by Anthony Ryan
Vaelin fought to master his confusion, tried to stop himself willing the blood-song to speak, to give the lie to this thing’s words. Wood cracked in the fire, the surf beat against the shore in a ceaseless rumble and Barkus regarded him with the cool, dispassionate gaze of a stranger.
“What design?” Vaelin demanded. “You spoke of his design? Who is he?”
“You’ll meet him soon enough.” The thing that had been Barkus clasped the haft of the axe with both hands, taking a firm grip, holding it up for the edge of the blade to catch the moonlight. “I made this for you, brother, or rather I allowed Barkus to make it. He always hungered for the hammer and the anvil so, although he resisted manfully until I took away his reluctance. Beautiful, isn’t it? I’ve killed so many times with so many different weapons, but I must say this is the finest. With this I can bring you to the brink of death as easily as if I were wielding a surgeon’s knife. You’ll bleed, you’ll fade and your soul will reach out to the void. He’ll be waiting for you there.” The smile the thing offered was grim now, almost regretful. “You really shouldn’t have given up your sword, brother.”
“If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been so willing to talk.”
The thing’s smile vanished. “Talking’s over.”
He leapt over the fire, axe drawn back, teeth bared in a hateful snarl. Something large and black met him in midair, fastening its jaws on his arm, rending and tearing as they crashed together onto the fire, thrashing, scattering flame. Vaelin saw the hateful axe rise and fall once, then twice, heard the enraged howl of a slave-hound as the blade bit home, then the thing that had been Barkus was rising from the dregs of the fire, hair and clothes aflame, his left arm hanging ruined and useless, nearly severed by Scratch’s bite. But the right arm was still whole, and he still held the axe.
“Asked the governor to set him loose at nightfall,” Vaelin told him.
The thing roared in pain and rage, the axe arching round in a silver blur. Vaelin ducked under the blade, lancing out with the dagger, piercing the thing’s chest, seeking the heart. It roared again, swinging the axe with inhuman speed. Vaelin left the dagger embedded in its chest and caught hold of the haft of the axe as it swung round, backhanded a savage blow to the thing’s face and followed with a kick to the groin. It barely staggered and delivered a stinging head-butt, sending Vaelin reeling across the sand, falling onto his back.
“Something I didn’t tell you about Barkus, brother!” the thing said, leaping closer, axe raised. “When you trained together, I always made him hold back.”
Vaelin rolled to the side as the axe bit down on the sand, twisted to send a kick into the thing’s temple, surging to his feet as it shook off the pain and swung again, the blade meeting only air as Vaelin dived over the arc of the swing, ducked in close to snatch the dagger from its chest, stabbed again then stepped back to let the axe swing within an inch of his face.
The thing that had been Barkus stared at him, shocked, still, smoke rising from his burns, his ruined arm bleeding onto the sand. He dropped the axe and his good hand went to the rapidly spreading stain on his shirt. He stared at the thick slick of blood covering his palm for a second then slowly sank to his knees.
Vaelin moved past him and retrieved the axe from the sand, fighting revulsion at the feel of it in his hands. Is this why I always hated it so? Because this was its final purpose?
“Nicely done, brother.” The thing that had been Barkus showed bloodstained teeth in a grin of absolute malice. “Perhaps the next time you kill me, I’ll be wearing the face of someone you love even more.”
The axe was light, unnaturally so, making only the faintest whisper as he brought it up and round, slicing through skin and bone as easily as it did the air. The head of what had been his brother rolled on the sand and was still.
He tossed the axe aside and pulled Scratch from the dying remnants of the fire. Heaping sand onto the smouldering burns, tearing his shirt to press rags against the deep cuts in his side. The slave-hound whimpered, tongue lapping weakly at Vaelin’s hand. “I’m sorry, daft dog.” He found his vision blurred by tears and his voice caught by sobs. “I’m sorry.”
He buried them separately. For some reason it seemed the right thing to do. He said no words for Barkus, knowing his brother had died years ago and in any case he was no longer sure if he could say them and not feel a liar. As the sun rose he took the axe and walked to the edge of the beach. The morning tide was coming in fast, the breakers roaring in from the headland. He hefted the axe, surprised to find the revulsion had gone, whatever Dark stain it had held seemed to have dissipated with the death of the man who had fashioned it. Now it was just metal. Finely crafted and gleaming in the sun, but still just metal. He hurled it into the sea with all the strength he could muster, watched it glitter as it turned end over end before dropping into the waves with a small splash.
