“ Well, that’s that,” Barkus said.
“ Clever,” Caenis murmured. “We didn’t give this Alpiran enough credit, it seems.”
A thick column of smoke rose from the city of Untesh to stain the morning sky. Hundreds of corpses littered the ground before the walls where scaling ladders reached up to the battlements like stacked kindling. Through the smoke Vaelin could see a standard snapping in the breeze, crossed sabres of black on a red background, the same standard he had seen at the oasis. The Alpiran Battle Lord had eschewed siege for an all out assault, accepting dreadful losses to reclaim the city for the emperor. Untesh had fallen. Prince Malcius and Frentis were dead or captured.
I am a murderer…
“ We should keep this from the men,” Caenis said. “The effect on morale…”
“ No,” Vaelin said. “We tell them the truth. They know I won’t lie to them. Trust is more important than fear.”
“ He could’ve made it out,” Barkus suggested, although his tone lacked conviction. “Got to a ship, maybe.”
Vaelin closed his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts, attempting to cast the blood-song forth as he had when he lost Dentos in the sandstorm. The note was even, unwavering, and found no answer. “He’s not there,” he whispered, hope surging in his breast. He had entertained a half-mad notion of waiting until darkness then finding a way over the walls to search for Frentis amidst the aftermath of the battle, although he was fully aware the most likely outcome would be a swift death. But if he’s not here, then where? He wouldn’t have deserted the prince.
“ Outriders,” Caenis said, pointing to the plain before the city where a body of horsemen was raising a thick cloud of dust as they galloped towards their position.
“ Can’t be more than a dozen.” Barkus unhitched his axe from his saddle and unfastened the leather cover on the blades. “A little recompense, for the prince and our brother.”
“ Leave it.” Vaelin pulled on Spit’s reins, turning him away from the city. “Let’s go.”
Another month passed as they waited for the storm. He trained the men hard, drilling them until they sagged with exhaustion, ensuring each man knew his place on the walls and was fit and skilful enough to at least survive the first assault when it came. He sensed their fear and growing resentment but had no answer to it but more training and sterner discipline. To his surprise, their mingled fear and respect held true and there were no desertions, even after Barkus returned from a reconnaissance to Marbellis with news that it too had fallen.
“ Place is near a ruin,” the big brother related, swinging down from his horse. “Walls breached in six places, half the houses wrecked by fire and I lost count of the Alpirans camped outside.”
“ Prisoners?” Vaelin asked.
His brother’s usually cheerful visage was entirely grim. “There were spikes on the walls, lots of spikes, each one topped with a head. If they spared anyone, I didn’t see them.”
The Battle Lord… Alucius… Master Sollis…
“ What fools we were to let the old bastard send us here,” Barkus was saying.
“ Get some rest brother,” Vaelin told him.
At night Sherin would come to him and they would make love, finding blessed relief in intimacy, lying coiled together in the dark afterwards. Sometimes she would cry small, jerking sobs she tried to hide. “Don’t,” he would whisper. “All be over soon.”
After a while her sobs would subside and she would cling to him, lips covering his face with a desperate urgency. She, like every other soul in the city, knew what was coming. The Alpirans would break over the walls like a wave and he and every other Realm subject in arms would die here.
“ We can go,” she said one night, imploring. “There are still ships in the harbour. We can just sail away.”
His hand traced over her smooth brow, the fine curve of her cheek and the elegant line of her chin. It was wonderful to touch her face, to feel her shiver at his touch before a warm flush crept over her skin. “Remember my promise, my love,” he said, thumbing a tear from her eye.
He was touring the walls the next morning when Caenis came with word of Realm vessels approaching the harbour. “How many?”
“ Near forty.” His brother appeared unsurprised by the turn of events. The idea that the king would leave them to whither unsupported seemed not to have occurred to him at all. “We’re to be reinforced.”
“ There has been talk,” Caenis said as they waited on the quayside watching the first ship steer its way past the mole and into the harbour. His tone was uncomfortable but determined. “About Sister Sherin.”
Vaelin shrugged. “Well there might. We’ve hardly been discrete.” He glanced at Caenis, regretting his levity in the face of his brother’s discomfort. “I love her, brother.”
Caenis avoided his gaze, his tone heavy. “According to the tenets of the Faith you aren’t my brother now.”
“ Excellent. Feel free to depose me. I’ll happily hand this city over to you…”
“ Your position as Lord Marshal of the Regiment and commander of this garrison was given you by the King, not the Order. I have no power to depose you. All I can do is report your… transgression to the Aspect for judgement.”
