“I’m glad you’re alive by the way, Alucius,” he told the poet. “If I didn’t say it before.”
“You didn’t, and thank you.”
“You were amongst the party that fought its way to the docks, I assume?”
Alucius looked down at the table, taking another sip of Wolf’s Blood. “Stay close to my father, you said. It was good advice.”
From the dullness of his tone and the shadow in his eyes, Vaelin judged it best to let the matter drop. “So, what exactly are you protecting my sister from?”
He brightened a little. “Oh the usual, outlaws, vagabonds”-he gave Reva a pointed glance-“wayward Deniers with sharp knives, Ardents seeking to pester the kin of the great Brother Vaelin for words of support.”
Vaelin frowned. “Ardents? What’s that?”
“Those that are ardent in their Faith. They started appearing after the King’s Edict of Toleration. They hold meetings, wave banners, sometimes attack people they suspect of Denier practices. They call themselves the true followers of the Faith, given public support by Aspect Tendris. The rest of the Orders are less enthusiastic.” His expression became more serious. “Your return will be a great joy to them. The Faith’s greatest champion, betrayed to a Denier dungeon by the Al Nieren dynasty. I’m afraid they will have unrealistic expectations, my lord.”
Reva’s head rose from her plate, head angled to the broken window in the south-facing wall. “Horse coming.”
Vaelin looked at the open door hearing the clatter of hooves on cobble. The blood-song’s note was strong with recognition, but also had a faint trill of warning. He suppressed it as well he could and went outside.
Brother Caenis Al Nysa reined his horse to a halt and dismounted in the yard. He stood regarding Vaelin in silence for a moment, then came forward with his arms wide, a bright smile on his lips. They embraced with all the warmth expected of reunited brothers, Caenis’s grip fierce, a small shudder escaping his chest. But still the blood-song trilled its warning . . .
His face was leaner, more lines at the corner of his eyes, even some grey in the close-cropped hair on his temples. Life in the Order did not make for a prolonged youth. He seemed as strong as ever though, even a little broader across the shoulders. Never an imposing figure, Caenis was now possessed of a palpable air of authority, perhaps brought on by the red diamond sewn onto the dark blue of his cloak.
“Brother Commander no less?” Vaelin asked. They were strolling on the grass by the riverbank. The Brinewash was in full spate after the night’s rain, the water threatening to spill over the earthen dike his father had built to ward against floods.
“I command the regiment now,” Caenis replied.
“Which would mean I have the honour of addressing Lord Caenis Al Nysa, Sword of the Realm, would it not?”
“It would.” Caenis didn’t appear especially proud of his elevation which was at odds with the man he remembered. The younger Caenis had been the most loyal subject the Al Nieren line could ever have desired. But then came Janus’s betrayal at Linesh and Vaelin recalled the mystification that shrouded his brother when it became clear the old schemer’s dream of a Greater Unified Realm was a broken vision. He never makes mistakes . . .
They paused, Caenis regarding the fast-flowing river in silence for a moment. “Barkus,” he said eventually. “The captain of the ship taking him home had a tall tale to tell, about how the big brother threatened to hack his head off with an axe if he didn’t sail his vessel back to the Alpiran shore. When they got to the shallows he jumped over the side and swam for the beach.”
“How much have they told you?”
Caenis turned back from the river, eyes meeting his. “The One Who Waits. It truly was Barkus?”
So they told him. How much more does he know? “No, it was something that lived in his skin. Barkus died during the Test of the Wild.”
Caenis closed his eyes, head downcast, voicing a sigh of deep sorrow. After a while he looked up, forcing a smile. “That just leaves the two of us, brother.”
Vaelin returned the smile, but it was a small one. “In truth it leaves just the one, brother.”
Caenis clasped his hands together, speaking in earnest tones. “Sister Sherin is gone, Vaelin. I have said nothing to the Aspect . . .”
“Sister Sherin and I were in love.” He spread his arms wide and shouted it out, the words carrying across the river: “I was in love with Sister Sherin!”
“Brother!” Caenis hissed, looking around in alarm.
“And it was not a transgression,” Vaelin went on, voice dropping to an angry rasp. “It was not wrong! It was glorious, brother. And I gave her up. I lost her forever in my final service to the Order. And I’m done. Tell the Aspect, tell the whole Realm if you like. I am no longer part of your Order and I no longer follow the Faith.”
Caenis became very still, his voice a whisper. “I know the years of imprisonment must have taken a toll on your spirit, but surely it was the guidance of the Departed that brought you back to us.”
“It’s all a lie, Caenis. All of it. As much a lie as any god. Do you want to know what that thing inside Barkus said before I killed it?”
“Enough!”
“It said a soul without a body is a wretched, wasted thing . . .”
“I said enough!” Caenis was white with fury, stepping back as if disbelief were catching. “You hear bile from a creature of the Dark and take it as truth. My brother was never so trusting, never so easily gulled.”
“I can always hear truth, brother. It’s my curse.”
Caenis turned away, mastering himself with some effort. When he turned back there was a new hardness in his gaze. “Do not call me brother. If you shun the Order and the Faith, you shun me.”
“You are my brother, Caenis. You always will be. It was never the Faith that bound us, you know that.”
Caenis stared at him, fury and hurt shining in his eyes, then turned to walk away. He halted after a few steps, speaking over his shoulder in a strained tone, “The Aspect wishes to see you. He said to make it clear it was a request, not a command.” He resumed walking.
“Frentis!” Vaelin called after him. “Do you have news of him? I know he still lives.”
Caenis didn’t turn around. “Talk to the Aspect!”
CHAPTER FOUR
Lyrna
Princess Lyrna Al Nieren had never liked riding. She found horses dull company and the hardness of the saddle like to leave her with bruises she couldn’t ask her maid to salve. In consequence the many miles her party had covered on its journey north had done nothing to improve her temper. But then that was true of the last five years.
Does the rain ever cease here? she wondered, peering out from the hood of her ermine-trimmed robe at the rain sheeting onto the slate-grey landscape. Five days out from Cardurin and the rain hadn’t stopped once.
Lord Marshal Nirka Al Smolen reined in alongside and saluted, rain streaming over his breastplate in a matrix of ever-changing rivulets. “Only five more miles, Highness.” His voice had a wariness to it. This endless journey was making her less restrained in voicing rebuke, and she knew her tongue could carry all the sting of an angry wasp when it chose to. Seeing the caution in his face she sighed. Oh, give the man some respite, you hateful witch. “Thank you, Lord Marshal.”
He saluted again, some small relief colouring his cheeks as he spurred on ahead to scout the route, a troop of five Mounted Guards in close escort. Another fifty closed in around her and the two ladies she had chosen to take north, hardy girls from country manors, of more middling rank than most of her attendants but not given to either giggles or complaints of discomfort. She gave Sable a nudge with her knee and they started forward, ascending the rocky path to the dark narrow slash of the Skellan Pass.