Blood Song

He knew now his enmity for her was a deceit, an attempt to avoid his own share of blame, but even so found himself holding to it. She is cold, she is scheming, she is untrustworthy. But more than that, he hated the lingering hold she had over him, her effortless ability to engage his interest.

There was the faintest glimmer of something behind her eyes then as he realised the intensity of the gaze he had turned on her. Fear, he decided. The only man who can make her afraid.

He bowed again, guilt mingling with satisfaction in his breast. “By your leave, Highness.”

Sister Gilma was plump and friendly with a quick smile and bright blue eyes that seemed to sparkle continually with mirth. “In the name of the Faith, cheer up brother!” she had said when they first met, tweaking Vaelin’s chin with a mock punch. “You’d think the cares of the Realm were on your shoulders. Brother sour-face they call you.”

“Are you really sure you want a healer attached to the regiment?” Nortah had asked.

Sister Gilma laughed. “Oh I see I’m going to like you!” she said in her thick Nilsaelin brogue, giving a Nortah a punch on the arm that was less playful.

Vaelin had concealed his disappointment that Aspect Elera hadn’t seen fit to appoint Sister Sherin in answer to his request, although he was hardly surprised. “Whatever you require will be provided, sister.”

“It better be.” She laughed. In the month since he noticed she tended to laugh when she was being serious, employing a humourless tone when indulging her weakness for gentle but effective mockery.

“Another two broken arms today,” she told him with a chuckle and wry shake of her head as he entered the large tent that served as her treatment room. Four men were lying abed, bandaged and sleeping. Another two were being tended by the assistants she had insisted on recruiting from the ranks. To Vaelin’s surprise she had chosen two of the pressed men from the dungeons, slight fellows with quick minds and careful hands who would probably have made poor soldiers in any case.

“Keep driving these men so hard and there’ll be few left to face a battle a month from now.” She was smiling her bright smile, blue eyes twinkling.

“Battle is a hard business, sister. Soft training will make for soft soldiers who will in turn become soft corpses.”

Her smile faded a little. “Battle is coming then? There will be a war?”

War. The question was on everyone’s lips. It had been four weeks since the King had summoned the Fief Lord of Cumbrael and no answer had come. The Realm Guard had been confined to barracks and leave cancelled. Rumours flew with alarming speed. Cumbraelins were massing on the border. Cumbraelin archers had been seen in the Urlish. Hidden Denier sects were plotting all manner of hideous Dark fuelled villainy. Everywhere the air was thick with expectation and uncertainty, making Vaelin drive the men as hard as he dared. If the storm broke they had to be ready.

“I know no more than you, sister,” he assured her. “Any more pox cases?”

“Not since my visit to the ladies’ encampment.”

An outbreak of pox amongst the men had been traced to a camp of enterprising whores recently established in the woods a scant two miles away. Fearing the Aspect’s reaction to the news of a nest of whores so close to the Order House he ordered Sergeant Krelnik to put together a squad of the more trustworthy men to evict the women and send them back to the city. However, the old soldier had surprised him by hesitating. “Are you sure about this, my lord?”

“I’ve got twenty men too poxed to train, sergeant. This regiment is under the command of the Order, can’t have the men sneaking off to… indulge their lust in this way.”

The Sergeant blinked, his grizzled, scarred face impassive but Vaelin felt sure he was suppressing a grin. There were times when talking to the sergeant he felt himself a child giving orders to his grandfather. “Erm, with respect, my lord. The regiment may belong to the Order but the men don’t. They ain’t brothers, they’re soldiers, and soldiers expect to be shown a woman now and again. Take away their… indulgence and there could be trouble. Not saying the men don’t respect you, my lord, they surely do, never seen a bunch as terrified of their commander as this lot, but these fellows ain’t exactly the cream of the Realm and we’ve been working them pretty hard. They get too hacked off they could start taking to their heels, hanging or no.”

“What about the pox?”

“Oh the Fifth Order’s got remedies aplenty for that. Sister Gilma’ll sort it, get her to pay a visit to these women, sort them in no time she will.”

So they had gone to Sister Gilma and Vaelin had stammered out a request whilst she regarded him with an icy visage.

“You want me to go into a camp full of whores to cure them of the pox?” she said coldly.

“Under guard of course, sister.”

She looked away, closing her eyes whilst Vaelin fought the desire to flee.