Tower Lord

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Lohren.”

“I had a dream once,” she said, smiling broadly. “I saw you on a beach, it was nighttime and you were killing a man with an axe.”

Sella took her hand and tugged her from Snowdance’s back, her free hand making the sign for food as she pulled her daughter towards the house.

“Don’t worry,” Nortah said. “You should hear the dreams she has about me.”

? ? ?

Sella gave them fish pie and potatoes cooked in an onion broth whilst Nortah related the tale of their journey from the fallen city to the Reaches. “Took us the best part of four months, and not all made it.”

“The Lonak?” Vaelin asked.

“No, curiously they never troubled us. It was the cold, the winter came early, caught us on the plains. If not for the Eorhil we’d surely have starved. Gifted folk can do many things, but they can’t conjure food from thin air. The Eorhil fed us and guided us to the tower where Fief Lord Al Myrna, thanks to the Lady Dahrena’s kind influence, saw fit to grant us tenancy of the long-unused settlement at Nehrin’s Point.”

“Your mother and your sisters?” Vaelin asked.

Nortah’s face clouded. “Mother had passed the year before we arrived, my sisters . . .” He trailed off and Sella clasped his hand. “Well, not everyone is able to master their fear of the Dark. Hearing your niece’s voice in your head before she’s old enough to talk can be a little disconcerting. Hulla is married to a North Guard sergeant, Kerran a merchant. They live in North Tower and don’t feel obliged to visit.”

Vaelin finished his meal before broaching another subject. “Is Harlick still with you?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Nortah replied. “Lives by himself in a hut on the beach, scribbling away from dawn to dusk. Never lets anyone read whatever it is he writes though. Most are content to leave him be, except for Weaver. Trades the baskets he makes for food to keep them both fed.”

Vaelin pushed back from the table. “I and the lady must speak with him, if you’ll excuse us.”

You’ll stay with us tonight, Sella signed. We have room.

The house was certainly large enough to accommodate several visitors. Nortah had described how it had been built by an exile from the Alpiran Empire who saw fit to continue his tribal tradition of keeping multiple wives.

“He hit one of them,” Lohren chipped in. “Hit her hard, and made the other ladies angry. They all stabbed him.” She took a firm grip of her fork and began to thrust it into a bread roll. “Stab! Stab! Stab!” She stopped with an annoyed grimace when Sella clapped her hands again.

“I should be glad to stay,” Vaelin told Sella, turning to Dahrena. “If my lady would care for a walk on the beach?”

? ? ?

“I’ve seen war, inferno and the souls of murderous men,” Dahrena commented as they strolled along the sand to Harlick’s hut. Night was coming on and the surf was high, her hair an inky tumble in the wind. “But that little girl scares me more than all of it combined.”

“Such power is bound to breed fear,” Vaelin assented. “Her gift will be hard to bear as she grows older.”

“At least now she has a gifted uncle to help protect her.”

“That she does.”

“How many years since you last saw the teacher?”

“Why do you call him that?”

“It’s the only name he gives himself, and it’s what he does. Every day save one, the children gather in his school. Some of the adults too, those that have trouble with numbers or letters. He teaches them all, and well. In his own way he’s gifted too.”

He recalled Nortah’s patience with Dentos before the Test of Knowledge, his ability to get Frentis to sit still for instruction and the rapidity with which he had trained the Wolfrunners’ company of archers. All those years a teacher at heart. Had he stayed with the Order no doubt he would have been Master of the Bow in time. “It must be over eight years,” he said. “Since the fallen city. It’s good to see them settled here.”

“There were those who counselled my father to send them on their way,” she said. “The Eorhil had been free in describing their abilities, arousing the fears of the Realm folk.”

“But he listened to you.”

“In truth I think he would have granted them sanctuary in any case. He had the kind of heart that couldn’t pass up a generous deed.”

Her words brought unwelcome memories of Sherin and he was pleased to find them nearing the hut. It was a ramshackle structure of driftwood with a slate roof and a stove-pipe chimney. There were no windows but a glow of candlelight emanated from the half-open door. A broad-shouldered man in a sleeveless jerkin sat on the sand outside, his curly blond hair ruffled by the wind as he worked, muscular arms flexing as his deft hands intertwined broad-bladed sea grass. A pile of completed baskets lay in the lee of the hut.

