by Anthony Ryan
The dim light of dawn was filtering through the shutters on the window and he could see her face clearly, her smile of serene bliss as she drew back. “I love you,” he told her, fingers tracing through her hair. “I always have.”
She nuzzled against him, her hand playing over the hard muscle of his chest and belly. “Really? After all these years apart?”
“I don’t think love like that can ever really fade.” He clasped her hand, fingers entwining. “The Blackhold. Were you… did they hurt you?”
“Only if terror is a kind of torture. I was only there for one night, but the things I heard.” She gave a small shudder and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“I’m sorry, I had to know. Your words must have carried great weight to have worried the King and Aspect Tendris so.”
“This war is more than just a mistake, Vaelin. It sullies our souls. It is against the Faith in every way. I had to speak out. No one else would, not even Aspect Elera, though I begged her to. I started standing up in market squares and shouting it out to anyone who’d listen. To my surprise some did, especially in the poorer quarters. My words were written down, reproduced with that new ink and block device the Third Order uses. Pamphlets were being passed around in growing numbers, saying things like ‘End the War and Save the Faith.’”
“Has a ring to it.”
“Thank you. It took two weeks for them to come for me, Brother Iltis and his men storming in to the Order House with a King’s warrant for my arrest. Brother Iltis is not the kindest of men, as you noticed, and took great delight in explaining to me in detail what was in store in the Blackhold. I lay awake all that night, listening to the screams. When the cell door opened I nearly fainted with fear, but it was Princess Lyrna with fresh clothes and a King’s order for my release into her custody.”
Lyrna. What stratagem lay behind this I wonder? “Then I am in her debt.”
“And I. Such a kindly and courageous soul is rare. She made sure I had everything I needed, a fine room of my own, books and parchment. We spent many hours talking in her secret garden. You know, I think she’s a little lonely. When I left on receiving your summons she even cried. She said to give you her warmest regards by the way.”
“Kind of her.” He was keen to change the subject. “What did he offer you? Janus, I know he must have tried to ensnare you in some kind of bargain.”
“Actually, I only met him once. The Guard Captain, Smolen, took me to his room. Rumours were flying around the city and the palace that he’s not a well man these days, and I could see it clear as day in his greyness of his skin, the way his flesh hung on his bones. Probably the onset of age coupled with some wasting illness. I offered to examine him but he said he had physicians aplenty. After that he stared at me for a moment or two and asked me just one question. When I gave him an answer he laughed and told the Captain to take me back to Princess Lyrna’s quarters. It was a sad laugh, full of regret.”
“What did he ask you?”
She shifted, rising to her knees, the sheets falling away to reveal her slender form, her eyes glittered and he realised she was crying. “He asked if I loved you. I said I did. And I do.” Her hands caressed his face with trembling fingers. “I do. I should have gone away with you when you asked, all those years ago.”
The morning he awoke after the agony of her cure, after the Aspect Massacre, after she had saved his life. “I thought it was a dream.”
“Then it was one we shared.” Her hands stopped in mid-caress, her tone suddenly hesitant. “One we could still share. There is no longer a place for me in the Realm, and there is a whole world I’ve yet to see. We could see it together. Perhaps find a place where there are no kings, no wars, no people killing each other over faith and gods and money.”
He pulled her close, enfolding her in his arms, rejoicing in the warmth of her, inhaling the smell of her hair. “There is something I have to do here. Something that has to happen.”
He felt her stiffen. “If you mean to win this war, you must know that is a fool’s hope. The empire stretches for thousands of miles, from desert to frozen mountains, with more people than there are stars in the sky. Fight off one army and the emperor is sure to send another, and another after that.”
“No, not the war. A task given to me by my Aspect. And I can’t run from it, though I want to. When it’s done, our dreams will be our own.”
She pressed closer, her lips touching his ear, whispering. “You promise?”
“I promise.” He meant it, with all his soul, and couldn’t understand why it felt like a lie.
The moment was broken by a loud growl from the hallway. Janril Noren, voice unnerved in the face of the angry slave dog, called to him through the door.
Sherin put her hands to her lips to suppress and laugh and shrank into the covers as Vaelin reached for his trews. “What is it?” he demanded, pulling the door open.
“There’s an Alpiran at the gates demanding you come and fight him, my lord.” Janril’s eyes slid from Vaelin’s face to snatch a glance at the room beyond, before fixing on the still growling Scratch. “Captain Antesh offered to feather him but Brother Caenis thought you might want him alive.”
“What does he look like, this Alpiran?”
“Big fellow, greying hair. Dressed like one of those horsemen we fought at the beach. Seems in a bad way, having a hard time staying in the saddle. Too long in the desert I think.”
“How many with him?”
“None, my lord. He’s all alone if you can believe such a thing.”
“Tell Brother Frentis to muster the scout troop and inform Brother Caenis I’ll be there directly.”
“My lord.”
He closed the door and began to dress.
“Are you going to fight him?” Sherin asked, emerging from the covers.
“You know I’m not.” He pulled his shirt on and leaned over to kiss her. “I need you to do something for me.”
Captain Neliesen Nester Hevren sat slumped in his saddle, a desolate fatigue marring his unshaven face. However, as the gates swung open and he caught sight of Vaelin, his evident exhaustion was replaced by grim satisfaction.