“ If I live to be judged.”
Caenis gestured at the approaching ship. “We’re being reinforced. The King has not failed us. I think we’ll all live a while yet.”
In the distance Vaelin could see the rest of the fleet bobbing sluggishly on the swell. Why do they linger out there? he wondered, a realisation dawning as the ship drew nearer and he saw how high it sat in the water. This vessel carried no reinforcements.
Sailors threw ropes to soldiers on the quay as the ship tied up to the dock, a gangplank quickly heaved over the railing. He had expected some senior Realm Guard Marshal to descend and was surprised by the appearance of a figure clad in the expensive garb of Realm nobility making an uncertain passage from ship to shore. It took a moment before Vaelin pulled the man’s name from his memory, Kelden Al Telnar, one time Minister of Royal Works. The man following Al Telnar was more to Vaelin’s expectation, tall and simply dressed in a robe of blue and white with a neatly trimmed beard and mahogany dark skin.
“ Lord Vaelin,” Al Telnar bowed as Vaelin came forward to greet them.
“ My Lord.”
“ May I present Lord Merulin Nester Velsus, Grand Prosecutor of the Alpiran Empire currently acting as Ambassador to the Court of King Janus.”
Vaelin gave the tall man a bow. “Prosecutor, eh?”
“ A poor translation,” Merulin Nester Velsus replied in near-perfect Realm tongue, his tone cool and his eyes tracking over Vaelin with predatory scrutiny. “More accurately, I am the Instrument of the Emperor’s Justice.”
Vaelin wasn’t sure why he started laughing, but it took a long time to subside. Eventually he sobered and turned to Al Telnar. “I take it you have a Royal order for me?”
“ These orders are clear to you, my lord?” Al Telnar was nervous, a faint sheen of sweat on his upper lip, his hands clasped tightly together on the table before him. But his clear satisfaction at being involved in a moment of such importance appeared to override any trepidation he might have harboured about delivering these orders to such a famously dangerous man.
Vaelin nodded. “Quite clear.” They were in the council chamber at the merchant’s guild, the tall Alpiran Grand Prosecutor the only other occupant. The lack of witnesses had peeved Al Telnar, making him enquire as to the whereabouts of a scribe to record the proceedings. Vaelin hadn’t bothered to answer.
“ I have the King’s word in writing,” Al Telnar produced a leather satchel and extracted a sheaf of papers bearing the royal seal. “If you would care to…”
Vaelin shook his head. “I hear the King is unwell. Did he give you these orders himself?”
“ Well, no. Princess Lyrna has been appointed Chamberlain, until such time as the King recovers of course.”
“ But his illness doesn’t prevent him issuing orders?”
“ Princess Lyrna struck me as a very conscientious and dutiful daughter,” Lord Velsus put in. “If it is any consolation, I discerned a considerable reluctance in her bearing when she reported her father’s word.”
Vaelin found himself unable to suppress a chuckle. “Ever played Keschet, my lord?”
Velsus narrowed his eyes, his lips curling in anger and he leaned across the table. “I do not understand your meaning, you ignorant savage. Nor do I care to. Your king has given his word, will you abide by it or not?”
“ Erm,” Al Telnar cleared his throat. “Princess Lyrna did ask me to pass on word of your father, my lord.” He balked at the intensity of the gaze Vaelin turned on him but forged ahead valiantly. “It seems he too is unwell, the various maladies of age, I’m told. Although she wished to assure you she does all she can to sustain him. And hopes to continue to do so.”
“ Do you know why she chose you, my lord?” Vaelin asked him.
“ I assumed she recognised the good service I have provided…”
“ She chose you because it will be no loss to the Realm if I kill you.” He turned to the Alpiran. “Wait outside. I have business with Lord Velsus.”
Alone with the Alpiran Grand Prosecutor he could feel the man’s hatred like fire, his eyes were alive with it. Al Telnar may have relished the import of the moment, but he could see Lord Velsus cared nothing for history, only justice. Or was it vengeance?
“ I’m told he was a good man,” he said. “The Hope.”
Velsus’s eyes flashed and his voice was a hard rasp. “You could never understand the greatness of the man you killed, the enormity of what you took from us.”
