by Anthony Ryan
The captain turned in the saddle, squinting at him in bemusement. “We are here on the Merchant King’s business. As a subject he is required to assist an officer of the king’s army in any way I see fit.”
Vaelin kicked his horse forward, reining to a halt in the captain’s path and forcing him to do the same.
“He’s no ordinary subject,” he told a glowering Sho Tsai. “He’s her friend, and mine. We owe him at least the illusion of choice in this.”
The captain glowered for a second or two more, then turned and barked out, “Dai Lo Tsai!”
Tsai Lin trotted his horse forward and saluted. “Dai Shin!”
“You will accompany the foreigner to the stonemason’s home. If he refuses to accompany us, you will bind him and bring him to me.”
“Understood, Captain.”
Sho Tsai tugged on his reins, turning his horse about and giving the hand signal for his company to follow suit. “Find us at the barracks, and don’t be long about this.”
“Go with them,” Vaelin told Nortah and the others.
“Are you sure, Uncle?” Ellese asked. “If this man has the Dark in him . . .”
“He’s no danger to me.” Vaelin gave Tsai Lin a cordial nod and they resumed their passage along the thoroughfare. “You’re still on cooking duty,” he reminded Ellese over his shoulder. “Try to produce something edible by the time I get back.”
Tsai Lin led the way, guiding them into the narrower streets of what was evidently the artisans’ quarter. “You’ve been here before?” Vaelin asked, noting the youth’s obvious familiarity with the route.
“Many times. My . . . the Dai Shin would bring me here to spend the summer when I was younger.”
“So you know her? You know Sherin?”
“Of course, lord. It was from her that I learned your language and many lessons in the healing arts. Although my skills in that regard are far from expert.”
Did she ever talk of me? The question rose and then faded from Vaelin’s lips, for he had a sense he already knew the answer.
Upon entering the quarter the air became filled with the familiar refrain of blacksmith’s hammer and carpenter’s saw, soon punctuated by a rhythmic pounding that instantly brought forth memories of Linesh. His arm’s as strong as ever, Vaelin thought as Tsai Lin reined to a halt before a shop with wide double doors. The steady thud of hammer and chisel continued to echo from within until they both climbed down from the saddle, whereupon it abruptly ceased.
“Wait,” he told Tsai Lin as the apprentice officer looped his reins around a postern and started towards the doors.
“Lord?” The Dai Lo hesitated, glancing back at Vaelin. “I have orders . . .”
“Just wait.” Vaelin gave him a humourless smile, keeping his gaze on the shaded interior of the shop. “Please.”
The silence continued for the space of what seemed a very long minute. There must be a back door to this place, Vaelin thought. Feel free to use it, old friend.
“Forgive my tardiness, Honoured Sir.” The man who appeared in the doorway bowed his shaven and partially scarred head at Tsai Lin before raising it to regard Vaelin with a warm smile. “Had I known you brought such welcome company, I would have come quicker.”
“Ahm Lin.” Vaelin’s voice was thick as he began to bow, then stopped as the mason came forward to wrap his arms, still as corded with muscle as ever, around his shoulders, drawing him into a fierce embrace.
“I knew you’d come,” he said in a low whisper. “I’ve been waiting.”
He drew back and Vaelin was struck by how little he had aged. The burns that had been so raw that final day on the Linesh dockside were faded now, the puckered flesh tanned to a leathery sheen. Grey showed in the stubble of his scalp and wrinkles webbed his eyes, but he was as lean as the first time Vaelin had met him in Linesh. An exiled former servant of the Merchant King Lol-Than, Ahm Lin had made his home in the Alpiran port seeking rest after a lifetime of travel, only for his blood-song to summon a fellow singer to his door, an invader in fact. Their friendship had been an instant thing, forged by their songs, and sufficiently threatening to the Ally’s plans to send the Messenger to seek the mason’s death. On this occasion, he had been thwarted by means that still remained vague to Vaelin, but the burns Ahm Lin suffered in the attack left a lasting mark. Nursed back to health by Sherin, he had been the perfect choice to take her away and Vaelin was glad her inevitable anger hadn’t sundered their connection.
