Blood Song

by Anthony Ryan

  “I’ll execute these men,” the King said. “On the strength of what you’ve told me. There will be no trial, the King’s Word is above all law. Their families will hate me for what I’ve done, but since I intend to confiscate their property and render them penniless, it matters not.”

  Vaelin met the King’s gaze, trying to decide if this was some kind of bluff, but saw no deception. “A family should not be punished for the crimes of but one of its members.”

  “It is how it must be with nobles, leave the family its wealth and they’ll use it against me sooner or later. Besides, I know these men and their families. They’re a vile, greedy lot by and large. Life in the gutter will suit them well.”

  “You put much stock in my word, Highness. I could be lying…”

  “You’re not. Thirty years a king teaches a man how to hear lies.”

  A king’s justice is hard indeed, Vaelin decided. Could he stomach it? Seeing the certainty in the King’s expression, he realised he had no choice. The course had already been set as soon as he opened his mouth. “And the man’s wife?”

  “Well there we have a problem. She’s an unrepentant Denier. Aspect Tendris will no doubt seek to hang her from the walls in a cage. If she doesn’t die under questioning first, of course.”

  “Highness, you are the King of this Realm and the Champion of the Faith. There must be some influence…”

  “Must there?” The King’s expression was a mix of anger and amusement. “I have done what I must this night.” He gestured to the death warrant he had written. “It is a king’s duty to dispense justice where he can. I will kill these men because they have broken the laws of this Realm and deserve their end. As for their victim’s wife, her crimes fall outside my jurisdiction. Therefore, it is not a question of what I must do but what I may do, if it serves my purpose. So, Vaelin Al Sorna, tell me how saving this woman’s life will serve my purpose. You used your name to get in here, do you have nothing else to say?”

  Mother, forgive me. “I know that Your Highness had plans for me, before my father sent me to the Order. If it pleases you, I will submit to your plans if you will secure the release of Urlian’s wife.”

  The King reached for a crystal decanter on his desk and poured a measure of red wine into a glass. “Cumbraelin, ten years old. One of the benefits of Kingship is a well-stocked cellar.” He offered the decanter to Vaelin. “Would you care for some?”

  Vaelin’s head still ached from his binge in the alehouse. “No thank you, Highness.”

  “You father wouldn’t drink with me either.” The King sipped his wine slowly. “But then he never sought to bargain with me. I commanded and he followed.”

  “Loyalty is our strength.”

  “Yes. A fine motto, one of my best. I chose it for him, even chose the hawk as your family crest. It was something of a joke actually. Your father hated hawking, it’s a sport for nobles after all.” He took another sip from his wine, wiping the red stain from his lips with an ink-spattered sleeve. “Do you know why he left my service?”

  “I had heard there was discord between you over his wish to marry and legitimise my sister.”

  “Know about her, eh? That must’ve been a shock. It’s true enough that I refused your father’s request to marry and he was angry over it. But in truth I believe he had resolved to leave my side when I had to kill my First Minister. They were at each other’s throats for years but when Al Sendahl’s thievery came to light it was your father who spoke for him when no other would. He had to die, of course, although it was a grievous loss. Few other men knew finance so well as Artis Al Sendahl.”

  “I have served with his son since we were boys, Highness. He could never accept that his father stole from your purse.”

  “Oh he wasn’t a thief of coin, he was a thief of power. It’s a terribly seductive thing, Vaelin. But to wield it well you have to hate it as much as you love it. Lord Artis never understood that, his actions became driven wholly by ambition, endangering the peace of the Realm, and so I killed him.”

  “And took his family’s wealth?”

  “Of course. Made sure the wife and daughters were taken care of though, felt I owed him that much. Tower Lord Al Myrna was kind enough to take them in, gave the woman some land in the Northern Reaches, under a false name of course. Can’t have my nobles thinking I’m softhearted.”

  “It would ease my brother’s mind greatly if I could tell him this.”

  “I’m sure. But you won’t.”