He remembered the clumsy charge of the man in the white armour, the blind disregard for his own safety as he sped towards death. Had that been greatness? Courage certainly, unless the man had expected the fabled favour of the gods to protect him. In any case, the frenzy of battle left little room for admiration or reflection. The Hope had been just another enemy in need of killing. He regretted it but could still find no room for guilt in the memory, and the blood-song had ever been silent on the subject.
“ I began this war with four brothers,” he told Velsus. “Now one is dead and the other lost to the mists of battle. The two that remain…” His voice faded. The two that remain…
“ I care nothing for your brothers,” Velsus replied. “The Emperor’s mercy is a great agony to me. If it was within my gift I would see your entire army flayed and driven into the desert as a feast for the vultures.”
Vaelin met his gaze squarely. “If there is the slightest attempt to interfere with the safe passage of my men…”
“ The Emperor’s word has been given, written and witnessed. It cannot be broken.”
“ To do so would be against the gods’ will?”
“ No, the law. We are an Empire of laws, savage. Laws that bind even the greatest of us. The Emperor’s Word is given.”
“ Then it seems I have no choice but to trust it. I request it be noted that Governor Aruan gave no assistance to my forces during our tenure here. He has remained a loyal servant of the Emperor throughout.”
“ The Governor will give his own testimony, I’m sure.”
Vaelin nodded. “Very well.” He rose from the table. “Tomorrow at dawn then, a mile south of the main gate. I assume there are some Alpiran forces nearby awaiting your word. It would be best if you spent the night with them.”
“ If you think I will allow you out of my sight until…”
“ Do you want me to flog you from this city?” His tone was mild but he knew the Alpiran could hear its sincerity.
Velsus’s features quivered with a mixture of fury and fear. “Do you know what awaits you, savage? When you are mine…”
“ I have to trust your Emperor’s word. You’ll have to trust mine.” Vaelin turned to the door. “There is a Captain of the Imperial Guard in our custody. I’ll ask him to act as your escort. Please be out of the city within the hour. And feel free to take Lord Al Telnar with you.”
He had the men assembled in the main square, Renfaelin knights and squires, Cumbraelin archers, Nilsaelins and Realm Guard all drawn up in ranks awaiting his word. His dislike of speech-making was still undimmed and he saw little point in preamble.
“ The war is over!” he told them, standing atop a cart and casting his voice towards the rear ranks so they all heard clearly. “His Highness King Janus agreed a treaty with the Alpiran Emperor three weeks ago. We are ordered to quit the city and return to the Realm. Ships are now berthing in the harbour to take us home. You will proceed to the docks in companies, taking only your packs and weapons. No Alpiran property is to be removed on pain of execution.” He scanned the ranks briefly. There were no cheers, no rejoicing, just surprised relief on nearly every face. “On behalf of King Janus, I thank you for your service. Stand at ease and await orders.”
“ It’s really over?” Barkus asked as he stepped down from the cart.
“ All over,” he assured him.
“ What made the old fool give it up?”
“ Prince Malcius lies dead in Untesh, the bulk of the army was destroyed at Marbellis and trouble brews in the Realm. I assume he wants to preserve as much of his army as he can.”
He noticed Caenis standing nearby, possibly the only man not joining his voice to the massed babble of relief. His brother’s slender face showed a mix of mystification and what could only be described as grief. “It seems there’s to be no Greater Unified Realm, brother,” he said, keeping his tone gentle.
Caenis’s gaze was distant, as if deep in shock. “He does not make mistakes,” he said softly. “He never makes mistakes…”
“ We’re going home!” Vaelin laid hands on his shoulders, giving him a shake. “You’ll be back at the Order House in a couple of weeks.”
“ Bugger the Order House,” Barkus said. “I’ll be making for the nearest dockside tavern where I intend to stay until this whole bloody farce has become a bad dream.”
Vaelin clasped hands with them both. “Caenis, your company will take the first ship. Barkus, take the second. I’ll keep order while the rest of the men embark.”
Lord Al Telnar opted to take the first ship home rather than wait for the climax of this moment in history, his face stiff with resentment when Vaelin delayed him at the gangplank. “Tell my brother nothing of the treaty until you reach the Realm.” He glanced over at where Caenis stood on the prow of the ship, his bearing still so forlorn. They had all lost more than they should in this war, friends and brothers, but Caenis had lost his delusion, his dream of Janus’s greatness. He wondered if his desolation would turn to hate when he heard the full details of the treaty.
“ As you wish,” Al Telnar replied shortly. “Anything further, my lord, or may I depart?”
