Sherin put her hands to her lips to suppress a laugh and shrank into the covers as Vaelin reached for his trews. “What is it?” he demanded, pulling the door open.

“There’s an Alpiran at the gates demanding you come and fight him, my lord.” Janril’s eyes slid from Vaelin’s face to snatch a glance at the room beyond, before fixing on the still growling Scratch. “Captain Antesh offered to feather him but Brother Caenis thought you might want him alive.”

“What does he look like, this Alpiran?”

“Big fellow, greying hair. Dressed like one of those horsemen we fought at the beach. Seems in a bad way, having a hard time staying in the saddle. Too long in the desert I think.”

“How many with him?”

“None, my lord. He’s all alone if you can believe such a thing.”

“Tell Brother Frentis to muster the scout troop and inform Brother Caenis I’ll be there directly.”

“My lord.”

He closed the door and began to dress.

“Are you going to fight him?” Sherin asked, emerging from the covers.

“You know I’m not.” He pulled his shirt on and leaned over to kiss her. “I need you to do something for me.”

Captain Neliesen Nester Hevren sat slumped in his saddle, a desolate fatigue marring his unshaven face. However, as the gates swung open and he caught sight of Vaelin, his evident exhaustion was replaced by grim satisfaction.

“Found the courage to face me, Northman?” he called as Vaelin approached.

“I had no choice, my men were starting to lose all respect for me.” He looked beyond the captain at the empty desert. “Where’s your army?”

“Fools led by a coward!” Hevren spat. “No stomach for what needed to be done here. Gods curse Everen, desert-born scum. The Emperor will take his head.” He fixed Vaelin with a stare of pure unbridled hatred. “But I’ll have yours first, Hope Killer.”

Vaelin inclined his head. “As you wish. Care to dismount or do you want it said you had an unfair advantage?”

“I need no advantage.” Hevren slid from his saddle with difficulty, desert sand shifting from his clothes, his horse giving a snort of relief. Vaelin surmised he had been in the saddle for days and noted how his legs sagged for a moment before he straightened.

“Here.” He unslung the canteen on his shoulder, removing the cap and taking a drink. “Quench your thirst, lest people say I had the advantage.” He replaced the cap and tossed the canteen to Hevren.

“I need nothing from you,” Hevren said, but Vaelin saw how his hand shook as it held the canteen.

“Then stay here and rot,” he replied, turning to go.

“Wait!” Hevren uncapped the canteen and drank, gulping down the water until it was empty, then tossing it aside. “No more talk, Hope Killer.” He drew his sabre, planting his feet in a fighting stance, flicking a sudden rush of sweat from his brow.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Vaelin told him. “Sorry for the Hope, sorry we came here, sorry I can’t give you the death you hunger for.”

“I said no more talk!” Hevren took a step forward, sabre drawing back for a thrust, then stopped, blinking in confusion, eyes suddenly unfocused.

“Two parts valerian, one part crown root and a pinch of camomile to mask the taste.” Vaelin held up the canteen cap he had switched for the one containing Sherin’s sleeping draught. “Sorry.”

“You…” Hevren stumbled forward a few steps before collapsing. “No!” he grunted, desperately trying to heave himself upright. “No…” He thrashed for a while longer then lay still.

Vaelin called to the Nilsaelin soldiers manning the gate. “Find him somewhere comfortable but secure, and make sure you take all his weapons.”

Frentis arrived with the scout troop, reining in beneath the arch of the gatehouse. “Couldn’t have been much of a fight,” he observed as the Nilsaelins carried off Hevren’s unconscious form.

“I’ve taken enough from him,” Vaelin replied. “His army’s nowhere in sight. Circle out to the west, see if you can pick up their trail.”

“You think they’re making for Untesh?”

“Either there or back to Marbellis. Stay out for one day only, and take no chances. If you’re spotted, ride back to the city.”

Frentis nodded and spurred his horse forward, the scout troop following close behind. Vaelin watched them ride towards the west and tried to ignore the faint trill of unease from the blood-song.

