“ After all you have seen, all you have learned, can you really doubt it? This war will happen whether we support it or not. The king has set his course and will not be dissuaded.”
“ If it happens the Realm could fall in any case.”
“ And if it doesn’t it will certainly fall. Not to warring fiefs once more but to utter ruin, the earth scorched, the forests burned to cinder and all the people, Realm Folk, Seordah and Lonak dead. What else would you have us do?”
“ I couldn’t think of anything to say,” Vaelin told Sherin, his thumb tracing over the smooth skin of her hand. “He was right. It was horrible, terrible, but he was right. He told me this would be a war unlike any we have known. A great sacrifice would be made. But I must return. No matter how many of my men and my brothers fell, I must return to the Realm once I had completed my task. As he walked away he told me I reminded him of my mother. I often wondered how they came to know each other, now I suppose I’ll never find out.”
Her head lay on the table, eyes closed, lips parted, her hand still holding the wine cup he had given her. “Two parts valerian, one part crown root and a pinch of camomile to mask the taste,” he said, stroking her hair. “Try not to hate me.”
He dressed her in her cloak, tucking the scarf and blocks in the folds, and carried her to the harbour. She was light in his arms, fragile. Ahm Lin waited on the quay next to a large merchant vessel, his wife Shoala clutching his hand, her face tight with suppressed tears as she cast a forlorn gaze of the city she would likely never see again. Governor Aruan was negotiating with the vessel’s captain, a stocky man from the Far West who grew alarmed at the sight of Vaelin. Perhaps he had been one of the captains forced to watch the burning ships after the sailor’s escape attempt, Vaelin couldn’t remember, but he quickly concluded his haggling with the Governor and stomped off up the gangplank.
“ The price is agreed,” the Governor told Ahm Lin. “They sail direct for the West, first port of call…”
“ It’s better if I don’t know,” Vaelin cut in.
Ahm Lin came forward to take Sherin from him, lifting her easily in his muscular mason’s arms.
“ Tell her they killed me,” Vaelin said. “As the ship pulled away from the dock the Emperor’s Guard arrived and killed me.”
The mason gave a reluctant nod. “As the song wills it, brother.”
“ She could stay here,” Governor Aruan offered. “The city owes her a great debt after all. She would be in no danger.”
“ Do you really think Lord Velsus will share your gratitude, Governor?” Vaelin asked him.
The Governor sighed. “Perhaps not.” He took a leather purse from his belt and handed it to Shoala. “For her, when she wakes. With my thanks.”
The woman nodded, cast a final hateful glare at Vaelin then a tearful glance at the city, before turning and striding up the gangplank.
Vaelin reached out to trace his fingers through Sherin’s hair, trying to burn the image of her sleeping face into his memory. “Take care of her,” he told Ahm Lin.
Ahm Lin smiled. “My song would have it no other way.” He turned to go then hesitated. “My song holds no note of farewell, brother. I can’t help but think that one day we’ll sing together again.”
Vaelin nodded, stepping back as Ahm Lin carried Sherin onto the ship. He stood with the Governor as the ship pulled away from the dock, riding the tide to the harbour mouth, sails unfurling to catch the northerly winds, taking her away. He waited and watched until the sail was a faint smudge on the horizon, until it had vanished completely and there was only the sea and the wind.
He unbuckled his sword and held it out to Aruan. “Governor, the city is yours. I am commanded to wait for Lord Velsus beyond the walls.”
Aruan looked at the sword but made no move to take it. “I will speak for you, I have some influence at the Emperor’s court. He is famed for his mercy…” He faltered and stopped, perhaps hearing the emptiness of his words. After a moment he spoke again, “Thank you for my daughter’s life, my lord.”
“ Take it,” Vaelin insisted, again holding out the sword. “I’d rather you than Lord Velsus.”
“ As you wish.” The Governor took the sword in his plump hands. “Is there nothing I can do for you?”
“ Actually, about my dog…”
Verniers’ Account
“ And?”
Al Sorna had fallen to silence after relating his final words to the Governor. “And what?” he enquired.
I bit down my exasperation. It was becoming increasingly apparent that the Northman took no small pleasure from vexing me. “And what followed?”
“ You know what followed. I waited outside the walls, in the morning Lord Velsus came with a troop of Imperial Guards to take me into custody. Prince Malcius was duly delivered to the Realm unharmed. Janus died shortly after. Your history was fulsome in its description of my trial. What else can I tell you?”
I realised he was right, insofar as recorded history could relate he had told me the entirety of his tale, providing a great deal of previously unknown information and clarification on the origins of the war and the nature of the Realm that had spawned it. But I found myself possessed of a conviction that there was more, an unshakeable sense that his tale was incomplete. I recalled moments when his voice had faltered, only slightly but enough to assure me he had been holding back, perhaps concealing truths he had no desire to reveal. Looking at the wealth of words adorning the sheets that now covered the deck around my bedroll my mood darkened as I considered the work involved in verifying this narrative, the extensive research that would be needed to corroborate such a story. Where is the truth amongst all this? I wondered.
“ So,” I said, gathering my papers, taking care to keep them in order. “This is the answer to the war? Simply the folly of a desperate old man?”
Al Sorna had settled onto his bedroll, hands clasped behind his head, eyes cast to the ceiling, his expression sombre and distant. He yawned. “That’s all I can tell you, my lord. Now, if you’ll allow me some rest, I have to face certain death tomorrow and would prefer to meet it fully refreshed.”
I sifted through the pages, my quill picking out those passages where I suspected he had been less than forthcoming. To my dismay I found there were more than I would have liked, even a few contradictions. "You said you never met her again,” I said. “Yet you say Princess Lyrna was present at the Summertide Fair where Janus embroiled you his war mongering scheme.”
He sighed, not turning. “We exchanged a cursory greeting only. I didn’t think it worth mentioning.”
A dim memory came to me, a fragment from my own researches undertaken whilst preparing my history of the war. “What about the mason?”
It was only the briefest hesitation but it told me a great deal. “Mason?”
“ The mason at Linesh you befriended. His house was set alight because of it. It was a well known story when I researched your occupation of the city. Yet you make no mention of him.”
He rolled onto his back and shrugged. “Hardly a friendship. I wanted him to carve a statue of Janus for the town square. Something to confirm his ownership of the city. Needless to say the mason refused. Didn’t stop someone burning his house down though. I believe he and his wife left the city when the war ended, with good reason it seems.”
“ And the sister of your faith who stopped the red plague from ravaging the city,” I pressed, angrier now. “What of her? The city folk I interviewed told many tales of her kindness and her closeness to you. Some even thought you were lovers.”
He shook his head wearily. “That is absurd. As for what became of her, I assumed she returned to the Realm with the army.”
He was lying, I was sure of it. “Why relate this tale if you have no intention of telling me all of it?” I demanded. “Do you seek to make me a fool, Hope Killer?”
Al Sorna grunted a laugh. “A fool is any man who doesn’t think he’s a fool. Let me sleep, my lord.”