  The King put down his wineglass and rose, rubbing and groaning at the stiffness of his legs, going to the map above the fireplace. “The Unified Realm,” he said. “Four Fiefs once divided by war and hatred now united in loyalty to me. Except, of course, they aren’t. Nilsael sold itself to me because it was tired of armies raping its land for fodder every few years. Renfael lost half her knights in battle and Lord Theros saw that if he fought me any longer, he would soon lose the other half. Cumbrael hates and fears me in equal measure, but they fear the Faith more and will stay loyal as long as I keep it from their door. This is the Realm I spilled a sea of blood to build and through you I would have stopped it tearing itself apart when I die.

  “You are right, I had many plans for you. The son of a Battle Lord and a former Mistress in the Fifth Order, both commoners at that. You would be the means by which I would bind the common folk to my line, not just in Asrael but in all the Fiefs. And when I had the hearts of the commons, their nobles could call for war but none would answer. I had plans for you indeed, Young Hawk.” He scanned the map, his sigh heavy with regret. “But your mother had plans of her own. When she persuaded Aspect Arlyn to take you into the Sixth Order she made you a brother, bound to the Faith, not to me.”

  “Highness, if it is your wish that I leave the Order…”

  “It’s too late for that. It would be clear to all that you had left the Faith at my command. Robbing the Order of its most famous son would do little to make the people love me. No, the plans I had for you are long dead.”

  Vaelin fumbled for something to say, some argument to secure the King’s assistance. The prospect of leaving Urlian’s wife to torture and slow execution was unbearable. Wild schemes flickered through his mind as panic gripped him. He would sneak into the Blackhold and rescue her, his brothers would help him, he was sure of it, although it probably meant death for all of them…

  “I was not the first, you know?” the King said softly. Vaelin saw he was looking at a short list scribbled at the top of the map. “There have been five before me.” The King tapped a finger to the five names on the list. “Five Kings since Varin led our people to this land and drove the Seordah into the forests and the Lonak into the mountains. And in five hundred years no ruling family has held the Realm for more than a generation.”

  “Prince Malcius is a good man, Highness.”

  “My butcher is a good man, boy!” the King snapped, suddenly angry. “So are my stable master and the man who sweeps dung from my courtyard. My son is a good man it is true, but it takes more than goodness to make a king. When he took the throne you were to be at his side to do what he could not. Now all I can do is make this Realm so great that those who would tear it down will fear being crushed by its fall.”

  He returned to his chair, sitting down stiffly. “And so I will make a new plan. And you, Brother Vaelin Al Sorna, will serve my purpose again.” He searched through a pile of papers on his desk, extracting a sheaf of documents sealed with black wax. “Aspect Tendris keeps me busy with his loyal guidance and humble requests for new measures to combat the scourge of the Unfaithful. Here”—the King selected the topmost document—“he suggests the Realm Guard flog any subject who cannot recite the Catechism of Faith on command.”

  “Aspect Tendris is zealous in his beliefs, Highness.”

  “Aspect Tendris is a deluded fanatic. But even a fanatic can be bargained with.” The King held up another document and began to read: “‘I would most humbly remind Your Highness of th
e regular reports that the Unfaithful are gathering in unprecedented numbers in the Martishe forest. I have heard from the most reliable sources that these are adherents of the Cumbraelin form of god worship and are most vehement in their heresy. They are well armed and, my sources assure me, resolved to meet any attempt to dislodge them with the utmost violence. I implore Your Highness, with the greatest respect, to heed my calls to act decisively in this matter.’”

  The King tossed the parchment aside. “What do you make of this?”

  “The Aspect wishes you to send the Realm Guard to the Martishe to root out Deniers.”

  “Indeed, as if my soldiers have little better to do than run around the woods for months with Cumbraelin longbowmen waiting behind every tree. Oh no, the Realm Guard will not go within ten miles of the Martishe. But you will.”

  “Me, Highness?”

  “Yes. I will prevail upon Aspect Arlyn to send a small contingent of brothers to the Martishe, you will be among them. As will a young man named Linden Al Hestian. You know this name?”

