they give you any trouble, flog them.”
Frentis nodded, hesitating. “Brother, about the sister…”
“ We’ll talk later, brother.”
Frentis nodded again and moved away to take command of the prisoners.
Nearby, Captain Nurin cleared his throat. “What?” Vaelin demanded.
“ Your word, my lord,” the wiry captain said. He was unnerved by the display of violence but refused to be daunted, forcing himself to meet Vaelin’s glare. “Our arrangement, as noted before witnesses.”
“ Oh.” Vaelin tugged the bag containing the bluestone from his belt and tossed it to Nurin. “Spend it wisely. Sergeant!”
The Wolfrunner sergeant quickly snapped to attention. “My lord!”
“ Captain Nurin and his crew are to be detained with the other sailors. Search the ship thoroughly to ensure none are hiding aboard.”
The sergeant saluted smartly and moved off, shouting orders.
“ Detained, my lord?” Nurin raised his eyes reluctantly from the bluestone now grasped tightly in his fist. “But I have urgent business…”
“ I’m sure you do, captain. However, the presence of the Red Hand in the city requires you remain with us a little longer.”
The greed in the captain’s eyes transformed abruptly into naked fear and he took a few rapid backward steps. “The Red Hand? Here?”
Vaelin turned back to Sister Sherin, watching her tie off the suture and snip away the stray threads with a small pair of scissors. “Yes,” he murmured. “But, I suspect, not for much longer.”
“ I told you once,” Sherin said as they paused on the track to the governor’s mansion, “no-one is going to die on my account. And I meant it, Vaelin.”
“ I’m sorry,” he said, surprised at his sincerity. He had hurt her, made her feel every blow he landed on Iltis, made her see the killer.
She sighed, some of the anger leeching from her face. “Tell me about the Red Hand. How many have died?”
“ So far, only Sister Gilma and a maid at the Governor’s mansion. His daughter still lingers, although she may have expired by now.”
“ No other cases? No sign of it anywhere else in the city?”
He shook his head. “We followed Sister Gilma’s instructions to the letter.”
“ Then she may have saved the city by acting so quickly.”
They came to the mansion gate where one of the guards rang the bell to call the governor. Vaelin eyed the mansion’s dim windows as they waited. Since Sister Gilma’s passing the place had taken on a sinister aspect, made worse by the shabby appearance of the untended gardens. He was half-expecting no-one to answer the bell, for the Red Hand to have finally run rampant through the house, leaving it an empty husk awaiting the torch. He was ashamed to find himself almost hoping it was over, with no outbreaks elsewhere it the city it could end here and there would be no need to send Sherin into danger.
“ Is that the Governor?” she asked.
“ That it is.” Vaelin’s shameful hope faded as Governor Aruan’s portly form emerged from the mansion. “He hates us but he loves his daughter. It’s how I got him to surrender the city.”
“ You threatened her?” Sherin gaped at him. “Faith, this war has made you a monster.”
“ I wouldn’t have hurt her…”
“ Don’t say any more, Vaelin.” She shook her head, eyes closed in disgust, turning away from him. “Just stop talking, please.”
They stood in icy silence as the governor approached, the guards scrupulously looking elsewhere and Vaelin feeling Sherin’s anger like a knife. When the governor arrived Vaelin made the introductions and worked the key in the heavy padlock securing the gate. “She grows weaker,” Aruan said, hauling the gate open, his voice frantic with hope and desperation. “She was still talking last night, but this morning…”
“ Then we’d best not linger, my lord. If you could help me with this.”
Vaelin set the chest down and Sister Sherin and the governor hefted it together and started back towards the mansion. She offered no word of farewell.
“ How long will this take, sister?” he asked.
She halted, glancing back, her face devoid of emotion. “The curative requires several hours preparation. Once administered the improvement should be immediate. Come back in the morning.” She turned away again.
“ Why were you shackled?” he demanded before she could leave. “Why were you under guard?”
She didn’t turn back, her answer so soft he almost missed it. “Because I tried to save you.”
He sent the guards away and settled down to wait, lighting a fire and huddling in his cloak, the onset of winter added a chill to the wind sweeping in from the sea. The hours stretched as he pondered Sherin’s words and brooded on her anger. I tried to save you…
Frentis appeared as the sun faded towards the horizon, sitting opposite and adding some wood to the fire. Vaelin glanced up at him but said nothing.
