by Anthony Ryan
“It died too.” Verniers bowed again and walked from the chamber.
“What do you think?” Vaelin turned to find the queen greeting him with a smile, her anger abruptly vanished. “A little overdramatic, perhaps?”
“I’m sure Your Highness knows best how to deal with an ambassador.”
“Actually, it’s a skill I’m having to learn with some rapidity. So, do you think we should retake Verehl?”
“The decision is not mine to make, Highness. And you have a Battle Lord to advise on the practicalities of such an undertaking.”
“I don’t need Al Hestian to tell me it would be impossible, not for another year at least. Verehl sits on the southern coast, a fairly unpleasant place by all accounts, surrounded by jungle and subject to yearly storms of legendary ferocity. Its only value comes from the spice trade, contributing less than one-half of one-hundredth to the Imperial treasury. I suspect Empress Emeren seeks to test me, baiting a trap to see if I’ll bite.”
“Given the animosity between our peoples, a city of little value seems a small price to pay to heal the rift.”
She gave a small laugh, shaking her head and moving back to her throne. “Always the peacemaker, even now.”
“I hoped Your Highness had called me here to discuss my petition.”
“Indeed I did, though it suited me to add a little theatre for Lord Verniers.” She settled onto the throne, accepting a cup of water from Iltis. “You want to go home.”
“With my sister, yes.”
Lyrna’s face clouded a little as she drank. “Lady Alornis is … improving I hear.”
“She has nightmares every time she sleeps and, when awake, tinkers constantly with the engines she built on your behalf. They grow more deadly by the day, she tells me. She seems keen to see them at work. I am not.”
“We agreed this war had to be won, Vaelin, and we all gave much in the winning. Your sister more than most, for which I’m sorry. But she is a grown woman and I never forced her to any action.”
“Nevertheless, my petition stands, and I request your answer.”
She turned to Iltis, handing him the cup and requesting he leave them alone. “You will require a new commander for the North Guard,” she said when the Lord Protector had withdrawn. “Lord Adal has petitioned to be released from your service.”
Vaelin nodded in grim acceptance. Imparting news of Dahrena’s death to Adal had been a hard trial, made worse by the man’s rigid composure and clipped response to every question. Though the accusation on his face as he bowed and withdrew was plain enough. She would have lived if she had loved him instead.
“I trust you will find him suitable employment,” he told the queen.
“Indeed. I’m minded to create an East Guard for my new dominions. War has left us with many able hands to fill the ranks and who better to command them?”
“A fine choice, Highness. I would request Lord Orven as his replacement.”
“As you wish, subject to his agreement. I believe he has earned the right to choose his commands.”
Lyrna rose once again and went to the window. Council-man Arklev’s home stood on a hill offering a fine view of the harbour, still crowded with the fleet, though somewhat diminished now. The Shield had sailed away two days after the city’s fall, taking with him perhaps a tenth of the Meldeneans. There were rumours of a fractious dispute with the Fleet Lord, of challenges made and sabres drawn, though Lord Ell-Nurin seemed unhurt when Vaelin next saw him, bowing low to the queen as she gave him a sword, and a grant of land on the south Asraelin coast.
“Do you remember the night we met?” she asked.
“You surprised me, I threw a knife at you.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “I kept it. It saved my life in fact.”
“I’m glad.”
“There was a question I asked you then, one I won’t ask you again, since both question and answer are now redundant. But, I’ve always been curious, did you ever regret saying no?”
Her hair was fully grown now, he saw, longer than it had ever been, a golden cascade in the light from the window. And her face, the porcelain perfection enhanced by the few small lines of experience and the keen intellect shining from her eyes, no longer subject to any constraint.
“Of course,” he lied. “What man wouldn’t?”
Weaver stood among the Politai, speaking in low but earnest tones as they clustered around. They were more animated than Vaelin had seen them before, many speaking up to interrupt, faces betraying distinct emotions, ranging from sadness to anger. The more recently freed stood on the fringes, frowning in bafflement but keeping close to their brothers. Frentis said it was always the way with them, an inability to be alone or tolerate the company of those not of their kind.