He felt he should give him some message for Princess Lyrna but found he had nothing to say. As he could feel no guilt over killing the Hope he was surprised to discover he also had no more anger towards her.
He stood aside to let Al Telnar board and waved to Caenis as the gangplank was hauled aboard and the ship began to pull away from the quay. Caenis answered with a brief and distracted wave of his own before turning away. “Goodbye brother,” Vaelin whispered.
Barkus was next to go, urging his men aboard with a hearty bluster that failed to mask the haunted look his eyes had taken on since his return from Marbellis. “Come on, step faster you lot. Whores and inn keepers won’t wait forever.” His mask almost slipped completely when Vaelin approached, his face tense as he fought to suppress tears. “You’re not coming are you?”
Vaelin smiled and shook his head. “I can’t, brother.”
“ Sister Sherin?”
He nodded. “There’s a ship waiting to take us to the Far West. Ahm Lin knows of a quiet corner of the world where we can live in peace.”
“ Peace. Wonder what that’s like. Think you’ll like it?”
Vaelin laughed. “I have no idea.” He extended his hand but Barkus ignored it to enfold him in a crushing embrace.
“ Any message for the Aspect?” he asked, stepping back.
“ Only that I’ve decided to leave the Order. He can keep the coins.”
Barkus nodded, hefted his hateful axe and strode up the gangplank without a backward glance. He stood unmoving on the foredeck as the ship pulled away, like one of Ahm Lin’s statues, a great and noble warrior frozen in stone. Vaelin would always prefer to think of him like this in the years that followed.
He stayed on the quay to watch them all leave, Lord Al Trendil hounding his regiment onto the ships with a flurry of waspish insults, offering Vaelin the most cursory of bows before boarding. It seemed he had never quite forgiven him for taking away the chance of profiting from the war. Count Marven’s Nilsaelins scrambled aboard the ships with unabashed eagerness, a few calling jocular farewells to Vaelin as they sailed away. The Count himself seemed unusually cheerful, now all chance of glory had evaporated it seemed he had no more cause for enmity. “I lost more men to brawls than to battle,” he said, offering Vaelin his hand. “For which I think my fief owes you its thanks, my lord.”
Vaelin shook his hand. “What will you do now?”
Marven shrugged. “Go back to hunting outlaws and wait for the next war.”
“ You’ll forgive me if I hope you have a long wait.”
The Count grunted a laugh and strolled onto his ship, accepting a bottle of wine from his men who sang heartily as the ship drew away,
“ Desert winds blow hard at me
Till we reach the shining sea.
And borne away across the waves
My lover’s life I’ll sail to save.”
Baron Banders and his knights laboured onto the ships under the weight of their disassembled armour. Of all the contingents their mood was the most varied, a few weeping openly over the loss of the great warhorses which had had to be left behind, others clearly drunk and laughing uproariously.
“ A sorry spectacle they make without armour and horses, eh?” Banders asked, his own faux-rusted plate balanced on the shoulders of an unfortunate squire who stumbled several times before successfully heaving it onto the ship.
“ They’re fine men,” Vaelin told him. “Without them this city would have fallen and there would be no homecoming for any of us.”
“ True enough. When you return to the Realm I hope you’ll visit me. Always a full table in my manor.”
“ I shall, and gladly.” He shook the Baron’s hand. “You should know Al Telnar brought details of events at Marbellis. It seems the Battle Lord and a few others managed to fight their way to the docks when the walls fell. About fifty men managed to escape in all, Fief Lord Theros was not among them but his son was.”
The Baron’s laugh was harsh and his face grim. “Vermin always find a way to survive, it seems.”
“ Forgive me, Baron, but what happened at Marbellis to cause the Fief Lord to dismiss you? You’ve never told me.”
“ When we finally fought our way in the slaughter was terrible, and not confined to Alpiran soldiery. Women and children…” He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. “I found Darnel and two of his knights raping a girl next to the bodies of her parents. She couldn’t have been more than thirteen. I killed the two others and was trying to geld Darnel when the Fief Lord’s mace laid me low. ‘He’s scum, right enough,’ he told me the next day. ‘But he’s also the only son I have.’ So he sent me to you.”
“ Have a care when you return to your lands. Lord Darnel doesn’t strike me as a forgiving soul.”
Banders replied with a grim smile, “Neither am I, brother.”
Sergeants Krelnik, Gallis and Janril Noren were the last of the Wolfrunners to leave. He shook hands with each of them and thanked them for their service. “It’s been less than ten years,” he told Gallis. “But if you wish to be released, it is within my discretion.”