“ Brother Commander Iltis will live,” Frentis said, his tone deliberately light. “More’s the pity. Can’t talk yet though, just grunts and moans on account of his jaw. No great loss, heard enough of his guff during the voyage.”
“ You said the Aspect ordered you to allow her to be treated like that,” Vaelin said. “Why?”
Frentis’s expression was pained, reluctant to share what he knew would be unwelcome information. “Sister Sherin is a convicted traitor to the Realm and a Denier of the Faith.”
Sherin in the Blackhold. The thought of it sent waves of guilt and worry coursing through him. What had she suffered there?
“ I went straight to Aspect Elera when we docked,” Frentis continued. “Like you told me. When she heard what I had to say we went to Aspect Arlyn. He was able to talk the king into releasing the sister from the palace.”
“ The palace? She wasn’t in the Blackhold?”
“ Seems she was kept there when the Fourth Order first arrested her but Princess Lyrna got her out. Apparently she just marched in and demanded they release the sister to her custody. The warden thought she was acting on the king’s orders so handed her over. Rumour is Aspect Al Tendris was hopping mad when he heard, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Sister Sherin was still a prisoner anyway, just had a nicer prison.”
“ What could she have done that could ever be considered treason, let alone denial of the Faith?”
“ She spoke against the war. Not just once either. Many times, to anyone who’d listen. Said the war was founded on lies and contrary to the Faith. Said you and all the rest of us had been sent to our doom for no good reason. Wouldn’t have mattered so much if it’d been some nobody spouting off, but she’s well known in the poorer parts of the capital, well liked too, on account of all the people she’s helped. When she spoke people listened. Seems neither the king nor the Fourth Order liked what she had to say.”
More of the old man’s scheming? Vaelin wondered. Perhaps he knew about his attachment to Sherin and her arrest was another means of applying pressure. He felt it unlikely, Janus had already secured his obedience. Sherin’s arrest seemed an act born of simple fear; his war could not be undone by a dissenting voice. Vaelin knew well the king’s ruthlessness but to publicly arrest a well liked sister of the Fifth Order was hardly the subtle, insidious move he favoured. He must have tried something else, Vaelin concluded. Some other way to silence her or buy her loyalty. So, she had the strength to resist him where I did not.
“ The king only agreed to Sherin’s release on condition she be shackled and kept under constant guard,” Frentis went on. “She’s also forbidden to talk to anyone without permission.” Frentis tugged an envelope from his cloak and held it out to Vaelin. “The details are here. Aspect Arlyn said we should observe them…”
Vaelin took the envelope and tossed it on the fire, watching the wax of the king’s seal bubble and run in the flames.
“ It seems the king has reprieved Sister Sherin and ordered her immediate release,” he told Frentis in a tones which didn’t invite argument. “In recognition of her long years of service to the Realm and the Faith.”
Frentis’s eyes flicked to the now charred envelope, but didn’t linger. “Of course, brother.” He shifted nervously, clearly debating whether to voice something more.
“ What is it, brother?” Vaelin prompted tiredly.
“ There was a girl, came to the dockside when we were getting ready to leave. Asked if I could give you this.” His hand emerged from his cloak again, clutching a small package wrapped in plain paper. “Pretty thing, she was. Almost made me sorry I joined the Order.”
Vaelin took the package, opening it to find two thin wooden blocks tied together with a blue silk ribbon. Inside was a single winterbloom, pressed flat on a white card. “Did she say anything?”
“ Only that I should convey her thanks. Didn’t say what for.”
Vaelin was surprised to find a smile on his lips. “Thank you, brother.” He retied the ribbon and consigned the blocks to his pocket. “Didn’t happen to bring some food did you? I’m quite starved.”
Frentis made a journey back down the hill and returned a half hour later with Caenis, Barkus and Dentos, each laden with provisions and bedrolls.
“ Haven’t slept under the stars for weeks now,” Caenis commented. “I find I miss it.”
“ Oh, quite,” Barkus drawled, unfolding his bedroll. “My backside has indeed missed the joys of hard earth and sudden rain.”
“ Don’t you lot have duties?” Vaelin enquired.
“ We’ve decided to shirk them, my lord,” Dentos replied. “Going to flog us?”