Did we free something? Vaelin wondered. Or unleash it?
After more than an hour of discussion Weaver finally called a halt and the Politai began to disperse back to the surrounding houses they occupied. This district had been thoroughly depopulated by the Arisai, leaving copious empty dwellings, although the former Varitai chose to live a dozen or more to each house.
“They didn’t seem happy,” Vaelin observed as Weaver came to take a seat on the bench next to him.
“They know there are other Varitai still in bondage in some places,” the healer replied. “Freeing all of their brothers has become something of a sacred mission.”
“One the queen has given her word to complete.”
“Without me.”
“Her reasoning is sound…”
“And I don’t dispute it. The Ally’s gift is a terrible thing.”
Vaelin’s gaze tracked over Weaver’s sturdy frame, knowing he now looked upon possibly the most powerful being in the world. He found some comfort from his expression, as open and free of calculation as he had ever been. “Have you used it?” he asked. “Since the arena.”
Weaver shook his head. “I feel it though, roiling away inside me like a simmering pool.”
“And Erlin’s gift?”
“Time alone will tell. What accommodations has the queen arranged for me in the Realm?”
“The war left many estates vacant, you will have a wide selection to choose from.”
“An honour indeed, to choose one’s own prison.”
Vaelin said nothing, unwilling to voice a lie. “The ship leaves with the morning tide,” he said, getting to his feet and offering his hand. Weaver blinked in surprise. Since the Arena, few who knew of the events there had been willing to talk to him, and certainly not risk his touch. His expression remained unchanged, but his voice held a new edge of certainty as he took the hand and shook it.
“I won’t be there to meet it, my lord. As I suspect you know, since you chose to come here alone with no guards to enforce the Queen’s Word.”
Vaelin gripped his hand tighter, holding it for a moment longer before letting go. “Where will you go?”
“There are a few corners of the world Erlin never visited. And I’ve a yen to hear the song of the Jade Princess with my own ears.”
“You have Erlin’s memories?”
“In a manner of speaking. Much of his knowledge resides in me, but not how he acquired it. So much slips away as the years pass.”
“So you also have the Ally’s knowledge?”
Weaver’s expression became markedly more clouded. “More than I would like.”
“He spoke of the wolf. I would know what he meant.”
“He meant…” Weaver frowned, struggling to find the right words. “He meant there’s a reason why you’re willing to let me go. He meant that we are all, regardless of what gifts we may possess, very small and brief lights upon this earth. The difference is I am happy to accept it, he never was.”
He got to his feet and started back towards the house he shared with the Politai. “Please give my regards to the queen,” he said, pausing at the door, “and, when she sends assassins to follow my trail, tell her to be sure to choose well.”
&nb
sp; He watched Reva from the bow of the ship, needing no song to discern what passed between her and Lady Lieza as they embraced on the quay. The girl drew back, head bowed and fighting tears as she moved to the queen’s side. Reva made her final bows and ascended to the ship with her tall guardsman at her back, the assembled Realm Guard lifting their weapons in salute and voicing a shout that echoed across the harbour.
“Louder than the one you got, brother,” Nortah observed with a grin.
“I think she earned it.”
“My lot didn’t even come to see me off. Probably still squabbling over their list of rightful demands for the queen.”
“Rightful demands?”
“Yes, they want to choose their own officers, an end to land ownership and the right to appoint the queen’s councillors. Can you imagine? Faith save us from the newly freed.”
Vaelin joined Reva at the stern as the ship made its way through the narrow harbour mouth, the walled moles thick with cheering people, their words meaningless to him but she was able to discern a few. “Livella is reborn,” she murmured, watching the torrent of flowers arc into their wake. “Perhaps Varulek will get his gods back after all.”
“Varulek?” he asked.