“ We’ll see you in the Realm, My Lord!” Gallis said, snapping off an impeccable salute and marching onto the ship, quickly followed by Krelnik and Noren.
The Cumbraelin archers were the last contingent onto the ships. He had offered to place them ahead of the Renfaelins for fear they may suspect some perfidious Darkblade plot to abandon them to the Alpirans, but Bren Antesh had surprised him by insisting they wait until all others had gone. He supposed there was a possibility of ambush, he was alone with a thousand men who saw him as an enemy of their god after all, but they all trooped onto the ships without trouble, most either ignoring him or offering nods of wary respect.
“ They’re grateful for their lives,” Antesh said, reading his expression. “But they’ll be dammed if they’ll say it. So I will.” He bowed, Vaelin realising it was the first time he had done so.
“ You’re welcome, Captain.”
Antesh straightened, glanced at the waiting ship and then back at Vaelin. “This is the last ship, my lord.”
“ I know.”
Antesh raised his eyebrows as realisation dawned. “You don’t intend to return to the Realm.”
“ I have business elsewhere.”
“ You shouldn’t linger here. All these people have to offer you is an ugly death.”
“ Is that what happens to the Darkblade in the prophecy?”
“ Hardly. He is seduced by a sorceress who makes herself a queen with the power to conjure fire from the air. Together they wreak terrible ruin on the world until her fire consumes him in the throes of their sinful passion.”
“ Well, at least I have that to look forward to.” He returned Antesh’s bow. “Luck to you, Captain.”
“ I have something to tell you,” Antesh said, his normally placid features sombre. “I did not always carry the name Antesh. Once I had another name, one you know.”
The blood-song surged, not in warning, but clear and strident triumph. “Tell me,” he said.
Ahm-Lin’s burns had healed well but his scars would linger for the rest of his life. A large patch of puckered, discoloured tissue marred the right side of his face from cheek to neck and similarly ugly scars were visible on his arms and chest. Despite this he appeared as affable as ever, although his sadness at what Vaelin asked of him was obvious.
“ She has preserved me, cared for me,” he said. “To do such a thing…”
“ Would you do any less for your wife?” Vaelin asked.
“ I would follow my song, brother. Are you?”
He recalled the pure, triumphant note of the blood-song as he had listened to what Antesh had to say. “More closely than I ever have before.” He met the mason’s gaze. “Will you do this thing I ask?”
“ It seems our songs are in agreement, so I have little choice.”
Sherin knocked at the door and entered bearing a bowl of soup. “He needs to eat,” she said, placing the bowl next to the mason’s bed and turning to Vaelin. “And you need to help me pack.”
Vaelin touched Ahm Lin briefly on the hand by way of thanks and followed her from the room. She had taken over Sister Gilma’s old quarters in the basement of the Guild House and was busily sorting out which of the myriad bottles and boxes of curatives to take with her. “I’ve managed to procure a small chest for your things,” she told him, moving to a shelf where her hand traced along the line of bottles, picking out some, leaving others.
“ I only have these,” he replied, taking a bundle from his cloak and handing it to her, the wooden blocks Frentis had brought him wrapped in Sella’s scarf. “Not much of a dowry, I know.”
She gently undid the scarf, fingers pausing to play over the intricate design. “Very fine. Where did you come by this?”
“ A gift of thanks from a beautiful maiden.”
“ Should I be jealous?”
“ Hardly. She’s half a world away and, I suspect, married to a handsome blonde fellow we used to know.”
Sherin pulled the blocks apart. “Winterbloom.”
“ From my sister.”
“ You have a sister? A blood-sister?”
“ Yes. I only met her once. We spoke of flowers.”
She reached to clasp his hand summoning an overpowering need for her, so fierce and powerful as to almost make him forget what he had asked of Ahm Lin, forget the Aspect, the war, the whole sorry blood-soaked tale. Almost.
“ Governor Aruan is arranging the ship, but we have hours yet,” he said, moving to the table where she prepared her concoctions, sitting down to unstopper a bottle of wine. “Quite possibly the last bottle of Cumbraelin red left in the city. Will you drink with a former Lord Marshal of the Thirty-Fifth Regiment of Foot, Sword of the Realm and brother of the Sixth Order?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Have I saddled myself with a drunkard, I wonder?”
He reached for two cups and poured a measure of red in each. “Just have a drink, woman.”