Night came with no sign of Frentis. He waited atop the gatehouse, gazing out at the desert, marvelling again at the clearness of the sky here, the vast array of stars shimmering above the night black sands.

“You worry about him.” Sherin appeared at his side, her fingers briefly touching the back of his hand before she folded her arms beneath her robe.

“He’s my brother,” he replied. “The captain still sleeps?”

“Like a child. He’s as well as a man could be after days in the desert with little water.”

“Don’t get too close to him when he wakes, he’ll be angry.”

“He hates you very much.” Her voice was heavy with regret. “They all do, these people, despite what you did for them…”

“I killed the heir to their empire and brought a foreign army to their city. For all I know the Red Hand too. Let them have their hate, I earned it.”

She moved closer, casting a wary glance at the guard nearby who seemed more preoccupied with the grit under his fingernails. “The mason heals well but his sleep is troubled, his burns still cause him pain. I dull it as best I can but still he rants in his dreams, speaking languages I’ve never heard for the most part, but some in our tongue.” Her gaze was intent, questing. “Some of the things he says…”

He raised an eyebrow. “What does he say?”

“He talks of a song, of singers, of a living wolf fashioned from stone, of a vile and deadly woman, and he talks of you, Vaelin. Maybe it’s just nonsense, delusions and dreams born of drugs and pain, but they scare me. And you know, I am not easily scared.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close, ignoring her glance of alarm at the guard. “What does it matter, now?” he asked.

“Your position, your role here.”

“Let them mutiny, depose me if they like.” He had raised his voice so the guard could hear, although the man was now intensely interested in looking anywhere but at him. If he was any judge of soldierly gossip, it would be all over the barracks by morning. He found he couldn’t care a jot.

“Stop it.” She shrugged free of him, flustered but also suppressing a laugh.

The guard cleared his throat and Vaelin turned to find him pointing out at the desert. “Troop returning, my lord.”

The gates swung open to allow the scout troop to enter at a weary trot, Vaelin instantly alarmed that Frentis was not among them. “The Alpiran host was less than ten miles from Untesh when we found it, my lord,” explained Sergeant Halkin, Frentis’s second in command. “Brother Frentis elected to ride ahead and warn Prince Malcius of the danger. He ordered us to return here to bring word to you.”

Vaelin briefly clasped Sherin’s hand and strode off towards the stables, calling over his shoulder. “Fetch Brother Barkus and Brother Caenis!”

Chapter 10

“Well, that’s that,” Barkus said.

“Clever,” Caenis murmured. “We didn’t give this Alpiran enough credit, it seems.”

A thick column of smoke rose from the city of Untesh to stain the morning sky. Hundreds of corpses littered the ground before the walls where scaling ladders reached up to the battlements like stacked kindling. Through the smoke Vaelin could see a standard snapping in the breeze, crossed sabres of black on a red background, the same standard he had seen at the oasis. The Alpiran Battle Lord had eschewed siege for an all out assault, accepting dreadful losses to reclaim the city for the emperor. Untesh had fallen. Prince Malcius and Frentis were dead or captured.

I am a murderer…

“We should keep this from the men,” Caenis said. “The effect on morale…”

“No,” Vaelin said. “We tell them the truth. They know I won’t lie to them. Trust is more important than fear.”

“He could’ve made it out,” Barkus suggested, although his tone lacked conviction. “Got to a ship, maybe.”

Vaelin closed his eyes, trying to calm his thoughts, attempting to cast the blood-song forth as he had when he lost Dentos in the sandstorm. The note was even, unwavering, and found no answer. “He’s not there,” he whispered, hope surging in his breast. He had entertained a half-mad notion of waiting until darkness then finding a way over the walls to search for Frentis amidst the aftermath of the battle, although he was fully aware the most likely outcome would be a swift death. But if he’s not here, then where? He wouldn’t have deserted the prince.

“Outriders,” Caenis said, pointing to the plain before the city where a body of horsemen was raising a thick cloud of dust as they galloped towards their position.