“Mason Lin,” Tsai Lin said, his voice heavy with reluctance. “I come with . . .”
“Orders compelling me to the Merchant King’s service,” the mason finished. “Yes, I’m aware. Give me a moment to fetch my things.”
He disappeared back into the shop, Vaelin following after a moment’s bemused hesitation. He had known it would be impossible to surprise this man, but his affable willingness to forsake his home was unexpected. He found the shop’s interior similar in many ways to Ahm Lin’s home in Linesh, although not so spacious and the fruits of his labour were very different.
No statues, he realised as he scanned the space, seeing many rectangular marble boxes, each carved with Far Western script and the corners decorated with curved columns. But there were no gods here, no heroes of ancient legend, and no beasts of any kind.
“Mausoleums, sarcophagi and monuments to the honoured ancestors,” Ahm Lin said, emerging from the shadowed recesses of the shop. He had divested himself of his apron and wore a quilted jacket and trews. A pack sat on his shoulder and he carried a sturdy yard-long stick of ash. “My stock-in-trade these days. People here are almost as in love with death as they are in your Realm.”
“I thought you might have carved another wolf,” Vaelin said.
Some of the cheerfulness slipped from Ahm Lin’s face. His gaze grew sombre as he turned to regard the shop with the air of a man saying goodbye. “No, brother. One wolf was enough for any lifetime.” He brightened quickly and hefted his stick. “Shall we go? I just need to ask my neighbour to have a care for the place whilst I’m gone.”
“Your wife,” Vaelin said. He had been dreading the woman’s reaction upon seeing him again. His presence had never boded well for her husband. “Don’t you wish to . . .”
“I sent her home,” Ahm Lin said, moving briskly to the doors.
“Home?” Vaelin asked.
“Back to Alpira. It was for the best.”
There was a guardedness to the mason’s tone that forbade further questions, and Vaelin duly followed him into the street. Ahm Lin spent a brief moment in conversation with the wheelwright next door, the two men embracing before they parted, whereupon the mason turned his back on his shop and strode with a determined step in the direction of the town barracks.
“Come along then,” he said, waving his stick for them to follow. “I’m keen to hear what you’ve been up to for the past ten years or so. I only caught a few glimpses and it all seemed very fraught.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
Sho Tsai permitted only one night’s rest in Min-Tran before resuming their search. He accepted Ahm Lin’s suggested north-westerly course without question, causing Vaelin to reflect that the captain may have long harboured some suspicion as to the stonemason’s true nature. The fact that he hadn’t disclosed this to the Merchant King owed much, Vaelin assumed, to Sherin.
After a march of over twenty miles the rolling hill country descended into an undulating plane stretching out to the northern horizon like an unbroken yellow-green sea.
“The Iron Steppe,” Erlin said. “They say you can ride for a thousand miles without sight of hill or mountain, until you reach the tors, of course. Hopefully, we won’t be going that far.”
He raised his voice as he spoke, directing the implied question at Ahm Lin. In response, the mason merely turned in the saddle of his squat pony to offer a bland smile.
Vaelin rode beside him for the first two days, myriad questions churning in his mind but somehow failing to escape his lips. Finally, on the second day Ahm Lin turned to him with an exasperated sigh and said, “You can ask her when you see her, my lord. What lies between you two, or”—he cast a meaningful glance in Sho Tsai’s direction—“anyone else is not for me to say.”
“Your song is as strong as ever then,” Vaelin observed with a note of chagrin.
“Stronger, I’d say. I’ve come to understand that the passage of years does much to nurture it, like a tree nourished by the rain of many seasons.” A shadow passed across his face and the usual smile turned into a reluctant grimace. “Years ago it told me you had lost your own song, and more besides. I’m sorry.”
“War always takes more than it gives.” Vaelin hesitated before speaking his next question, one he suspected Ahm Lin might well ignore. “Your wife. Why did you send her away?”
“Because the song was clear. She couldn’t stay here any longer, not if I wanted her to live.”
“So, it’s told you what’s coming. This kingdom will fall.”