“ Yes my lord,” she said in mock servility, sitting opposite and reaching for a cup. “Did you tell them?”
“ Just Barkus. The others think I’m following on the last ship.”
“ We could still go back. With the war over…”
“ There’s no place for you there, now. You said so yourself.”
“ But you’re losing so much.”
He reached across the table and grasped her hand. “I’m losing nothing, and gaining everything.”
She smiled and sipped her wine. “And the task the Aspect set you, is it complete?”
“ Not quite. By the time we leave here it will be.”
“ Can you tell me now? Am I finally allowed to know?”
He squeezed her hand. “I don’t see why not.”
It had been cold that day, colder than usual even for Weslin. Aspect Arlyn stood at the edge of the practice field watching Master Haunlin teach the staff to a group of novice brothers. Vaelin judged them as third year survivors from their age and the comparative smallness of the group. In the distance mad Master Rensial was trying to ride down another group of boys, his shrill tones carrying well in the chill air.
“ Brother Vaelin,” the Aspect greeted him.
“ Aspect. I request lodging for the Thirty-Fifth Regiment of Foot during the winter months.” At the Aspect’s insistence it had become a ritual between them to formally request lodging every time the regiment returned to the Order House, recognition of the fact that, funding and equipment notwithstanding, it remained a part of the Realm Guard.
“ Granted. How was Nilsael?”
“ Cold, Aspect.” They had spent the better part of three months on the Nilsaelin border with Cumbreael, hunting a particularly savage and fanatical band of god worshippers calling themselves the Sons of the Trueblade. One of their less savoury habits was the abduction and forcible conversion of Nilsaelin children, many of whom had been subjected various forms of abuse to force their adherence, some killed outright when they proved too intractable or troublesome. The pursuit through the hill country and valleys of southern Nilsael had been difficult but the regiment had harried the band with such ferocity they were down to barely thirty men by the time they were cornered in a deep gulley. They immediately killed their remaining captives, a brother and sister of eight and nine stolen from a Nilsaelin farmhouse a few days before, then loosed arrows at the Wolfrunners whilst singing prayers to their god. Vaelin left it to Dentos and his archers to wipe them out to a man, something he found troubled his conscience not at all.
“ Casualties?” the Aspect enquired.
“ Four dead, ten injured.”
“ Regrettable. And what did you learn about these, what was it, Sons of the Trueblade?”
“ They considered themselves followers of Hentes Mustor, believed by many Cumbraelins to embody the prophesied Trueblade from their Fifth book.”
“ Ah, yes. Apparently there is an eleventh book being touted around Cumbrael, The Book of the Trueblade, telling the tale of the usurper’s life and martyrdom. The Cumbraelin bishops have condemned it as heretical but many of their followers are clamouring to read it. It’s always the way with such things, burn a book and the ashes spawn a thousand copies. It seems by killing one lunatic we have grown another branch to their church. Ironic, don’t you think?”
“ Very, Aspect.” He hesitated, gathering strength for what he had to say, but as ever the Aspect was ahead of him.
“ King Janus wants my support for his war.”
Does anything ever surprise you? Vaelin wondered. “Yes, Aspect.”
“ Tell me, Vaelin, do you believe Alpiran spies lurk in every alley way and bush preparing the way for their armies to invade our lands?”
“ No, Aspect.”
“ And do you believe Alpiran Deniers abduct our children to defile in unspeakable god worshipping rights?”
“ No, Aspect.”
“ In that case do you think that the future wealth and prosperity of this Realm is dependent on securing the three principal Alpiran ports on the Erinean Sea?”
“ I do not, Aspect.”
“ And yet you come to ask for my support on behalf of the King?”
“ I come to ask for guidance. The King has placed my father and his family under threat in order to ensure my obedience, but I find I cannot preserve them whilst thousands die in a pointless war. There must be some way to steer the King away from this course, some pressure that can be brought against him. If all the Orders were to speak as one…”
“ The time when the Orders spoke as one is long past. Aspect Tendris hungers for war against the unfaithful like an ale starved drunkard whilst our brothers in the Third Order lose themselves in their books and watch the events of the world with cold detachment. The Fifth Order by custom takes no part in politics and as for the First and Second, they consider communion with their souls and the souls of the Departed to take precedence over all earthly concerns.”
“ Aspect, I am given to believe there is another Order, with possibly more power than all the others combined.”
He was expecting some register of shock or alarm, but the Aspect’s only expression was a slightly raised eyebrow. “I see this is the day all secrets are to be revealed, brother.” He clasped his long fingered hands together and concealed them within his robe, turning and gesturing with his head. “Come, walk with me.”