  “Al Hestian.” Vaelin recalled the furious man lashing his way through the crowd at the Summertide Fair where Nortah’s father had met his end. “I once met a Lord Marshal of that name.”

  “Lakrhil Al Hestian, Lord Marshal of my Twenty-seventh Regiment of Horse. A capable officer and one of my wealthier nobles. Like my late First Minister, a man of great ambition, particularly where his son is concerned. His elder son, Linden.”

  Vaelin felt a hard ball of dread form in the pit of his stomach. “His son, Highness?”

  “A fine young man with many admirable qualities, sadly humility and intelligence are not among them. The fellow has a wide circle of friends, in truth a gang of admirers and sycophants. Nothing attracts friends like wealth and arrogance. He is currently the darling of my esteemed court, winning tournaments, bedding ladies, fighting duels. It’s a rather tediously familiar story, I’m afraid. A young man achieves great fame and success at an early age and begins to believe his own legend, not helped by the indulgence of an ambitious father. He is by far the most popular young man in court, far more popular than my own son, who has never been gifted in the ways of artifice. Every day I’m beset with entreaties to give the younger Al Hestian a commission, something to help him prove his worth, set him on the path to glory. And so I will. He will be made a Sword of the Realm and commanded to raise his own regiment, which he will take into the Martishe to root out the Deniers currently infesting it. Sadly, I predict this will be a long and arduous campaign and after”—the King paused to think—“six months or so he will, tragically, meet his end in a Denier ambush.”

  Their eyes met, Vaelin’s stomach churning with mingled anger and despair. I am a fool, he decided. A mouse seeking bargains with an owl. “Urlian’s wife, Highness?” he grated.

  “Oh, I daresay Aspect Tendris will be in a more amenable frame of mind when I tell of him of my plans for a crusade in the Martishe, especially since you will be part of it. He’s fond of you, you know. I’ll vouch for the woman, tell him I’m convinced of her redemption, provided she says nothing to the contrary, she will be free by tomorrow evening.”

  “I need assurance she and her son will be provided for.” Vaelin forced himself to keep his eyes locked on the King’s. “If I’m to be part of your crusade.”

  “I’m sure Tower Lord Al Myrna can find room for another exile or two. The distinction between Faithful and Denier means little in the Northern Reaches.” The King turned back to his desk, lifting his quill and smoothing a blank parchment out before him. “You will receive your orders in the next few days.” He began to write again, his quill scratching its path across the page.

  It took a moment for Vaelin to realise he had been dismissed. He got to his feet, finding himself slightly dizzy, whether with anger or sorrow he couldn’t tell. “My thanks for your time, Highness.” He forced the words out and moved to the door.

  “Remember, Young Hawk,” the King said, not looking up from his parchment. “This is not the whole of my plan for you. Merely the beginning. I command, you follow. That is the bargain you made this night.” He glanced up, meeting Vaelin’s eyes again. “You understand?”

  “I understand perfectly, Highness.”

  The King held his gaze a moment longer, then returned to his writing, saying nothing as Vaelin left.

  Captain Smolen was waiting for him when he emerged from the wall. “Your visit is concluded, brother?”

  Vaelin nodded and collected his weapons from the table, reequipping himself quickly, possessed by a strong desire to be away from this place. He needed time alone to think. The enormity of his bargain with the King had stirred his thoughts into a confused jumble. He followed Smolen back along the myriad corridors lined with forgotten gifts, his mind continually repeating the King’s final words. This is not the whole of my plan for you. Merely the beginning.

  “You’ll forgive me if I leave you here,” Smolen said at the corner to what Vaelin recognised as the corridor leading to the east gate. “I have pressing duties elsewhere.”

  Vaelin peered at the shadowy end of the corridor then turned back to Smolen, seeing a faint discomfort in the set of the man’s face. “Pressing duties, Captain?”

  “Yes.” Smolen coughed. “Very pressing.” He took a step backwards, nodded formally then turned and strode back the way they had come.

