The walk was a long one for Carlin. How many times had he ventured through these dark and damp tunnels? A thousand? More? He offered a nod to the guards at the entrance to the chamber and proceeded through to the prison. A wrinkled and weighty tome was slung beneath his right arm, its leathery pages pressing against his side. The story it contained had been a favourite of his for many years, though for some reason, he had never shared it with his daughter. Now was as good a time as any. He raised his torch and set it in one of the wall
sconces before sitting cross-legged on the floor. “I see they’ve kept to their word in cleaning up your cell.”
Before him, caged within ivory bars, was Mirel. Her great mass of knotted hair had been shaven off only a few months before, and already it had regained enough length to make her appear rather elfin. She looked happier for it, though the event itself had required a considerable amount of manpower, ropes and poison-tipped darts. Carlin did not like to see her treated in this way, of course, but he had come to accept what she was capable of. What he refused to accept,
however, was that his wife had died bringing a heartless creature with no future into the world.
“I don’t know why you bother visiting me, little man. Your words bore me.”
“You should have someone to speak to every now and then, even if you find them dull.” Carlin opened up the book on its first page and appraised the lettering. It was rather fine for a volume that appeared quite unassuming at first glance.
“Have they found her yet?”
“Found whom?”
“Do not pretend you don’t
know. I know she died last month.” Carlin sighed. “I haven’t heard anything, and it would be better for you if you gave up this millennia-long fixation with her. It’s not healthy.” She growled softly and made a noise that sounded halfway between a hiss and a guffaw. “This world is cracked and broken with its own ignorance already. No hope remains.” “That is a matter of opinion.” Carlin cleared his throat and began to read, “In the Era of Half Light it was said that the clouds never separated to give forth the golden rays of the sun, and that the beneficent glow of the
moon was all but forgotten. The skies remained opaque, but-”
“There was sunshine. You had to be at the right place at the right time to find it. And no one was stupid enough to forget the moon was there. No one but the author of that book.”
Carlin cracked a smile. It was the most sensible thing she had said to him yet. “Then tell me what it was like. What did you do then?”
Her voice lowered to a whisper. “It was a very long time ago.” Mirel retreated into the shadows of her cell, and crouched so that her chin rested upon her knees.
“Well, if you won’t tell me then I’ll have to read more of this.” He gave her a moment to speak up, but when she did not he resumed his reading, “The skies remained opaque, but illumination still shone forth from the hearths and homes of the people. And in one town - a town at the very edges of the inhabited world - resided a community of people so tough that not even a thousand years of the harshest winters and fiercest storms had succeeded in destroying them. These people were the Furini, The Resolved. And w-”
“They weren’t resolved. They
spent half their time drinking and the other half breeding. That was how they survived.”
Carlin blinked. “You met these people?”
“I was born there once. A waste of my time.”
“And this was before your training as an Assassin?”
Mirel’s blue eyes flared. “Modern children! Always so ignorant of the past! Of course it was before – two-thousand, damned years before!”
Carlin nodded to himself. He really ought to have gotten a handle on her temper when she was smaller. It
was clear that her inability to deal with her anger was part of her problem, though he had no idea how to fix it in an adult. He chose to talk to her as he would a child. “Don’t speak to me like that, Mirel. I am still your father. I think I deserve more respect. So why don’t you tell me about that life so that I can overcome this area of ignorance, hmm?”
There was a look in her eye that he knew was intended to incite terror, but it rapidly faded. She sighed heavily and moved closer to the bars once more. “Ignorance: I lived in it. Fear was not my friend as it is now. It was
cold there. And there were always gales outside. They’d whistle... My father was... it was so long ago... he was a whisper on the wind like everyone else. He used to sell... it was... he used to sell fine things. Things that had been brought over the mountains of ice and the rough seas. You couldn’t grow or make anything of your own there. Not in that wasteland. I had two older brothers; their names are lost now. All names are lost in time. All that remains to us is to reproduce and live, and to befriend fear.”
“Do you remember what they looked like?”
“They looked like fear!” She made a short, sharp noise of frustration and exasperation. “This was always the sort of thing she would go on and on about: ‘Oh, I love the family so, so much. And my fathers... Please don’t kill them - they are everything.’ I had to listen to that sickening bilge for years. Centuries!”
“But surely you loved the families who had brought you into the world, the ones who had fed you and cared for you?”
“They did their duty. I am here to save this world from its own disaster. Theirs was a privilege.”
Carlin had to admit that he did not feel particularly privileged at that moment. But he did have a duty. “If you want to save the world, you cannot do it in this state. And your rivalry with this other girl has hardly done you any favours, has it?”
“You do not know what you are speaking of, father.”
“Well, she is free and you have been in prison these last twenty-five years because of the crimes you committed.”