“A dead man, and servant to dead gods.” She surveyed the cheering throng as they drew away, the helmsman taking them into the Cut as the captain ordered the sails for a westward tack, towards the distant ocean. “Not long ago many of these would have been screaming for my death in the arena. Now they rejoice at my survival.”
“They are not alone.” Vaelin glanced at the young guardsman, standing at a respectful distance, his gaze rarely straying from the Blessed Lady. “It seems you have your own Iltis.”
“I offered Guardsman Varesh a boon for his service.” Reva gave the youth a somewhat strained smile. “All he asked was to stay at my side. I’m minded to find other employment for him when we get home.”
Vaelin turned to regard the three hulking troop-ships now pulling away from the quayside, each laden with Cumbraelins. A few had elected to stay, lured by the generous pay the queen offered for experienced archers, but most chose to follow the Blessed Lady home. “Lord Antesh has already begun to quote from the Eleventh Book I hear.”
“He has recovered much of his fervour since Alltor,” she said. “And more since coming here. I think I preferred him jaded. The world might be a better place were it ruled by disappointed souls.”
“Shouldn’t you write that down? The Blessed Lady’s wisdom should not be wasted on a heretic.”
She gave short laugh then lowered her gaze, her voice taking on a sorrowful pitch. “I told Antesh it had all been a great lie. Never once in my life have I heard the Father’s voice. Not during the siege and not here. He said, ‘You are the Father’s voice, my lady.’”
Her eyes went to Alornis, busy tending to the engine on the starboard rail. Apparently it could spit flame, with fearsome results if the accounts Vaelin had heard were true. Alornis seemed incapable of leaving it alone, her deft hands removing the various plates to explore its mysterious insides, her face rapt, uncaring of anything else.
“I’d happily tip that thing into the sea,” he said. “But these devices of hers are the only thing that brings any life to her eyes.”
“Then let’s discover why.” Reva went to crouch at Alornis’s side, watching her work for a moment before asking a question. Vaelin expected his sister to ignore her, as she often ignored him, but instead she seemed to become enthused, hands moving with passionate animation as she pointed to the machine’s innards, explaining each pipe and spigot in detail as Reva nodded encouragement.
He watched them for a time, seeing his sister relax, even voicing a laugh or two, then found his gaze drawn inexorably to the canvas-wrapped bulk lashed to the mainmast. The queen’s instructions had been clear, lacking any ambiguity, but still he found the questions plagued him. What do we do with it?
“I couldn’t save him, brother!”
He had been called from his cabin by the third mate to find Nortah reeling about the deck, wine bottle in hand. The swell had increased as night fell and they drew into what the sailors called “the Boraelin mountains,” a region renowned for tall waves and vicious storms. The wind was certainly harsh tonight, though not quite a gale it still managed to lash the deck with hard, driving rain.
“Killed a dozen of those red bastards,” Nortah railed, “fought the Aspect himself, and still I couldn’t save him!”
He stumbled as the deck lurched anew, staggering towards the port rail and nearly tipping over. “Stop this!” Vaelin caught hold of him, drawing him back and catching hold of the rigging.
“Killing.” Nortah laughed, lifting his arms and shouting to the rain-filled sky. “Only thing I was ever good for. Just cos you hate a thing doesn’t mean you aren’t good at it. Wasn’t enough though. He still died.”
“He died saving you,” Vaelin told him, holding him tight as he sought to break free. “So you could see your wife again. So you could hold your children again.”
Nortah subsided at the mention of his family, head slumping as the wine bottle fell from his limp hand and rolled away. “They killed my cat,” he mumbled. “Have to go home without my cat.”
“I know, brother.” Vaelin patted his soaked head and tried to pull him upright. A cloaked figure emerged from belowdecks, coming to his side to assist in lifting the now-passed-out Lord Marshal. Together they took him below, laying him in his cabin.
“My thanks,” Vaelin offered to the cloaked figure.
“From what I gather,” Erlin said, drawing back his hood, “this man deserves a better end than falling drunk from a ship’s deck.”
