Blood Song

“He won’t be caught by the Realm Guard at all,” Vaelin said. He went to the table where his sword rested and buckled it on quickly, tugging the straps tight before pulling his cloak over his shoulders. He could feel Sherin’s eyes following him but found himself unable to look at her. “Brother Caenis, the regiment is yours. You will send a messenger to Aspect Arlyn informing him I am in pursuit of Brother Nortah and will bring him to justice. The regiment will wait here for orders from the King.”

“You’re going after him?” Barkus seemed astonished. “You heard the prince. If you bring him back they’ll hang him. He’s our brother…”

“He’s a fugitive from the King’s justice and a disgrace to the Order. And I doubt he’ll give me the chance to bring him back.” He forced himself to look at Sherin, searching for some words of farewell but nothing came. Her eyes were bright and he could tell she was close to tears. I’m sorry, he wanted to say, but couldn’t, the weight of what he had to do pressed down too heavily.

“What makes you think you could hunt him down anyway?” Barkus demanded. “He’s a better rider than you by far, better in the wild too.”

He doesn’t have a blood-song to guide him. It had begun as soon as Dentos began his story, a flat tone flaring whenever Vaelin’s thoughts turned to the north. “I’ll find him.”

He turned and bowed to Prince Malcius. “By your leave, Highness.”

“You’re not going alone?” the Prince asked.

“I’m afraid I must insist on it.” He looked in turn at his brothers. Barkus angry, Caenis confused, Dentos sorrowful, and wondered if they would ever forgive him. “Take care of the men,” he said and walked from the chamber.

Chapter 7

The Renfaelin city of Cardurin had been built on one of the foothills to the northern mountains. Approaching the walls with Spit at a sedate walk Vaelin was struck by the complexity of its construction, every cobbled street sloping upwards in what seemed tighter and ever steeper curves. Tall rectangular sandstone buildings topped by clay-tiled roofs rose on each side. The town was an interconnected whole, each block joined to another by a walk-way, high arches curving elegantly between the walls. It felt as if he were staring up at a forest of stone.

He was waved through the gate by a spearman who favoured him with a respectful nod. The Order had always been held in high esteem in Renfael, a regard which had remained undiminished despite the wars of unification when the Aspects had taken the King’s part. People in the streets beyond the gate gave him a few curious glances but there was none of the open staring or recognition he dreaded when traversing the streets of Varinshold.

He left Spit with a stableman near the gate who gave him directions to the Sixth Order mission. “It’s a bit of a climb, brother,” the man said, taking hold of Spit’s reins and making to give him a scratch on the nose.

“Don’t!” Vaelin pulled the man’s hand away, Spit’s teeth chomping on empty air. “He’s got a temper and we’ve ridden a long way this past two weeks.”

“Oh.” The stableman moved back a little, grinning at Vaelin. “Bet you’re the only one can handle him eh?”

“No, he bites me too.”

The Sixth Order mission house was near the summit of the city and the stableman hadn’t exaggerated the climb, his legs were aching with the effort by the time he jangled the bell suspended next to the door. The brother who opened it was broad and heavily bearded, staring at Vaelin with shrewd blue eyes beneath his bushy brows.

“Brother Vaelin?” he asked.

Vaelin frowned in surprise. “I am expected, brother?”

“A galloper arrived from the capital two days ago. The Aspect gave notice of your mission and ordered me to give any assistance you require should you call here. I expect similar missives were sent to missions throughout the Realm. Unfortunate business.” He stepped aside, “Please, you must be hungry.”

Vaelin was led along a dimly lit corridor and up a flight of stairs, then another flight, and another after that. “Brother Commander Artin,” the bearded man introduced himself as they climbed. “Sorry about the stairs. Renfaelins call Cardurin the city of many bridges. Really should call it the city of countless stairs.”

“May I ask why you have no guard on the door, brother?” Vaelin enquired.

“Don’t need one. Safest city I’ve ever been to. No outlaws in the wilds either, Lonak won’t tolerate them.”

“But don’t the Lonak themselves pose a danger?”

“Oh they never come here. Don’t like the stink of the town apparently, bad smell means bad luck. When they raid, they go for the smaller settlements near the border. Every couple of years one of the War Chiefs will get a few thousand of them worked up enough for a large scale raid, but even then they rarely come close to the city walls. Not much for siege craft, the Lonak.”