“Found the courage to face me, Northman?” he called as Vaelin approached.
“I had no choice, my men were starting to lose all respect for me.” He looked beyond the captain at the empty desert. “Where’s your army?”
“Fools led by a coward!” Hevren spat. “No stomach for what needed to be done here. Gods curse Everen, desert-born scum. The Emperor will take his head.” He fixed Vaelin with a stare of pure unbridled hatred. “But I’ll have yours first, Hope-killer.”
Vaelin inclined his head. “As you wish. Care to dismount or do you want it said you had an unfair advantage?”
“I need no advantage.” Hevren slid from his saddle with difficulty, desert sand shifting from his clothes, his horse giving a snort of relief. Vaelin surmised he had been in the saddle for days and noted how his legs sagged for a moment before he straightened.
“Here.” He unslung the canteen on his shoulder, removing the cap and taking a drink. “Quench your thirst, lest people say I had the advantage.” He replaced the cap and tossed the canteen to Hevren.
“I need nothing from you,” Hevren said, but Vaelin saw how his hand shook as it held the canteen.
“Then stay here and rot,” he replied, turning to go.
“Wait!” Hevren uncapped the canteen and drank, gulping down the water until it was empty, then tossing it aside. “No more talk, Hope Killer.” He drew his sabre, planting his feet in a fighting stance, flicking a sudden rush of sweat from his brow.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” Vaelin told him. “Sorry for the Hope, sorry we came here, sorry I can’t give you the death you hunger for.”
“I said no more talk!” Hevren took a step forward, sabre drawing back for a thrust, then stopped, blinking in confusion, eyes suddenly unfocused.
“Two parts valerian, one part crown root and a pinch of
camomile to mask the taste.” Vaelin held up the canteen cap he had switched for the one containing Sherin’s sleeping draught. “Sorry.”
“You…” Hevren stumbled forward a few steps before collapsing. “No!” he grunted, desperately trying to heave himself upright. “No…” He thrashed for a while longer then lay still.
Vaelin called to the Nilsaelin soldiers manning the gate. “Find him somewhere comfortable but secure, and make sure you take all his weapons.”
Frentis arrived with the scout troop, reining in beneath the arch of the gatehouse. “Couldn’t have been much of a fight,” he observed as the Nilsaelins carried off Hevren’s unconscious form.
“I’ve taken enough from him,” Vaelin replied. “His army’s nowhere in sight. Circle out to the west, see if you can pick up their trail.”
“You think they’re making for Untesh?”
“Either there or back to Marbellis. Stay out for one day only, and take no chances. If you’re spotted, ride back to the city.”
Frentis nodded and spurred his horse forward, the scout troop following close behind. Vaelin watched them ride towards the west and tried to ignore the faint trill of unease from the blood-song.
Night came with no sign of Frentis. He waited atop the gatehouse, gazing out at the desert, marvelling again at the clearness of the sky here, the vast array of stars shimmering above the night black sands.
“You worry about him.” Sherin appeared at his side, her fingers briefly touching the back of his hand before she folded her arms beneath her robe.
“He’s my brother,” he replied. “The captain still sleeps?”
“Like a child. He’s as well as a man could be after days in the desert with little water.”
“Don’t get too close to him when he wakes, he’ll be angry.”
“He hates you very much.” Her voice was heavy with regret. “They all do, these people, despite what you did for them…”
“I killed the heir to their empire and brought a foreign army to their city. For all I know the Red Hand too. Let them have their hate, I earned it.”
She moved closer, casting a wary glance at the guard nearby who seemed more preoccupied with the grit under his fingernails. “The mason heals well but his sleep is troubled, his burns still cause him pain. I dull it as best I can but still he rants in his dreams, speaking languages I’ve never heard for the most part, but some in our tongue.” Her gaze was intent, questing. “Some of the things he says…”
He raised an eyebrow. “What does he say?”
“He talks of a song, of singers, of a living wolf fashioned from stone, of a vile and deadly woman, and he talks of you, Vaelin. Maybe it’s just nonsense, delusions and dreams born of drugs and pain, but they scare me. And you know, I am not easily scared.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, ignoring her glance of alarm at the guard. “What does it matter, now?” he asked.
“Your position, your role here.”
“Let them mutiny, depose me if they like.” He had raised his voice so the guard could hear, although the man was now intensely interested in looking anywhere but at him. If he was any judge of soldierly gossip, it would be all over the barracks by morning. He found he couldn’t care a jot.
“Stop it.” She shrugged free of him, flustered but also suppressing a laugh.
The guard cleared his throat and Vaelin turned to find him pointing out at the desert. “Troop returning, my lord.”
The gates swung open to allow the scout troop to enter at a weary trot, Vaelin instantly alarmed that Frentis was not among them. “The Alpiran host was less than ten miles from Untesh when we found it, my lord,” explained Sergeant Halkin, Frentis’s second in command. “Brother Frentis elected to ride ahead and warn Prince Malcius of the danger. He ordered us to return here to bring word to you.”
Vaelin briefly clasped Sherin’s hand and strode off towards the stables, calling over his shoulder. “Fetch Brother Barkus and Brother Caenis!”
Chapter 10
“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.