He washed himself in the surf and returned to his makeshift camp, covering the bloodstains as best he could, then made for the road, walking back towards Linesh. It was an hour or so before he came to the agreed place and the desert heat was coming on swiftly. He chose a spot near a road marker and sat down to wait.
The blood-song rose as he sat there, a new tune, stronger and clearer than before. As his thoughts turned in his head he found the music changed, mournful as he recalled the final whimper from Scratch, bombastic as he replayed the fight with the thing that had been Barkus, and with the music came images, sounds, feelings he knew were not his own. He understood that for the first time he was truly in command of his song, he was finally singing.
Somewhere in a place that wasn’t a place something was screaming, begging forgiveness from an unseen hand that dealt punishment of depthless pain, untroubled by mercy or malice.
In a palace far to the north a young woman composed the greeting she would offer her brother on his return, a carefully crafted speech combining grief, regret and loyalty with expert precision. Once satisfied, she laid down her quill, requested some refreshment from her maid and, when she was certain she was alone, put her perfect face in her hands and wept.
To the west another young woman gazed at a broad ocean and refused to weep. In her hand she held two wooden blocks wrapped in a finely embroidered silk scarf. Below her the sea beat against the ship’s hull, scattering spume into the air. Her hand itched to throw the bundle to the waves, anger burning in her, a hard pain she couldn’t escape, making her hate the thoughts it provoked. A desire for revenge was not something she understood, never having felt it before. From behind came a shout of pain and she turned, seeing a sailor collapsed on the deck having fallen from the rigging, clutching at a broken leg and swearing profusely in a language she didn’t understand. “Lie still!” she commanded, moving to his side, returning the blocks and the scarf to the folds of her cloak.
Aboard another ship sailing another ocean, a young man sat, silent and still, his face a blank mask. Despite his stillness, he provoked fear in those around him, their master’s orders having made it clear that to awaken his interest invited the swiftest death. Although the young man was as unmoving as a statue, within his shirt the scars on his chest burned with a continual, fierce agony.
Vaelin focused the song to a single pure note, casting it forth across the deserts, jungles and ocean that separated them: I will find you, brother.
The young man stiffened momentarily, drawing fearful glances from those who guarded him, then returned to his previous immobile, expressionless state.
The vision and the song faded, leaving him sitting in the blazing sun, a dust cloud rising in the east, soon resolving through the haze into a troop of horsemen, the tall figure of Grand Prosecutor Velsus at their head, riding hard, eager to claim his prize.
APPENDIX I
Dramatis Personae
THE UNIFIED REALM
The Royal House of Al Nieren
Janus Al Nieren—King of the Realm
Malcius Al Nieren—son to Janus, Prince of the Realm, heir to t
he throne
Lyrna Al Nieren—daughter to Janus, Princess of the Realm
The Noble House of Sorna
Kralyk Al Sorna—First Sword of the Realm, former Battle Lord of the King’s Host
Vaelin Al Sorna—son to Kralyk, brother of the Sixth Order
Alornis Dinal—illegitimate daughter to Kralyk
The Noble House of Myrna
Vanos Al Myrna—Sword of the Realm, Tower Lord of the Northern Reaches
Dahrena Al Myrna—Lonak foundling, adopted daughter of Vanos
The Noble House of Sendahl
Artis Al Sendahl—First Minister of the Council of Unity
Nortah Al Sendahl—brother of the Sixth Order, son to Artis, Vaelin’s comrade
The Noble House of Hestian
Lakrhil Al Hestian—Lord Marshal of the King’s Twenty-seventh Regiment of Horse, later Battle Lord of the King’s Host
Linden Al Hestian—Lord Marshal of the King’s Thirty-fifth Regiment of Foot, son to Lakrhil, friend to Vaelin