“She killed more people than I ever did, and she did it through her own selfishness – out of some fool
belief that she was saving her precious loved ones. She could never see the importance of detachment, and that sometimes those deaths were necessary.”
Carlin smiled. “Then you admit it. You do have loved ones?”
“Love is reserved for commoners. The Dedicated were never that.”
“But you pursued the old king here, did you not?”
Without any warning, Mirel hurled herself at the bars, her teeth bared. She seemed almost to foam at the mouth. “He was to be my soldier!
My ally!”
“Commanders do not need to lie with their soldiers.”
Her ire snapped suddenly and a strange, contorted smile spread across her features. “A girl is permitted a little pleasure, is she not?”
But Carlin knew that he had touched upon an area of some emotional sensitivity the moment she moved a hand to touch her jaw. It was the clearest sign of her lies, and had been present since she was a small girl. A tell, gamblers called it, and it showed that Mirel was not heartless. Not at all. One had to know love before one could learn detachment. And if she understood that people were more than just meat to be saved, then surely she
could learn the value of each and every life? Surely?
The approach to the house was lined with trees so broad and vast that they could have been individually hollowed and carved into towering
mansions. Each one seemed to creak in as benevolent a manner as possible when the breeze touched it, and their red leaves rustled calmly amongst the sun’s rays. The other sounds were the chatter of small birds and the soft thump of the horse’s hooves upon the broken earth. It was a beautiful place but for its location, and Orwin’s mood lay somewhere between content admiration and severe apprehension. This was the last place he wanted to be, though duty demanded it was the first.
He kept his cloak open and his sword hilts visible in the hope that any
of the estate’s guards would see he was no assassin, but also make clear that he came with serious purpose. The colours of his country were h
idden within the horse’s saddlery, and it was likely the only thing that would betray him would be his accent. That particular feature had already earned him enough trouble during his travels; he did not wish to consider how it would be received here.
His horse quickened its step with the nervousness it evidently felt from its rider, and soon the corner of the grand house came into view. Ivy coated the walls with vigorous limbs of
green and these were interspersed with purple spear flowers that had somehow been grown in amongst the climber. Orange brickwork, laid in a herringbone pattern, was just visible beneath and was framed with black timbers. With luck, the building’s residents would not be as steeped in tradition as their home’s construction implied. A guard rode forward to meet him.
“Business?”
“It’s with Lord Calyrish.”
At the sound of his voice, the guard’s eyes narrowed. “Calidellian? We have no dealings with your sort.”
“It was never my wish to have
dealings with Hirrahans, but here I am. This is a serious matter and it concerns the newest son of your master. I understand you are still observing dokoor, and must extend a welcome to all enemies past and present.” Orwin waited for a hail of arrows to descend upon him from the darkened windows above, but none came. He could still feel the eyes of the bowmen burning into his flesh, however. Hirrahans always had bowmen at the ready, and an estate this size would certainly have a few tens of them to defend it.
The guard tilted his head slightly, before taking a deep breath. “Listen,
Cali-dunce, I wasn’t expecting your visit, which means my lord wasn’t either. Do-koor doesn’t give all your sort free license to walk onto these lands. There are rules to be observed, and swords to be left at the gates.” “Rules I shall be happy to adhere to.” The Hirrahan practice of opening doors to all visitors for two months following the birth of a child was a useful one indeed, though Orwin had not been the most eager of his countrymen to exploit it. Only fools enjoyed placing their heads into the mouths of hungry tigers. “Will you permit me to enter this house?”
The guard raised his chin and whistled, bringing an entire company of soldiers out of their various hiding positions. All wore the silver-white livery that seemed to be the uniform of the estate, and most held a bow of some sort. “Accompany this visitor to the main chamber. He is to leave his blades and the horse here.” With that the guard disappeared into the gloom of the corbelled entrance, the metal workings of his boots flashing against the darkness.
Orwin was quick to dismount and hand over his weapons, weapons that had seen him through more
difficulties than he cared to count. In a matter of moments he found himself striding into the shadowed hallways with an escort large enough to have rivalled his former queen’s. The thought provoked a memory of his time in her squad, and the increasingly wild fights she and her husband had chosen to engage in during those last few years. The enemies had become more dangerous and more vigorous to battle, and the risks they had taken had grown ever more extreme. It was as if the pair wanted to fight only those criminals who had so little care for their own lives that they fought without fear of
death. Orwin had been the only one to point this out, of course. Everyone else seemed to have been enjoying themselves far too much to notice. “Driven mad by their fires,” he whispered under his breath.
“Pardon?” One of the guards was looking at him askance.
“Oh, nothing.” He shrugged deeper into his cloak as he contemplated what the next few years would bring him. A return to the Calidellian army was almost inevitable once this duty was done with, and that most likely meant returning to the role of sergeant. He had no desire to be
martialling inexperienced, young swords all over again, not now that he had a fine set of shirts and jackets to preserve. A little vain, perhaps, but he had fought long enough to earn the right to such indulgences. They were lovely jackets.