“ Depends on what kind of meal you’ve brought me.”
They roasted a haunch of goat over the fire and shared bread and dates. Dentos opened a bottle of Cumbraelin red and passed it round. “This is the last one,” he said, his voice laden with regret. “Had Sergeant Gallis pack twenty bottles before we left.”
“ Men do seem to drink more in time of war,” observed Caenis.
“ Can’t imagine why,” Barkus grunted.
For a while it was almost as it had been all those years ago, when Master Hutril would led them into the woods and they would camp out, boys sharing stories and mockery around the fire. Except there were fewer of them now, and the humour had a bitter edge. Even Frentis, in his way the most guile-less soul among them, was becoming prone to cynicism, regaling them with the news that the dungeons were once again empty as the king attempted to add ever more regiments to the Realm Guard. “More cut-throats ready to get their throats cut.”
“ Seems fitting,” Caenis said. “Those who have besmirched the king’s peace should be obliged to make recompense. What better way than through service in war? And I have to say, former outlaws do make excellent soldiers.”
“ No illusions,” Barkus agreed. “No expectations. When you live your whole life in hardship, a soldier’s life doesn’t seem so bad.”
“ Ask those poor bastards we left behind at the Bloody Hill how much they liked a soldier’s life,” Dentos said.
Barkus shrugged. “Soldier’s life often means a soldier’s death. Least they get paid, what do we get?”
“ We get to serve the Faith,” Frentis put in. “It’s enough for me.”
“ Ah, but you’re still young, in mind and body. Give it another year or two and you’ll be reaching for Brother’s Friend to silence those pesky questions, like the rest of us.” Barkus tipped the wine bottle into his mouth, grimacing in disappointment as the last drops dribbled out. “Faith, I wish I was drunk,” he grumbled, hurling the bottle into the darkness.
“ Don’t you believe it then?” Frentis went on. “What we’re fighting for?”
“ We’re fighting so the king can double his tax income, oh innocent urchin.” Barkus pulled a flask of Brother’s Friend from his cloak and took a long pull. “That’s better.”
“ That can’t be right,” Frentis protested. “I mean, I know all that stuff about Alpirans stealing children was so much horse-dung, but we’re bringing the Faith here, right? These people need us. That’s why the Aspect sent us.” His gaze swivelled to Vaelin. “Right?”
“ Of course that’s right,” Caenis told him with his accustomed certainty. “Our brother sees the basest motives in the purest actions.”
“ Pure?” Barkus gave a long and hearty laugh. “What’s pure about any of this? How many corpses are lying out there in desert because of us? How many widows and orphans and cripples have we made? And what about this place? You think the Red Hand appearing here after we seize the city is just some huge coincidence?”
“ If we brought it with us then it would have laid us low as well,” Caenis snapped back. “You speak such nonsense sometimes, brother.”
Vaelin glanced back at the mansion as they continued to bicker. A dim light was burning in one of the upstairs windows, vague shadows moving behind the blinds. Sherin at work, most probably. He felt a sudden lurch of concern, feeling her vulnerability. If her curative failed to work she was naked before the Red Hand, like Sister Gilma. He would have sent her to her death… and she was so angry.
He rose and went to the gate, eyes locked on the yellow square of the window, helplessness and guilt surging in his breast. He found he was already turning the key in the lock. If it works then there is no danger, if it doesn’t then I can’t linger here whilst she dies…
“ Brother?” Caenis, voice heavy with warning.
“ I have to…” The blood-song surged, a scream in his mind, sending him to his knees. He clutched at the gate to keep from falling, feeling Barkus’s strong hands bear him up.
“ Vaelin? Is it the falling sickness again?”
Despite the pain throbbing in his head, Vaelin found he could stand unaided, and there was no tang of blood in his mouth. He wiped at his nose and eyes, finding them dry. Not the same, but it was Ahm Lin’s song. A sudden sick realisation struck him and he tore away from Barkus’s grasp, eyes scanning the dark mass of the city, finding it quickly, a bright beacon of flame shining in the artisan’s quarter. Ahm Lin’s shop was burning.
