Blood Song

Mother, forgive me. “I know your Highness had plans for me, before my father sent me to the Order. If it pleases you, I will submit to your plans if you will secure the release of Urlian’s wife.”

The King’s reached for a crystal decanter on his desk and poured a measure of red wine into a glass. “Cumbraelin, ten years old. One of the benefits of Kingship is a well stocked cellar.” He offered the decanter to Vaelin. “Would you care for some?”

Vaelin’s head still ached from his binge in the ale house. “No thank you, Highness.”

“You father wouldn’t drink with me either.” The King sipped his wine slowly. “But then he never sought to bargain with me. I commanded and he followed.”

“Loyalty is our strength.”

“Yes. A fine motto, one of my best. I chose it for him, even chose the hawk as your family crest. It was something of a joke actually. Your father hated hawking, it’s a sport for nobles after all.” He took another sip from his wine, wiping the red stain from his lips with an ink spattered sleeve. “Do you know why he left my service?”

“I had heard there was discord between you over his wish to marry and legitimise my sister.”

“Know about her, eh? That must’ve been a shock. It’s true enough that I refused your father’s request to marry and he was angry over it. But in truth I believe he had resolved to leave my side when I had to kill my First Minister. They were at each other’s throats for years but when Al Sendahl’s thievery came to light it was your father that spoke for him when no other would. He had to die of course, although it was a grievous loss. Few other men knew finance so well as Artis Al Sendahl.”

“I have served with his son since we were boys, Highness. He could never accept his father stole from your purse.”

“Oh he wasn’t a thief of coin, he was a thief of power. It’s a terribly seductive thing, Vaelin. But to wield it well you have to hate it as much as you love it. Lord Artis never understood that, his actions became driven wholly by ambition, endangering the peace of the Realm, and so I killed him.”

“And took his family’s wealth?”

“Of course. Made sure the wife and daughters were taken care of though, felt I owed him that much. Tower Lord Al Myrna was kind enough to take them in, gave the woman some land in the Northern Reaches, under a false name of course. Can’t have my nobles thinking I’m soft-hearted.”

“It would ease my brother’s mind greatly if I could tell him this.”

“I’m sure. But you won’t.”

The King put down his wine glass and rose, rubbing and groaning at the stiffness of his legs, going to the map above the fireplace. “The Unified Realm,” he said. “Four Fiefs once divided by war and hatred now united in loyalty to me. Except, of course, they aren’t. Nilsael sold itself to me because it was tired of armies raping its land for fodder every few years. Renfael lost half her knights in battle and Lord Theros saw that if he fought me any longer he would soon lose the other half. Cumbrael hates and fears me in equal measure, but they fear the Faith more and will stay loyal as long as I keep it from their door. This is the Realm I spilt a sea of blood to build and through you I would have stopped it tearing itself apart when I die.

“You are right, I had many plans for you. The son of a Battle Lord and a former Mistress in the Fifth Order, both commoners at that. You would be the means by which I would bind the common folk to my line, not just in Asrael but in all the Fiefs. And when I had the hearts of the commons their nobles could call for war but none would answer. I had plans for you indeed, young hawk.” He scanned the map, his sigh heavy with regret. “But your mother had plans of her own. When she persuaded Aspect Arlyn to take you into the Sixth Order she made you a brother, bound to the Faith, not to me.”

“Highness, if it is your wish that I leave the Order…”

“It’s too late for that. It would be clear to all that you had left the Faith at my command. Robbing the Order of its most famous son would do little to make the people love me. No, the plans I had for you are long dead.”

Vaelin fumbled for something to say, some argument to secure the King’s assistance. The prospect of leaving Urlian’s wife to torture and slow execution was unbearable. Wild schemes flickered through his mind as panic gripped him. He would sneak into the Blackhold and rescue her, his brothers would help him, he was sure of it, although it probably meant death for all of them…

“I was not the first, you know?” the King said softly. Vaelin saw he was looking at a short list scribbled at the top of the map. “There have been five before me.” The King tapped a finger to the five names on the list. “Five Kings since Varin led our people to this land and drove the Seordah into the forests and the Lonak into the mountains. And in five hundred years no ruling family has held the Realm for more than a generation.”