Frost crunched underfoot as they walked together in silence. From the practice field came the shouts and grunts of pain and triumph he remembered so well. It made him ache with unexpected nostalgia, for all the pain and the loss of his years within these walls it had been a simpler time, before the schemes of kings and the secrets of the Faith brought darkness and confusion into his life.
“ How did you come by this knowledge?” the Aspect asked eventually.
“ I met a man in the north, a brother of an order long thought to be a myth by the Faithful.”
“ He told you of the Seventh Order?”
“ Not without persuasion and only up to a point. He did confirm that the continued existence of the Seventh Order is a secret known to all the Aspects. Although, given the recent rift with the Fourth Order I suspect Aspect Tendris remains in ignorance of this information.”
“ Indeed he does, and it is vital his ignorance continues. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“ Certainly, Aspect.”
“ What do you know of the Seventh Order?”
“ That it is to the Dark as we are to war and the Fifth Order is to healing.”
“ Quite so, although our brothers and sisters in the Seventh Order do not refer to the Dark. They regard themselves as guardians and practitioners of dangerous and arcane knowledge, much of which defies such mundane concepts as names or categories.”
“ And would they use such knowledge to aid us?”
“ Of course, they always have and continue to do so to this day.”
“ The man I met in the north spoke of a war within the Faith, of some within the Seventh Order becoming corrupted by their power.”
“ Corrupted or deluded. Who can say? There is much that remains known only to the vanished years. What is clear is that members of the Seventh Order came to possess knowledge best left hidden, that somehow they reached into the Beyond and touched something, some spirit or being of such power and malice that it came close to destroying our Faith and the Realm with it.”
“ But it was defeated?”
“ Contained might be a better word. But it lurks there still, in the Beyond, waiting and there are those called to do its bidding, plotting and killing at its instruction.”
“ The Aspect Massacre.”
“ That and more.”
Vaelin thought back to his confrontation with One Eye beneath the city, of what he had told Frentis as he carved the complex pattern of scars into his chest. “The One Who Waits.”
This time the Aspect’s surprise was clear. “You have been busy haven’t you?”
“ Who is he?”
The Aspect paused, turning to regard the boys on the practice field. “Perhaps he’s Master Rensial, his apparent madness all these years merely a cloak for his true design. Or he’s Master Haunlin who never did say how he came by those burns. Or is he you, I wonder?” There was an unnerving intensity to the Aspect’s gaze as he turned to Vaelin. “What better disguise could there be, after all? Son of the Battle Lord, courageous in all things, apparently without flaw, loved by the Faithful. What better disguise indeed.”
Vaelin nodded. “Quite. It would only be surpassed by you, Aspect.”
The Aspect blinked slowly and turned away to resume his walk. “My point is that he remains too well hidden and no device or effort by the Seventh Order has yet revealed him. He could be a brother of the Order or a soldier in your Regiment. Or even someone with no connection to the Order at all. The prophecies are vague on the method but are clear that it is the purpose of the One Who Waits to destroy this Order.”
Vaelin frowned in puzzlement. The concept of prophecy was not a feature of the Faith. Prophets and their visions were the province of false beliefs, of god worshippers and deniers who clung to superstition they mistook for wisdom. “Prophecies, Aspect?”
“ The One Who Waits was foretold to us many years ago by the Seventh Order. There are some within their ranks that have gift of scrying the future, or at least the ever changing clouds of shadow that make up the future, so they tell me. It is rare for the visions produced by such people to concur, for the shadows to coalesce into a recognisable whole, but they all agreed on two things: we will have only one chance to discover the One Who Waits and if we fail to do so then this Order will fall, and without this Order so falls the Faith and the Realm.”
“ But we have a chance to stop it?”
“ One chance, yes. The last brother to make a prophecy on the subject lived over a century ago, it’s said he would slip into a trance and write his visions in script more precise and artful than the most skilled scribe in the land, even though he was unable to read or write when the trance was not upon him. Shortly before he died he reached once more for his pen and left a short passage, ‘War will unmask the One Who Waits when a king sends his army to fight beneath a desert sun. He’ll seek the death of his brother and mayhap find his own.’”
The death of his brother…
“ You survived two attempts on your life whilst still in training,” the Aspect went on. “We believe both were carried out by those in service to whatever malignance lurks in the Beyond. For some reason it greatly desires your death.”