The hallway opened out suddenly, giving rise to a vast chamber that was filled with black furniture and strange hangings that depicted images of mysterious and impossible creatures. Several of those animals seemed to have eyes that burned with the very flames of The Blazes. Orwin rapidly removed his gaze from them and aimed it at the floor instead. A moment filled with total silence and the smells of burning wood passed, before the creaking passages of the house stirred with life and brought forth a man in burgundy silks.
He was tall, grim-faced and dark-haired, and could very easily have passed for one of Morghiad’s offspring. Orwin attempted not to smile in spite of himself.
“I don’t like Calidellians in my home,” the lord boomed.
“My apologies for causing you offence with my presence, Lord Calyrish, but I was called here on an
urgent matter – a matter which concerns your youngest son – a matter which concerns Calidell, as I am sure you will be aware.”
The lord appeared as if he was about to respond in anger, but hesitated. His voice was calm when he finally spoke, “My own brother died at that killing field you once called your capital, so believe me when I say that I owe nothing to you or your murderous kindred. Only one of the guards here is over sixty-years-old – all of the other men of his generation and earlier are
dead.”
“I am aware of this situation,
Lord Calyr-”
“I bet you are! Decades of dealing with widowed ladies and brat siblings who couldn’t run their estates to save their pathetic lives – that’s what I’ve had. Tell me, Calidellian, were your witch queen and coward king worth it? Were they worth all those lives?”
“It was a battle both sides had agreed to take part in, my lord. And yes, I believe they were worth it. I came to see them as members of my family. And we must always do what we can to preserve our families, must we not?”
Lord Calyrish strode forward and placed his gloomy face close enough to Orwin’s for him to smell the scent of Sokirin tobacco. “Are you threatening me, lad?”
Careful, careful. He had to play this so carefully... “No.”
“No?”
“I think you are quite aware of my reasons for being here.” He leaned forward, almost touching his nose against the Hirrahan’s, and whispered, “You and the little Lord Morghiad.”
Lord Calyrish’s nostrils flared, and his mouth drew slowly into something that was not dissimilar to a
sneer. He stepped backward. “Leave us, please.”
At first, Orwin believed that he was being addressed, but the rapid exodus of guards from the long room soon told him otherwise. He breathed a small, partially suppressed sigh. The hardest part was now over.
The lord of the estate went to gaze at a peculiarly high shelf, which was loaded with dusty kitchenware. “Was he a good man, your king?”
“Then you know?”
“Of course I know! I knew the moment I looked at him! Answer my damned question! Was he a good
man?”
“Usually.”
“Usually!? Blazes alight!” Calyrish began to pace the length of the room. “Usually,” he muttered. “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Orwin. Orwin Mendrelle.”
“You couldn’t be more Calidellian if you tried, could you?”
Orwin shrugged.
“And what is it that you and your current... king want of me?”
“It is our responsibility to see that your son is raised well and raised in safety.”
“And I’m sure there are different definitions of ‘well’ in this case, eh?” Lord Calyrish pulled an expression that was not altogether unlike one of Morghiad’s legendary frowns. “You do realise that he is my son and consequently Hirrah’s before Calidell’s? You have no claim over him now, nor influence over his upbringing and certainly no influence over me.”
“I see. But we can offer you advice - advice in managing his temper, advice in channelling his skills. And then there’s the matter of his name, which will no doubt present some problems in
this countr-”
“His name is – it’s... M- ah,
burn it! It’s Renward! Ren.”
“You are not a very good liar.”
The lord snorted and folded his arms. “This household will manage him without any problems.”
Orwin nodded slowly, before withdrawing a small note from within his coat. It rustled softly against his fingers as he held it out. “Might I recommend a sword school for talented children? It is located just over the Sunidaran border, has no Calidellian links and comes highly recommended. Of course, you only need consider it if you run into any difficulties.”
The lord’s arms remained
folded.
“It is just a suggestion, albeit a very well-reasoned one.” Orwin placed the note onto the nearest of the black tables.
“Do you have children, Orwin? No? Do you know his existence was entirely my wife’s doing? Another son, she demanded. Just one more.” Calyrish’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Just one more.”
“I am sorry for your loss, my lord.”
“Hmm.” The Hirrahan’s thoughts appeared to have drifted elsewhere.
“Just one more thing, Lord Calyrish. I would advise that you do not continue to call our former queen a witch. Your son will certainly not take well to it, and besides, she is the only person I’ve ever known who can calm his fury.” Or at least hiss at him until he stopped tearing around the woods in a sword-waving rage. That particular event had been rather unexpected for all parties present, especially given that they’d spent the best part of the previous week chasing brigands to the point of exhaustion. Beetan had only mentioned Febain Reduvi’s name in passing, and Morghiad had very nearly
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