“That he does.”
They left Nortah snoring and sat together in a corner of the hold, Vaelin knowing he would gain scant rest tonight with the wind howling at such a pitch. He watched as Erlin rubbed at the small of his back, groaning a little. “This will take quite a bit of getting used to,” he said.
“Your first back-ache?”
“No doubt the first of many.” Erlin smiled and Vaelin concealed a wince at the changes in his face. The beating had left him with a crooked nose and somewhat misshapen jaw, though his eyes seemed to shine brighter, like a young man in fact.
“Have you decided?” Vaelin asked.
“Cara invited me to live with them when we get to the Reaches,” Erlin said. “Though I’m not sure Lorkan appreciated the gesture. Newlyweds need privacy after all. I do hear tell of a hut on the beach in need of an occupant though.”
“After all your travelling, you will be content with a hut on the beach?”
“For a time. I find I have a lot to think on.”
“Do you remember? When he … took you. Were you aware?”
Erlin remained silent for some time, his newly bright eyes dimmed somewhat, and when he spoke Vaelin knew he voiced a lie. “No. It’s all just a fog, like a bad dream best forgotten.”
“So you have no notion why it spared you? Why the stone didn’t take you when it took the Ally?”
“The Ally had touched it once before, I hadn’t. Perhaps it knew the difference.”
“He spoke of something looking back…”
“He spoke of many things, brother.” There was an edge to Erlin’s voice now, a patent weariness of questions. “And all best forgotten.” He brightened, slapping his knees and rising. “I think I shall seek out a sailor with some wine to spare. Care to join me?”
Vaelin smiled and shook his head. He watched Erlin disappear into the shadowed recesses of the hold and wondered if persuading Lyrna not to kill the ancient and now-giftless man would one day prove to be something he regretted.
“The future is ever uncertain,” she had said at the docks, fighting anger at the non-appearance of Weaver, an anger that was all too genuine today. “Find your deepest mine and bury it there, the location to be known only to you and myself. The Orders are never to learn of this thing’s existence.”
He
waited until the captain advised him they had reached the deepest part of the Boraelin, whereupon he told him to trim his sails. It was only a little past dawn and he was alone on deck save for the night watch. They looked on in bafflement as he set aside the sledgehammer he had borrowed from the ship’s carpenter and cut away the rope binding the canvas. It duly fell away to reveal the smooth, unblemished surface of the black stone. He stepped back, hefting the hammer and lifting it above his head.
“Stop!”
It was Alornis, huddled in a blanket near the hold, staring at him, eyes wide and appalled.
“I have to,” he told her.
She frowned, puzzled, then shook her head. “Not like that you won’t.” She pointed an implacable finger at him. “Don’t move until I return.”
He watched her disappear below, standing uncertainly with hammer in hand as the crew looked on, curiosity or amusement on their faces.
“I’d never be able to face Master Benril again,” Alornis said, reemerging from the stairwell with her leather satchel on her shoulder. “Letting you break a stone like that.”
She placed her satchel on the deck and undid the straps, choosing a small hammer and a narrow iron chisel from the rows of tools.
“Don’t touch it,” Vaelin told her as she approached the stone.
“I know.” She made a face at him. “Reva told me.”
She placed the chisel in the centre of the stone, tapping it until a small crack appeared in the surface then delivering a series of well-placed blows with the hammer until no more than a few inches protruded. She retrieved two more chisels from the satchel and repeated the process, placing them on either side of the central peg and hammering away until the stone featured a crack across its surface about a half inch wide.
“As you will, brother,” she said, stepping back.
He stared down at it, seeing the way the surface seemed to swallow the light, suddenly uncertain. You don’t know what this thing is! he had said. I looked into that world … and something looked back, something vast, and hungry. Touch it once and receive a gift …
He raised a hand, extending it to the stone, letting it hover over the surface, almost touching. What will it give me? Another song? The Ally’s gift?