Alucius Al Hestian—poet and second son to Lakrhil
THE ORDERS OF THE FAITH
The Sixth Order of the Faith
Gainyl Arlyn—Aspect of the Sixth Order, Vaelin’s superior
Sollis—sword-master and Brother Commander of the Sixth Order, Vaelin’s master
Caenis Al Nysa—brother of the Sixth Order, third son of the House of Nysa, Vaelin’s comrade
Barkus Jeshua—brother of the Sixth Order, son of a Nilsaelin blacksmith, Vaelin’s comrade
Dentos—brother of the Sixth Order, Vaelin’s comrade
Frentis—urchin and pickpocket, later brother of the Sixth Order, friend to Vaelin
Makril—brother of the Sixth Order, renowned tracker and later Brother Commander
Rensial—Master of Horse
Chekril—Master of Hounds
Hutril—Hunt Master
Jestin—Master of the Smithy
The Fifth Order of the Faith
Elera Al Mendah—Aspect of the Fifth Order
Sherin—sister of the Fifth Order, friend to Vaelin, later Mistress of Curatives
Gilma—sister of the Fifth Order, attached to the Thirty-fifth Regiment of Foot
Harin—Master of Bone Lore to the Fifth Order
Sellin—veteran brother of the Fifth Order, gatekeeper to the Order House
OTHERS
Scratch—Volarian slave-hound, friend to Vaelin
Spit—warhorse of foul temper, Vaelin’s mount
Nirka Smolen—captain of the Third Company, King’s Mounted Guard
Sentes Mustor—drunkard, heir to the Fief Lordship of Cumbrael
Hentes Mustor—younger brother to Sentes, called the Trueblade
Lartek Al Molnar—Finance Minister of the Council of Unity
Dendrish Hendrahl—Aspect of the Third Order
Tendris Al Forne—brother of the Fourth Order and servant of the Council for Heretical Transgressions, later Aspect of the Fourth Order
Liesa Ilnien—Aspect of the Second Order
Theros Linel—Fief Lord of Renfael, vassal to Janus
Darnel Linel—son to Theros, heir to the Fief Lordship of Renfael
Banders—knight and Baron of Renfael, bondsman to Theros
Gallis—climber, outlaw and later sergeant in the Thirty-fifth Regiment of Foot
Janril Norin—former apprentice minstrel, later standard-bearer in the Thirty-fifth Regiment of Foot
Bren Antesh—captain of Cumbraelin archers during the Alpiran war
Count Marven—captain of the Nilsaelin contingent during the Alpiran war
THE ALPIRAN EMPIRE
Aluran Maxtor Selsus—Emperor
Seliesen Maxtor Aluran (Eruhin, The Hope)—adopted son to Aluran, chosen heir to the Imperial throne
Emeren Nasur Ailers—wife of Seliesen
Verniers Alishe Someren—Imperial Chronicler
Neliesen Nester Hevren—captain in the Imperial Guard
Holus Nester Aruan—Governor of the City of Linesh
Merulin Nester Velsus—Imperial Grand Prosecutor
Ahm Lin—stonemason of Far Western origin
APPENDIX II
The Rules of Keschet
Keschet is played by two players on a board of one hundred squares. Each player begins the game with 1 Emperor, 1 General, 1 Scholar, 2 Merchants, 3 Thieves, 4 Lancers, 5 Archers and 8 Spearmen.
At the start of the game a player may place any piece in any square in the first three rows at the player’s end of the board. The opposing player will then place a piece of the player’s choosing in the first three rows at the player’s end of the board. All pieces are then placed on the board in turn. The player who placed the first piece then makes the first move.
A piece is taken if the square it occupies is occupied by an opposing piece. The game is won if the Emperor is taken or if the Emperor is the only piece remaining to the losing player.
Any piece in an adjoining square to the Scholar is protected and cannot be taken.
The Scholar may move one or two squares in any direction.
The Emperor can move up to four squares in any direction.
The General can move up to ten squares in any direction.
The Archer can move up to six squares vertically or horizontally.
The Thief can move one square in any direction. A player has the use of any piece taken by the Thief.
The Spearman can move up to two squares vertically or horizontally.
The Lancer can move up to ten squares diagonally.
The Merchant can move either one square in any direction or to any vacant square adjoining the square occupied by the Emperor horizontally, vertically or diagonally, if the route is unobstructed by another piece.