Blood Song

Vaelin recalled the sound of the arrow as it flew past his ear and embedded itself in Linden Al Hestian. A victory…It feels like the worst of defeats.

“Did he linger for long?”

Nortah frowned. “Who?

“Lord Al Hestian. Did he suffer?”

“He suffers still, poor bastard. The arrow didn’t kill him. Brother Makril doesn’t know if he’ll live. He’s been asking for you.”

Vaelin fought down a shudder of guilt-ridden despair. Seeking a distraction, he moved to where Barkus was busily stripping the archer’s corpse of any valuables. “Anything to say who he was?”

“Not much.” Barkus quickly pocketed a few silver coins and extracted a sheaf of papers from the small leather satchel slung over the man’s shoulder. “Found some letters. Might tell you something.”

Nortah took the papers, his eyebrows rising as he read the first few lines.

“What is it?” Vaelin asked.

Nortah carefully folded the papers away. “Something for the Aspect’s eyes. But I think this little war of ours may be about to grow beyond this forest.”

Lord Linden Al Hestian lay on a bed of wolf fur, dragging air into his lungs with long rasping breaths, his skin grey and moist with sweat. Brother Makril had extracted the arrow from his shoulder and dressed the wound with a herb poultice to draw out the poison, but this was only to ease the noble’s mind, there was no saving him. They had forced redflower on him despite his objections, taking the edge from his pain but still he suffered as the poison worked its way through his veins. The men had erected a tent for him, the stench inside stirring Vaelin’s memory of his agonised recovery from the Joffril root.

“My lord?” Vaelin said, sitting down next to him.

“Brother.” There was a ghost of a smile on the young noble’s pale lips. “They told me you went after Black Arrow. Did you get him?”

“He’s… with his god now,” Vaelin replied, though in truth he still didn’t know for certain who the man had been.

“Then we can go home, eh? I think the king will be satisfied, don’t you?”

Vaelin looked into Al Hestian’s eyes, seeing the pain and the fear there, the knowledge that there would be no home-coming for him, he would soon be gone from this world. “He will be satisfied.”

Al Hestian slumped back into the furs. “They killed the boy, you know. I told them to leave him be but they cut him to pieces. He didn’t even cry out.”

“The men were angry. They respect you greatly. As do I.”

“To think my father warned me against you.”

“My lord?”

“My father and I have many differences, many arguments. Truth to tell I confess I like him not, father or no. Sometimes I think he hates me for not matching his ambition with my own. And men of ambition see enemies everywhere, especially at court where intrigue abounds. Before I left he warned me of rumours, tales of a hidden hand moving against me, although he refrained from telling me who’s hand. But he said I should mind you well.”

Rumours of a hidden hand… The princess has been busy it seems.

“Why you would seek to hurt me I cannot imagine,” Al Hestian went on in his pained rasp. “You’ll tell him for me, won’t you? You’ll tell him we were friends.”

“You’ll tell him yourself.”

Al Hestian’s laugh was faint. “Humour me not, brother. There is a letter in my tent, back at the camp. I wrote it before we left. I would be grateful if you would see to its delivery. It’s… for lady of my acquaintance.”

“A lady, my lord?”

“Yes, Princess Lyrna.” He paused, sighing in sorrow. “Coming here was to be the means by which I would finally win the King’s favour. Our union would have had his blessing.”

Vaelin gritted his teeth to forestall a curse at his own stupidity. He had known since meeting Al Hestian that the King’s description of him had been fanciful at best but hadn’t realised the true reason for his mission here. He was to rid the Princess of an unsuitable match.

“The princess must have regretted seeing you ride into danger,” he said.

“She is a lady of great fortitude. She said love must risk all or perish.”

I have much to do and I will tolerate no obstacle…Vaelin felt a wave of self-loathing course through him. Princess, between us we have killed a very good man.

“I have a younger brother, Alucius,” Al Hestian was saying. “I would like him to have my sword. Tell him… tell him it would be best if he leaves it sheathed. I find war is not much to my liking…” He paused, face tensed as a tremor of pain swept through him. “Lyrna... Don’t tell her it was like thi-” He choked off, convulsed in pain, blood staining his chin. Vaelin reached for him but could only watch helplessly as Al Hestian writhed in his furs. Unable to bear it he fled the tent, finding Brother Makril by the fire, his flask in his hand, gulping Brother’s Friend.

“Is there no hope?” Vaelin pleaded. “Nothing you can do?”