“Prince Malcius is a good man, Highness.”

“My butcher is a good man, boy!” the King snapped, suddenly angry. “So is my stable-master and the man who sweeps dung from my courtyard. My son is a good man it is true, but it takes more than goodness to make a king. When he took the throne you were to be at his side to do what he could not. Now all I can do is make this Realm so great that those who would tear it down will fear being crushed by its fall.”

He returned to his chair, sitting down stiffly. “And so I will make a new plan. And you, brother Vaelin Al Sorna, will serve my purpose again.” He searched through a pile of papers on his desk, extracting a sheaf of documents sealed with black wax. “Aspect Tendris keeps me busy with his loyal guidance and humble requests for new measures to combat the scourge of the unfaithful. Here,” the King selected the top most document, “he suggests the Realm Guard flog any subject who cannot recite the Catechism of Faith on command.”

“Aspect Tendris is zealous in his beliefs, Highness.”

“Aspect Tendris is a deluded fanatic. But even a fanatic can be bargained with.” The King held up another document and began to read: “‘I would most humbly remind your Highness of the regular reports that the unfaithful are gathering in unprecedented numbers in the Martishe forest. I have heard from the most reliable sources that these are adherents of the Cumbraelin form of god worship and are most vehement in their heresy. They are well armed and, my sources assure me, resolved to meet any attempt to dislodge them with the utmost violence. I implore your Highness, with the greatest respect, to heed my calls to act decisively in this matter.’”

The King tossed the parchment aside. “What do you make of this?”

“The Aspect wishes you to send the Realm Guard to the Martishe to root out Deniers.”

“Indeed, as if my soldiers have little better to do than run around the woods for months with Cumbraelin longbowmen waiting behind every tree. Oh no, the Realm Guard will not go within ten miles of the Martishe. But you will.”

“Me, Highness?”

“Yes. I will prevail upon Aspect Arlyn to send a small contingent of brothers to the Martishe, you will be among them. As will a young man named Linden Al Hestian. You know this name?”

“Al Hestian.” Vaelin recalled the furious man lashing his way through the crowd at the Summertide fair where Nortah’s father had met his end. “I once met a Lord Marshal of that name.”

“Lakrhil Al Hestian, Lord Marshal of my Twenty-Seventh Regiment of Horse. A capable officer and one of my wealthier nobles. Like my late First Minister a man of great ambition, particularly where his son is concerned. His elder son, Linden.”

Vaelin felt a hard ball of dread form in the pit of his stomach. “His son, Highness?”

“A fine young man with many admirable qualities, sadly humility and intelligence are not among them. The fellow has a wide circle of friends, in truth a gang of admirers and sycophants. Nothing attracts friends like wealth and arrogance. He is currently the darling of my esteemed court, winning tournaments, bedding ladies, fighting duels. It’s a rather tediously familiar story, I’m afraid. A young man achieves great fame and success at an early age and begins to believe his own legend, not helped by the indulgence of an ambitious father. He is by far the most popular young man in court, far more popular than my own son who has never been gifted in the ways of artifice. Every day I’m beset with entreaties to give the younger Al Hestian a commission, something to help him prove his worth, set him on the path to glory. And so I will. He will be made a Sword of the Realm and commanded to raise his own regiment which he will take into the Martishe to root out the Deniers currently infesting it. Sadly, I predict this will be a long and arduous campaign and after,” the King paused to think, “six months or so he will, tragically, meet his end in a Denier ambush.”

Their eyes met, Vaelin’s stomach churning with mingled anger and despair. I am a fool, he decided. A mouse seeking bargains with an owl. “Urlian’s wife, Highness?” he grated.

“Oh, I daresay Aspect Tendris will be in a more amenable frame of mind when I tell of him of my plans for a crusade in the Martishe, especially since you will be part of it. He’s fond of you, you know. I’ll vouch for the woman, tell him I’m convinced of her redemption, provided she says nothing to the contrary she will be free by tomorrow evening.”