The flames were reaching high into the sky when they arrived, the roof of the shop was gone, the blackened beams wreathed in fire. The heat was so intense they couldn’t go within ten yards of the door. A line of townsfolk relayed buckets from the nearest well, although the water they cast at the inferno had little effect. Vaelin moved among the crowd, searching frantically. “Where’s the mason?” he demanded. “Is he inside?”
People shrank from him, fear and animosity on every face. He told Caenis to ask them for the mason and a few hands pointed to a cluster of people nearby. Ahm-Lin lay on the street, his head cradled in his wife’s lap as she wept. Livid burns glistened on his face and arms. Vaelin knelt next to him, gently touching a hand to his chest to check he still drew breath.
“ Get away!” His wife lashed out, catching him on the jaw, pushing his hand away. “Leave him alone!” Her face was blackened with soot and livid with grief and fury. “Your fault! Your fault, Hope Killer!”
Ahm-Lin coughed, lurching on the ground as he fought for breath, eyes blinking open. “ Nura-lah! ” his wife sobbed, pulling him close. “ Erha ne almash. ”
“ Thank the Nameless, not the gods” Ahm-Lin rasped. His eyes found Vaelin and he beckoned him closer, whispering in his ear. “My wolf, brother…” His eyelids flickered and he lost consciousness, Vaelin sighing in relief at the sight of his swelling chest.
“ Get him to the Guild house,” he ordered Dentos. “Find a healer.”
Caenis came to him as they carried Ahm-Lin away, his wife clutching his hand. “They found the man who did this,” he said, gesturing at another knot of people. Vaelin rushed over, pushing through the cordon and finding a battered corpse lying on the cobbles. He kicked the body onto its back, seeing a bruised and completely unfamiliar face. An Alpiran face.
“ Who is he?” Vaelin asked, his gaze tracking the crowd as Caenis translated. After a moment a swarthy man stepped forward and spoke a few words, glancing uneasily at Vaelin.
“ The mason is well thought of,” Caenis related. “The work he does is considered sacred. This man shouldn’t have expected mercy.”
“ I asked who he is,” Vaelin grated.
Caenis relayed the question to the man in his halting but precise Alpiran, receiving only a blank shake of the head. Questions to the rest of the crowd elicited only meagre information. “No one seems to know his name, but he was a servant in one of the big houses. He took a blow to the head when they tried to break out a few weeks ago, hasn’t been the same since.”
“ Do they know why he did this?”
This produced a babble of seemingly unanimous responses. “He was found standing in the street with a flaming torch in his hand,” Caenis said. “Shouting that the mason was a traitor. It seems the mason’s friendship with you caused some bad talk, but no one expected this.”
Vaelin’s scrutiny of the crowd intensified under the blood-song’s guidance. The threat lingers. Someone here had a hand in this.
The sound of falling masonry made him turn back to the shop. The walls were crumbling as the fire ate the timbers inside. With the walls gone the many statues inside were revealed, gods, heroes and emperors serene and unmoving amidst the flames. The murmur of the crowd fell to hushed reverence, a few voices uttering prayers and supplications.
It’s not there, Vaelin realised, sweat beading on his brow as he moved closer to scan the blaze. The wolf is gone.
In the morning he searched amidst the wreckage, sifting ash under the impassive gaze of the blackened but otherwise undamaged marble gods. It had taken hours for the fire to subside, despite the countless water buckets heaved at it by the townsfolk and gathered soldiery. Eventually, when it became clear the surrounding houses were in no danger, he called a halt and let it burn. As dawn lit the city he sought out the block with its vital secret, finding nothing but ash and a few shattered pieces of marble which might have been anything. The blood-song was a constant mournful throb at the base of his skull. Nothing, he thought. This has all been for nothing.
“ You look tired.” Sherin stood nearby, grey cloaked and pale in the lingering smoke rising from the charred ruin. Her face was still guarded but he saw no anger there, just fatigue.
“ As do you, sister.”
“ The curative worked. The girl will be fully recovered in a few days. I thought I should let you know.”
“ Thank you.”
She gave barely perceptible nod. “It’s not quite over yet. We need to keep watch for more cases, but I’m confident any outbreak can be contained. Another week and the city can be opened once more.”
Her eyes surveyed the ruins then seemed to notice the statues for the first time, her gaze lingering on the massive form of the man and the lion locked in combat.
“ Martual, god of courage,” he told her. “Battling the Nameless great lion that laid waste to the southern plains.”