“ If the One Who Waits is concealed within the Order, why not simply have him kill me?”
“ Either because no such opportunity has yet arisen or because to do so would have risked revealing his face and he still has much to do. But amidst the chaos of war, surrounded by so much death, he may well take his chance.”
Vaelin felt a chill that owed nothing to the icy winds sweeping across the practice field. “The king’s war is our chance?”
“ Our only chance.”
“ Foretold by a man scribbling in a trance more than a hundred years ago. You are willing to commit the Order to war on the basis of this alone?”
“ After all you have seen, all you have learned, can you really doubt it? This war will happen whether we support it or not. The king has set his course and will not be dissuaded.”
“ If it happens the Realm could fall in any case.”
“ And if it doesn’t it will certainly fall. Not to warring fiefs once more but to utter ruin, the earth scorched, the forests burned to cinder and all the people, Realm Folk, Seordah and Lonak dead. What else would you have us do?”
“ I couldn’t think of anything to say,” Vaelin told Sherin, his thumb tracing over the smooth skin of her hand. “He was right. It was horrible, terrible, but he was right. He told me this would be a war unlike any we have known. A great sacrifice would be made. But I must return. No matter how many of my men and my brothers fell, I must return to the Realm once I had completed my task. As he walked away he told me I reminded him of my mother. I often wondered how they came to know each other, now I suppose I’ll never find out.”
Her head lay on the table, eyes closed, lips parted, her hand still holding the wine cup he had given her. “Two parts valerian, one part crown root and a pinch of camomile to mask the taste,” he said, stroking her hair. “Try not to hate me.”
He dressed her in her cloak, tucking the scarf and blocks in the folds, and carried her to the harbour. She was light in his arms, fragile. Ahm Lin waited on the quay next to a large merchant vessel, his wife Shoala clutching his hand, her face tight with suppressed tears as she cast a forlorn gaze of the city she would likely never see again. Governor Aruan was negotiating with the vessel’s captain, a stocky man from the Far West who grew alarmed at the sight of Vaelin. Perhaps he had been one of the captains forced to watch the burning ships after the sailor’s escape attempt, Vaelin couldn’t remember, but he quickly concluded his haggling with the Governor and stomped off up the gangplank.
“ The price is agreed,” the Governor told Ahm Lin. “They sail direct for the West, first port of call…”
“ It’s better if I don’t know,” Vaelin cut in.
Ahm Lin came forward to take Sherin from him, lifting her easily in his muscular mason’s arms.
“ Tell her they killed me,” Vaelin said. “As the ship pulled away from the dock the Emperor’s Guard arrived and killed me.”
The mason gave a reluctant nod. “As the song wills it, brother.”
“ She could stay here,” Governor Aruan offered. “The city owes her a great debt after all. She would be in no danger.”
“ Do you really think Lord Velsus will share your gratitude, Governor?” Vaelin asked him.
The Governor sighed. “Perhaps not.” He took a leather purse from his belt and handed it to Shoala. “For her, when she wakes. With my thanks.”
The woman nodded, cast a final hateful glare at Vaelin then a tearful glance at the city, before turning and striding up the gangplank.
Vaelin reached out to trace his fingers through Sherin’s hair, trying to burn the image of her sleeping face into his memory. “Take care of her,” he told Ahm Lin.
Ahm Lin smiled. “My song would have it no other way.” He turned to go then hesitated. “My song holds no note of farewell, brother. I can’t help but think that one day we’ll sing together again.”
Vaelin nodded, stepping back as Ahm Lin carried Sherin onto the ship. He stood with the Governor as the ship pulled away from the dock, riding the tide to the harbour mouth, sails unfurling to catch the northerly winds, taking her away. He waited and watched until the sail was a faint smudge on the horizon, until it had vanished completely and there was only the sea and the wind.
He unbuckled his sword and held it out to Aruan. “Governor, the city is yours. I am commanded to wait for Lord Velsus beyond the walls.”
Aruan looked at the sword but made no move to take it. “I will speak for you, I have some influence at the Emperor’s court. He is famed for his mercy…” He faltered and stopped, perhaps hearing the emptiness of his words. After a moment he spoke again, “Thank you for my daughter’s life, my lord.”
“ Take it,” Vaelin insisted, again holding out the sword. “I’d rather you than Lord Velsus.”
“ As you wish.” The Governor took the sword in his plump hands. “Is there nothing I can do for you?”
“ Actually, about my dog…”