“Weaver,” Vaelin greeted him. “Good to see you again, sir.”

The broad, handsome face looked up, a faint smile curling the lips. The blue eyes tracked from Vaelin to Dahrena, blinked and returned to the work in hand. “Not hurt,” he said.

The door creaked, opening to reveal a slightly built man with long ash-grey hair, and a less-than-welcoming expression. “What do you want?” he asked Vaelin. His voice was hard with resentment, possibly at their intrusion or perhaps the fear Vaelin had induced at their last meeting.

“Same as before, brother,” Vaelin told him. “Answers to difficult questions.”

Harlick shook his head, turning back inside. “I have no answers for you. Just let me be . . .”

“Your Aspect would disagree, I think.” Harlick paused and Vaelin continued, “I met him recently. Your name came up. Would you like to know the context?”

The librarian sighed through gritted teeth and went back inside, leaving the door open. Vaelin bowed to Dahrena, “My lady, shall we?”

Harlick’s hut was furnished with a simple table, chair and narrow cot. An iron stove stood in the corner, a recently boiled kettle steaming atop the hob. The table was piled high with parchment, several quills scattered about the pages amongst inkpots, most empty. By far the most salient feature of the hut, however, was the scrolls, stacked against the far wall, twenty high from floor to ceiling.

“Do you forget them?” Vaelin asked. “Once you’ve written them down?”

Harlick made a harsh grating noise that might have been a laugh as he moved towards the stove.

“I am remiss, my lady,” Vaelin said. “Allow me to present Brother Harlick of the Seventh Order, former scholar to the Great Library in Varinshold. Brother, this is the Lady Dahrena Al Myrna, First Counsel to the North Tower.”

Harlick offered Dahrena a shallow bow. “My lady. Please forgive the meanness of my home. I have freshly brewed tea if you would care for some.”

Dahrena returned the bow with a polite smile. “Another time, sir.”

“Just as well.” Harlick lifted the kettle from the hob. “I only have enough for one more cup.” He spooned some leaves from a clay pot into a small porcelain cup and poured in the water.

“Your Aspect had a story to tell,” Vaelin said. “About a forest and a dead boy.”

He was impressed by the absence of a tremble in Harlick’s hand as he stirred the tea leaves. He did, however, cast a guarded look at Dahrena.

“I hold no secrets from this lady,” Vaelin told him.

Harlick sighed and shook his head. “You are a liar, my lord. We all hold secrets. I expect the lady has a whole bushel of her own, and I’m certain you do.”

He’s different, Vaelin decided. Lost his fear somehow. His gaze wandered to the scrolls covering the far wall. Something he read perhaps?

“Tell me,” Harlick said, sitting on the only chair and sipping his tea. “Did my Aspect give you a message for me? A command to answer your questions?”

“No,” Vaelin replied. “But he did tell me your mission here was not some sacred trust. You do not enjoy his favour. You are lucky, in fact, to be alive, and this”—he cast his gaze around the hut—“is your punishment. You are in exile.”

“As are you.” Harlick sounded weary, putting his cup aside and reclining in his seat. “If you’re here for vengeance, just get it done. My actions may have been misguided but they were driven by honest and unselfish intent.”

For the first time in years Vaelin felt a true anger building in his breast. “Misguided? You set assassins to kill me in the Urlish. Instead they killed my brother. A boy of just twelve years. They cut his head from his shoulders. Were you there for that? Did you linger to see the results of your unselfish intent?”

“My lord,” Dahrena said in a quiet voice and Vaelin realised he was advancing on the scholar, fists clenched.

Harlick merely stared up at him, face impassive save for a mild curiosity.

Vaelin took a deep breath and stepped back, forcing his hands open. “You know of my gift?” he asked when his breathing had calmed enough to speak in an even voice.

“Manifestations Volume One,” Harlick recited in a flat tone. “Index Four, Column One. All known instances recorded amongst the Seordah, none concurrent. Seordah name translates as ‘Song of Blood’ or ‘Blood Song’ depending on inflection. Known manifestations in the Realm at the time of writing: none. All detected manifestations to be reported to the Aspect with extreme urgency.” He met Vaelin’s eyes then spoke on. “Addendum: known manifestations in the Realm: One.”