She reached up to caress the god’s unfeasibly muscled forearm. “Beautiful.”
“ Yes, it is. I know you’re tired sister but I would be grateful if you could look at the man who carved it. He was badly burned in the fire.”
“ Of course. Where do I find him?”
“ At the Guild house near the docks. I’ve had quarters prepared for you there. I’ll show you.”
“ I’m sure I can find it.” She turned to go then paused. “Governor Aruan told me about the night you took the city, how you secured his co-operation. I feel my words may have been overly harsh.”
She held his gaze and he felt the familiar ache in his chest, but this time it warmed him, dispelling the blood-song’s sorrowful dirge and bringing a smile to his lips, though the Departed knew he had little to smile about.
“ You have been released on the king’s orders,” he said. “Brother Frentis brought a royal command.”
“ Really?” She arched an eyebrow. “May I see it?”
“ Sadly, it has been lost.” He gestured at the smoking mess around them by way of explanation.
“ Unusually clumsy of you, Vaelin.”
“ No, I’m often clumsy, in my deeds and my words.”
A brief answering smile lit Sherin’s face before she looked away. “I should see to this artistic friend of yours.”
The gates were opened seven days later. Vaelin also ordered the sailors released, though only one crew at a time. It provoked little surprise when most chose to leave port with the earliest tide, the Red Falcon amongst the first to depart, Captain Nurin hounding his crew with desperate urgency as if afraid Vaelin would attempt a last minute retrieval of the bluestone.
Some of the richer citizens also chose to leave, fear of the Red Hand did not fade quickly. Vaelin managed to intercept the one-time employer of the man who had set fire to Ahm-Lin’s shop, a richly attired if somewhat bedraggled spice merchant, chafing under guard at the eastern gate as Vaelin questioned him. His family and remaining servants lingered nearby, pack horses laden with assorted valuables.
“ His name was carpenter, as far as I knew,” the merchant said. “I can’t be expected to remember every servant in my employ. I pay people to remember for me.” The man’s knowledge of the Realm tongue was impeccable, but there was an arrogant disdain to his tone Vaelin didn’t like. However the fellow’s evident fear made him suppress the urge to deliver an encouraging cuff across the face.
“ He had a wife?” he asked. “A family?”
The merchant shrugged. “I think not, seemed to spend most his free time carving wooden effigies of the gods.”
“ I heard he was injured, a blow to the head.”
“ Most of us were that night.” The merchant lifted a silken sleeve to display a stitched cut on his forearm. “Your men were very free with their clubs.”
“ The carpenter’s injury,” Vaelin pressed.
“ He took a blow to the head, a bad one it seems. My men carried him back to the house unconscious. In truth we thought him dead, but he lingered for several days, barely breathing. Then he simply woke up, showing no ill-effects. My servants thought it the work of the gods, a reward for all his carvings. The next morning he was gone, having said no words since his awakening.” The merchant glanced back at his waiting family, impatience and fear showing in the tremble of his hands.
“ I know you were not complicit in this,” he told the merchant, stepping aside. “Luck to you on your journey.”
The man was already moving away, shouting commands to put his household on the road.
He lingered for days, Vaelin mused and the blood-song stirred, sounding a clear note of recognition. He felt the familiar sense of fumbling for something, some answer to the many mysteries of his life, but once again it was beyond his reach. Frustration seized him and the blood-song wavered. The song is you, Ahm-Lin had said. You can sing it as well as hear it. He sought to calm his feelings, trying to hear the song more clearly, trying to focus it. The song is me, my blood, my need, my hunt. It swelled within him, roaring in his ears, a cacophony of emotion, blurred visions flicking through his mind too fast to catch. Words spoken and unspoken rose in an incomprehensible babble, lies and truth mingling in a maelstrom of confusion.
I need Ahm Lin’s counsel, he thought, trying to focus the song, forcing harmony into the discordant din. The song swelled once more, then calmed to a single, clear note and there was a brief glimpse of the marble block, the chisel resuming its impossibly rapid work, guided by an unseen hand, the face emerging, features forming… Then it was gone, the block blackened and shattered amidst the wasted ruin of the mason’s home.
Vaelin moved to a nearby step and sat down heavily. It appeared there had been but one chance to know what message the block contained. This verse was over and he needed a new tune.