“You know that’s not how it goes with the song. I do know it’s louder now than it’s ever been, even during those last days in Linesh when it seemed the Emperor’s host would soon rend the city to rubble and flame.” He lowered his head, a note of self-reproach creeping into his voice. “It first began to swell when the word came from the High Temple, commanding Sherin to tend to the Jade Princess. I did try to dissuade her from going, but not as forcefully as I should have. The song . . . it was like the long, growing note that plays before the crescendo. The night after she left it brought dreams. I saw chaos, I saw blood, I saw the walls of Min-Tran crumbling . . . and I saw you, brother. In the morning I sent my wife away. You may recall Shoala was never a woman of placid character, and persuading her to leave was no easy task.” His features bunched in a frown of deep regret. “It is my hope that one day she will forgive me.”
“As Sherin forgave me?”
The poorly concealed wince that flickered across Ahm Lin’s face was answer enough to this long-pondered question. Some scars never heal. “She still lives, doesn’t she?” Vaelin asked, swallowing a sigh. “Your song tells you this?”
“She lives.” Ahm Lin nodded at the horizon. “Though she is far away and intent on reaching her destination.”
“What is it? Where is she going?”
“I know only that it is important. I sense her urgency, and the purpose of the one she travels with, though her tune is much more serene. I should warn you, brother, neither are likely to be pleased when we find them.”
* * *
◆ ◆ ◆
After ten miles the fine road they had followed from Min-Tran rapidly degenerated into a track of loose gravel, their passage birthing a tall plume of dust in their wake. The foot messengers had long since been replaced by horsemen. At least one would gallop past every hour, the riders displaying the same single-minded indifference to the Red Scouts or the increasingly infrequent north-bound travellers. The southward traffic, by contrast, increased by the mile. Thin, grey-faced people in ragged clothes shuffled clear of the soldiers’ path with barely a glance. There were many children amongst them, the absence of tears or infant wailing telling a grim tale.
“Starving children stop crying after a while, my dear,” Erlin explained to Ellese when she commented on the ragged people’s strange silence.
“But we have food to spare,” she said. Reaching for her saddlebags she extracted some of the salted pork they had been provisioned with in Min-Tran. A warning shout from the Red Scout sergeant came too late as Ellese leaned down from the saddle to offer the food to a passing woman with a hollow-cheeked, dull-eyed child lolling in her arms. Within seconds Ellese was mobbed, emaciated people thronging around her with arms outstretched, beseeching voices raised in a collective, needful groan.
Cursing, the sergeant barked out a command and a squad of scouts spurred their mounts into the mob, striking out with riding crops. The people duly reared back, most resuming their slump-shouldered trek whilst a few dozen lingered at the side of the road. They cast shouts and raised fists at the soldiers until, inevitably, their words were accompanied by a hail of stones. From the fury and shock with which the soldiers responded, open displays of defiance were far beyond their experience.
“Insolent northern swine!” Corporal Wei spat, drawing his sword and spurring towards the small knot of protestors. Two of his comrades followed suit but all three came to an abrupt halt as Nortah wheeled his horse into their path.
“Out of my way, you barbarian fucker!” Wei commanded, the words accompanied by his usual cloud of spittle.
Nortah possessed only a rudimentary knowledge of Chu-Shin but Vaelin doubted he missed the man’s meaning. Nevertheless he calmly wiped the spit from his face before reaching over his shoulder to draw his own sword. “I don’t think I care for your tone,” he said, resting the blade on his shoulder.
A brief drum of hooves brought Sehmon, Alum, Chien and Ellese to Nortah’s side, whilst a half-dozen Red Scouts moved to fall in on Wei’s flanks. Vaelin glanced at Sho Tsai, sitting apparently at ease on his horse some twenty yards away. The captain’s gaze was fixed on Tsai Lin rather than the unfolding confrontation.
Vaelin kicked his horse closer to the Dai Lo, speaking softly, “An apprentice officer is still an officer. Unless you want some of your men to die today, I suggest you get them under control.”