  Vaelin took another look at the corridor ahead of him, a faint sensation of wrongness making his heart beat faster. Ambush, he decided. The King has untrustworthy servants. He considered going after the captain and forcing him to walk ahead into whatever was waiting but found he couldn’t summon the will. It had been a very long night. Besides he could always find him later. He palmed a throwing knife from the folds of his cloak and started along the corridor.

  He expected the attack to come at the darkest point, near the corridor’s end, but nothing happened. No black-clad men with curved swords leaping out to challenge him. But there was a faint scent in the air, subtle, sweet, like flowers on a hot day…

  “I’d heard you were handsome.”

  He pivoted towards the sound of the voice, the knife half-out of his hand before he saw her. A girl, standing half in shadow. He managed to move his hand at the last instant, sending the throw wide, the knife thudding into the wall an inch from her head. She glanced at it briefly before stepping forward into the light. Vaelin had seen beautiful women before, he had always thought Aspect Elera the most beautiful woman he was likely to meet, but this girl was different. Everything about her, from the flawless porcelain of her skin, to the soft curve of her face and the lustrous red-gold of her hair, spoke of effortless perfection.

  “You’re not,” she said, coming closer, head angled as she studied him with bright green eyes. “But your face is interesting.” She reached up, fingers extended into a caress.

  Vaelin took a step back before her hand could touch his face. He dropped to one knee and bowed low. “Highness.”

  “Please get up,” said Princess Lyrna Al Nieren. “We can’t talk properly if your face is constantly pointed at the floor.”

  Vaelin rose. Waiting and trying not to stare.

  “I’m sorry if I surprised you,” the princess apologised. “Captain Smolen was kind enough to inform me of your visit. I thought we should talk.”

  Vaelin said nothing, his sense of wrongness hadn’t faded. Something about this encounter was dangerous. He knew he should make an excuse and leave but found himself unable to find the words. He wanted her to talk to him, he wanted to be near her. It was a compulsion that provoked a sudden and deep resentment.

  “I had intended to watch you fight today,” the princess went on. “My father wouldn’t let me, of course. I was told it was a very stirring contest.”

  Her smile was dazzling, performed with a precise affectation of sincerity that put Nortah to shame. She expects me to be flattered, he realised. “Is there something you wish of me, Highness? Like Captain Smolen, I have pressing b
usiness elsewhere.”

  “Oh don’t be angry with the captain. He’s normally so correct in his duties. I’m afraid I may be corrupting him terribly.” She turned and went to the wall, where his throwing knife was embedded, and worked it loose with difficulty. “I like trinkets,” she said, examining the blade, running her delicate fingers over the metal. “Young men give them to me all the time. None of them have yet given me a weapon though.”

  “Keep it,” Vaelin told her. “If you’ll excuse me, Highness.” He bowed and turned to go.

  “I won’t,” she said flatly. “We haven’t finished our talk. Come,” she beckoned to him with the knife, moving away from the wall. “We will talk together beneath the stars, you and I. It will be as if we are in a song.”

  I could just leave, he realised. She couldn’t stop me…could she? After briefly considering the prospect of fighting off hordes of guardsmen summoned to prevent his leaving, he followed her back along the corridor. She led him to a door in an unobtrusive alcove, pushing it open and gesturing for him to enter. The garden beyond was small but even in moonlight the beauty on display in its flowerbeds was remarkable. There seemed to be an endless variety of blooms, far more than in Aspect Elera’s garden.

  “It should really be seen in daylight,” Princess Lyrna said, closing the door and stepping past him, pausing to examine a rosebush. “And it’s a little late in the year, many of my darlings are already shrinking in the cold.”

  She walked to a low stone bench in the centre of the garden, her gown swaying gracefully. Vaelin distracted himself by searching the flowerbeds for something vaguely familiar, to his surprise he found it in the shape of yellow buds nestling beneath a small maple tree. “Winterblooms.”

  “You know flowers?” The princess sounded surprised. “I was told brothers of the Sixth Order knew nothing beyond the arts of war.”

  “We are taught many things.”

  She sat on the bench and raised her hands, gesturing at the flowerbeds. “Well, do you like my garden?”