Tsai Lin’s gaze flicked from Vaelin to his father and back again. Vaelin found his expression odd, more reluctant than fearful. It was clear something was expected of him here, a task he would rather not perform. He briefly closed his eyes before straightening and spurring his mount forward.
“Corporal!” Tsai Lin called out. “Sheath your sword and get back in formation.”
“Piss off, third egg,” Wei replied in irritation, not bothering to turn. “I answer to the Dai Shin.”
“Not today.” Tsai Lin trotted his mount directly into Wei’s path. “Today you answer to me.” The Dai Lo reached up to unclip the iron star from his shoulder guard, taking a second to look into the face of the soldiers on either side of Wei before speaking on. “This man has insulted me and impugned my honour. I forsake privilege of rank and insist upon satisfaction. Bear witness to his cowardice if he refuses.”
This brought a brief round of laughter, the mirth soon fading into a nervous silence as Tsai Lin continued to stare expectantly at Corporal Wei. The man coughed and slammed his sword back into its scabbard, muttering, “My steel’s too good to sully on this scum.”
“Stop!” Tsai Lin barked as the corporal began to turn his horse, Vaelin seeing the man’s face flush red as he froze in the saddle. “Challenge is given and has not been answered,” Tsai Lin went on. “Give your answer, Corporal.”
The soldiers on either side of Wei began to edge their mounts away when repeated glances at their stone-faced captain made it clear he had no intention of intervening. Wei sat in his saddle a moment longer, reddened features quivering until he let out a guttural snarl and dismounted. “All right then, whelp. You want a beating, I’ll be happy to oblige.”
He began to divest himself of his armour, undoing the ties on his breastplate and casting it aside whilst Tsai Lin climbed down from his horse and did the same, albeit with markedly less agitation. Soon the two faced each other bare chested, the Red Scouts forming a loose circle around them. Vaelin saw Ellese angle her head in appreciation at the sight of Tsai Lin’s finely muscled torso, a lean and honed contrast to the broad stockiness of his opponent. The Dai Lo’s flesh was also bare of any scars whilst the corporal’s bore many.
“He’s not going to step in,” Wei said, jerking his head at Sho Tsai. “You know that, right, whelp?”
“Yes,” Tsai Lin replied. “For which I apologise.” His tone possessed no mockery, merely a faint
expression of genuine regret.
Vaelin recalled a morsel of Master Sollis’s wisdom from the practice ground: Only a fool picks a fight he can’t finish. Tsai Lin, as he well knew by now, was no fool.
Wei laughed, turning to his comrades with a wink before abruptly lowering his head and charging at Tsai Lin, his right fist sweeping a punch towards the younger man’s jaw. It was a standard trick of the experienced brawler, a distraction playing into the expectation of prolonged threats and banter before the real fight started. However, it transpired Tsai Lin was neither easily distracted nor a brawler.
His left arm rose in a blur, blocking the corporal’s punch. Tsai Lin’s right arm flicked out, moving too fast to easily follow, before he stepped back, ducking under a clumsy left swing that sent Wei into an untidy spin, blood flying from his nose, which now sat at a crooked angle on his blocky features. Tsai Lin turned away and began to don his armour as the corporal staggered about, reddened spittle pluming from his mangled lips as they attempted to form words. By the time he fell, his face producing a wince-inducing thwack as it connected with the hard-packed earth, Tsai Lin had already refastened his breastplate.
“Get him on his horse,” he told the onlooking soldiers as he strode to his mount. “He’ll wake by nightfall. The next man to break ranks without orders won’t receive such leniency.”
Climbing into the saddle he took hold of the reins, then paused to regard the cluster of beggared people still lingering on the roadside, their anger now replaced by simple bafflement. “Also,” Tsai Lin continued, “each man will take half his rations and share them with these people. I think you lot could benefit from a day or two with a growling belly.”
The soldiers’ faces darkened at this but none raised a voice in complaint as they went about their orders, Vaelin catching a few mutters spoken in a tone of resentful awe rather than anger. “Temple of Spears, I’m telling you,” he heard one murmur to his comrade as they hauled Wei’s inert bulk onto the back of his horse. “Just like his pa.”